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potechiis · 1 month

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homesick

one of my dearest friends drew this fanart from my fic 'Homesick' for my birthday, and im STILL geeking out over it!!

it was an unexpected collab where they did the lineart and I did the colouring ;w;

LOOK AT HOW CUTE YOUNG RICK LOOKS HERE!! HOLDING HIS BAG OF CHIPS!! Prime was such a tsundere in this fic and THEY TOTALLY GOT THE VIBES!!!! i am still SHRIEKING over this ;w;

As the fic is not currently available on ao3, if you're interested in reading the fic, check below the cut ;w; <3

“Dammit!” Rick exclaimed looking at the empty shelf, devoid of the super spicy chips he’d been craving.

“What?” Prime trotted over, shaking his wet hands off, carelessly scattering water droplets everywhere as he went. “What’s up?”

“They’re out.” Rick frowned disappointedly, the corners of his lips turning down as his brow furrowed in.

“Tough luck buddy,” Prime patted his back, not sounding sympathetic in the slightest, “Welp, shall we get back to the ship? We still got a couple more hours to go sooo….”

Prime started walking toward the exit of the small corner store, vaguely checking out a section with different coloured plumbuses on one of the shelves as he wound his way through the colourful aisles stuffed full with wacky looking products. When he saw that Rick hadn’t followed him, he sighed with exasperation and doubled back with his hands on his hips. He found his twin still staring at the empty shelf longingly.

“Come on, Rick. Let’s go.” His patience was starting to run thin.

“Man, I really wanted to get these.” Rick said wistfully, ignoring his impatient twin.

“There’s snacks at home, let’s go.” Prime pulled on his arm but Rick still didn’t budge. “Rick,” he said warningly.

“Okay, okay , fine,” Rick let himself be pulled away, “can we stop by the next gas station though?”

“No, we can’t.” Prime refused to let go of his twin’s arm until they cleared the threshold.

“Why not?” Rick protested as they walked toward the ship in the parking lot.

“There’s no more gas stations around here.” Prime lied as he unlocked and got into the driver’s seat.

“That’s not true— how would you know? You didn’t even check!” Rick argued as he slid into the passenger side. He pulled up the navigator and began typing in a search for the nearest gas station on the way. “Hah! See, here’s one.” He said triumphantly, pointing to a red dot on the screen.

“It’s probably closed.” Prime started the ignition, ignoring the red blinking dot his twin was pointing to.

“How can it be closed? It says it’s open 24 hours.” Rick rolled his eyes, “Every time you’ve said somewhere was closed, you’ve almost always been wrong.”

“It’s my ship, I’m driving ergo, we’re not going.” Prime snapped as the ship rose into space quickly.

“Come on,” Rick whined, “can’t we at least go check?”

“I don’t get why you’re so obsessed with these fucking chips. They’re not even that good.” Prime scoffed, “out of a million flavours in this universe to fixate on, of course you’d choose the shittiest one.”

Rick flushed, hands kneading together in his lap. It was difficult to say exactly why he’d been craving them as of late. The flavour wasn’t perfect but somehow, the hot smoky spice reminded him of home. His Earthly home, that is. Prime disliked it when he brought up Earth or any lingering ties to their home planet and with things as tense and rocky as they were in the ship at the moment, Rick found himself chewing on his bottom lip, not knowing how to defend his intense craving to his twin.

“They’re not that bad,” he said lamely before looking out the window glumly.

Stars and distant galaxies twinkled and winked at him like tiny gems sewed onto inky black fabric. Rick usually found the sight quite comforting and awe inspiring but today, they only seemed to remind him of just how far home was.

Distantly, he heard Prime flick the radio on, an alien tune crackling through the speakers of the ship. Disappointment settled in his stomach heavily. He’d been really looking forward to munching on those chips on the ride back.

Other than the radio playing and the drone of the engine shuttling them home, the ship was silent and Rick found himself lost in his thoughts, staring out the window with unseeing eyes.

“We’re here.” Prime said roughly, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Rick looked up and then out of the ship. This— this wasn’t their little dwarf planet! His eyes dropped to the navigator between them, the coordinates for the gas station still blinking on the screen as the ship closed distance rapidly. He sat up straighter, completely alert and awake. He could hear Prime snickering at his eagerness— but Rick couldn’t care less. His heart skipped, mouth watering eagerly as he silently urged the ship to go faster. So close! He squeezed his hands together tightly, anticipation welling in his chest.

The neon sign for a gas station was spotted below and Prime eased the ship toward it.

As the store came into view, Rick felt his heart plummet and the smile that had crept onto his face dropped.

The lights were completely off inside.

“No!” Rick cried out in disbelief, “you’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I told you so,” Prime said smugly as he parked. “Told you it would be closed. Now can we— Hey! Where are you—“

Rick threw the door open and ran toward the storefront. There was a notice tacked to the entrance and Rick squinted at the Galactic Standard written on it, deciphering it in his head quickly.

CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE

“Are you serious?!” He groaned, hands and face plastered against the glass as he squinted into the dark store like he might somehow magick a store clerk into appearing if he stared hard enough.

Prime walked up behind him slowly, lighting up a cigarette as he went.

Rick turned around at the sound of a lighter clicking and hissing.

“Prime—“

“No! No way!” Prime exclaimed, catching the hopeful look on his twin’s face, “I’m not wasting any more time or gas on this goddamn wild goose chase for shitty chips!” He took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out into Rick’s face. “We checked it out and it’s closed. End of story. We’re going home.”

“Then—“ Rick looked around furtively, “then we break in! We still got the lock picking kit in the ship right— we’ll be in and out, super fast—“

“No.” Prime rolled his eyes as he inhaled. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Come on,” Rick wheedled, “why not? We’ve broken into other places for less— how’s this any different?”

“I’m not playing accomplice to your stupid chip heist.” Another cloud of smoke to the face.

“Unbelievable! After everything you make me do!” Rick huffed, dispersing the acrid smoke with a wave of his hand. “You’re being so unfair right now!”

“I don’t care,” Prime flicked his half-smoked cigarette onto the ground, crushing it out under his boot with an air of finality. He began walking back toward the ship. “Come home with me or stay here licking glass, I really couldn’t give a shit.”

Rick stared at his twin’s back but Prime never looked back once. Fuck . His hands hardened into fists at his sides. He knew that tone of voice. His twin wasn’t kidding. Prime really would leave him here on this nondescript planet that only functioned as a pit stop for intergalactic travellers if he didn’t move his ass. He’d done it before. Rick spent the better part of a week hitchhiking through the galaxy just to get back to their base.

“Fucking asshole.” Rick muttered crossly as he followed his twin back to the ship dejectedly, feeling like a leashed dog following its owner. He truly was at Prime’s mercy out here. Sometimes he felt like his twin was a golden ticket that could take him anywhere— but some days, he couldn’t help but feel shackled and bound to his whims.

Rick yanked the ship door open and slammed it shut extra hard to vent his feelings.

“Hey!” Prime barked, “Don’t take your shit out on my ship! You break the door, I’ll break your arm.”

“Fuck you, asshole!” Rick snapped, “I hope that shit shatters!”

“If that shit shatters, we’re both dead in the water and I’m not gonna die because you wanted to get a bag of shitty chips!” Prime punched Rick’s arm hard enough to leave an ache.

“Ow!” Rick yelped as he twisted around on his seat to face his twin, “what the hell, dude! That fucking hurts!”

“That’s for slamming the door!” Prime growled, “keep it up and the next one will be on the kisser!”

“I fucking hate it here!” Rick yelled out, face reddening with hot frustration. It wasn’t true. But the bitterness at being foiled over something that should have been a simple pick up, coupled with his twin’s unreasonable attitude had him lashing out angrily. Rick felt like kicking the footwell of the ship but the ache in his arm restrained him. He let out a disgruntled snarl instead, clenching his jaws together.

“Oh yeah? If you hate it so bad, you can always leave.” Prime said sweetly, but his eyes flashed dangerously. Honeyed poison. He hovered a finger over the glowing red eject button located on the dashboard threateningly. “You wanna leave?”

Stars had surrounded them once more. Leaving was clearly a death wish at this point.

“No.” Rick said sourly, arms crossed over his chest again.

“That’s what I thought.”

Prime didn’t bother turning on the radio to ease the tension. His knee bounced restlessly, knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel. He piloted the ship hunched over and grouchy, exuding an aura of quiet murderous rage.

The ship felt uncomfortably cramped— almost claustrophobic with the silent tension crackling between them. A muscle in Rick’s jaw jumped as he turned himself towards his window, physically angling himself away from his twin. He rubbed his arm discreetly, glowering out the window. Fucking hell, Prime could pack a punch. Rick could already tell he was going to find a fist shaped bruise later from the way his skin ached hotly.

They sat like that for the next couple of hours in stony silence. There were no comments on interesting looking nebulae or space objects. There was not a single joke or word exchanged. The only sound was Prime’s finger tapping out an irritating beat against the handle. Rick would ask him to stop but that would require speaking to his twin and he absolutely refused to do that.

Both Ricks mirrored an identical expression of sulky anger; brows furrowed deeply, corners of their lips tugging downward as their shoulders tensed into hard lines.

By the time Prime had landed the ship in the familiar parking lot, Rick’s bottom lip was practically swollen from how much he’d been chewing on it in an effort to hold back his acidic vitriol. He kicked the door open— not even bothering to close it as he stalked towards the building angrily. He could hear Prime yelling something at him but Rick simply flipped him off without looking back.

Rick jabbed in the 20 digit passcode rapidly, scanned his hand and stormed into the bedroom, locking the door behind him swiftly. Shucking off his labcoat, Rick dropped it on the floor without a second glance, kicking off his shoes as well.

Starlight streamed in through the bedroom window and Rick strode over to it, closing the blinds and plunging the room into semi-darkness to match his mood. He paced around the floor, back and forth as he nibbled on his thumbnail. His chest was hot and tight with pent-up anger. Rage bubbled in him like a bottle of shaken soda; pressure building with no real outlet. The room felt extra small today. Like a jail cell. It may as well have been. Rick was stuck out here, millions of miles away from home, no way to get back.

He heard Prime enter the apartment— front door slamming shut loudly. Rick’s heart began to thunder in his chest; half expecting his twin to pound the bedroom door down, demanding to be let in. He steeled himself for a blistering confrontation— shaking with equal parts dread and savage anticipation— but no such thing happened. Prime began moving around in one of the rooms noisily, clearly ignoring him.

They’d woken up in high spirits, laughing about something insignificant and chattering over where they’d go over a bowl of cereal excitedly. What happened? How did their day turn out… like this? All he wanted was a bag of chips! If Prime wanted something he wouldn’t let them rest until it was in his greedy hands. If Prime had no vested interest in it, it wasn’t worth pursuing. Fuck what Rick wanted, right? It wasn’t fair.

Rick scowled, flinging himself onto their unmade bed face down, yelling wordlessly into his pillow until his throat felt raw.

Soft cotton quickly absorbed the hot pinpricks of wetness that seeped out of his eyes. Rick continued to lie face down until he couldn’t breathe before finally turning over, chest heaving.

He stared at the ceiling, at the weird stain that sort of looked like a dick. The one they always laughed at while lying in bed together. Rick glared at it like it had caused him personal offence. He wished he could rewind time and forget this afternoon completely.

Rick got under the covers, cocooning himself as he curled into a tight ball. Safe in the soft darkness, there was no way to tell whether he was in space or on Earth. It didn’t matter anyway.

The angry knot in his chest gradually loosened and was replaced by bone weary exhaustion instead.

Rick dreamed of his mama. The old kitchen he grew up in with the sunny terracotta tiles. Warmth. Comfort. Soft arms folding him into her aproned chest, stroking the top of his head softly while she croons to him in their native tongue. Her clever boy. He looks up, the stovetop towering over him as she stirs something rich and fragrant with spices. Bubbling cheerfully. Rick inhales deeply, smiling widely. ¡Mamá! His mama beams down at him. Bright as the afternoon sun spilling across the yellow walls. The wooden spoon that often raps him across the knuckles when he’s being naughty is being held out to him. Today it offers love and nourishment. He opens his mouth eagerly—

Rick woke from deep sleep. For a moment, he was back at home. His childhood home. Any moment now, mamá was going to come in and get him up for dinner. He was still half dreaming, stomach rumbling as the rich aroma from his dream filled his senses. He longed to fall back into the warm embrace of the dream but it was quickly leaving him like cupped water in his palms. Slowly, the room came into focus and he remembered where he was. Millions of miles away from Earth. Middle of bumfuck nowhere. Rick sat up slowly, rumpled and groggy with exhaustion but the knotted tension from early had left him completely. All that remained was a gnawing hunger.

Swinging his legs out of bed, he sat perched on the edge, not quite ready to leave just yet. The argument from earlier crept back into his mind and Rick chewed his cheek, feeling his arm ache dully from where Prime had punched him earlier. He rubbed at it, scowling a little. He wasn’t ready to face Prime but his stomach was insistent— still worked up from the delicious scent in his dreams that was somehow still lingering.

Fuck it.

Maybe he could quickly sneak into the kitchen and grab a snack. With any luck, Prime might be passed out high on the sofa, watching TV or something.

He padded over to the door, unlocking it quietly but as he opened it, Rick found himself stunned, frozen with his nose in the air like a hound catching the scent of a fox.

That smell.

Warm. Rich. Aromatic.

It washed over him fully, making his stomach rumble and his mouth water. It wasn’t his imagination. It was real. But how…?

Rick swallowed. He tracked the homely scent, following it as if in a trance, feeling like he was still dreaming.

The apartment was unusually dark and there was a warm flickering light at the end of the corridor coming from the kitchen.

“What the—“

Rick stood rooted by the entrance as he looked over their kitchen that had transformed in the few hours he’d been asleep. The messy kitchen table that was usually laden with half drunk mugs of coffee, stacks of blueprints and various half completed inventions had been cleared. In its place sat two bowls and a few burning candles that cast an orange glow over the kitchen. The sink which was usually overflowing with glassware from the lab was filled with actual dirty dishes and bowls. A pot simmered away on the stove, bubbling lightly on low heat; the source of the delicious aroma that was wafting through the entire apartment alluringly. Rick gawked at all of it, mouth parted slightly. He could count on one hand the amount of times they used the kitchen for its intended purpose.

A pair of arms circled his waist, lips brushing against the back of his neck causing him to jump out of his train of thought.

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Did you…” Rick swallowed hard, “did you do all this?” For me? The last two words were unspoken, but they hung in the air between them all the same.

Prime made a noncommittal noise, his arms tightening around his twin.

“Are you hungry?”

Rick nodded slowly, leaning back into his twin’s embrace. A small kiss was pressed into the side of his neck before he was released.

Prime walked over to the fridge, bottles clinking as he opened it up. Yellow light pooled onto the floor briefly, illuminating his face. He pulled out two glass bottles by their necks, popping the tops off with his teeth before handing one to his twin. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Check the uh— check the cabinet over there. Food’s almost ready, by the way.”

Rick went over to the aforementioned cabinet, setting his beer on the counter before pulling it open. He reached in, bringing one of the plastic bags closer to his face. It was hard to see with just candlelight but it only took a moment to recognise the brand. To his complete and utter astonishment, the shelf was filled with the chips he’d been looking for all afternoon

“Y-you— when did you—?!”

“I told you we had snacks at home.” Prime said gruffly, back turned to him as he stirred the pot. He had taken off his usual jacket, wearing his long sleeved brown shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

The bag crinkled loudly as Rick ripped into its contents eagerly, popping one in his mouth. Immediately, addictively hot, smoky spice tingled his tongue and Rick couldn’t resist crunching down a few more. He set the bag down on the table, not wanting to ruin his appetite for what his twin had made for them. Now it was his turn to wrap his arms around his twin’s middle for a quick squeeze before his hands drifted to rest on Prime’s hips lightly. He could feel the flavour heating up his cheeks and neck, the warmth spreading through his body. He pressed in closer, inhaling Prime’s comforting scent and the mouthwatering smell from the soup bubbling heartily. All the animosity from the day melted away.

“… Thanks,” Rick mumbled, the gratitude muffled against his twin’s back, barely audible.

“Mm.”

Rick peered over Prime’s shoulder to watch him stir the stew, making sure the bottom wasn’t burning. With only candlelight illuminating the kitchen, it was difficult to make out the contents of the pot. It could have been a witch’s cauldron from how dark the contents looked in this lighting.

“It’s super dark in here,” Rick observed, “how can you see like this?” He reached up to turn on the stove light but Prime caught his hand, turning around.

“Don’t,” he laced their fingers together, “it’s fine.”

Candlelight flickered in his twin’s eyes; twin flames dancing in an ocean of blue. Tipping Rick’s chin up with a finger, Prime kissed his twin on the lips tasting the cheap flavoured powder from the chips.

“Yeah, they still taste like shit.” But unlike the chips, his words lacked any real heat. “Taste this, it’s way better than that garbage.” Prime grinned as he picked up the long wooden spoon, blowing on it a little to cool it off before offering it to his twin.

Rick obediently opened his mouth to accept the spoonful of soup.

The unmistakable rich, unctuous flavour of menudo spread over his tongue thickly and Rick closed his eyes; instantly transported back to his childhood. It was spicier than a conventional menudo. But it was perfect. Just the way he liked it. Rick swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“Just like mamá makes, right?” Prime whispered quietly, watching Rick savour his cooking efforts with prideful delight. He leaned in for another kiss, stealing the flavour out of his twin’s mouth until Rick was left breathless.

“Sit down, I’ll plate up.”

Rick picked up his beer from the counter, sipping as he watched his twin bustle around the kitchen, ladling the dark soup and throwing a couple of finishing garnishes on top of the food. He sat down on his side of the table, lips still buzzing from their spicy kiss, feeling completely bemused. He had no idea Prime was capable of cooking. They usually ordered take out, ransacked the local corner store for high calorie snacks or ate out at fast food chains. He never imagined his twin picking up a knife to cook rather than maim.

“Eat up,” Prime set down a bowl of menudo down in front of him. Rick inhaled deeply, his stomach growling loudly. He could smell garlic, cilantro and other spices wafting up with the steam. Where did he get these things? He knew Earthly ingredients were notoriously expensive and hard to find, especially out here. Even KOI planets couldn’t quite replicate the taste of Earth’s resources completely.

Rick picked up his spoon. The flickering candlelight made the dark chunky soup gleam and shine. Menudo never looked great, but it more than made up for its looks in flavour. Ugly delicious. He began to eat, making sure to get a good ratio of chopped onions and other fixings on his spoon.

Instantly, the flavour of garlic, aromatic spices and tangy citrus hit his tongue and started warming his body from the inside out. Hunger seemed to increase twofold and Rick was ravenous. The crispy fresh ingredients contrasted delightfully with the soft, braised meat— tender from having been cooked for hours. It was hearty and healing. It was everything Rick never knew he needed. His cheeks pinkened slightly— from the heat of the chilis and… his twin’s unexpected thoughtfulness. Had he known? That Rick had been feeling homesick? Or had this all been one gigantic coincidence? Rick mulled on it as he ate, savouring the flavours of home.

The table was quiet apart from the sound of chewing and spoons scraping against bowls, but it was an amicable, comfortable silence.

When Rick had gotten halfway through his bowl, he stopped to take a break with a sip of cold beer. The intense spiciness had begun to creep up on him and his neck and ears felt warm— tongue tingling with heat. But Rick wouldn’t have it any other way. He sat back, regarding his twin with a content expression on his face.

“Okay,” he said, “I have to ask. Where’d you get these ingredients? It can’t have been easy sourcing cilantro and cumin and all the other stuff.”

“Oh well, you know,” Prime shrugged, busy looking at his bowl, “just here and there. I got a— ah— uh— a pretty sweet deal on some meat. Picked up some stuff last time we stopped by Earth. No big deal.”

Prime spooned some more menudo into his mouth before he looked up, almost shyly like he was nervous about Rick’s reaction.

“D’you—“ he cleared his throat, “do you…uh, like it?”

“It’s good,” Rick nodded, “really good. I—“ he hesitated, “you should— uh, you should make it more often. If you can. Of course.”

“I mean,” Prime swallowed his mouthful, washing it down with a glug of beer, “it’s extremely time consuming to make. Not to mention getting all the right stuff takes a lot of effort and then there’s planning—“

“Yeah,” Rick said quickly, looking back down at his half eaten bowl, “I get it. It’s a lot—“

“—But if you want it, just tell me. I can make it happen.” Prime shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he ruffled the back of his head with one hand.

“Really?” Rick looked up.

“Yeah,” Prime spoke to the bottom of Rick’s beer bottle on the table, “‘cause, you know,” he paused, rubbing his neck sheepishly, “… I miss mama’s cooking too, sometimes.”

There was a beat of silence after this admission and the pair chuckled together. Something in Rick’s heart eased and then swelled.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to cook.” Rick said teasingly before spooning a large mouthful of stew into his mouth, biting into a chilli by accident. Instantly, his eyes watered, cheeks peppery hot as he swallowed the spicy mouthful. He quickly took another sip of his beer as a chaser, blinking back tears.

“Hey! There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Anyway, I am the smartest man in the universe, after all. Name something I can’t do.” Prime grinned cockily before balling up his napkin and throwing it at his twin lightly. “You missed a spot, by the way.”

“What— where? Did I get it?” Rick licked around his burning mouth before attempting to wipe off whatever it was with the back of his hand only to feel his twin catch his wrist, pulling it away.

“Here.” Prime caught the dribble with his thumb, slowly pushing it back and over the curve of Rick’s lip and into the soft heat of his mouth.

Rick’s mouth tingled as his twin pressed his thumb into his tongue gently causing saliva to well up around the intrusion. He swallowed, inadvertently sucking the tip of Prime’s finger, feeling it drag over his teeth as it left him too soon. Heat flooded him as he dazedly watched his twin suck his thumb clean of himself. He wasn’t sure if it was the chillis or something else that was making him pant lightly.

“Eat your food,” Prime smirked, catching the flushed look on his twin’s face.

Rick blushed, bending his head to quickly shovel the remains of his dinner into his mouth.

The candlelight was dwindling, struggling to stay alive in the melting wax as the candles reached their stumpy limits.

Still, the kitchen never felt warmer or brighter. The pair found themselves leaning in closer over the cramped table— two stars orbiting one another, powerless to their combined gravitational pull.

Even after they’d finished and pushed their bowls to the side, they still lingered at the table— sipping out of mostly empty bottles of beer, talking about nothing and everything in between. Neither of them wanted to burst the fragile bubble of serenity this meal had brought them.

But finally, when the last candle fizzled out, Rick sat back and stretched, sated and relaxed.

“I’ll wash up.”

“Oh— uh,” Prime sat up hastily, “that’s okay. I’ll do it. There’s a lot of stuff to wash and I wouldn’t wanna—“

“Why? You cooked so, it’s only fair, right? I don’t mind.” Rick stood up and carefully began clearing the table, squinting as he stacked their empty bowls. “God, it’s really dark in here, huh.”

He walked over to the light switch in the corner.

“Wait—!” Prime nearly tripped out of his chair, bumping the table loudly as he lunged for his twin. “Don’t—“

“What?” Rick turned around as the kitchen lights flooded the area starkly. “What the—“

Rick’s eyes widened as he stared down at the empty bowls of menudo in his hand, streaked with blue. In fact, he could see a bunch of the dishes in the sink were also covered in an unfortunately familiar shade of blue.

“Dude,” he started, “tell me that’s not the—“

“God,” Prime rolled his eyes, huffing out a breath of air with his hands on his hips, “I told you not to turn the lights on! I knew you’d be such a baby about it.”

“When you said you had a sweet deal on meat, you meant—“ Rick paled as nausea twisted his stomach.

“I mean,” Prime flung his hands into the air, “what was I supposed to do? Leave the bodies to rot in the lab forever? What a waste. At least this way we can get rid of the bodies and save space and get free protein. This is a three birds one stone sitch! You have to appreciate that! It’s an extremely economical solution to a—”

“Have you learned nothing from putting alien things in our bodies?” Rick demanded, one hand on his hip.

“Relax, it’s totally fine,” Prime shushed him, “everyone knows heat kills germs and this stuff’s been boiling for hours!”

“…” Rick stared at his twin incredulously, not knowing what to say. “I’m going back to bed,” he said finally, feeling a bit ill as he set the bowls on the counter. He turned to walk out the kitchen.

“Sure you don’t want seconds?” Prime called out to him, “You looked like you were really enjoying it!”

“No!”

“Okay, we can have it for breakfast tomorrow, then!”

#precanon prickcest #my writing #i got really emotional when i received this art ngl ;w;#it made me so happy to see that someone else enjoyed this fic as much as i did writing it ;w;#food fics/food in literature always captured my heart #so i adore adding food concepts to my writing if u guys didnt already know hahahaha #anyway im SO HERE for prime doing nice things for rick with ulterior motives hahaha #also dude if you see this #thank you for always beta reading my fics ;w; and listening to me rant and rave about prickcest ideas/aus ;w; ilysm dude ;w;

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bitegore · 1 year

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WIP ask; dysfunctional bulkhead fuck yeah please and thank you

This one spawned out of a conversation I had with @honestlyvan, resident Bulkhead understander and one of the friends I have the absolute most fun bouncing ideas off of because for real I have never met someone who is so good at yes-anding ideas until they turn from a one-off line into something really cool. If I remember right, we were talking about Bulkhead's very visible delineation between "people I care about" and "potential targets," since Bulkhead is pretty clearly kind of... like...

ah, continued under the cut because this got long. A lot of discussion about Bulkhead characterization and then some very light details about the fic, because I did that thing where you have a general point but no actual outline and you run out of plot super fast because you never had much to begin with.

Okay so let's take a very brief detour through the land of psychology. Empathy runs on the idea of an "in-group" and an "out-group". The in-group is where you feel strong empathy, the out-group is not. This is what empathy is for, largely; it makes you feel bad for the people around you when they're hurting so that you don't start killing your buddies. Nothing wrong with that. The trouble is where this in-group ends. And for Bulkhead, at least as far as I see him, his in-group stops right at the end of Team Prime. Miko is in, Jack is in, Raf is in, Fowler is in eventually, and Wheeljack his old friend is in. And that's it. Everyone else could drop dead and Bulkhead wouldn't shed a tear. Why should he care? They're not his people, he's not invested in them. If they die that's their problem. He's got better things to worry about.

He's also an ex-member of the Autobot Warcrime Squad, the Wreckers. The "get in, kill everyone, get out, try not to die" team. He and Wheeljack are the only ex-Wreckers still standing, which is pretty damn impressive because even outside of IDW it's still a team with pretty high turnover (see: Marvel).

Anyway none of that gels too well with the way Bulkhead gets written in fic, which is to be a nice soft sweet kind of guy a la Animated. Which is fine, all the more for you guys, but I just find it painfully boring. There's a reason I don't read Animated fic unless my friends have written it and asked me to.

So on the face of it I basically just wanted to write Bulkhead kicking ass and not even bothering to take names because who gives a shit. Not him. He's got better things to do, people to give a crap about. Don't die here and he'll remember you to kill you harder later, maybe, but unless you're annoying or matter to someone who matters to him he just sort of doesn't give half a crap about who you are. He is just going to put you in the fucking ground. Bye.

in practice that is not what I did.

In practice I wrote a couple hundred words of internal monologue and went "oh, fuck, hang on", because guess what I did? Smartest boy ever, best writer in the world. I forgot to come up with a plot.

So then it crashed headlong into my obsession with the Combaticons and I had some vague idea of pulling the FoC Combaticons in for Bulkhead to just lay brutal waste to without waiting around to care too much about who they were. I thought about having him go fight one of the Insecticons but decided against it because I don't know them well off the top of my head and I didn't want to make a whole oc up so I'd probably be working with Hardshell, who doesn't work as an enemy for "named and therefore not someone I can just kill off" reasons. I'd established that it was during the whole "hunting down the Iaconian Relic macguffins" arc(s), so it didn't make sense to me for me to pull in characters that die before that or make significant appearances after, and there's really not that many that just show up and vanish without a trace. So okay I needed a new set.

Trouble is I've never played Fall of Cybertron.

So then I was like "ooh, I'll watch a playthrough". And then I did not do that. You understand how it goes.

Anyway, as a result the fic has been languishing ever since, but because it's so goddamn short i'm just going to copy paste the entire thing down here for your perusal. Enjoy.

Things were different back when the Wreckers were still running together and no one was really running with them. Much as Team Prime was small, it wasn't a hyper-specialized unit designed for getting in and getting out and getting slag done and nothing else. Totally different internal culture. Sometimes Bulkhead didn't really know what to do with it. And the humans- anything weird about Team Prime was weirded ten times harder by the humans. They were small, and fragile, and they didn't seem to realize it at all, constantly putting themselves beyond their stress tolerances for no good reason. Miko kept wandering straight into battlefields like she'd forgotten guns existed, and Bulkhead had to admit she was better at evading fire than he'd first expected but the other two humans definitely didn't have her reflexes and they kept on following her and needing the Autobots to get the three of them out of trouble. These things were so much more convenient when he and Jackie and Seaspray and Springer and the rest were all just doing what they did. They were good at that. Team Prime was pretty damn effective, sure, but they weren't half as good as getting in and getting out and laying out everything in their path, the way the Wreckers had been. At least Wheeljack was here. If he needed to blow up a metric fuckton (thank you, Miko, love that expression) of Vehicons, Jackie was always good for it. Aw, whatever. Jackie was off doing whatever it was he was doing- wherever the action was, that was for sure- and Team Prime was on one of their completely weird and inexplicable little backwards jaunts again. Recon, digging old weapons and scrap up out of the ground to keep them out of the Decepticons' hands. It'd've been nice if the boss would've let them use the really cool ones, but for the most part Optimus Prime had a very firm "no powerful game-changing strategies" policy.

#red replies #jeegoo #wip ask game

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erectionsandtea · 3 years

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A couple weeks ago, I made a post asking if anyone was interested in reading an excerpt from my WIP Reddie fic, and a couple of you showed interest, so I'm finally posting it. It's un-edited, if you find any of my notes still in there, tell me so I can delete them. <3

@ghostgirlinsatin @sadclownblog @swivety @islasummers15 @beaglesfoundindumpsters @justqueerstuff @fuji09 @slashify

FOR CONTEXT: There's a bathroom on the third floor of the school that's perfect for Eddie to hide away in, since it is always empty. Until it isn't. And it isn't ever again after that, but Eddie finds he actually doesn't mind.

Tuesday

"Well well well, if it isn't my favorite stranger in a bathroom." He sits down on the floor on the other side of Eddie's stall. Eddie doesn't scoot all the way back today.

"And you're my least favorite." Eddie rolls his eyes. Today actually isn't the worst of days, it doesn't really warrant a visit to his bathroom...but Eddie finds that he actually likes hanging out in here during his free seventh period. Also Eddie would be lying if he said he wasn't wondering if this other boy would be here again.

On the other side, he hears the boy chuckle. "Now I don't believe that for a second."

"And why not?"

"Cos if it was true, you'd have found a new hiding spot by now." The reply is instantaneous, and...well shit, the guy has him there.

"Are you stalking me?" Is the only response he can come up with.

The boy lets out a full laugh. If Eddie wasn't worrying about being stalked, he might think that it's kind of a nice laugh. "What??" The boy responds.

"I mean, how do you even know I'm the same guy from the last three times?"

There is a pause. "I guess I don't...although, you did just tell me there was a guy in here three times. Logically, I'd have to guess it was you."

'Logically'? Who the fuck is this guy?

He has nothing to say to that. But that's okay, but the boy speaks again:

"You know, you'll have to come out of there soon if you want to hurry back to class."

"I don't have a seventh." Eddie replies.

"Well, suck me off and call me King Richard."

What. the. fuck?????

"I don't have a seventh either! Looks like I'll be seeing your face today."

"Nope." Eddie is defiant. He wonders why this guy wants to see his face at all. "I can stay in here all period."

"So can I."

There's a pause between them.

"If you don't have class, why don't you just go home?"

The question triggers him, and Eddie feels a sudden attack coming on. He doesn't want to go home. But he doesn't want to talk about that. What is he supposed to say?? He takes a gulp of breath, calming himself.

"I...I'm waiting for my friends. We usually walk home together and then hang out for a bit." It isn't technically a lie.

"Ah, well, same here."

Another pause.

"Tell me something about you."

"What?"

"Well, this is like...the fourth time we've done this. I want to know about this mysterious bathroom buddy I keep meeting."

"Well, for one thing, I'm not all that fond of the name 'bathroom buddy'."

That elicits another laugh. It is kind of a nice laugh. "Okay. What would you prefer then?"

Eddie thinks. He can't give out his real name. Well, he can, but he won't.

He isn't sure why exactly he doesn't want this guy to know who he is. He just knows that he doesn't want it, it would be a bad idea and so he won't let it happen. Just the thought of giving out his real name to a stranger makes the anxiety well up a little bit.

"Kas." Is what he comes up with eventually.

"Cass?"

"Yeah. With a 'K'. Not that it matters."

"Cute." Eddie pretends the comment doesn't make him blush. Why is he blushing??

"Can I call you something?" He asks. For a moment, there is silence.

"Ash." The boy on the other side of the stall replies finally.

Eddie nods, even though the boy can't see him.

"If you don't mind me asking...why do you come in here? I mean, if you're waiting for your friends, why not the library? Or the quad?"

"I prefer to be alone."

"Ah!" Eddie hears shuffling on the other side. "Well then, say no more, my dear boy!"

What a fucking bizarre thing to say. Seriously, who the fuck is this guy??

"If it is solitude you wish, I shall take my leave."

He's shocked, to say the least. What exactly is happening??

"Wait!" He hears all the movement stop. "I-I didn't mean it like that. I mean, I usually like being alone, but..." He isn't ready to admit he LIKES Ash's company. Not yet. "You can stay, if you want."

Ash hesitates before rejoining Eddie on the floor.

"I humbly thank you for your kindness, good sir."

Eddie snorts. He doesn't know exactly why, but Ash is growing on him. Just a little bit.

Eventually, the bell signaling the end of seventh period (and the school day) rings. When there isn't immediate movement on the other side of his stall, Eddie waits.

"You're not going to come out until I leave or go into a stall, are you?"

"Probably not." Eddie gulps. He won't admit it to Ash, but Eddie NEVER plans on letting him see his face. Ever.

#my writing #my drabbles #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #fanfiction #IT #stephen king's IT #fanfic #narrative #my writings

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pettyprocrastination · 4 years

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Panty & Bambi

Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Roller Derby!Reader

Summary: Helena Morales celebrates her 12th birthday at the roller rink, where she plays cupid for her kind father who’s attention has been captured by a confident skater that danced about the rink.

Warnings: profanity, uhhh mention of alcohol?? Frankie being a fucking BOTTOM about buff thick women lmao.

Word Count:2.9k

Perm Taglist: @honestlystop

authors note:Wrote this because I’m sad about not being able to do derby this season and i’ve been watching lots of bouts to comfort myself in it lmao. Big inspiration to @qveenbvtch who wrote a fucking MAGICAL javi rollerskating fic called Ring My Bell!! It’s so fucking good read it here !!!!!! Big thank you to my boo @captainsamwlsn for reading this for me ILY Thais so fkin much <3

“For her next birthday could your daughter pick something that isn’t fucking murder on my knees?”

Frankie stared at his friend and god father to his now twelve year old daughter under the flashing fluorescent lights of the roller rink before taking a sip of the cheap beer in his hand. “Don’t whine Santi.” Frankie laughed. “We both know you’d do anything for her.”

Which was true.

Helena had only been a baby when the group went to Columbia to take down Lorea. They had always been a close-knit group of friends, but what happened on that trip, that shit-show of a mission, made them appreciate having each other even more. They visited Tom’s family when they were able to, the first few months after his death his ex-wife wouldn’t even let them on the front lawn. She took to screaming and cursing at them for his death, they didn’t tell her about the teenage boy that took her ex-husband’s life to avenge his brother.

Tess did in fact get into Harvard. She sent Pope letters from time to time. She didn’t blame him or the others for her father’s death like her mother did. The boys couldn’t say the same for themselves.

But the family they did have, the sweet chunky cheeked little infant girl Frankie was proud to call his daughter? Oh they all worshiped her. Little Helena had them all wrapped around her finger from the moment they set eyes on her.

The men had been there for every tea party, fairy tale, and birthday. They watched her go from mashing cake into her mouth at one years old to laughing at a skate rink with her friends at twelve.

Frankie had been there for everything and his boys were there to help him.

He couldn’t say the same for Liana.

“Twelve years brother.” Pope remarked. Frankie groaned and let his head fall forward.

“You don’t have to tell me man. Where did it all go?” He looked out on the rink with a smile, watching his daughter skate with ease on the polished wood floors while Ben wobbled along next to her, looking more like a baby taking its first steps than a grown man.

“It feels like just yesterday I was changing her diapers, now she’s in eighth grade.” Frankie sighed, released the vice like grip he had on the neck of his bottle. “Fuck man, I’m not ready for her to go to high school, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.”

“You’ll do what you’ve always done for her, ‘Fish.” Frankie looked up to see Will standing at his side, setting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be there for her. Which is more than I can say about half of the dead beat dads out there now.”

“Dad!” She called out, her pigtails swaying as she turned to him, hands held out with a big grin. “Come on!”

Frankie ignored the pop of his knees as he stood up with a groan.

“I’ll pray for your back hermano!” Santi called out with a barking laugh as his friend slowly stepped onto the rink with shaking legs

Frankie couldn’t give his little girl the world no matter how much he wanted to, he was just one man. But damn if he wouldn’t skate with her at her birthday party.

Helena took his hand in hers as they skated, which he knew was more for his safety than hers. But he still felt his heart clench at seeing just how small his daughter’s hand was compared to his.

“How are you so bad at this!” She giggled upon seeing his knees buckle for the third time in two minutes. While Helena had taken to roller skates with ease, the same could not be said for her father, who clutched onto her hand like a lifeline.

“Mija, the last time I was on wheels like this was before I broke my ankle skateboarding.” A woman skated by them, the wheels on her skated lighting up a bright pink each time they made contact with the floor. You turned, skating backwards for a moment with a carefree smile before turning forward again.

Frankie’s knees buckled when Helena’s hip bumped against his.

“God-” His daughter snorted. “Maybe if you stopped staring at that lady and focused more on skating you wouldn’t be wobbling like an old man on a walker!”

His head snapped to his daughter like a whip, for a moment uncaring how he nearly lost his balance. “I am not-I wasn’t-did you just call me an old man?”

His daughter simply stared up at him with that smug little grin that he swore Santi taught her.

“She’s pretty.” His daughter noted, he spared another glance up, feet sliding across the floor as he did.

You skated around another couple, hips swaying to the song playing over the speaker and hands raised high over your head. You brought one foot in front of the other in a sashay along the rink, gliding over the floor with grace that Frankie couldn’t even try to get as he gripped his daughter’s hand for dear life while they skated along the inner rim of the rink.

His daughter tugged at his hand, which had gotten arguably more sweaty when he realized that you would be passing them once more. “You should say hi.”

Frankie shook his head and offered his daughter a smile. “It’s your birthday ‘lena.” He reminded her. “You should be having fun with your friends instead of worrying about your old man’s dating life.”

Helena tilted her head in thought before smiling and letting go of her father’s hand. “Okay!”

“Wait-wait!” Frankie shot his hands out to balance himself, without the help of his daughter he felt even more off-kilter and out of his element. “Where are you going!?”

His daughter laughed before joining her friends that had skated ahead of them. “You told me to have fun with my friends! So I’m going to!” She looked behind him and smiled so wide he felt his heart drop. “Have fun dad! You got this!”

“Helena Maria Morales if you don’t-” Frankie’s threat was cut off when his legs wobbled against, one foot shooting out to steady him, except he was on fucking roller skates, which only caused his foot to slide out from beneath him and send him tumbling onto the hard floor beneath him.

Had it not been for his skating savior that is.

You shot forward, one hand gripping the collar of his shirt meanwhile the other grabbed the waistband of his trousers to steady him. On instinct his hands gripped your hips like you were a life preserver and he was a man lost at sea.

“You alright there buddy?” Frankie simply stared at you, throat tight and mouth wide open as his bright wracked for a single thought, a single word to say to you.

“Jesus Christ.” Santi groaned from the other side of the rink. He and the other boys sat watching in equal parts awe and dismay at their friend being caught like damsel and then absolutely flounder in front of you. “Say something you idiot!”

“Oh this is painful.” Ben snorted. “I don’t want to look away!”

“I’m uh, yeah I’m good.” Frankie realized as you pulled him upright how fucking strong you were, and it made his knees knock together for a whole different reason. His hands tensed and he realized he was still holding onto your hips. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, really.” You held up a hand to silence him, his mouth snapped shut as if it were a trained command. “I know you aren’t some creep trying to cop a feel, I’ve been watching you skate for a while now.”

Frankie looked down at the floor. “Yeah well, the last time I was on wheels was when I was sixteen and tried to impress a girl at the mall by grinding on a rail with my skateboard.”

You slowly took his hand in yours and began to skate forward, slow smooth steps that he did his best to mimic. He was so focused on not falling he hadn’t realized that the pair of you were skating like a couple. “Did it work?”

“Fuck no!” He laughed. “I broke my ankle, lost a tooth, then she and her friends all laughed at me.”

You smiled at his story, noting the way the multi-colored lights bounced off his profile. “Well, I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t break an ankle or lose any teeth tonight, alright Bambi?”

Frankie’s feet wobbled again and tightened his grip on your hands, marveled for a moment at how soft they felt against his. “Bambi?”

“Yeah.” You offered him a slight shrug, he still wasn’t sure how you could skate around others with such ease while also maintaining a conversation, but was thankful for it either way. “You both have brown hair, both have shit balance-”

“Gee thanks.”

You giggled and flicked the tip of his cap. “Let me finish.” You scolded. “You both have shit balance, and you're both pretty fuckin’ cute.”

Frankie felt his heart race and his lips curl into a shy smile. He watched the colors that danced over your form like a kaleidoscope. “Well my actual name is Frankie-” The tip of his skate dipped forward, catching on the floor and sending him careening right into your arms. You kept your feet together at an angle to keep from falling, hands grabbing onto him as he barreled forward, arms thrown around you and nose pressed against yours. “-but I guess Bambi is pretty fitting too.”

“Well Bambi-” Frankie felt a tingle down his spine every time you called him that. A nickname so sweet and innocent had no business making him feel so hot under the collar. “How about we take a break from trying to keep you from falling flat on your ass and go sit down for a bit? If your daughter doesn’t mind that is.”

He looked over your shoulder, where Helena stood with two of her friends, smiling wide and flashing her dad two thumbs up.

“I don’t think she'll mind.”

```

“A pilot?” You whistled, leaning back in his chair. “Damn, you’ve got me beat. I’m just a high school English teacher!”

Frankie shook his head, toe tapping on the linoleum floor of the little snack corner of the rink that pair of you were sitting at. “Now I wouldn’t say all that. I mean, spending your entire day dealing with teenagers who definitely don’t want to be there? You must have the patience of a saint.”

You bumped your knee against his. “We’ll now you’re just trying to flatter me.”

Frankie held one hand up and the other over his heart, as if he were taking an oath. “All truth here, coming from a former AP English kid.” You gasped and held one hand over your chest and pretended to swoon.

“An honor student of my subject? Be still my beating heart!” Frankie snorted into his drink, which caused you to in turn laugh loud enough for the people in front of them to turn and glare.

He had always hated dating. It felt so forced, so uncomfortable. The icebreakers were only met with bland replies of women who clearly weren’t interested in him, and only became less interested when they learned he was a father. That or they would praise him for being so “brave” to raise his daughter on his own. What, as if he was supposed to walk out on her just like her mother did? It turned him off to the whole situation.

But this? Sitting in the tiny snack corner at a roller rink, sipping overpriced sodas and laughing loud enough to annoy people while staring at the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen? Oh it was better than any date at a four star restaurant he’s been on.

“Trust me.” He told you. “You would’ve hated me as a student.”

“I could never!”

“Oh yes you could!” He laughed. “I fell asleep in class all the time, never answered questions and uh honestly?” He pulled his hat low over his face with a shy smile. “If I had you as a teacher? I’d never get anything done.”

His eyes flicked to the sleeve of your shirt, seeing your biceps strain against it as you leaned over for your drink. The shorts you wore hugged the thick muscle of your legs and he felt his throat tighten up at the thought.

You smiled and pushed his cap up so you could see his brown doe eyes. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment, Bambi.”

Santi watched the pair of you, nearly nose to nose when you leaned in close to toy with his hat. He smiled and bumped Will’s shoulder. “Look at ‘em go. ‘Fish still has it.”

“That’s our boy.”

They had all gotten the call when Liana left, she had simply packed her bags in the middle of the night and vanished. Leaving Francisco and their six month old baby alone. They knew how much it hurt him to see her leave, how much he blamed himself and wracked his brain for how to fix it, how many times he called her and pleaded for her to come home. If not for him, for their daughter. Their little baby girl who wouldn’t stop crying because she was hungry and mommy was gone.

But to see him now, blushing like a school boy while talking with a woman who his daughter practically pushed him into, they all felt a swell of pride.

If any of them deserved a happy ending, it was Catfish.

“If he doesn’t ask her out-” Ben sighed. “I’ll kill him. Just fucking murder him.”

Sadly, just as Frankie was about to ask that dreaded question, if he could get your number or hell, if you’d like to get a drink sometime, a woman with bright pink hair poked her head over your table.

“Hey panty!” She called out and Frankie damn near got whiplash at that nickname. “Can you give me a ride home? My car is busted and my boyfriend can’t pick me up.”

Your shoulders deflated at her response and Frankie couldn’t help but feel a little prideful that you felt dejected to leave his side. “Yeah no problem Jammie.”

“Thanks!” The girl chirped. “I’ll meet you outside!”

When she left, Frankie turned to you with a slow smile, his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Panty?”

“Ughh I know!” You groaned into your hands. “It’s not some weird nickname or anything it’s just my derby name I swear!”

Frank leaned back, eyes wide in admiration. “You play roller derby?”

You grinned, shoulders back and confidence oozing off of you at the mention of your sport. You tucked your hands behind your head and Frankie took that moment to marvel at the muscle that strained against your shirt. “Damn right I do. Not to brag but I’ve been the MVP for the last three seasons.”

It was absolutely a brag and he loved it.

“You know-” Your eyes flicked to his, shy and skittish. “-we have a bout, a game, this Saturday if you want to come. It’ll be here, at eight. You don’t have to-”

“I’ll be there.” He promised. The thought of you in those spandex shorts on skates, being positively brutal to other women on the track with that confident grin? Christ, he wouldn’t miss it for the world. “I’ve never watched roller derby before but, it’s recently piqued my interest.”

You smiled, raising your foot to knock it against his. “Well I hope it keeps you interested Frankie, because you’ve piqued mine too.”

Frankie felt a swell of pride in his chest at your shy smile and sweet words. He felt like a kid back in high school, trying his best to woo the girl in his biology class with passing notes in hopes of getting a date.

Only this time he had more experience and a lot less acne.

“Panty!” The woman shouted. “Lets gooo! I work the morning shift tomorrow!”

Your face fell. “Looks like that’s my que to head out. I’ll see you Friday though?”

“Fuck yes.” Frankie breathed out, before regaining his composure. “I mean uh yeah, yeah I’ll uh, see if I can make it.” You laughed and stood up from the table, turning on your heel at the final moment to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll see you then, Bambi.” You purred, before walking out of the door and past His daughter and three grown ass men, who stood in a circle nearby like a bunch of gossiping old women.

Frankie didn’t even have a moment to realize you kissed him before his daughter bounded over to him asking eighty questions within two seconds.

“What's her name? Is she cool? She seems cool! Are you guys dating now? Did you ask her out? Did you get her number?”

He brought this daughter in for a hug, bringing his hand down on the crown of her head in a playful nuzzle.

“Alright speedy gonzales.” She laughed into his side and tried to wriggle out of his bear hug. “No more matchmaking, you hear me?”

“But it worked! Didn’t it?” His stern facade melted away at the excited grin on Helena’s face.He sighed, letting his chin fall onto the top of her head.

“We’ll just have to wait and see mija.”

His daughter whooped in victory, throwing her hands high in the air in celebration.

“That means it worked!”

#Panty & Bambi #frankie morales #catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #catfish x reader #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #the meaning of her derby name will make more sense in the next chapter i SWEAR

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