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daredevilkink2015-04-15 05:15 pm
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2015-04-15 05:15 pm
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Prompt Post #1
THIS POST IS CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #2 TO DO THAT THING.
But please keep filling prompts on this post! Make sure to link any new fic on the complete or work in progress fills posts so it doesn't get missed.
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HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #2 TO DO THAT THING.
But please keep filling prompts on this post! Make sure to link any new fic on the complete or work in progress fills posts so it doesn't get missed.
Please read the current rules before commenting on this post.
Rules:
YKINMKATO. Play nice.All comments must be anon.If you fill a prompt, drop a link to it on thefill postso everyone find it.Warnings are nice, but not necessary.Use the subject line for the main idea of your prompt (pairing, kink, general wants).All types of prompts are welcome.Multiple fills are always okay.RPF is allowed. Crossovers, characters from the extended Marvel Universe and comics canon are allowed, but must relate to the 2015 TV show in some way.Drop a comment on themod postif you have any problems with meme or thedeliciousaccount. If you crosspost to AO3, please add your fill to theDDKM collection!
ETA2: we have a
FILL: Rites of Passage (Gen, PG)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-16 03:13 am (UTC)(link)"I don't see what the big deal is," Foggy says. "We can just order Chinese."
Matt shakes his head. "I think it's possible to overdose on MSG. It's called a heart attack, actually."
Foggy makes a dismissive sound. Matt can hear him throwing a baseball up and down and up again. "We're young, healthy, virile men. Besides, if we eat enough, we'll probably develop an immunity."
Matt doesn't bother answering that one. He's got six-pack abs to maintain, and his training regime is lagging now that he's living on a steady diet of General Tso's chicken. Stick would be ashamed.
"I'm going to the grocery store," Matt says, going to retrieve his cane from the corner by the door.
Foggy steps in front of him hastily. "You can't do that, Matt. We're not supposed to let the neighbors see us, remember?"
Hiding from the neighbors is the chief inconvenience of an illegal Craigslist sublet. It's especially inconvenient when they run out of toilet paper, or food.
Matt sighs. "It's two o'clock on a Wednesday. No one's going to see."
Foggy takes in a long breath, and Matt knows exactly what question is coming.
"Are you sure you can --"
"Yes, Foggy," Matt says, not bothering to let him finish. "Blind people go to supermarkets too."
Grocery shopping isn't as tricky as some people imagine. His dad had never been very good at it, so Matt had kept up with it even after the accident. It was the only way to avoid living on a diet of TV dinners they couldn't afford and Cheetos that reeked of yellow number six.
The produce section is easy. There's really no mistaking an artichoke for an ear of corn, or a bundle of asparagus for an avocado. The only problem is when the management asks him to leave if he spends too long sniffing out a perfectly ripe cantaloupe. Apparently spending twenty minutes sniffing melons looks creepy.
The meat section is pretty easy too, except the aroma of so much raw flesh gets overwhelming if he lingers too long. He doesn't need to spend very much time there anyway; only an idiot would mistake a whole chicken for a sirloin steak.
Dairy can result in unpleasant surprises when he's not paying attention -- like the time he grabbed the one carton of buttermilk hiding between the cartons of half-and-half. He should've smelled it, but he didn't. At least, not until he was pouring it into his morning coffee in an exhausted stupor.
For the rest of his shopping, he relies on memory. Protein powder on aisle seven. Canned goods on aisle two. The beans are at the end of the left side, and the cannellini beans he likes to put in chili are always on the third shelf -- or at least, they're supposed to be. Sometimes a random asshole discards a can of cherry pie filling right in the middle of the beans. Matt can never tell the difference; tin cans smell like tin cans, no matter what's inside.
This is why he makes a point of getting to know the clerks. Mrs. Chang, his favorite, works on Mondays and Wednesdays from twelve to six. She always warns him if the manager moved his favorite fruit cups to the other side of the store, and she says something if there's a random can of sardines mixed in with his pumpkin pie ingredients.
All in all, he's a much better grocery shopper than Foggy, who never checks to see if the eggs are broken and forgets the bread when he's distracted by a new flavor of Doritos. Of course, when law school hits, all their fledgling adulthood skills are put to the test. Foggy stops doing laundry, and Matt ends up making random grocery trips at 10:30 p.m., when the only clerk is a stoner who has no idea where anything is. Most of the time, it doesn't matter. Occasionally Matt comes home with surprises.
Those nights start with Foggy rifling through the grocery bag -- eagerly at first, because he likes to know what he's going to be fed. Then there's a pause.
"So...what's for dinner tomorrow?" he asks, voice carefully neutral.
"Chili," Matt says.
Another pause, and Matt knows Foggy is weighing responses. There had been an incidents in which Matt's experimental cooking techniques had clashed with Foggy's decidedly meat-and-potatoes tastes. Foggy had learned not to complain, at least, not if he wanted to be fed.
"Do we have to put pumpkin pie filling and olives in the chili?" Foggy asks finally. "I mean, if we could just do one or the other, that would be nice. I'm thinking the olives, but if the pumpkin pie thing is important to you..."
Matt drags himself off the couch and back to the kitchen counter. He pulls the cans out of the bag one by one, but they're all the same -- squat, fourteen ounces, smelling of tin and the dye used to print the labels.
"What else did I buy?" he asks.
He hears the cans clatter against the counter as Foggy picks them up and puts them down.
"Uh, canned asparagus. Gross. Some corn. We can work with that. And zucchini. Who eats canned zucchini?" He slides down onto one of their bar stools -- the one with the creaky leg -- and slaps Matt on the arm. "They rearranged the whole store on you again, didn't they?"
Matt sighs. He'd really been looking forward to that chili. "We'll order Chinese."
When graduation is looming on the horizon, Matt and Foggy decide to get their own places. It's the adult thing to do, right? Besides, Foggy's worried that girls don't like him because they think he and Matt are a couple. Matt's worried he'll kill Foggy if he sticks his fingers in one more weird dollop of mustard splattered on the outside of the jar.
Living alone has a lot of perks. There's no way to get sexiled from his own apartment, for one. He never has to contend with the aroma of Foggy's overflowing laundry hamper, for another. Best of all, he's free to organize the fridge however he wants. That means he can keep the condiments in alphabetical order, and he never has to sniff blocks of cheese that smell like sweaty gym socks while he's hunting for a block of cheddar.
The thing is, cooking isn't fun when there's no one to share it with. The shopping list dwindles to eggs and spaghetti and Raisin Bran, the bare minimum to make him feel like a responsible adult while he fills up the fridge with beer. He barely ever goes to the supermarket anymore, except for the Friday nights when he knows that Foggy will come over, open the fridge and ask what's for dinner.
Re: FILL: Rites of Passage (Gen, PG)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-16 03:24 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Rites of Passage (Gen, PG)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-16 03:36 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Rites of Passage (Gen, PG)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-16 08:29 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Rites of Passage (Gen, PG)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-27 03:41 am (UTC)(link)