some more richie and food hcs bc i want to:
he unironically loves spam
eddie thinks it’s disgusting but richie’s insistent that it doesn’t taste like cat food, eds, especially if you actually cook it
he’s a pretty adventurous eater in general and is always willing to try new stuff
he doesn’t like everything he tries but that doesn’t deter him from continuing to try stuff
he does love classic comfort food, though
mac and cheese, meatloaf, chili
pretty much anything with cheese meat or carbs he’s guaranteed to like
he is of the firm belief that bacon makes everything better
eddie will often find him making some wack ass midnight meal
sometimes it is a result of the munchies but not always and they are equally terrible and delicious either way
he used to hate vegetables but then he realized that he can literally prepare them however he wants and putting butter or cheese on them doesn’t negate the health benefits of the veggies
he loves a good chicken caesar too
his go to breakfast sandwich is egg hashbrown bacon arugula and hot honey on cinnamon raisin toast
he will make it every morning without fail
he has won multiple food challenges at restaurants and has a drawer for all of the dumb t shirts he gets as a result
eddie will never admit it and he gets away with it because he always looks disgusted in the moment but he thinks it’s hot as fuck
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Rain
In a rare pocket of peace between battling bad guys, saving Jump City (if not the world), and a noisy tower, Raven and Cyborg find a moment to just be.
Raven found tranquility in the dead of night, in the heart of a raging thunderstorm.
She hovered, legs crossed, palms planted on her knees, before the sleek glass face of the Tower. Thunder drummed and lightning forked through the belly of the bruised blanket stitched across the sky, turning the glass into liquid moonlight that rippled and danced across her face.
The door to the living room whirred open.
"Rae?"
Cyborg.
"What're you —" A massive yawn interrupted him. She heard his shuffling tread as he entered the living room, felt the last remnants of sleep he hadn't shaken off clinging to him like cobwebs. "What're you doing up so late?"
"Enjoying the weather."
He whistled. "Man," he said, "it's really coming down."
His footsteps stopped, then started again — he was heading into the kitchen.
"I'll be out of your hair in a sec, Raven. I'm just grabbing a snack."
Raven's gaze skated away from the clouds. She spotted his reflection, poised in front of the open refrigerator as he rummaged through it.
"You can stay," she said. Carefully. Cautiously. "If you want to."
She saw him pause, saw his head crane over his shoulder.
She met his gaze in the glass.
It was easy to suppress, to restrain, to stifle (she'd been doing it her whole life) — it was impossible to ignore.
(Oxymorons. Go figure.)
She wanted him to stay.
"Yeah," he said finally, slowly. "Alright." He offered her a crooked grin. "Do you want anything to eat?"
"What're you making?"
"Waffles."
"Figures," Raven said drolly.
"Ah, but not just any waffles," Cyborg continued, his grin stretching. "Toast 'em, slap some pb & j and butter on 'em, and you've got yourself a top-notch waffle sandwich."
"Fascinating."
"And delicious. You in?"
"No. I'm fine."
Cyborg nodded. He turned away, then paused. He turned back. "Tea?"
Raven blinked. "I thought we were out."
He turned away again. His hand floated up to cup the back of his neck. "Yeah. We were. Ran out to the store with BB yesterday to get those vegan jelly bean gummies he likes, picked up some stuff while we were there. Tea included. Got a few boxes, just in case. Variety is the spice of life, and all that. Chamomile, sage, peppermint, ginger — pick your poison."
"Chamomile," she said after a long moment of silence. "But I can make it." She unfolded her legs and stood up. "Thanks. For getting it."
He was already busying himself with his state-of-the-art waffle-maker. "No problem."
A silence unspooled, punctuated by the storm and Cyborg's hums as he worked — but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the exact opposite, and Raven realized it as she sidled into the cramped kitchen space behind the island to prep her tea.
She realized something else as she was flipping open a cabinet and withdrawing a mug.
She paused briefly, blinked, and thought, oh.
It was as simple as that.
There was a reason for the comfort. An explanation for why she wanted him to stay — and why she hoped he wanted to, too.
He understood.
He wielded a double-edged sword of his own.
He cared. He trusted. He believed.
And when they were together, they could just . . . exist. They could just be, and in lives full of danger, death, despair, doom — they could, and did, feel safe.
The particular pocket of peace they were in wouldn't last forever.
But maybe . . .
That was a loaded word, Raven thought, as she made her tea, focusing intently on her task and trying not to crack a small smile when the waffle-maker dinged and Cyborg drew in a deep breath and uttered a soft, jubilant "booyah" — then she thought about him turning away, trying to pat away some invisible itch on the nape of his neck.
And she smiled.
"Cyborg?"
"Yeah, Rae?"
'Maybe' was a loaded word, but it wasn't an impossible one.
She turned away from the counter, cup of tea in hands, curlicues of steam rising from the mug, a filmy curtain through which Raven and Cyborg regarded each other.
Not by a long shot.
"Watch the storm with me?"
Cyborg grinned. "Yeah," he said, plate of waffle sandwich in hand. "Let's do it."
They sat together on the sofa, Raven drinking her tea, Cyborg scarfing down his sandwich.
Raven found tranquility in the dead of night, in the heart of a raging thunderstorm, and she wasn't alone.
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college au nonsense pt. 1
“You think he’s got a girlfriend he hasn’t told us about?” Kelly shifts in her chair, her attention riveted on her brother, who’d been waylaid between the register and the table by a dark-haired woman Kelly didn’t recognize. The ambient symphony of scraping chairs and echoey conversations drowns out whatever words are passing between them, but their body language is speaking volumes all on its own.
Her other brother shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Linda snorts. “We only found out about what’s-his-name a week after they hooked up.”
Kelly smirks across the table. “You know he’s still got that guy’s number in his phone? I saw it the other day.”
“God.”
Over Linda’s shoulder, Kelly can see her brother’s conversation coming to a close. The woman smiles and places a hand on his forearm. The touch lingers for a few seconds before she takes a step back and, with a parting wave, begins to head in the opposite direction.
Moments later, Fred joins them.
“Who was that?” Kelly tips her head toward the mystery woman’s retreating back.
Fred offers a one-shouldered shrug, focusing more on his lunch than anyone at the table. “A friend. We have a class together, she was reminding me what pages we need to read for the lecture tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s nice…” Fred still hadn’t looked up from his sandwich. Kelly pounces. “...and she had to touch your arm to do that?”
“She’s cute,” John cuts in. “You should ask her out.”
“Subtlety of a brick, thanks,” Kelly gripes, shooting a sideways glare in her brother's direction.
For the first time since he'd sat down, and with his face a few shades pinker than usual, Fred looks up at his siblings. He seems to be on the verge of defending himself, but is quickly interrupted by the approach of another dark-haired woman. This one, Kelly did recognize.
She gives the group a bright smile and slides a piece of paper across the table to John. “Here’s that cheat sheet I promised. Just don’t mention me if they catch you with it during the test.” She winks and hefts her bookbag higher on her shoulder. “I’d stay and chat but I’m on my way to class. Talk later!”
Fred waits until the sound of her footsteps fades into the rest of the noise, then nails his brother with a semi-hostile stare. “And when are you gonna ask her out, huh?”
John mirrors the expression.
Fred cocks an eyebrow. “Hey, turnabout is fair play. Don’t get on the field if you’re not ready for the game.”
“Touché,” John eventually concedes, sitting back with a huff. “...shithead.”
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