wintersday (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wintersday) wrote2020-12-12 05:27 pm
wintersday) wrote2020-12-12 05:27 pm
Fic: Bittersweet
Title: Bittersweet
Fandom: Homestuck
Major Characters/Pairings: Dave, background Rose/Kanaya
Wordcount: 350 words
Rating: Teen
POV: Second person
Summary: Food that isn’t packaged in plastic takes some getting used to, and fruit is just weird.
Dave had never been certain exactly how to deal with fruit. It had peels and seeds and stringy bits that got caught in your teeth, and basically, setting aside for a second the numerous, varied, and totally original dick jokes it was possible to make using a banana, he was used to eating things that came pre-packaged in plastic and would probably give you cancer seventy years down the line if something more interesting didn’t kill you first.
And like, he was content in his shitty dietary habits. But. Rose had – without warning or provocation – shown up at his door with a literal basket of the stuff, which he figured was what happened when one partner in a relationship had both a fixation on gardening and an inability to consume anything not thematically associated with gothic evening wear and a tower full of bats, and now it was sitting accusingly on his kitchen table and starting to freak him out. There weren’t even any bananas. There were lemons, and this like bizarre fucking globular thing from Alternia with spikes on it which he was man enough to admit kind of worried him a little, and oranges.
He could handle oranges. Any idiot could handle oranges. All you had to do was peel them, prise apart the sections, ignore the organic stickiness of the experience and also his uncomfortably keen awareness that Rose would probably be reading something Freudian into his hesitation right now, and just eat the damn thing.
He took a bite.
He did not make a face. He was too cool and casual a guy to quail in the face of a simple food item, even alone in his own kitchen. His face maybe froze a little as sensory information hit his synapses – tart, acidic, weird and stringy and bursting between his teeth, filling his mouth with the unexpected intensity of juice – and very slowly, he chewed and swallowed. He looked at the wedge of orange in his hand like a challenger undefeated. After a moment, he took another bite.
Two days later, there weren’t any oranges left.
Fandom: Homestuck
Major Characters/Pairings: Dave, background Rose/Kanaya
Wordcount: 350 words
Rating: Teen
POV: Second person
Summary: Food that isn’t packaged in plastic takes some getting used to, and fruit is just weird.
Dave had never been certain exactly how to deal with fruit. It had peels and seeds and stringy bits that got caught in your teeth, and basically, setting aside for a second the numerous, varied, and totally original dick jokes it was possible to make using a banana, he was used to eating things that came pre-packaged in plastic and would probably give you cancer seventy years down the line if something more interesting didn’t kill you first.
And like, he was content in his shitty dietary habits. But. Rose had – without warning or provocation – shown up at his door with a literal basket of the stuff, which he figured was what happened when one partner in a relationship had both a fixation on gardening and an inability to consume anything not thematically associated with gothic evening wear and a tower full of bats, and now it was sitting accusingly on his kitchen table and starting to freak him out. There weren’t even any bananas. There were lemons, and this like bizarre fucking globular thing from Alternia with spikes on it which he was man enough to admit kind of worried him a little, and oranges.
He could handle oranges. Any idiot could handle oranges. All you had to do was peel them, prise apart the sections, ignore the organic stickiness of the experience and also his uncomfortably keen awareness that Rose would probably be reading something Freudian into his hesitation right now, and just eat the damn thing.
He took a bite.
He did not make a face. He was too cool and casual a guy to quail in the face of a simple food item, even alone in his own kitchen. His face maybe froze a little as sensory information hit his synapses – tart, acidic, weird and stringy and bursting between his teeth, filling his mouth with the unexpected intensity of juice – and very slowly, he chewed and swallowed. He looked at the wedge of orange in his hand like a challenger undefeated. After a moment, he took another bite.
Two days later, there weren’t any oranges left.