Workout Gear
For @officialvalkyrieweek 2023.
2.8K words, one-shot, absolute silliness
Inspired this adorable piece from @jmoonjones!
(And this art from @dimalry gave me the idea for Emerie's back tattoos!)
Summary: Working out in leathers all the time can't be cool or comfortable, so Bryce brings the Valkyries workout clothes from Midgard.
Read on AO3.
Featuring:
Bryce starting a new fashion trend in the Night Court 🎽
Google Translate for Prythian 🗣️
The Valkyries' partners losing their minds when they see them in workout clothes 🤯
A rant that those belonging to the big titty committee will appreciate 👙
Planting the image of Cassian in bike shorts in your head (you're welcome) 🍑
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Daniel sprains his ankle badly after a new karate move goes wrong, and is advised to keep off his foot for two months. Which, of course, is devastating for our spunky boy, but John?
Well, John doesn’t say a word (big surprise), but just picks him up bridal style every time he sees Daniel even attempt to move. Something which takes Daniel less than two days to be over.
“I can walk—okay, John, maybe I can’t walk, but I can definitely limp around so you don’t have to—“
“No.”
“I have a crutch. Actually, waitaminute, I have two crutches, so I can, like. You know. Hobble around, and stop collecting dust, like—“
“Doctor’s orders.”
“Doctor’s orders don’t say anything about John Kreese carrying me around like I’m dying or something, not even in the small print which, yeah, okay, I didn’t read, but I know for a fact that even if I did, I wouldn’t see your name there. And by the way, I’m not dying, my muscles just decided to revolt, so you can just—“
“You’re scrawny. Easy to carry.”
“…That’s so not the point, and besides, this is embarrassing!”
“Why.”
“Why? Whyyyy?? Why, because I’m a full grown adult—and totally not scrawny just fun sized—and I can take care of myself, and I don’t need you fussing over me like a mother hen—“
“You’re the one fussing, kid.”
Daniel sputters, but he can’t come up with anything to say to his bullheaded boyfriend, so he just fumes in John’s (admittedly very nice) arms after punching him a couple times right on the chest (which does absolutely nothing, except hurt his own hands since John’s practically made of concrete).
Meanwhile, John won’t ever admit, but seeing Daniel with his little foot all bandaged up, and wearing John’s old sports t-shirts (all dangerously oversized on him), and with his pouty, bratty expression perpetually on—John can’t get enough. He’s going to savor this as long as he can. Gonna milk these next two months for all their worth. Heh.
(Meanwhile Terry probably inquires a thousand times if Daniel would like him to fly in a world-renowned specialist from Boston, Manhattan, West Germany, Czechoslovakia, India, Japan…oh, and would he like Terry’s personal chef to whip him up something good, or he can get Daniel’s mother to fly in from Jersey on his personal plane if he’d like some authentic home-cooked meals, and would you like some flowers, Danny-boy, to brighten this place up? Red roses perhaps, you look so ravishing in red after all sweeth—)
John just slams the door in his face. And disconnects the phone for good measure. And tells him to not contact Daniel for the next two months, or better yet, ever again. Sorry, Terry.
Meanwhile, Daniel just groans and wonders where he went wrong in life.
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