#I don't know if ice cream exists in Star Wars and I don't care

[rfaromance]

the thing is-- I would love to send some asks about saeyoung for the alphabet list, but canon already feeds us so well like... he feels fleshed out and realistic. I can use actual story details to learn more about him... Every time you have a headcanon it makes so much sense, like, of course that would be how he sleeps with mc (IN THE BED) and the nicknames he would have for them. that being said, let's start down the line for the rest of the letters you haven't hit yet! How about b, d , and e for the bunker gang so they don't feel excluded lol.

Canon is very kind to the Choi twins! We have a LOT on them. But headcanons are still fun for the gaps or to see how they interact with different types of MCs, etc etc.

I'm honored you think my headcanons make sense for Saeyoung, though! He is the love of my life >w<

Saeyoung

B: Saeyoung is 100% banned from the kitchen. Saeran actually put up a sign saying "KEEP OUT" with a picture of Saeyoung on it. (He tried "Keep out Saeyoung" but then he insisted his name was Luciel, then 707, then Chilyoung, etc.) Vanderwood thought that wasn't enough and put up another sign in the kitchen itself saying "ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK, BRAT." You blow up like, 3 appliances, and suddenly you're a menace to society who can't be trusted to pour a bowl of cereal.

D: Saeyoung is the type who “relaxes” by keeping active. He will pick dates that are adventurous and full of whimsy, if given the option. He'd want to go to a fair, or an amusement park, or an aquarium, or accidentally-on-purpose enter himself and MC into a paintball tournament. He has to lay low at times knowing his father is still a threat, but he can do exciting dates at home, too! Puppet shows with a star projector in the background! Video game tournaments! Cupcake Wars until Vandy catches them and chases them out of the kitchen with a broom!

E: Giving gifts!!! As much as he loves physical touch, he finds himself overstimulated more easily than he's ready to admit. And he loves telling MC how much he adores them, but he gets flustered easily too. However, this man really said "I'm going to build you a cute fire-breathing robot dog, and then a robot cat that's programmed to act like 707 so you never get lonely, and also a penguin robot for my brother that dispenses ice cream, and--" He's a gift giver, but he builds all his gifts. He loves tinkering to make creations that make people happy!

SE Saeran

B: Saeran enjoys baking moreso than cooking, but he cooks plenty! Sometimes following a recipe is a good way to dissociate as you stir and pour and measure for a while. He also knows that if he wants real food (for the first time in his life, tbh), he has to make it himself because Saeyoung is a lost cause in the kitchen. He actually has fun learning to cook simple recipes and testing both his culinary and dietary limits, but he won't admit it.

D: A date? With SE? That's just sitting on opposite sides of the couch, with him and his love interest eating their preferred snack (ice cream for him), and maybe watching TV or reading books or just doing their own thing. He's peak parallel play. Just existing in someone else's presence and not feeling tense and guarded... means the world to him.

E: Quality time. SE is someone who's unfairly accustomed to being alone. He has severe abandonment issues and does not trust easily. So if he's willing to spend time with someone, just being in the presence of another while they read or do chores, that's the ultimate sign that he cares.

Vanderwood

B: Vanderwood is the main reason anyone stays alive in the bunker. You can't survive on HBC and PhD Pepper, Saeyoung!! If Saeyoung's MC can't cook, then Vandy has to step up to the plate. They've been keeping the brat alive for this long, after all. They have a leopard print apron and do a lot of meal prep.

D: Oh lord. If you want Vanderwood to ever be vulnerable enough for anything resembling a date, good luck. They try not to get close to people anymore. Even after the agency is dismantled, Vandy still struggles to build connections, if only because he knows how dangerous it is to care about people. He knows how quickly & easily the people they love can be taken away. (That being said, Vandy would be into casual dates. Just going for walks or watching plays. Maybe hit up a museum. Just enough to feel close but also keep his lover at arm's length.)

E: Acts of service, for sure. They clean Saeyoung's place! They make sure he doesn't die on missions! They negotiate with the boss when Saeyoung is procrastinating! They make sure he eats more than chips and soda! Vanderwood will huff and puff about doing chores or looking out for others, but does it anyway. Do they actually mind, or is it a front? Damn tsundere. We see you let out a resigned sigh and a half-smile as you run errands.

[h1myname1sv]

FIC UPDATE: Side by Side 4/14

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: death Fandoms: Star Wars, Clone Wars Relationships: Commander Cody & Obi-Wan, Commander Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: Commander Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi Additional Tags: Whumptober, Whumptober 2023, Whump, Angst, Tragedy, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt Commander Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Commander Cody Needs a Hug, Protective Obi-Wan Kenobi, Protective Commander Cody, Developing Relationship, Bittersweet Ending, POV Alternating, Idiots in Love, War, Not a Fix-It, I love these two so much ahhh, which of course means I'm gonna hurt them Wordcount: 5k Summary:

Glimpses of pain within and pain shared between a general and a commander during a war that never seems to end. (Based on the Whumptober 2023 prompts on tumblr.)

Excerpt:

The Jedi care, all of them do (except for Pong Krell, but technically he became a Sith, so Cody would like not to dwell on him).

They treat them well. They are saddened when the clones show surprise at something that should be normal, like kindness shown to them, or the existence of ice cream, or the idea that they deserve to live past this war. The Jedi, quite literally, fight for the clones, and it works the other way around, too. Their lives and cultures intertwine in intricate ways. There is no better place than in the trenches to get to know one another.

The Jedi care, and they try, and Cody and all of his brothers appreciate them for that.

But the truth is that they don't know shit about leading an army, about being generals. They don't know the military structure or basic battle strategies or the chain of command. They are constantly learning about this world of war they have found themselves in, just as Cody and his brothers are constantly learning about the world outside of war that they hadn't thought was for them before.

Of course, the exception to this (the leading an army part, not the caring part) is General Kenobi.

The 212th all know he's the best general in the entire Republic army and will fight anyone who disagrees, in particular the 501st, though it is more friendly ribbing than anything.

Cody had been deployed with his battalion a bit later than some of his batchmates due to his higher rank (more training and so much more paperwork). He had heard stories of the Jedi generals' cluelessness, their naivety, but also their loyalty and their consideration.

He had been prepared for a general like that.

Instead, he got Obi-Wan.

[showerthoughtsonly]

To Take Care

Crosshair x medic!reader

Synopsis: You’re the medic assigned to the Bad Batch. Crosshair’s love language and courting method seems to be acts of service, something you never seem to be able to reciprocate until one fateful mission. Essentially, three times Cross takes care of you and the one time you take care of him. 

A/N: As stated before, Crosshair just seems to be someone who belongs with a medic. I’ve also begun to see a trend in my writing in which the reader is cold and in need of blankets. Enjoy, hope you have a great week!

Warnings: Medical practices, including blood and scalpels. Plus a bit of swearing, possible bad grammar on account of upcoming midterms

Oh, Maker, was hyperspace cold. You really had not anticipated this when you had offered your services as a formal medical officer. The change in gravity from planet to planet that made your heart feel like it was beating out of your chest and your lungs exploding all at once-expected-, the awful stench of the modified omniclass cruiser that could have only come from a squad full of boys with subpar hygiene- expected-, the lack of proper medical equipment- expected-, but the sheer chill of hyperspace that even the solid walls of the ship couldn’t keep out? Not so expected.

And so, here you were, shivering on one of the racks that doubled as bunks, shivering beneath as many blankets as you could find on the ship with no bright tunnel of warm light in sight. You curled yourself around a pillow, clutching it tightly to your chest. Eyeing your pack, you seriously debated the logistics of stealing a heating pack early right now.

“Oh, you look pathetic.” Crosshair’s voice had you turning on your side to face him, twisting so you could face him, only the slightest bit pissed at his unwelcome observation.

“Hey, Cross? I know you want to engage in some hot banter with your new, attractive nat-born nurse, but inside here”, you tapped your chest, “is not a spicy person. It’s like a scoop of Breyer’s sweet cream vanilla ice cream. So goodnight, good sir.” With that, you turned back over on your side with a huff and tightly shut your eyes, squeezing the pillow tighter.

You could actually feel Crosshair’s exasperated eye roll and hear his, “sounded spicy to me” comment as his footsteps faded from the room. Somehow, miraculously, you managed to fall asleep after that encounter.

If you happened to notice that the extra blanket you found on your blanket pile was from Crosshair’s bunk when you woke up, you didn’t say anything. Though, your heart did beat a little faster when you walked into team breakfast the next morning and saw him sipping at his caf, hair amused from his own sleep.

The hot, humid climate was almost welcoming the first day of the mission. It would have been nice if crawling through vines and dodging blaster bolts all day in full medic gear and a pack hadn’t been on the agenda. Even that would have been bearable if the wildlife hadn’t consisted of bugs the size of a speeder.

You got lucky this time, though. There were little to no complications, you only got shot at once, and now-only a week later- you were back on the Havoc Marauder, making your way back to Kamino. Not even the rampant heat that you had been subjected to over the past week could have made you miss how cold the ship was.

As you were leaving the stratosphere of that horrible planet, you plopped your head down on Tech’s seat’s headrest with a not at all obnoxious for the circumstances sigh.

“Tech? Honey? Does the ship get any warmer than this?” You asked hopefully, cutting right to the chase. A futile attempt, of course, as Tech didn’t even seem to believe that your question warranted him to turn around.

“No, sorry, ad’ika. It doesn’t mess with life support and it’s bearable, so I haven’t yet seen it fit to adjust.” He answered quickly.

“Not affecting life support? Tech, my fingers are legitimately blue.” You said, holding up your hands as proof to Tech. He gently grabbed them and turned them over, clucking his tongue in dissatisfaction at what he saw.

“I seemed to forget that you run a bit colder than us. My apologies. We should have adequate supplies for you to grab a heating pack. I’d suggest tucking them into the backs of your gloves.” He offered before turning back over to the controls.

“You know,” Hunter cut in, “our blacks regulate our body temperature better than those civie clothes you wear.” He was seated to your right, one leg crossed over the other in his seat. As for his advice? Well, that was no help, really.

Your official uniform was either your dress greys or the ridiculous doctor’s scrubs that were too white and too baggy for missions such as this. The choice to wear civie clothing was really nothing but practicality on your part and honestly, you had always been one to bend the rules. It was one of the things that got you stuck with this squad. But, this also meant that the GAR hadn’t seen it fit to gift you a pair of blacks and you hadn’t had the opportunity to really fight them on it either.

“This is true. For the duration of time for which we are suspended in hyperspace, it would be wise for one of us to lend you a pair. At least until you can procure your own that fit on Kamino.” Tech offered.

It took all of thirty seconds for a pair of blacks to nail you in the head after that. The impact didn’t hurt, but the shock of the impact had you jolting forward. You scooped up the blacks and turned around in one fluid motion to see Crosshair zipping up his bag with a very neutral face. Wrecker was chuckling to his other side.

“Cross, I think my blacks may fit her a little better. I’m a bit more her size.” Hunter mumbled. Too cold to really give a damn, you turned around to quickly shuck off your top in favor of the blacks. The boys all politely averted their gaze slightly as you pulled the blacks on and flopped into your normal seat, curling up into a protective ball to conserve heat.

“Well, Hunter, it doesn’t really seem like she cares, does it?” Crosshair snarked back. You were too busy tucking your chilly nose into the oversized material and folding your knees into the inside of the shirt to notice the appreciative once over the sniper gave you, but that didn’t necessarily mean that the other boys missed it.

You did, however, need to pretend that you didn’t see the meaningful look Tech and Hunter shared from the two front seats. Even as Wrecker was chuckling, you pretended to be too indulged in folding your sleeves over your hands to hear him or question their behavior.

The shove that Crosshair gave Wrecker was a bit harder to pretend not to see as he stomped back to the racks, presumably to clean his weapon after that rather humid environment.

For whatever reason, there was a substantial amount of time scheduled for Kamino after that. Perhaps to restock on weapons, perhaps the tides of war just decided to wane for that week and a half. All you knew was that that damn insufferable planet was rainy as all hell and a giant pain in the ass.

The dreary forecast didn’t seem to bother the native inhabitants as it did the humans living there and that reflected in its infrastructure. As per your usual medical duties, you lent a helping hand in the infirmary during your little unofficial leave, which wouldn’t be so bad on it’s own, if the huge gaping, uncovered bridge wasn’t the only way to get there from the barracks.

You had lucked out on previous days, only managing to get sprinkled on as you sprinted with your pack over the bridge. The technology had been nice in lending you a helping hand in predicting the rain so you could adjust your schedule, something that seemed to minutely amuse the Kaminoans and clones alike in the ward.

Today it had been absolutely pouring all day though, and judging by the look of the predicted forecast, it wouldn’t clear up until about tomorrow afternoon. You glanced out the window with a sigh as you tended to your last patient for the day, a nice soldier who went by the name of Mods who had managed to strain an ACL in training.

“I don’t suppose that any of the other nat-born officers have left an umbrella in the med ward that I could borrow?” You asked Mods as you packed up your stuff for the day. He chuckled at your misery and shook his head with a sheepish smile.

“I don’t think so, ma’am. Even if they did, I wouldn’t be surprised if the kaminii disposed of it. I don’t even think they know what an umbrella is.” He answered.

You suppressed yet another exasperated sigh in favor of patting Mod’s shoulder. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t have done much good in that wind out there anyways. Would probably turn the thing inside out.” You said, staring out the window with a dreadful feeling settling on your shoulders. The rain had been tossed against the building so hard that it had filled the infirmary with a steady buzz all day, even over the chatter of the troopers and doctors.

There had been a steady headache building up all day on account of the bright, fluorescent lights of the infirmary and that monotonous sound of rain pounding against the window and you could feel it getting so much worse at just the thought of running out into the storm. 

“Good luck, ma’am. Please don’t get blown over the side of the bridge.” Mods said politely, cuddling up warmly to his stiff pillow, looking rather satisfied at the fact that he didn’t have to move yet, let alone go outside.

“I’m not as light as an umbrella, soldier.” You gruffed, leaning over to give his hair one last good ruffle before making your way over to the exit. Nodding to the supervisor to alert them to your departure, you quickly made your way down the hallway that would take you to that bridge.

With a deep breath to steady yourself at the doors, you pressed the button that would open the doors and broke into a dead sprint.

The rain was so, so much colder than you thought it was going to be and the first gust of wind to hit you nearly knocked you over, despite what you had said to Mods. Little needle-like pricks erupted over your entire body, save for your feet which were protected by some rather hearty boots, and the water almost immediately waterlogged your scrubs. You cursed the stiffness of your joints that came with the chill, not that it was audible over the roar of the waves, wind and rain, and pressed onwards.

Your breath was coming out in frantic panting by the time that you had reached the other end, burning up your throat and chest, and you had to resist the urge to absolutely collapse on the cold concrete floor, in a pathetic sopping wet puddle. Instead, you pressed your forearms into the wall, folding your forehead onto them and squeezing your eyes shut until they readjusted to the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“Come on, you can stand up, civvie.” You audibly groaned at Crosshair’s drawl and slumped further into the wall in response to his words, violently shivering from the air conditioning units above you. Your head throbbed harshly at the sound and your throat felt like you had swallowed fire. 

“Don’t want to. Joints won’t work.” You said after a moment to collect yourself, finally opening your eyes to see water dripping from your hair and scrubs to join the already substantial puddle forming at your feet. With another dramatic, halfhearted noise, you wrung out your scrubs and flopped back against the wall, welling your eyes shut to keep the tears from forming.

“Can’t help you if you don’t push off that wall now, sweets. Come on, I know you can do it.” Crosshair urged from somewhere behind you. For some reason, that made it all the more worse and small tears tracked down your cheeks to join the puddle at your feet. Thinking back to how you would collapse in sobs in your mother’s arms after keeping everything all together all day when you were younger, you admonished yourself internally.

“‘M cold and miserable, Cross. Want to be left alone.” You mumbled, bringing up your collar to scrub at your tears, hoping that you would be wet enough that they wouldn’t even be noticeable.

“You can be alone after you’ve taken a shower and have a change of clothes. You look like a wet tooka right now.” He responded, audibly closer. You could pinpoint the barest hint of concern in his tone. Finally, you slowly pushed off your arms to face him.

The sight of Crosshair, attempting to stand nonchalantly and unconcerned with a rather large, fluffy towel in his arms, almost had you bawling like a baby. Instead, you sniffled weakly and tucked your arms into a tight cross against your chest, shivering.

“There you go. Knew you could do it, good girl.” He wrapped that fluffy towel around your shoulders, pressing a comfortable hand into the small of your back to urge you forward towards the barracks. His words put your face aflame and you tucked your nose yet again, into something that he had handed over to you. The towel was ridiculously fluffy and suspiciously clean-smelling.

“Cross?” You leaned into his side and felt his hand move from the small of your back to your side, clutching you closer and supporting a bit more of your weight. He hummed a noncommittal noise to let you know he was listening, while staring down the few soldiers that happened to be in the hallway passing you. “Thank you.” Your said, attempting to cover the small sniffles that warned of an incoming crying session.

“Don’t mention it. We take care of each other.” He said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Those words broke the dam of tears and your sniffles grew more pronounced as tears tracked down your face openly. Crosshair caught sight of you from the side of his gaze as he steered you into the very off-smelling barracks and frowned starkly.

“Hey now. No tears, it’s alright.” He tried to reassure, quickly closing the door and moving his hand to the top of your head to gently rub nimble fingers through your soaked hair. “We’ll get you into a nice shower and you’ll feel all better.” Crosshair said.

Without even thinking, you folded yourself into his arms, pressing your cheek and nose to his chest, mumbling small “thank you’s” between little gasping sobs. His arms were slow to come down, as if he didn’t quite know he was allowed, but once they wrapped around you, the grip came close to crushing.

After a couple of seconds, he was slowly walking you back to the refresher, grabbing your little shower caddy from beside your set-up cot in the corner on the way. He bustled you into the shower and left, closing the door softly behind himself after setting a soft change of clothes on the counter.

No one was in the barracks when you returned, but your cot had shifted across the room to rest beside his bunk, a nest of pillows and blankets resting carefully arranged atop it. Your holopad was resting on a desk set up near the head of the cot and when you opened it, it opened straight to your favorite film.

Cross walked into the barracks fifteen minutes later with the rest of the boys and set a little boxed up dinner from the mess hall on your lap without a word. He settled into a seat by Tech’s project afterwards and didn’t say a word to you for the rest of the night, opting to let his brothers check over you in concerned, hushed tones and to give you small, concerned looks.

You both ignored the events of that night, moving on and proceeding as normal as possible for the next standard week, save for the shared glances that flipped your stomach upside down. Your chance to thank him came up on the next assignment.

The small campaign to retrieve information in a covert operation had been blown when the boys got a little bit too big for their britches and alerted an entire base as to their position. As standard operating procedure, you had been perched in a tree, far enough from the action - including Crosshair’s sniper nest- that you weren’t in any immediate danger, but close enough that you could communicate and watch them through your scopes.

The minute the mission had gone south, you had dropped from your perch, breaking into yet another dead sprint back to the ship. Luckily enough, you hadn’t encountered any patrols, though you were ready to, with your DC-17 out and finger on the safety. Once you were on the ship, your job was simple; ready it for a quick escape and set up your little medic corner to deal with the injuries that were being reported to you in real time through your comm.

Your heart nearly stopped when Crosshair was reported as hit by Tech and your hands dropped a bottle of bacta when Cross’ grumbly voice reported it as non-life-threatening, followed by a slew of curses. Wrecker gave a boisterous laugh at the profanity and a little quip at Crosshair’s slip up that had you snapping slightly.  

“Ready for us, civvie?” Hunter’s voice echoed in your ear through your little headset. At your affirmation, he ordered you to start up the engines. No less than sixty seconds later, all four men crashed into the ship and Tech had taken your place at the helm. Adrenaline was still pumping in your head as you found Cross near your pack, trying to get off a shoulder pauldron that was still smoking.

“Hey, hey, hey. My job, Cross.” You smacked at his hand and unbuckled the pauldron gently, taking care not to aggravate anything as you worked. Crosshair plopped down, clenching his hands so hard that you worried that you would have to deal with hand wounds after this as the pauldron peeled back, resulting in the smell of burnt skin that was so heady that you could hear Hunter hiss from the front.

The material of his blacks hadn't held up well, the blast had melted some of the material directly into his skin. Carefully, you pinched the material and slid your scalpel through it, taking care so it would not tug. After cutting off a section, you inserted a numbing agent and could visibly view the effects as Crosshair slumped forward and hands unclenched slightly.

“Any other substantial injuries, Sarg?” You called towards the front as you gently worked the cloth out of the wound, occasionally forced to dig with the scalpel. Luckily, the blaster had immediately cauterized the wound with the heat, but every time you tugged something loose, blood began to flow. The gloves on your hands were slowly getting coated and you called Wrecker to grab a wet towel.

“Nothing we can’t take care of ourselves. Just a few bumps and bruises.” Hunter said, already working on removing his own armor. He placed the datastick in front of Tech, who took it without a glance and tucked it away somewhere.

“Good. How you doing, Cross?” You turned your attention to your main patient at the moment. A glance down told you that he hadn’t drawn blood through his gloves, something that you mentally praised him for. His eyes were still fixated on a wall past you and he occasionally let out small hisses through his teeth.

Slowly, his eyes swung over to meet yours and he managed a grimace. “Might feel a bit better if a pretty nurse kissed it better.” He said without his normal snark. You smiled and shook your head, squeezing his non-hit shoulder through the gaps in his armor. Carefully, you pressed gauze down after spreading a thick spray of bacta over the wound and tied it around his shoulder. As you quelled the urge to call Tech over to kiss it better as you knew he used to serve as emergency nurse on the team before you, a better idea sprang forth.

Slowly, you leaned forward, pressing a gentle smooch over the bandages while watching for his reaction from below your lashes. A mildly surprised look replaced the one of pain as he froze. A pretty shade of pink spread across his cheeks and he went back to staring at the wall.

You giggled and stood up, grabbing your blanket from your bunk to wrap around his shoulders softly. He gave you a bewildered look at the gentle movements, but made no move to remove the blanket. His gears were visibly turning and you could feel the rest of the squad’s interested stares bore into your back.

“Thanks.” He finally mumbled.

“We take care of our own.” You answered softly, leaning forward to grace his forehead with a gentle kiss. He grabbed your wrist and gently pulled you down to sit next to him, leaning into your side ever so slightly.

“I’ve never gotten a “get better” kiss!” Wrecker yelled from the front.

“You haven’t gotten shot since I’ve joined.” You answered simply, reveling in the press of Cross’ thigh against your own.

“If you get shot, you better hope it kills you.” Cross mumbled from your side, lifting the blanket to tuck you in as well, spurred on by his brother’s comment. You took that as a sign that he was feeling better and leaned a bit further in, ignoring the smell of blaster ozone and sweaty armor.

Nobody commented on the blanket-sharing, as if it had been the most expected thing in the universe, as Tech pushed the ship into hyperdrive. The longer the bickering continued, the further Crosshair folded into you, until you told both of them off, which had Wrecker pouting in the corner like a scorned child and Crosshair sitting smug with your arm slung protectively around him.

The ship settled in for the flight back, armor was taken off, boys settled in for sleep, and you ended up not moving, settling against some pillows on the rack with Cross sitting pretty and folded on his side to protect the injured arm. He beckoned you closer until he was able to slip an arm around the pillow and settle your nose against the neckline of his blacks.

“Thank you.” He mumbled into your hair, barely audible over the hum of the hyperspace engine.

“We take care of each other.” You mumbled back. His only response was the slightest brush of a kiss, pressed to the side of your temple.

[hamartia-grander]

I think about all the things a person wouldn’t experience living their whole life on tattooine. I don’t know if it exists in Star Wars but I’m going to assume it does... so what would it be like if Din took Cobb offworld and he got to try ice cream for the first time in his life?

There IS ice cream in Star Wars!! According to Wookiepedia, "Ice cream was a type of food which could be made from milk, including the blue milk of banthas" (so, just ice cream;) and "Nectrose Freeze was a type of ice cream flavored with nectrose crystals." Nectrose ice cream is a common delicacy on Batuu in fact.

SO. Firstly I deduce that while Din knows what ice cream is, he hasn't had it since he was a kid with his parents. Cause, I could be wrong, but the Covert doesn't seem like they'd waste resources on getting ice cream unless it was with their own money, and by then Din wouldn't care enough to waste time. 

That aside, Din takes Cobb off world, and they get ice cream, not because Din necessarily wants it, but because he remembers its taste, and when Cobb says he's never tried it, Din decides he'll do whatever he can to get the Marshal some ice cream (because he loves him). 

(disclaimer: we're gonna pretend either they're in private somewhere or this is after Din decides to stop wearing the helmet 25/8 in public cause his helmet is off in this.) 

Cobb would definitely just bite directly into the ice cream (obviously bc he's never had it) and immediately regret it. 

Din would say "Now, it's really cold, so don't-" but Cobb's already bitten into it. He'd recoil in shock and Din would absolutely laugh at him (because he loves him). Cobb would smile, embarrassed, and Din would say "What I was going to say, is that it's very cold, so you cannot just bite into it."

Cobb: Well how else would you eat it? 

Din: You lick it. 

Cobb:... You're kiddin', right? 

Din: No. You lick it. 

Cobb: That's a lie. You just wanna see me lick something. 

Din smiles but shakes his head: No. I mean it. Watch.

Din takes his own ice cream and licks it, and Cobb just stares. Then he tries, and ends up flicking some onto the table. He's got ice cream on his lips and Din wipes it off with a napkin. They smile at each other lovingly and by the time they actually get to eating their ice cream, it's already started to melt. 

As far as ice cream flavours go, Din would get chocolate because, while he likes ice cream, he sees it as just too much of a luxury to try new flavours when he's perfectly fine with chocolate. Cobb however sees this green ice cream with chocolate chips in it and decides he won't try any other. Din doesn't care to try some of Cobb's, but later, when Cobb expresses his gratitude to Din for the trip, Din kisses him. He tastes the mint on Cobb's lips and decides it's his new favourite flavour. 

[greenygreenland]

Birds of a Feather Pt 1: (platonic) Scrooge McDuck & Reader

-i usually do star wars buuuuuut I'm becoming multi-fandom

-the original was deleted

-thanks a LOT technology. Three hours of hard work, down the drain

-comments will really help my mood, so please tell me if you like this

-happy father's day

Important note: You’re cursed with immortality, so you’re forever the age 15

Summary:

Scrooge has been hiding a secret from you for over two decades. You two argue and your relationship becomes rocky.

A week before

(Y/n) was seething in anger. Her chest heaved and her fingers curled into fists so tight that Scrooge worried she’d draw blood. “Twenty--no, thirty something years, Uncle Scrooge. I can’t believe you’ve hid this from me since the day you found me half-dead! How--how dare you?” 

Scrooge couldn’t stand the way (Y/n) was looking at him. Her eyes were ablaze, filled with hatred and sorrow he could not place into words. Seeing (Y/n), the girl who wasn’t so little anymore, look at him like that made his battered heart burst into little pieces. “(Y/n), I didn’t mean to--”

“No, I don’t want to hear it! You told me my family was dead! You said that I was the only one who survived that assassination.” (Y/n) stuffed a pair of trousers into her suitcase and zipped it shut. “You lied to me for decades! Why?” Scrooge’s lips withered into a frown. “I was trying to protect you!”

“’Protect me’?” (Y/n) echoed. She heaved her suitcase onto its quad wheels with a scowl. “Oh yes, because the wee little duckling who knows martial arts needs help despite surviving countless near-death experiences, adventures as your side-kick, and defeating archenemies. Yes, yes, I’m powerless, aren’t I?” Scrooge’s brows knitted together. He knew full-well that (Y/n) could take care of herself. She survived being stuck on an island as well, being swallowed by a gold-hunting dragon, and so many other things that could have ended her life for good. 

But this? It wasn’t that Scrooge thought she was weak. No, no. It was only that he knew she couldn’t handle the truth. The Eider family were an absolute nightmare. Besides the fact that they were abusive, they were greedier than the greediest ducks, and more power-hungry than the worst of kings. They believed themselves to be the best of the best (which in itself was not a lie), but because of their arrogance, their enemies spread father than the deepest oceans.

Funnily enough, that was what got (Y/n)’s parents killed.

She was a smart lass, Scrooge gave her that, but the one thing she could never seem to do was let them go. During the years Scrooge hid the true story from her, she never gave up in researching and looking into what happened to her parents. It was as if that were the only reason she existed. 

And now that she knew the truth, Scrooge worried what she’d do when she actually got back in contact with her family. Although it looked like she forgave them for ruining her life, abusing her, and for being absolute blockheads, it was clear as daylight to him that she held a deep grudge against her family. “You’re not going back to them are you?” he quietly inquired. 

(Y/n)’s glare made him feel as though he were the dust on an old book. “Guess again, Scroogey.” His expression hardened and the air thickened like jam. “Lass, you are not going back there.” (Y/n) made her way to the door, a tight frown on her face. “I don’t have to listen to you, liar.” 

Scrooge’s jaw unhinged. “I’m your guardian!” 

“Only because my parents died.” 

His shoulders tensed and he slammed the door shut. “You listen here and you listen well!” He yanked (Y/n) away from the door. “Me lying will never compare to how terrible your family treated you. You want the truth so bad? Well, your rubbish aunt hired a hit man to assassinate your parents! There! That’s the truth! Are you happy now?” (Y/n) slapped Scrooge’s hand off her shoulder, but he didn’t pay any mind. 

The two had a silent stare-off that may have lasted for an hour if it weren’t for the knock on the door. “(Y/n)?” Scrooge eyed the door as (Y/n) made her way towards it. She cracked it open just enough to peek out at the little girl before her. “Sorry Webby, I can’t play right now. I’m a bit...”

“Busy?”

“Yeah.” (Y/n) offered an apologetic smile, to which Webby frowned and twiddled her thumbs to. “Okay then. I’ll be in my room.” She made her way down the hall. “Alone.” (Y/n) frowned. “I’m sorry Webby, promise I’ll make it up to you in two weeks time. How about we get ice cream?” Webby froze, eyes wide. “You mean it?”

“Promise.” (Y/n) said. Webby smiled. “Okay.” 

Once (Y/n) was sure Webby was gone, she closed the door behind her and turned on Scrooge with a dark glare. “I’m done arguing with you. I’m leaving.” she announced. Scrooge folded his arms across his chest and seized (Y/n) by the collar. “Oh no you don’t!” He reeled her away from the door and kicked her suitcase out of her hands. “You are staying right here.”

“I’m not a kid anymore Uncle Scrooge!”

“You’re fifteen. Still a kid.”

“If you add the years after I was cursed by you--”

“It was an accident!”

“--I’m about thirty-five years old.” (Y/n) finished. Scrooge ruffled her hair with a roll of his eyes and a light-hearted chuckle. “You’ll always be my kid in my eyes. I suggest you reschedule with Webby to tomorrow.” There was a good pause before he added, “You don’t need to see your sad excuse of a family anyway. They’re nothing but trouble.”

Present

“Lauchpad, please try to stay on the road!” exclaimed (Y/n). The large man-child sped through Duckburg as if he were in a NASCAR race. Speed-bumps and pot-holes caused (Y/n) to slam into the door and Scrooge at least fives times in a row, and since he had a long day of meetings, the old man’s patience ran thin. “Eyes on the road McQuack!”

“Sorry Mr. McDee, (N/n).” 

(Y/n) wanted to be nice to Launchpad, but her stomach did flip-flops and her head ached. She should have expected this, because it was always like this, but her being her always held onto the sliver of hope that Launchpad would miraculously learn how to not crash a car. Scrooge took a good look at (Y/n), a short sigh escaping his lips. “Every dent in this car is coming out of your salary!” 

“Absolutely. Hey, hear about that crazy snow storm on the Drake Barrier Reef? I’d hate to fly into that one. You see, I’m a bit of a pilot--”

Without looking up from his newspaper, Scrooge pressed a button on the door. The glass divider slowly rolled up and forced Launchpad to keep his eyes where they should be: on the road. 

(Y/n) lied down on the seat with a sluggish frown. “I’m just gonna...close my eyes.” Either Launchpad forgot how brakes work, or he had zero brain cells left, because he continued charging through the city until he came to the manor’s gates despite Scrooge’s protests. The limo came to a screeching stop. If it weren’t for Scrooge, (Y/n) would have flown into the windscreen. 

“Why aren’t we moving?” demanded Scrooge. (Y/n) harshly swallowed and sat up. The impatient beeping of the limo’s horn didn’t help her spinning head, and neither did Scrooge’s yelling as he hopped out of the car. “Hey!” he shouted. “Jettison that jalopy from my driveway, ya deadbeat!” 

Who was he even talking to?

“Donald Duck.” 

Oh. 

“Uncle Scrooge.”

Oh.

(Y/n) didn’t care to listen to the arguing. All she wanted was a good cup of tea and a bed. 

“Jettison that jalopy from my driveway this instant, ya deadbeat!”

“Oh, here we go again, giving orders like he’s the richest duck in the world!”

“I am the richest duck in the world, now move!”

(Y/n) couldn’t take the arguing anymore. Her head spun, she felt like she’d throw up, and she really craved that cuppa probably waiting for her in the dining room. “Can you both shut up?!” A pair of footsteps made their way towards the open car door. Through the disgustingly bright sunlight, and the splitting headache, (Y/n) made out the angry face of Donald Duck.

“What did you do to her Scrooge?!” he shouted. Scrooge let out a large gasp, a clear sign he was beyond offended. “What did I do to her?! It was Launchpad’s driving!” 

There was some more chatter before three identical children piled in the limo. (Y/n) didn’t care who they were, and it seemed like the feeling with Scrooge was mutual. When the gates opened and they arrived at the front door, Mrs. Beakely scooped (Y/n) in her arms and brought her to her room. “My, my, was it Launchpad’s terrible excuse for driving again?” 

(Y/n) wordlessly nodded as Beakley set her on her bed. She poured a nice warm cup of tea and handed it to the car-sick girl. “I suggest you rest for a little before you get caught up too much excitement again.” Mrs. B. said. 

A little rest, Mrs. B. said. It would be good for you, she said. Only after waking up did (Y/n) realise she had been drugged by the one-and-only housekeeper. It was obvious she knew (Y/n) wouldn’t get a wink of sleep because she had a tendency to lay awake in bed until three in the morning, but in her eyes, that did not justify her actions, especially after all the action she missed out on. 

That morning, she stood in the dining room, PJs on and mouth agape as three identical triplets bombarded her with an arsenal of crazy questions.

"Aren't you Uncle Scrooge's famous sidekick?"

"Isn't your family crazy rich and extremely prestige?"

"How do you still look the same after so many years?"

"Botox?"

"Water from the Fountain of Youth?"

"No, plastic surgery?"

(Y/n) sent Scrooge a silent look for help, to which he shook his head with a warm smile. "Boys, don't be rude." he merrily said. "She's just cursed is all." The blue one's eyes widened, and for a second, (Y/n) thought he had chocked on his scrambled eggs. "You're cursed? How?"

"Uh..."

"Actually, I have a better question, how did you meet Uncle Scrooge?"

(Y/n) swallowed a bite of toast. Her gaze nervously snapped towards the old duck, to which he folded his newspaper shut and said, "Alright, boys. That's enough. I think it's a bit early for all these questions, especially for her. She hates mornings." (Y/n) smiled a little. "Yeah, I do." She returned her focus on the faces of the three kids. Each had large, bright eyes, extremely large smiles, and loud personalities. Which also happened to remind her of...

(Y/n) leaned over to Scrooge's ear and subtly face-palmed. "They're Della's kids, aren't they?"

"You just figured that out now?"

"I was tired, what do you expect?"

Scrooge rolled his eyes. "Besides that, we're going to Atlantis tomorrow." he nonchalantly announced. (Y/n) almost spit out her tea. "Wait, you're serious?"

He nodded, a sparkle (Y/n) hadn't seen in a while shining in his eyes. (Y/n) couldn't help but feel grateful for Scrooge. If he hadn't stopped her from seeking out her family, she'd probably be dead. (Y/n) Eider didn't belong with a bunch of prestigious, scholarly ducks. She was an adventurer, an explorer, who walked through every corner of the Earth.

But most importantly, she was Scrooge McDuck's one and only side-kick.