The Doom fell on Valyria. Mountains cracked up open like eggs, lakes and rivers boiled, fountains of fire, ash and smoke spewed from the ground so high and so hot that even dragons burned in flight. The land splintered, and the angry sea rushed in. In hours, the greatest city in history became history.
“She’s supposed to be vegan,” Golden-eyes said without lifting her eyes from her textbook.
Her roommate had gone a few days before. The burn mark on her arm from where she had touched a stove-top coil was in the wrong place when she stumbled back through the door one night. That was how Golden-eyes knew in the first place. The moment the being that looked like her roommate had walked in the door, she’d known.
Mark one up for belonging somewhere other than Humanity.
This was her second semester at school, a different roommate this time, and both of them had been taken. It was like they were trying to keep an eye on her, the calling-home getting louder each time. Golden-eyes the Changeling. Made for an interesting story, she did.
But back to the current happening.
Her roommate, the one that was replaced, she was eating whole eggs. Not hardboiled. Just…Raw. In the shells and uncooked. Out of the carton.
It was frustrating.
“I was going to bake a cake tomorrow,” she added, putting the cap of her highlighter in her teeth. Her next words were muffled but understandable. “Rather rude of you, eating my ingredients. I was going to share,” she spat the cap out, finally looking up. “Freely given.”
“…?” her roommate made a questioning noise, her two-shades-wrong eyes tracking the movements Golden-eyes was making.
“Yeah yeah, just…” Golden-eyes sighed, shutting her highlighter in her book and standing up. “I have too much free time tomorrow, I hate not having something to do. And she’s supposed to be vegan.”
The questioning noise again.
“It means she doesn’t eat eggs or dairy of any kind.” Golden-eyes held out a hand. “I need those back. We’ll get you set up with something that probably tastes better. Again, freely given. We can swap it out for the carton of cream I have specifically for you. I also have honey. And,” she looked at the clock. “She has about nine hours until her next class. She took morning ones. So unless you can get all the rest you need, it’s going to be you drinking the cream with the honey and then sleeping. She needs her grades to stay up.”
Slowly, her roommate handed over the eggs, following when Golden-eyes waved for her to.
“And if you really do like eggs like this, just tell me.” She continued scolding, making her way to the mini-fridge they kept in the corner of the room. “I’ll buy you more and mark them for you. Just leave mine alone. If I have ingredients, it’s because I have something planned. It’s just rude to eat someone’s stuff without permission.”
She handed over the cream and honey, putting the eggs back in their place. With that done, she moved back to her bed and resumed studying.
(Sorry, the return of Golden-eyes who will one day be a teacher naming herself Drummis. Watching a baking show, felt the urge to return.)
Summary:You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.
Word count: 3923
Warnings: language, talk about injuries, sarcasm (sometimes jokes are okay)
A/N: Thank you all for the amazing feedback and support on the last chapter. I’m completely blown away and ecstatic that you like the story. I hope you like this next part, it’s a little drawn out but I had some angst I needed to get out. Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you again for your patience between updates.
Natasha didn’t actually want you to answer that question. She was ranting and raving, throwing her
hands in the air, pointing a polished, accusatory finger in your
direction. She switched from English to
Russian so quickly that it seemed as is if she were a one-woman show playing
all the parts. You couldn’t get a word
in edgewise though. Every time you
opened your mouth to reply she merely answered herself or spoke right over you
with a barrage of “what were you thinkings” “you could have dieds” “I’ve never
seen anything do stupid in my entire lifes” “what the hell is wrong with yous”
and what you suspected were several rude and explicit Russian insults.
You sip your coffee and shift on the stool underneath
you. The smell of cooking bacon and
fresh brewed coffee is heavy on the air, and draws your eyes back to your
boyfriend’s back in the kitchen in front of you. You lean your elbows on the counter and study
him, still not quite believing what you’re seeing. He’s making breakfast. Bucky Barnes is making you breakfast. It’s so domestic, so unlike him, so goddamn
attractive. You can’t help but
stare. At the way he looks in just a
pair of tight boxers, his back bare. At
the way his metal arm catches the early morning light through the window over