scallops wrapped in bacon

(I am SO sorry! I didn’t see this until recently even though it was sent a few days ago omg,, here’s “did you think I forgot” + nurseydex!)

Dex couldn’t believe it, the fucking irony of it all. Nursey was the opposite of Dex in many ways, laid back and composed in a way Dex would never be. Where Nursey was all soothing words and precise phrases, carefully crafted emotions that made Dex feel things he would never understand, Dex was wires and callouses and loud, blunt syllables forced through gritted teeth. Dex was harsh and hard, every move he made conducive to fights and outburst. Every emotional he felt was blinding, all-encompassing

The irony wasn’t, necessarily, that Dex had fallen blindigly, all-encompassingly in love with someone who made him see red, someone so fundamentally different from him; the irony was–

“You’re what?” Dex exclaims, fork poised halfway between his tray and mouth. Mashed potatoes sluice off his fork and splatter against his chicken.

“It’s not just lobster, man, I’m allergic to all shellfish.” Nursey says, as if Dex could even fathom not eating shellfish on a regular basis.

“You’ve never had a lobster roll.” Dex wheezes. “That’s a fucking shame, Nursey, how–just, god.” Chowder is eyeing him inquisitively.

“Bro, it’s just lobster.” Chowder says and Dex gasps.

Just lobster? This, coming from the person who probably thinks the best chowder comes from the Bay Area?” Dex exclaims. Nursey grins and knocks shoulders with the goalie next to him.

“Well, it kind of does.” He laughs and Dex groans.

“God, god, I can’t even deal with you right now. I need to…I need to process this.”

Months later, Nursey is in his home–his childhood home–sitting in the kitchen with his mother and older brother while Dex finishes cutting slices of french bread for dinner. Dex’s mother keeps trying to offer Nursey these bacon wrapped scallop things and Nursey, face pinched with a nervous smile, declines for the fifth time. Dex turns, exasperated.

“He’s allergic to shellfish, mom.” And if Dex thought he was surprised at the news, nothing could prepare him for the gasp that fell out of his mother’s mouth. After Nursey leaves Maine, a few days later, the issue of Nursey’s allergy isn’t really brought up again.

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anonymous asked:

OH OH, some hakizana jealousy, modern, or not whatever u want. and you can choose which party is jealous. maybe both are. ;)

Haki would like the record to show that despite what some people might say, she was not trying to start trouble.

She’s just so bored.

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iamadelicateflowergoddammit  asked:

Stucky “i’ve never met you before but i went to a huge party at your house with my significant other - who then proceeded to dump me” au!!!!

A Shrunkyclunks AU wherein Steve does not have a sad apartment, but a sad mansion instead.

— —

“Do you really think we’re gonna see him?” Bucky asks. “I’m just askin’ ‘cuz you go to shit sometimes and the person isn’t actually—“

“Bucky, Jesus, would you shut up?” Brock snaps.

Bucky shuts his mouth. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Just excited.” He pokes at the little plate of appetizers that he picked up off a table that he overheard someone say once belonged to James Monroe. He’s not sure he believes the hype, but it’s kind of fun to think about.

Brock rolls his eyes. “Yeah, he’ll be here, but maybe I don’t wanna talk to him, huh? You think of that? Spend all day every day looking at his ugly mug, have to come to these bullshit events because he saved a cat from a tree and the world wants to kiss his ass for it. Last thing I need is to come to his place and fawn over him with all these sycophants and then to have you join them.”

Now would probably be a terrible time for Bucky to mention the Captain America lunchbox he had as a kid.

“You invited me here,” Bucky finds himself saying.

“So what?” Brock asks.

So, if you didn’t wanna come, you shouldn’t’ve invited me!” Brock just rolls his eyes. “Or you could pretend to have fun, or you could ask me to leave! I would, Brock. We could go get a pizza and go to that—“

“Shut up, Bucky. Jesus, you’re like a fucking fly, buzzing around, never stopping.” A few people look over, wondering what’s happening, and Brock grabs his upper arm and drags him to the edge of the room. A few little bacon-wrapped scallops from Bucky’s plate go flying onto the suit of guy who Bucky assumes is an important politician. Normally, it’d make him laugh, but right now, he’s got more important things to worry about.

“Brock, stop,” Bucky says, struggling in Brock’s grip. But the problem with dating a guy who works for SHIELD is that they apparently have a very strong grip.

(Dating is a lose term. They’ve been out five times.)

He doesn’t stop until they’re at the side of the room. Brock takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes. “This won’t work,” he says.

“What?” Bucky asks.

“This. Whatever. I can’t date someone with a hero complex.”

Bucky’s heart sinks.

He didn’t think this was a love connection, but he thought it was… a connection. Something.

But he also doesn’t want to date someone who would drag him around like that.

“I’m gonna…” He swallows hard. “Go use the bathroom.”

“You do that.” He pauses, then adds, “Don’t find me after.”

Bucky nods, walks away, suddenly thankful that they were on the side of the room.

— —

When he finishes up in the bathroom, he hears cheering and loud noises from the party, and decides he can’t deal with it. Instead, he wanders.

Wandering through the government-sponsored mansion of an American hero probably isn’t the greatest idea in the world, but he’s a little shaken and a lot disappointed, so he can’t bring himself to care. He ends up on a balcony, looking out at DC, Capital Building in the near distance.

It’s a pretty good view.

He leans against the rail of the balcony and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. They’re not actually his — Brock had given them and a lighter to Bucky when they got to the party, saying something about keeping the lines of his suit clean. It sounded like bullshit, but Bucky almost appreciates it.

He’s not a smoker, but he takes a cigarette out of the package and lights it.

He takes one drag, nearly coughs up a lung and puts it out on the balcony.

“Careful, that’s the property of the United States’ taxpayer.”

The surprise causes Bucky to sort of fling the cigarette off the balcony. Bucky watches with wide eyes as it falls down onto someone’s Rolls Royce. “Shit,” he mutters.

“Don’t worry, Senator Royce has eight others waiting in his garage.”

Bucky looks up and sees… “Shit,” he mutters again, this time with feeling.

Captain America smiles. “You okay?” he asks.

Bucky nods. “Uh, yeah?” he says. “Why?”

“Saw you and Brock Rumlow chatting earlier. Didn’t look too friendly.”

God, Captain America is all broad and tall, and he’s looking at Bucky with these big, blue, concerned eyes that make Bucky want to sink in on himself.  “He just broke up with me.”

Captain America frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“He said it was ‘cuz I was too excited to meet you.” Bucky chuckles. “Gotta say that I’m not really excited to meet you like this at all.”

Captain America raises an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

“I’m kind of breakin’ into your house, and lookin’ like the most pathetic ass at this party, and you probably came up here to haul my uncredentialed ass outta here, so… I’ll save you the effort and just head on out.”

And then, something miraculous happens.

Captain America smiles.

“I’m Steve,” he says.


“Mind if I hang out a while?”

“No,” Bucky says. “Not at all.”


And now, the most important thing – The Menu


    • Pig Roast: Hawaiian and Mojito Style
    • Fried Chicken Tacos
    • Bacon Wrapped Scallops
    • Bang-Bang Shrimp
    • Tabby’s Tater Tot Stuffed Baked Potatoes
    • Salad, but that’s boring so let’s move on


    • Local Beer
      • Abita Amber
      • NOLA Blonde
      • Crescent City Pilsner
      • Turbodog
    • Mixed Drinks
      • Margaritas from a bottle
      • Daiquiris from a bucket
      • Fancy as shit
    • Wine
      • Red, White, Rose – all in boxes. Also fancy
    • Soda and juice for small people and recovering alcoholics

For @keepthenecklacethatigavetoyou, whose birthday was on Wednesday, but alas, this fic went from three pages to nearly twelve on Microsoft Word. I hope you forgive my tardiness ;) Introducing some hartwin smut and praise kink!

The lawn is strung with fairy lights, glittering in the trees and shimmering off of champagne glasses in people’s ring-laced hands and on pristine white tablecloth that seems to go on for miles. Women in sleek evening gowns and men in impeccably tailored suits shake hands and make small talk, laughing at old stories from the past. The high walls of Eton loom over it all, and as soon Harry and Eggsy get their name tags from a bored-looking boy—a prefect who drew the short straw, Harry had explained, with a wry smirk—Eggsy says, “I’m going home.”

Harry’s grip on his elbow stops him before he can head back to the cab. “Nonsense, we haven’t even tasted the bacon-wrapped scallops.”

“I can’t do this,” Eggsy protests under his breath. “I expected a school reunion to be in some cramped, smelly gym. Not—not—” He winces, taking in the sheer oozing of posh in one place. Eggsy’s dolled up in cologne and pomade and a tuxedo with dark green lapels that Harry proclaimed brought out his eyes. “Harry, I—”

“Harry!” an older man, dark hair peppered with silver, calls, waving with his free right hand. The other, Eggsy notices, is holding a small silver tray littered with the bacon-wrapped scallops Harry had mentioned earlier. “Is that you? God, you’ve aged well!”

“I can say the same for you,” Harry smiles, and to Eggsy’s surprise, embraces him, clapping one hand twice on his back before pulling away. Clutched in between his fingers is a single scallop, and Harry pops it in his mouth whole before saying, “Best-looking in our year—except for me, of course.”

The man roars with laughter. “Oh, you flatter me. Haven’t changed at all, have you?”

“Swore I never would, and I remember us signing that pledge with George and a ridiculously large bottle of scotch from the kitchens.” Harry looks around the lawn. “Where’s George, by the way? I’d like to see him.”

“Oh, George…” The bloke then sighs. “It was awful, Harry, he was trapped in an elevator with two other men on V-Day—“ He bit his lip. “He never stood a chance, I guess. But if you don’t mind me asking…what happened to your eye?”

Harry’s smile becomes stiffer, and Eggsy squeezes his arm in solidarity. “V-Day.”

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” the other man says, looking truly apologetic. “I shouldn’t have asked.” He then rapidly changes the subject: “What I should have asked is who this young arm on your arm is.”

“Ah, yes,” Harry says proudly, voice brightening. “This is my partner, Eggsy. Eggsy, meet Higgins.”

“Higgins?” Eggsy asks, briefly amused, but quickly sticks out his hand to shake. “Pleased to meet you.”

Higgins clasps his hand in his momentarily before releasing it to point accusingly at Harry. “Partner?”

“The love of my life,” Harry says, and Eggsy feels himself blush. “I met this man only two years ago and was infatuated him on sight. It took me a ridiculously long while to realize that I’d fallen arse over tits with him, but once I figured that out, we’ve had smooth sailing ever since.” He presses a kiss to Eggsy’s forehead, and Eggsy briefly preens under Harry’s attention.

Higgins whistles. “Ha-art,” he murmurs, “he’s really got you wrapped around his finger, eh? Who knew you’d be wedded and bedded, while most of us are stumbling around single?”

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