#sorry this is my first time getting food poisoning bc usually my stomach is a strong iron trap so i am very whiny about this experience

[songofsaraneth]

the main side effect ive had since my food poisoning a week ago is gastroperesis, which is like a short term/temp semi paralysis of the stomach muscles that push food forward into the intestines. and it is SOOOOOOOO annoying. like mentally and in my tastebuds i am so hungry and want to eat 10000 things but in my stomach i eat like a small bowl of applesauce and then. cannot eat anything else for 4-8 hours bc it makes me Uncomfortably Full and if i overdo it i throw up bc my stomach simply won't digest/make room for anything more. but its FINALLY been improving in the last 2 days and i think i can make the freezer pizza i got on sale and have been craving since sunday and eat at least 3 pieces before i want to die again and by god im going to do it

[okaybutlikeimagine]

What if Billy got sick but cause he’s so used to pushing through it he didn’t think it was a big deal

(as of writing this, I, too, am sick!! >w

Ohmydear the poor poor hun!!! Okay you SO know that this child wouldn’t do anything about being sick. Like this kid is gonna be sick as a dog and still get totally set to go to school that day. Just bc he thinks he needs to!!!

Like…. He can’t remember the last time someone helped him through being sick. Sometimes when he was sick back in Cali, Max would bring him the bag of cough drops they kept in the bathroom or pour out the cold medicine when Billy was too dizzy to do it himself. He did the same for her when Neil and Susan were too busy to notice she needed it. When Susan was too busy attending to Neil to coddle Max like a baby.

But Billy never got that. Never really accepted it from the handful of times that Susan timidly offered bc accepting help from her felt poisonous. It always felt poisonous. There was never really a maternal care to be found in her eyes. Any that lingered there was always covered by a very genuine fear that pissed Billy off more than anything. Neil only did enough to make sure Billy didn’t actually die from his cold bc nothing pissed Neil off more than having to lug Billy to the hospital and pay for it.

So when he wakes up congested, he doesn’t do anything about it. He doesn’t tell anyone, he doesn’t say anything, he legit just goes about his day like normal. If he coughs a little roughly every now and then, no one notices (or Billy’s too out of it to see Hop giving him a concerned look).

So Billy keeps going to school, keeps going to work, keeps going to basketball practice, and obviously??? Keeps getting worse.

His voice is getting nasally and he glares at Hop when he mentions it.

He sneezes about 5 times in a row and flicks El in the shoulder when she whimpers and says “gross”.

He starts wearing so many layers to school that Tommy is actually concerned but shuts up as soon as Billy gives him a glare that promises death.

He pukes up his dinner one night and blames it on drinking. He relies on the hope that Hop will be too busy giving him a lecture on not drinking on a school night that he won’t question his sickness.

It’s not until he wakes up and he can’t breathe and his head is throbbing like someone’s put it in a vice and his throat is on fire that he decides now might be a good time to scavenge for something to help him.

So he gets up and wobbles himself over to the bathroom, digging through the medicine cabinet for anything he can possibly take to help himself. He finds some painkillers and children’s cough medicine. He briefly considers downing the bottle of syrup but, even in his sick haze, convinces himself it’s a stupid idea and instead wanders out into the rest of the cabin to grab his keys.

He runs into Hop first.

Like, legitimately walks right into Hop bc he’s walking with his eyes nearly closed bc he can’t keep them open.

“Woah- uh?”

“Hey.” Billy mumbles, but it comes out as more of a grunt. He goes to move around Hop but he just kinda rocks over bc his feet decide they don’t wanna move anymore.

Hop grabs onto Billy’s shoulders to stabilize him.

“Woah there, kid. You look like shit.”

Billy grumbles.

“And you’re Miss America?” Billy slurs, finally taking a step around Hop and making his way towards the door.

Hop turns enough to get a hold of the boy again, who’s now growling or… moaning? It sounds more like a ghost moaning in agony.

Hop’s not okay with this.

“Seriously, are you alright?”

“M’fine….” Billy groans out, weakly shaking his wrist to get Hop off of him.

Hop briefly considers letting go bc he feels bad, but he gets his other hand on Billy’s forehead and flips out.

“Holy shi- you’re burning.” He says, grabbing a harder hold of Billy’s wrist and pulling him gently towards his bed.

“Stooop…” Billy groans again, tripping over his feet as he’s pulled.

Hop flops him down onto the bed, Billy’s body hitting it hard bc he can’t hold himself up right anymore. He immediately curls up, head throbbing harshly from the pain of standing for so long.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Hop asks, walking over to the kitchen.

Billy groans in response.

“You sounded a little nasally the other day.” Hop adds.

Billy growls as menacingly as he can when there’s so much phlegm in his throat. It doesn’t really work.

“And you couldn’t keep your food down the other night. Wow, am i an idiot?” Hop says that last part under his breath to himself, amazed that he let this boy just walk around sick as a dog bc he kept pushing Hop away.

He walks back over with a wet towel and a glass of water.

“What’re you playing at, kid? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Billy swats at the wet towel being lowered towards his face. It’s incredibly weak and misses in the air.

“What’s there t’tell?” Billy asks, rocking his head back and forth to avoid the towel. His stomach starts to contract, Hop notices. He worries for a second it’s bc the boy is gonna throw up again, but in a few seconds Billy’s attempting to push himself up and out of bed.

Hop puts a hand on Billy’s chest and gently pushes him back down.

“You’re sick as a damn dog.”

“Mahhh… and? I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Billy says, nose clearly stuffed up. He sounds like his lung is attempting to climb up his throat as he coughs.

Hop takes a deep breath of exasperation.

“Son, please. Lay down. I’m calling in to school.”

“But I have to… I have to… Max.”

Billy still drives Max to school everyday. Hop nods and waves his hand in the air in an act of dismissal.

“Right. Yeah, I’ll drive Max to school, you stay here and rest. I’ll be back”

“Mmm… work…?” Billy asks.

“I’ll let them know I can’t come in.”

“I’m fine.”

“Look, I’d leave you here but I’m worried you’re gonna try to go to school or work or something so for now I’m staying. Now shut up, I’m gonna make El make sure you don’t get up and I’m getting soup and medicine and… yeah. Maybe a thermometer.”

So Hop goes to Melvald’s, obviously. Bc he needs to buy medicine and stuff but he also needs to ask Joyce about what the fuck to do with a sick 17 yr old.

“Oh no, Billy’s sick?”

“Yup.” Hop says as he eyes up all of the different types of medicine. “What do you do when Jonathan gets sick?”

“Well I usually have to force him to stay home. My boys hate being home sick.”

Hop sighs bc he understands now. He picks up two different types of cough syrup and straightens out so he can analyze both.

Joyce walks up to him then, grabbing hold of both medicines gently and putting them down before picking up a completely different one and placing it in Hop’s hand.

“Jonathan and Will said this one isn’t as gross as the rest.” Joyce says, giving Hop a soft smile before walking through the store and picking out the best and most affordable brands of different things: tissues, a thermometer, cough drops. She also writes down a list of some good foods to feed him along with apple juice and some ginger ale. (“It’ll settle his stomach.”)

Hop follows behind her quietly, observing her choices and paying at the end. She sends him off with a pat on the back and the most motherly smile, telling him to “let me know if he needs anything else! And tell him I hope he gets well!”

So Hop walks back into the house, bags of medicines and such in his hands, where he sees El sitting on the couch tipping her head to the side every couple of seconds.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“Making Billy stay still.” El says with another tilt of her head. Billy, who’s currently trying to get up, falls back down again (seemingly not of his own volition)

El looks at Hop with a lopsided smile. “A little bit. Trying to.”

Hop ruffles her hair and puts the bags on the counter.

“I’m fine.” Billy says like hes still trying to convince Hop. Like Hop didn’t just leave and come back with bags full of stuff just to help him get better.

Hop just rolls his eyes and takes out the medicine, making a little more than a half hearted attempt to read the label because honestly, he hasn’t bought cold medicine in ages. He used to abuse pills, but that’s very different.

He pours the right amount of syrup according to the chair and hands it over to Billy, who sits up and scrunches his nose at the liquid.

“I don’t need it.”

“God, you’re stubborn as a bull. Just drink the damn medicine.”

El looks curiously, eyeing the colorful liquid as Billy downs it like a shot. Billy makes a face afterwards, sticking his tongue out in a disgusted gesture that looks involuntary.

“Joyce said her boys think it’s less gross than the rest.” Hop says by way of apology, giving a pitying look to Billy as he takes the tiny cup back.

“Haven’t had that stuff in years.” Billy says, giving his head a little shake and curling back down into the bed.

El asks if she can have some and Hop just shakes his head no as he takes the thermometer out and asks El to put it under Billy’s tongue and read the number out loud as he goes to put some soup on the stove.

“One zero five.” El calls out, looking to Hop to figure out how to react to that.

“Holy shit, kid!”

El turns to Billy with a gasp.

“Holy shit, kid!” She mimics, which makes Billy chuckle (and then groan again with the pain of the movement) and makes Hop sputter before saying “Don’t say that again, sorry, shouldn’t have said that.”

So Hop, who was planning on going to work that night, stays and watches Billy. Like he’s a fucking baby who caught the flu. Billy’s understandably livid about his lack of freedom and the intense level of coddling.

“I don’t have like… fucking scarlet fever. I’m fine.” Billy says over a cough while Hop wraps him up in even more blankets. He’s tucking them underneath him like he’s a burrito.

“Shut it, kid. Do you want some more soup?”

“I’ve probably had 5 bowls at this point. No. I don’t want any more soup.”

And Billy groans and growls and whines and complains and Hop and El dote on him like he’s a baby and he wants to hate it, he does. He kind of does hate it, actually, but there’s not a lot of fire in his body over it right now bc 1. He’s weak from being so sick. And 2. It’s sweet. It’s really, really sweet. It’s annoying as all hell, but it’s sweet too so he’s gonna sit here and let it happen.

It’s not until the next day of soup and medicine and tissues and coughing and ginger ale that there’s a knock on the door.

“Hey, is Billy home?” comes the voice that Billy immediately recognizes as Steve.

“Uh-”

“Babe! Help!” Billy croaks from his bed, moving to get up but being pushed down by El’s powers. “They’re holding me hostage!”

It’s then that Steve rounds the corner to find Billy in bed, sweating and covered in blankets.

“Tell them I’m fine-”

“Oh my god, Billy! Are you alright? Why didn’t you tell me you were sick, I could have picked up something for you!”

“Hop bought the whole damn pharmacy yesterday.” Billy says, still congested and indicating the cough drops and medicine next to him on the table. “I-”

“Do you need some soup? How bout some water? Do you have a fever?” Steve places his hand on Billy’s forehead, then his cheek, then his neck, then into the collar of his shirt to his chest. “You’re burning up! What do you need? How are you feeling?”

And Billy, at this point… is blushing up a storm. Like…….. he’s been flushed the last few days from his sickness but suddenly he’s red as a tomato as this beautiful boy leans over him and dotes on him and-

“I’m dying.”

Hop scoffs loudly.

“Poor baby!” Steve gushes, rushing over to the kitchen in a flurry to grab some water and a towel. Billy grunts a little at being called a baby but it’s okay bc he gets to watch his boyfriend flutter around and care for him. “Here, put this on your head. My mom used to do this for me. Have you taken medicine today? Do you need more? How’s your throat doing? Do you want some tea?”

And with that, Billy snuggles into his blankets with a pitiful (and fake) look on his face, Steve coos in concern, and Hop grabs his hat.

“I’m heading down to the station. I think you can be off Billy duty for a while, kiddo.” Hop says to El before motioning to the TV. “Go ahead and watch some TV or something.”

El giggles and nods, sending Hop a wave before flopping down onto the couch to catch some cartoon reruns while Steve kisses Billy’s forehead with another coo.

[cleverbroadwayurl]

Quiet Destruction (Christine Canigula x Reader)

Word Count: 3790

A/N: OH MY GOD FINALLY I’M POSTING SOMETHING. I’m so sorry this took so long and it probably isn’t great bc I’m a little out of my writing groove. Work and writing is tough for me bc I put all of my social time into it, which, bc I’m an introvert, makes me exhausted. But! I promise more and better stuff is coming!! You guys want Part 17??? You’re gonna get it. 

Trigger Warnings: Self depreciation, people being snappy, mentions of math,,,, I think that’s it??? LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING OKAY YOU GUYS SHOULD KNOW WHAT’S IN IT BEFORE YOU READ. 

The house lights in the auditorium barely kissed Christine’s face as she worked harder and harder on the script that had been given to her when she got the part in the play that Mr. Reyes had picked for that year. The red padded seats around her allowed her body to sink into a specific one; one that was seated exactly next to you as you worked on some packet for some class. With another breath, Christine scanned the lines, marking notes in the white pages, noting the moment before, the way she was supposed to say the line, the way that she was supposed to contort her face to appear upset in the situation. The line was to be delivered as a line of betrayal, a line of doubt, a line so full of passion and a scathing murder by the end of it. Not literally, of course. That would be intense, even compared with the previous year’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. But the line was written by someone who clearly didn’t say it out loud, or had any clue as to what real people sounded like when having a conversation with one another. It was choppy, wrong, came out almost like food poisoning from gas station sushi: a jagged pain in the stomach, and just completely ruining the air with vomit mere seconds later.

Christine decides she should diagram it again, her pencil marking a large slash in the line, previous pencil marks almost barely erased, lines that used to be so dark just wasted on a lackluster moment. She could feel her flatness against her scene partner—she hated that. But maybe this, this simple cut, this new way of thinking, this precise train of thought would change everything. Maybe Mr. Reyes would finally have his faith in her restored. Maybe this was the correct way, and would roll of her tongue so naturally she could practically see the scene as if she were the character, not Christine putting on a mask and waiting for it to morph to her face.

Christine says the line out loud into the empty theatre, the echo ricocheting back to her. It isn’t right. She didn’t need to hear the echo to know that, but with the sound waves returning to her burned her flesh almost like acid rain would. With a grunt, she erased the dark line she’d just drawn to cut the line into something more magical than it was. But all she got in return was the sorry lonesome aura of defeat tumbling around her. It was now she silently thanked herself for using pencil instead of the ever permanent pen. Another scratch, another attempt, another failure, another eraser mark.

But she tries it again, deciding to take a breath in an old place and use different vocal inflection. Christine cringes as the last syllable exits her mouth, the echo almost as unbearable as last time, the cushy red seats doing nothing to muffle the noise as it attacks once again. She swears the lights flicker in disappointment, almost sending her into complete darkness, complete failure. An exhale escapes her as she rolls her head back, her feet remaining on the seat in front of her, pressed against the back in anguish while her backpack is sitting innocently underneath, unaware of the violation Christine was about to commit.

Her hands dive into her backpack, pulling out a one sided worksheet she’d already gotten back, participation points given in full, and scribbling with her now dull-pencil. While she hated diagraming sentences, it was the only way—it had to be the only way, to make this line sound correct, sound like magic, and make everything in the world make sense, even if the world she was acting in was imaginary. The dim lights around her forced her eyes to look closely at every mark that was made, the yellow glow not relaxing her even in the slightest as she attempted to diagram the sentences. The line perfectly divided the sentence, seemingly making it flow better than Christine had ever attempted before. But if wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be enough.

So she diagramed it several different ways—as many as she could think of while her brain moved ever-faster than her fingers. The most she could get down were three, each diagram different from the last, before her brain finally gave out and couldn’t produce any more variations of the awkwardly written syntax. But hopefully, the answer would be written and displayed in front of her. It had to be. There had to be something so magical that she would be able to feel it in her heart, like she was actually the character and her scene partner was actually their character. The answer had to be in front of her. She was out of options and out of time. While the three diagrams stared her down, full of opportunity and options, she hoped and prayed that the first diagram would open the door to success and newfound ways of ringing out the line of passionate distaste into the audience and her scene partner. It wasn’t wishful thinking, Christine just saw that one diagram and had decided to make it her best ever. It flowed in her mind easily, lazily creating a pattern of beauty like watercolor across a canvas, the motion working with her rather than against her.

Christine attempts the line out loud, giving it her all—only to find the world she’d created in her mind to turn grey and fall apart right in front of her. The golden frame she’d put the painting into burned in an instant, causing a surge of anger to course through her veins and forcing her hand to cross out that diagram repeatedly, until the ‘x’ couldn’t be erased even by the best erasers in all of mankind. She knew that Mr. Reyes was going to be on her again, frustration infiltrating her brain, causing the usually calming theatre around her to turn red as she stared at the now ruined work she’d just done.

A few breaths, and Christine decides it’s time to focus on the second option. The first one is done—it doesn’t matter anymore. Wipe the slate away and attempt it again. Inhale. See the scene, smell the smells, and let the words flow through her veins organically like some kind of Disney movie song. She was ready, she was working, she had everything set. The colors were there, a lovely blue and white checked tablecloth with yellow daisies on the table—just like Mr. Reyes had talked about for the set. She could see her scene partner there, the face so clear in her mind that this felt like it could be it. Another inhale. She was ready. The words flowed from her, but almost like sappy sticky unsavory bubblegum. It plagued the scene, completely deteriorating everything around her. It was a source of dark matter and Christine could already tell just how flat and fake she sounded.

A grunt comes from her before she decides to scribble that one out as well. This time, it’s more of a panic, hands slightly shaking as she does so. Because that was 2 out of 3. This last one better be it. If not, Christine is going to be in deep shit. Mr. Reyes might even take her role and just give it to the understudy if she couldn’t get this line just right. But this third one might be her saving grace. It might be her life preserver, it could be the one note she’s missing in the chord that feels like home. So, Christine makes a choice to give it a whirl, the best whirl she can muster, trying to still see her surroundings as the character, attempting to have something at least a little better to work off of this time. She sits up, inhales, and in an instant—

“Christine, can you not?”

The words almost cut her as she exhales. For a few minutes there, Christine had forgotten you had been there. You—her partner in crime for a few months now. She’d gotten close to you a while ago, and later struck up something like a romantic relationship with you. It wasn’t like you two weren’t explicit about what the relationship was, Christine just liked the theatrics in telling people that you two were somewhat definitely an item. She can still remember the looks on the faces of her friends as she flaunted the fact that yes, you two were essentially dating and that you were definitely off limits to everyone else, especially those that could hear her project her voice across the room. Of course, there had been the worry of how Jeremy would react, but when everything was said and done, there was nothing to worry about; they were friends, they had remained friends, and they would probably always be friends. At a previous time, he had been good to her, consistently being a good partner and actively keeping the relationship going. But the romantic aspects of it were almost too much for Jeremy, worried he was going to make a mistake, nightmares, and so much more that this newer situation—good friends—worked better for both of them.

Christine got a little worried—you could’ve asked that about anything. She assumed it was her shifting around with each failed attempt, but she wasn’t sure. You’d been quietly doing homework beside her, pencil only adding to the white noise of the theatre. Or maybe it was the fidgeting she had been known to do. While it was often encouraged in rehearsal and in the theatre because it encouraged physical decision making, around you doing homework it probably wasn’t ideal to say the least. But fidgeting made things easier, it helped her remain somewhat calm at all times of the day, it made her head clear and her heart flow freely. You knew that. You’d even gotten her a fidget cube the last holiday season. She’d left it in her locker by accident, maybe this was a sign to go and get it—an attempt to sneak into the rest of the school might clear her mind and help with this line as frustrating as it was. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the fidgeting or shifting or whatever else was running through her brain a million miles a minute. It could be anything.

“What do you mean?” She asked, looking at you sharply, knowing that she wasn’t angry, just curious as to why you were acting this way.

“You just keep repeating that line. Can you just…I don’t know, give it a rest? Just for the rest of tonight?”

Christine could feel herself deflate, everything going from moving fast and positively to nothing. Silence surrounded her; fidgeting stopped. Out of everyone in her life, she assumed that you would understand the need to get this line right. Mr. Reyes had been getting upset with her more and more in the past few rehearsals because it’s a tough line, and he assumed she’d be able to handle it. And she’d confided in you about that a few weeks ago. You’d comforted her, and assured that she wouldn’t lose her role, no matter how annoyed Mr. Reyes got with her. Now, that seemed like false hope, and those words were just ones said were half truths. You didn’t know the future, and with you telling her to shut up, Christine was worried about it so much more than before. While you’d admitted that the line was nearly impossible to get right, here you were turning your back on her, when she wasn’t even doing something that intense like she sometimes did. The shifting, the fidgeting, the everything, she could understand, but you knew how much this meant to her. Why the change of heart? While the words didn’t create a deep cut, she could understand that the same thing over and over again could be annoying, especially to you, who is trying to do homework as she attempts this one thing over and over again. So, she decided to take your request, and apologize for bothering you when you obviously were so deep into homework. She’d apologize for forgetting your needs and putting her own above yours. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, Christine, that was my fault. I’m sorry, I just need to do well on this exam and I have zero confidence on any of the answers to the open ended questions.”

“What class?” She asks, more chipper than before, now understanding your social cues. You weren’t upset with her practicing, you were upset about the problem at hand. Christine laced her arms around yours, giving your arm a hug while she rested her head onto your shoulder as she brought her legs up onto the red velvet chair she’d been sitting in for what must have been hours now. She sat almost kin to criss crossed, her feet slanted towards her left on the velvet chair. Her fingers quietly drummed against your bicep, knowing that these moments of touch, these moments of softness, helped you calm down when things got tough, when the world felt like it was against you and you alone. You’d mentioned it briefly once at 3 AM some random night a few months back, when both of you were more than a little tired. Christine wasn’t sure why that specific moment, fairy lights being the only thing that was lighting up your figure, was the one that stuck out and the one that she remembered the most clearly, but the image was clear. And after that, there was lots of blushing and new contact, but Christine liked contact, just like you did. She was just more forward about it—initiation came easily to her. Her eyes scanned over your work as she felt your body exhale.

“Math.” Now Christine wasn’t the best at math, probably far from it, but she at least could understand concepts well enough to get pretty good grades on exams. And she always remembered things the teacher said that most students couldn’t—she knew what she was doing until she didn’t. She skimmed over your hard writing, searching for basic mistakes: the things she could actually help with. Her eyes landed on one, and her body lit up, energy suddenly surging through her.

“I see why you’re getting fractions,” she giggled.

“Why?”

“Because you multiplied by the constant 13 rather than the slope, silly.”

You threw your head back, and Christine could feel the groan erupt from you, the vibration so violent she was sure it would cause her head that was resting to shake. With another eruption, a loud FUCK escaped, causing Christine to try and suppress her giggles. She moved her hand and joined it with yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as you began to erase the incorrect work you’d done. She doesn’t look up—she doesn’t have to, knowing that the contact with you was enough to help you calm down a little more than you would’ve if you were by yourself. Because that’s what partners do, right? Help comfort the ones they love. “If it makes you feel any better,” Christine began, “everything else was right. You have nothing to worry about, I don’t think. I mean, I could have Jeremy take a look at it, he’s a really good teacher who often tutors me on similar stuff.”

Another sigh left you, this time without the vocal violation, but Christine could still feel your frustration and movement through her body. She kissed your clothed shoulder before smiling into it, knowing how much you adore simple and easy contact. It was easy to love, easy to do, and easy to ignite something more from it. But right now, in the quiet theatre and surrounded by more yellow light, it was enough to just have her there, and have her give soft touches and kisses anywhere she felt the need to place them. There was another second before she got up and began to pack up her extra papers into a random folder in her bag before refocusing back onto you.

She couldn’t help but commit everything about you to memory: the way that the light made your eyes glow even though you weren’t in a good mood, the way your hair seemed to glisten, your hands scribbling notes and your face almost scrunched in concentration. While to you, it was painful and upsetting, to Christine, it was the world, the little moments, and something that was worth documenting. It was in this moment that she realized you were still going, despite being angry with yourself. She always preached about self-care; now was the time to monitor it in you. “Hey,” she smiled as she sighed out the word, “don’t worry about trying it again right now, you’re already upset. You’ll make more mistakes.”

“Christine, I need to get this done.”

She pouted for a second before an idea—something that would pull you away no matter what, emerged. “We should go, it’s late, and I think they’ll want us out of here. I like being rebellious onstage, but I’m already in jeopardy of losing this part,” Christine joked, a small giggle leaving her as she wiggled a little bit, knowing that this plan was perfect, it was the way to get you to be your usual self again.

“Christine.”

Now was the time to implement the idea, the plan that would help you relax into her arms, which she so desperately wanted, especially after the frustration that radiated off of you had hit her. Your eyes hadn’t moved from the problem, but that didn’t matter or make a difference in this plan. “You remember how we first started talking?” Christine smiled wider, so wide her cheeks hurt but she didn’t want to stop this feeling. As good as an actress she was, Christine was never a good liar or secret keeper, unless it was something bad. Every trip or surprise was somewhat ruined because she just couldn’t keep it in.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“I was debating with that one guy about how women have a right to their bodies and was running out of evidence until you” she shook the arm that wasn’t writing before kissing your cheek, “swooped in and saved the day!”

Now it was your turn to not be able to hide the smile on your face as Christine looked at you with wide eyes. Her plan had worked—you were already starting to crack under her positivity and smiles. Your pencil was doing less work as Christine continued smugly, knowing that she was wearing you down. “And then we obliterated him about gay rights and gun control.”

A small giggle came from you now, the pencil ceasing all movement as you threw your head back. Christine joined in the giggle, knowing how badly both of you needed this moment of softness, moment of pure angelic laughter ringing through the rafters of the theatre. Although everything had seemed dim before, the entire room was lit up in golden light as the two of you smiled at each other, echoes still ricocheting off of the walls and ceiling. You finally made eye contact; your eyes shined, the world became faded, your smile was so genuine, almost perfect in the darker lighting. This look was different to Christine because suddenly, in an instant, everything made sense. The world, the math, hell that one line she’d been tirelessly working on made sense. You radiated positivity and light in that moment, and Christine wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

“See?” She swallowed hard. “You’re smart. You know what you’re doing. You hold your place beautifully—onstage and at school. I have faith that you’ll do great on this test.” There was another beat of her looking into your eyes, deciding that this was another moment to document into her long-term memory. She was completely infatuated by the muted color, the widened pupil, and everything about them. You tore your eyes away, but Christine couldn’t seem to do the same. She watched with curiosity as you moved through space. While usually, everything wasn’t full of grace, you seemed to be oozing it as you put your papers away, smiling to yourself as you softly set things back into the cloth bag. Christine could feel her face become rosy, probably noticeable to you, even when you weren’t looking directly at her. But it didn’t matter, no matter how embarrassing it might be for Christine. You deserved to know that she still got butterflies around you and still felt the same, even after hardships and a few months of dating. From doubts that stemmed from her and Jeremy’s relationship to your own insecurities, she still felt the same and couldn’t change that if she tried—if the entire world tried to tear you two apart.

“Chris?”

“What?” she jumped in surprise at your sudden call out.

“I said, maybe this problem can wait until later. Do you want to come over to my house? My parents just went shopping, we have food, movies, and fuzzy blankets.”

Christine blinks a few times, processing the information that was just given to her. You were proposing a self care night after the painful ideas and thoughts that surrounded you two in this moment. You had decided to push everything, the entire world, away for a few hours. Plus, free food and movies. The mention of fuzzy blankets was enough to get Christine fidgeting more than she had that entire night out of excitement. “What are we still doing here? Let’s go!” she exclaims, throwing her hands above her head as the word “go” left her. There isn’t even a second before Christine stands up, throws her backpack over her shoulder and grabs your hand, ready to exit the theatre and the situations that you two had been thrust into just in the past few hours. With a twirl to look behind herself, a look of pure love is shared between you two, each of you falling harder and faster with every passing second. After a bit, Christine runs, leading you by the hand out of the row, out of the theatre, and to your mom’s car that she let you borrow to go to school and so that you and Christine could study in the theatre after classes. You catch up to her in the parking lot, still running towards the car, running and giggling the entire way. The only lights leading the path are street lights, and of course, the sweet light that was the enjoyment of each other’s company.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Tony & Bucky were in the beginning part of their real first date when the Avengers alarm goes off setting off a chain of bad luck that ensues. Tony ends up with an injured leg, their homemade dinner ends up both undercooked and burnt to a crisp. Tony gets food posioning, Dum-E blasts them with the fire extinguisher & Steve wont stop intruding on their date. As far as first dates go not good but they just want each other & cuddling can be a good fall back bc Tony gives the best cuddles.

“What?Do I have something on my face?” Tony brushed frantically at hisgoatee.

“Nah,”said Bucky, flushing a little. “I just can’t believe we’reactually doing this.”

“Wehave been dancing around it for a while, haven’t we?” That wasprobably an understatement; it had taken them over a year of piningand the intervention of Sam, Natasha, Bruce, and a small herd ofgoats to get them to admit their mutual attraction and finally make adate.

Coffeewas probably softballing it a little bit, but it had been a rockypath just to get them to the point of friendship; it was probablybest to take things slow and easy. And the coffee shop in the lobbyof Stark Tower was convenient, had a carefully-vetted staff that knewbetter than to get all fannish, and had really good coffee to boot.

Tonycollected his foam-topped mug and carried it back to the quiet littlenook they’d staked out. “So,” he said, and his phone beganbuzzing and emitting a distressed-sounding series of beeps that hadbeen carefully selected because it could cut through even Tony’sbest engineering haze. “Damn it!” He pulled it out and flipped upthe holoscreen, which immediately expanded into a situation map.

Bucky’seyes rounded and he scrambled for his own phone. “Ah, hell,” hegrumbled, scrolling through the sitrip. “Guess we’ll have to takea rain check and go be heroes.”

“Lookslike it,” Tony agreed grudgingly. Still, he let Bucky take his handto help him back up out of the chair, and they shared a weak smile ofmutual sympathy and frustration before parting ways, Bucky demandingdetails on the terrain and Tony barking orders for JARVIS.

[mobile readers, ‘ware the readmore!]

Doombotshit hard, but they weren’t exactly an alien invasion, so the wholefight was wrapped up just in time for dinner. Tony shot ahead of thequinjet on the way home instead of pacing it like he usually did, andstopped off at a market for supplies. By the time the ‘jet landed,Tony was in the workshop unpacking his purchases.

“J,ask Bucky if he’d like to join me down here for a quiet dinnerafter he’s had a chance to clean up.”

“Ofcourse, sir. And might I suggest that you clean up, also?”

“What?”Tony looked down at himself; he was still half-in the suit, andspattered with hydraulic fluid from where one of the Doombots hadgotten in a lucky shot. “Yeah, that’s a good call. Thanks, J.”He rushed through the rest of his preparations and shoved the dishesinto the oven to keep warm, then scurried off to the workshop shower.

Bythe time he’d finished and gotten dressed, Bucky was already in theworkshop, though he wasn’t alone. He was leaning on a table,arguing with Steve about whether the hit he’d taken to the head during thefight merited medical attention.

“–ifit were anyone else, Buck, they’d be laid out!”

“Butit ain’t anyone else, Steve, it’s just me,” Bucky sighed. Hebrightened considerably when Tony came around the corner. “Tony,hey!”

“Hithere,” Tony returned, feeling weirdly shy. “Steve, relax, I’vegot this. I’ll keep an eye on him to make sure he’s notconcussed, okay?”

Stevehemmed and hawed, but finally agreed. “Oh, and the suit took somedamage, too,” he added. “A rip between the third and fourthlateral plates. Can you fix that, or…?”

“Yeah,sure,” Tony said. “Bring it down whenever.”

Stevefinally left, and Bucky leaned against the counter of the littlekitchenette that Tony mostly used for storing smoothie ingredientsand protein bars. “Smells good,” he said.

“Yeah?It’s been a while since I’ve made my mom’s lasagne,” Tonyadmitted. “But it’s good, you’ll like it.” He was justreaching for the plates when the smoke alarm went off.BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP–“Oh,shit, shit, shit–” He grabbed for the oven mitts and pulled thepan from the oven. The cheese on the top was burnt black. “Shit!”

DUM-Erolled over, fire extinguisher at the ready, and Tony stopped himwith a sternly pointed finger. “Back off, you bucket of bolts, orI’m turning you into a coffee machine.” He looked back at hisruined creation. He’d set the oven too hot, he thought, trying tocook it faster.

“Hey,it’s okay, it happens,” Bucky said, soothing. “Come on, I betif we scrape that off, the rest will be great.”

“Whatthe hell kind of lasagne doesn’t have cheese on the top?” Tonycomplained. But he didn’t have any other options, so he peeled offthe burnt cheese and cut slices for them both.

Itwasn’t too bad, if a touch al dente… Okay, more than a touch.Okay, the pasta hadn’t baked nearly long enough to soften thenoodles, and they were still crunchy. It was slightly hilarious towatch Bucky trying to pretend he liked it, but Tony stopped him afterthe third bite. “No, stop, that’s just… It’s terrible, okay?I know it’s terrible, you don’t have to fake it. Just… Stop.”He dropped his head into his hands.”

“Relax,Tony,” Bucky said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Shit happens.I really appreciate that you went to the effort–”

“SoI checked with the others,” Steve said, coming into the workshopwith an armful of uniforms, “and some of them need repairs, too,and I thought I’d just–”

“Stevie,”Bucky gritted.

“What?”Steve’s eyes were round and bewildered.

Buckypinched at the bridge of his nose. “Pal, I ain’t got a spare datefor you this time. You need to get going.”

“Spare…This is a date?”How about that: Captain America squeaked when he was startled andembarrassed. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize! I’lljust… go. Then.”

“Bye now,”Bucky said pointedly.

Theywatched as Steve hurriedly left the damaged uniforms on the nearestflat surface and scurried for the door. Bucky huffed as the doorclosed behind him. “Punk. Now, as I was sayin’…”

“Holdthat thought,” Tony said, suddenly queasy. He bolted for thebathroom and emptied his guts. “JARVIS,” he croaked. “Is itsome kind of poison? What’s going on? Did one of the ‘bots get meafter all?”

“Youseem to be suffering a mild case of food poisoning, sir,” JARVISsaid. “It should pass momentarily.”

“Whatdoes momen–” Tony had to stop and dry heave for a while. “Oh,god, someone kill me now.”

Awarm hand brushed through his hair, and when he looked up, Bucky wasthere, offering him a glass of water. “Here. Better’n havingnothing in your stomach, trust me.”

“Thisis not how I was hoping this would go,” Tony said. He took atentative sip of the water.

“Believeit or not, still not my worst first date ever,” Bucky said. He toldTony that story while Tony nursed the water, and that was okay –Bucky told it wonderfully, with great expression and just the perfectamount of exaggeration, and after a while, Tony was laughing, andBucky was smiling back, and–

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!

“Oh,shit, dessert!”Tonyscrambled up from the floor and made it to the oven just in time forDUM-E to empty the fire extinguisher all over him.

Tonywiped the foam from his face and glared at the robot. DUM-E had thesense to guiltily back away and return to the charging station. Tonyturned off the oven. He propped his elbows on the counter and droppedhis head into his hands. “Is it the worst now?”he muttered.

“Nah.I’ve got one more idea, okay?”

“Can’tpossibly be any worse than the rest of it,” Tony sighed.

“Yougo get cleaned up again,” Bucky suggested, “and then come an’meet me in the living room.”

“Theliving room? It’s movie night,” Tony protested. “Everyone willbe there.”

“Trustme,” Bucky said.

“Well,if you’re going to put it like that.”

Buckypatted his back, and left. Tony didn’t move from his dejected poseuntil he’d heard the door close behind him.

Everyonewas in the living room, as predicted. They were watching ThePrincess Bride,however, which wasn’t what was on the schedule.

AndBucky had somehow managed to wrest Natasha and Clint out of theloveseat, and was already holding a big bowl of popcorn. He tuggedTony down next to him, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders,fitting their sides together like pieces of a puzzle. “There,” hesaid warmly, balancing the bowl on their legs. “Don’t need to beall fancy. Just wanna be close to you.”

Ittook a little while for Tony to really relax into it, to begin tobelieve that no further interruptions were imminent. But finally,just as the grandfather was reassuring the grandson that Buttercupwas not going to be eaten by the shrieking eels, Tony snuggled downinto the cushions and let himself lean into Bucky’s side, lettingout a slow breath.

Buckynuzzled at Tony’s temple. “Still think this is the worst firstdate ever?” he murmured.

“Maybenot the worst,”Tony admitted, suppressing a sappy smile.

~ @27dragons