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cap_ironman2015-07-25 08:23 pm
entropy-house.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2015-07-25 08:23 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Whining and Dying
Whining and Dying (890 words) by AnonEhouse
Rating: Teen
Warnings:None
Universe: MCU, AU
Genre:Fluffy Gen
Tony cooks for Steve even though Tony is arguably the world's worst cook.
(Takes place in a movieverse where the Avengers took Tony up on his offer of Tower space and Pepper and Tony were never an item. Basically ignores everything after the first Avengers movie.)
A fill for the 'Domesticity' square on my Bingo card.
Steve had lived through the Depression. He'd scrounged and scrimped and not been too proud for ketchup sandwiches or potato peel soup. He'd gone through a war where rinsing out your helmet before you stewed a rabbit in it was the height of culinary luxury. He'd eaten Spam and the Army's delightfully named 'shit on a shingle' and the mystery meat at a Catholic orphanage. He'd even eaten the chicken fricassee at an Elk's banquet, and God Help Him, he once ate the egg salad in the Helicarrier commissary.
So, you know, he had a cast-iron gut and a goat's willingness to try anything that wouldn't actually kill him, but he didn't enjoy eating lousy food. He wished he hadn't cheerfully choked down the waffles Tony had made the first morning after their first night together, but looking back, he really didn't see what else he could have done without hurting his new lover's feelings. Tony had this obvious need to feed, which he should have picked up on way back on the helicarrier, with that stupid bag of dried blueberries and the hurt look Tony got when Steve refused them.
How does anyone burn waffles on the outside, while keeping them gooey in the center? That takes genius. And to make matters worse, Tony apparently couldn't tell the difference between good food and bad. Something to do with long-term poisoning, Natasha had told him one day, when she was slipping what Tony called a pirozhky into a napkin so she could throw it away without Tony noticing.
Clint had made a little joke about 'third world dining' the day Tony made traditional Indian Barfi (basically cooked condensed milk with sugar and fruit flavor, you'd think he could get that right) as a treat in Bruce's honor. Tony was so obviously upset that everyone ate the stuff, and then... well... spent the evening barfi-ing.
And Tony kept getting worse. He found the weirdest cookbooks, and made stuff even a goat might eye suspiciously. 'Spotted Dog' came from a souvenir Ozarks recipe book that Steve was pretty sure was just a joke. Tony gleefully made a casserole dish full. It had rice, and cheese, and raisins, and things Steve couldn't identify. It tasted even more awful than it looked. He began to think maybe he should get a dog, a big one with an omnivorous appetite, to sneak the food under the table to it, but then, that would be animal cruelty.
"I found this in a 1950's recipe book," Tony announced proudly one evening when the Avengers had just finished battling a guy with winged feet who wore scaled bathing trunks and tried to pull down the Statue of Liberty with a team of giant octopuses, and they'd all been too tired to leave in time to avoid a Date with Death, as Natasha called Tony's dinners. "A little past your time, Steve, but progress is good, right? It's lobster relish!"
Just by looking and sniffing, Steve could tell there had been a horrible miscegenation of gelatin, cream, cucumber, shrimp, lobster, and mayonnaise. It was molded into a sort of Tower shape, with shrimps decoratively arched on top of green slime, set in a bed of lettuce on a platter further decorated by what looked like some kind of sea bed life, possibly made from artichokes in aspic with pimento stuffed olive slices on top staring like eyes, and there were lobster legs set in naturalistic poses all around, and tiny, tiny new potatoes, cooked brown and delicately sprinkled with fresh parsley. The Avengers all stared at it. Tony went back into the kitchen for something he'd forgot. Clint poked at the platter with a fork. One of the legs twisted over and he dropped the fork. "Guys, I think my food is alive and wants to eat me."
Thor gamely picked up a lobster leg and cracked it. He poked at the meat suspiciously. It was gray, with purple speckles. He gently draped his napkin over it. Everyone looked at Steve.
"Steve," Clint said, "I love you, but I will not eat Cthulhu salad even though your boyfriend is a special snowflake."
"Pretty sure it would make me Hulk out," Bruce muttered. He poked at the jello, which jiggled greenly.
Natasha twirled a dinner knife between her fingers. "I've killed people for less."
Steve sighed and got up. "I'll handle it." He went into the kitchen, where Tony was sawing at something resembling a brown rock. From the strong scent of yeast, it had been intended to be bread. In another life, perhaps. He put his arms around Tony's waist from the back and nuzzled his neck.
"Kiss the cook?" Tony said hopefully, pointing at his apron which read the same.
Steve had an inspiration. "You know, you kinda remind me of my mother, when you cook for us."
Tony turned in Steve's arms. "That's weird, isn't it?"
"Kinda. It feels a little... awkward. I know you enjoy cooking, but..." Steve did his best puppy dog eyes impression. "I'd rather think of you as my lover, not my mother."
"Eww, yeah. I see your point." Tony ripped off the apron. "Jarvis! Order us some pizza. Oh, and make sure they include lots of the cheesy breadsticks!"
From the dining room, Steve's supersensitive hearing caught a muffled, but heartfelt, cheer.
Rating: Teen
Warnings:None
Universe: MCU, AU
Genre:Fluffy Gen
Tony cooks for Steve even though Tony is arguably the world's worst cook.
(Takes place in a movieverse where the Avengers took Tony up on his offer of Tower space and Pepper and Tony were never an item. Basically ignores everything after the first Avengers movie.)
A fill for the 'Domesticity' square on my Bingo card.
Steve had lived through the Depression. He'd scrounged and scrimped and not been too proud for ketchup sandwiches or potato peel soup. He'd gone through a war where rinsing out your helmet before you stewed a rabbit in it was the height of culinary luxury. He'd eaten Spam and the Army's delightfully named 'shit on a shingle' and the mystery meat at a Catholic orphanage. He'd even eaten the chicken fricassee at an Elk's banquet, and God Help Him, he once ate the egg salad in the Helicarrier commissary.
So, you know, he had a cast-iron gut and a goat's willingness to try anything that wouldn't actually kill him, but he didn't enjoy eating lousy food. He wished he hadn't cheerfully choked down the waffles Tony had made the first morning after their first night together, but looking back, he really didn't see what else he could have done without hurting his new lover's feelings. Tony had this obvious need to feed, which he should have picked up on way back on the helicarrier, with that stupid bag of dried blueberries and the hurt look Tony got when Steve refused them.
How does anyone burn waffles on the outside, while keeping them gooey in the center? That takes genius. And to make matters worse, Tony apparently couldn't tell the difference between good food and bad. Something to do with long-term poisoning, Natasha had told him one day, when she was slipping what Tony called a pirozhky into a napkin so she could throw it away without Tony noticing.
Clint had made a little joke about 'third world dining' the day Tony made traditional Indian Barfi (basically cooked condensed milk with sugar and fruit flavor, you'd think he could get that right) as a treat in Bruce's honor. Tony was so obviously upset that everyone ate the stuff, and then... well... spent the evening barfi-ing.
And Tony kept getting worse. He found the weirdest cookbooks, and made stuff even a goat might eye suspiciously. 'Spotted Dog' came from a souvenir Ozarks recipe book that Steve was pretty sure was just a joke. Tony gleefully made a casserole dish full. It had rice, and cheese, and raisins, and things Steve couldn't identify. It tasted even more awful than it looked. He began to think maybe he should get a dog, a big one with an omnivorous appetite, to sneak the food under the table to it, but then, that would be animal cruelty.
"I found this in a 1950's recipe book," Tony announced proudly one evening when the Avengers had just finished battling a guy with winged feet who wore scaled bathing trunks and tried to pull down the Statue of Liberty with a team of giant octopuses, and they'd all been too tired to leave in time to avoid a Date with Death, as Natasha called Tony's dinners. "A little past your time, Steve, but progress is good, right? It's lobster relish!"
Just by looking and sniffing, Steve could tell there had been a horrible miscegenation of gelatin, cream, cucumber, shrimp, lobster, and mayonnaise. It was molded into a sort of Tower shape, with shrimps decoratively arched on top of green slime, set in a bed of lettuce on a platter further decorated by what looked like some kind of sea bed life, possibly made from artichokes in aspic with pimento stuffed olive slices on top staring like eyes, and there were lobster legs set in naturalistic poses all around, and tiny, tiny new potatoes, cooked brown and delicately sprinkled with fresh parsley. The Avengers all stared at it. Tony went back into the kitchen for something he'd forgot. Clint poked at the platter with a fork. One of the legs twisted over and he dropped the fork. "Guys, I think my food is alive and wants to eat me."
Thor gamely picked up a lobster leg and cracked it. He poked at the meat suspiciously. It was gray, with purple speckles. He gently draped his napkin over it. Everyone looked at Steve.
"Steve," Clint said, "I love you, but I will not eat Cthulhu salad even though your boyfriend is a special snowflake."
"Pretty sure it would make me Hulk out," Bruce muttered. He poked at the jello, which jiggled greenly.
Natasha twirled a dinner knife between her fingers. "I've killed people for less."
Steve sighed and got up. "I'll handle it." He went into the kitchen, where Tony was sawing at something resembling a brown rock. From the strong scent of yeast, it had been intended to be bread. In another life, perhaps. He put his arms around Tony's waist from the back and nuzzled his neck.
"Kiss the cook?" Tony said hopefully, pointing at his apron which read the same.
Steve had an inspiration. "You know, you kinda remind me of my mother, when you cook for us."
Tony turned in Steve's arms. "That's weird, isn't it?"
"Kinda. It feels a little... awkward. I know you enjoy cooking, but..." Steve did his best puppy dog eyes impression. "I'd rather think of you as my lover, not my mother."
"Eww, yeah. I see your point." Tony ripped off the apron. "Jarvis! Order us some pizza. Oh, and make sure they include lots of the cheesy breadsticks!"
From the dining room, Steve's supersensitive hearing caught a muffled, but heartfelt, cheer.