#i am putting them in the washing machine that is my dumb little brain

[socks-wizard-money-gang]

Rotating nine rn i love the new nilfruits song sm [nine is the protag of the song btw, the cult leader is mada and the two other cult members that show up ocassionally are domu and mora]

NOW THAT I KNOW THEIR NAME I WILL BE UNSTOPPABLE

[ayellowcurtain]

I can be your lover

part 2 

It’s stupid, Sander thinks, holding on to the hard bathroom counter, needing something to ground him, staring at the clippers right next to the sink. It’s just hair, this was never a problem for him but for a reason it is now. Robbe loves his bleached hair, and Sander knows in a weird way, this is the end of an era. He’s been bleaching his hair for almost two years, Robbe doesn’t know him any other way. And now they’re living hours away from each other, not even in a real relationship yet and here is Sander, about to throw away the only thing that he feels still connects him and the experience Robbe had with him.

It’s stupid, he repeats to himself as he grabs the machine, holding it firmly in his palm, turning it on and wrapping his fingers around it to not mess this up too badly, lifting it up, thinking it’ll be better to start from the sides where’s shorter. His hair is getting long, too long and it gives him enough room to not go completely bald. He looks at his phone on the counter and thinks about recording it, sending the video to Robbe as a joke but he knows Robbe will be a little upset so he decides against it, checking if he’s using the right one and he presses it gently against his scalp, feeling almost instantly his hair falling against his face, tingling his cheek.

He can’t really see it, but when he’s done with the right side, he puts the clippers down and touches the counter, feeling the fuzz instead of the slick texture from before, and he pushes everything to one spot until he can see a tiny pile forming, the bleached hair and some dark dots at the ends.

Sander goes back to the other side, the back and the top at last, trying to avoid actually looking at himself in the mirror unless it’s necessary to have a decent haircut. He takes his shirt off when he’s done and tries to clean his shoulder with it before looking forward.

It’s not that bad, but it’s still dark hair where it was white before. It’s a good length, not too short, definitely shorter on the sides. It feels weird even for him, he can’t imagine how Robbe will react. He’ll take care of the mess later. The tiny hair strands all over his shoulders, neck and back are quickly getting on his nerves, so he pushes his boxers down and jumps out of them, turning the shower on and getting inside the bathtub.

It feels a lot different washing his hair, Sander can’t remember the last time his hair was this short. He tries not to overthink it as he takes a quick shower. Hair grows back, and it’ll be back to normal in no time.

Milan’s picture is on his phone when he jumps off the shower so Sander puts his phone down and accepts the call as he grabs his towel, drying his chest before wrapping around his waist, putting his phone back up, pushing it against the mirror on the wall before taking his hand off the camera.

Milan opens his mouth wide and laughs, clapping his hands, clearly enjoying seeing Sander shirtless too.

“Oh my god! Sander!” He sounds surprised, but happy and Sander uses it to calm himself.

“Do you think Robbe will like it?” Sander asks anxiously and Milan tilts his head like he just heard something very dumb.

“And why are you worried about what he’ll think?”

Sander snorts, grabbing his phone to leave the bathroom. Nobody really knows what’s going on between him and Robbe. How would they know? It’s complicated even for Sander to understand, but he knows they’re not the best at hiding their feelings either, no matter how much they don’t kiss in front of anyone and try as best as they can to act like normal friends.

“He’ll love it, I’m sure. Now you and Senne look like actual twins! The same black and white, edgy aesthetics. Too bad you live away now so you’ll have to make your own closet without sharing it with Senne...or Robbe.”

Sander nods his head, biting the inside of his cheek. He misses Robbe more than he’s willing to admit, he misses his smell, seeing Robbe stealing some of his clothes, wearing it around the house when they were alone.

“How is he?”

Milan sighs loudly, leaning against his chair, “I mean...he’s good at pretending.”

Sander sighs, sitting on his bed, going back again to the reasons why he should just stay here. He’s tired of living with his parents, no company is willing to pay him as well as he’s been paid right now, he has his dream job. He’s just one short flight away from home, he has his own space with nobody to share it with.

There are so many good, solid reasons to be here, to make the choice of moving away. And still, thinking about Robbe makes all of those reasons seem unnecessary and futile. But Robbe has a lot to figure out too, and they needed space and so Sander created the space between them. Doesn’t make him miss Robbe any less. Being the reasonable one is not a thing Sander likes to be, it doesn’t come naturally to him so it’s like his nature is constantly fighting him, wanting to go back home and drop everything else.

Milan gets easily distracted talking about Senne and Zoe and Sander hums agreeing or disagreeing whenever he feels it’ll fit the conversation while he opens his conversation with Robbe.

to Robbe: Can you talk now?

Robbe is online and the bubbles appear instantly on his screen.

to Sander: am with the boys

kinda drank a little

not sure if it’s safe for us to talk now

Sander smiles at his phone, thinking about a shy and drunk Robbe trying to talk to him while having his friends watching. The thought of Robbe not being able to hide how soft he goes for Sander makes him find any excuse to end his call with Milan and instantly call Robbe.

He looks around while he waits and grabs a clean shirt that’s on his bed, putting it on quickly, just then remembering about his hair, very sure Robbe will not be able to hide his feelings about it either. Sander can’t make himself be mad if the boys find out they’re together. He keeps biting the corner of his bottom lip until a shaky image finally appears and he sees Robbe a second later, the boys talking loudly off camera.

“What did you do?!” Robbe almost screams, frowning and coming closer to the camera like that’ll make him see better.

“You like it?” Sander is overwhelmed by how loud and fast his heart is beating but he notices how insecure and afraid he sounds and he hopes the boys are busy with something else not to notice it too.

“Sander...why did you do that?” He whines and pouts a little and Sander wants to kiss him so badly.

The boys end their little moment, jumping around Robbe to see whatever he’s seeing and complaining about.

“Wow, bro! Looks so nice!” Moyo is the first one to say anything and Sander tries to smile and look at him, whispering a thank you back, too worried about Robbe’s thoughts still.

“So edgy.” Aaron says like it’s an afterthought and Jens and Moyo laugh.

“Yeah, Sander, looks sick! I’m sure the ladies are climbing all over you with the new look.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that and he doesn’t have to because Robbe finally walks away from them, seeming to close the living room door behind him, walking by himself down the hall between the bedrooms.

“I miss you.” Sander fills the awkward silence for both of them.

“I miss you too.” Robbe whispers like he’s ashamed to say it and Sander knows he’s just saying because of the beers he probably already drank.

“Why don’t you just tell them?”

“What is there to tell? Especially now that you’re somewhere else, fucking whoever you like.” Robbe sounds really annoyed, throwing himself against a wall and Sander sighs, knowing the boys are probably gossiping a lot about him and whatever he’s doing with his free time here, by himself, filling Robbe’s brain with bullshit.

“You can’t imagine the line outside my place.” He tries not to sound too hard, smiling when Robbe rolls his eyes.

“I have an idea. I gave you a note, remember? When you left and it’s not like I got anything back...”

“What?” Sander gets up from his bed to walk around aimlessly like Robbe is doing again.

“You don’t know that I like you? Is that it?” Robbe blushes but doesn’t say sorry or explain why he hasn’t come to visit yet, “You’re the one with the plane ticket just getting old inside your drawer or something.”

It takes a long minute but Robbe finally wets his lips, searching for what to say.

“You know I like things to be very clear, right?”

“What is Jens filling your head with?”

“He’s not doing anything.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Are you jealous?” Robbe smiles expectantly, walking slower now, thankfully, wanting to give Sander his full attention for what he says next.

“What is there to be jealous about? Especially now that you’re somewhere else, fucking whoever you like.” Sander snorts, unable to think of anything other than how beautiful Robbe looks on his screen right now. “Yeah, I’m fucking jealous.”

“I just want you. Nobody else.”

“So come see me already, Robin. Please.” Robbe smiles and Sander doesn’t feel so self aware for whining, needing to see his boy soon.

They stay in silence for a long time, looking at each other, noticing the big or small differences.

“I like how long your hair is getting.” Sander says with a comfortable smile of his lips, lying back down on his bed, adjusting his pillow underneath his head.

“I don’t like when you call me Robin…” Robbe whispers, looking at Sander to get his reaction.

“You don’t?” Sander lifts his eyebrows, surprised, absently running his fingers through his scalp, feeling how fuzzy it is, wishing he could make Robbe feel it too, make some comment about how he likes it or not.

“Not like this...when you’re being serious.”

Sander nods his head, his smile growing bigger, “So you like it when I use it to annoy you.”

Robbe shrugs, and rests his head against the wall, “Can I go in two weeks?”

“Really?!” Sander pushes himself to sit up.

“Yeah.”

“Of course you can. Tell me the time you get here and I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

[zosonils]

what are some random papyrus headcanons you currently have?

ooughwhhghgh anon you know the EXACT way to my heart. got a map to it and everything. a real good and fancy map. the ones with sea monsters in the corners

autistic adhd papyrus real

he tends to think of anything he doesn’t understand [and even some things he does!] in terms of puzzles, since they’re a lifelong special interest and they help him contextualise things! for instance if he’s navigating someplace he’s never been before it’s easier for him to visualise things as an incomplete map that he has to find the pieces [landmarks] of than it is to just wander until he finds his way or go up to someone and ask for directions [talking to people he doesn’t know very well is also a puzzle and he has more trouble solving that one because sometimes the clues lie to you]. this approach to things makes him astoundingly good at working through things logically, although between the difficulties applying this sort of thinking to unpredictable social situations and his occasional penchant for insane troll logic he doesn’t have a 100% success rate

in addition to this he’s a really visual thinker and can understand almost anything really quickly if he has a way to visualise it, whether it’s explicitly given to him or he thinks of one himself and suddenly goes OH I GET IT NOW. anything that doesn’t come with a coherent visual metaphor is borderline impossible for him to grasp, though. dude needs his diagrams

he likes playing video games, at least when he isn’t hyperfocused on his duties as a royal guard in training, and he tends to get an insane amount of mileage out of them because once he beats whatever objective the game explicitly gives him he’ll start making up his own self-imposed challenges or ‘puzzles’ instead. like if you gave him tetris he’d be super into the standard a-type and b-type modes, but once he gets tired of those he’ll start doing stuff like trying to play in time with the music, or without rotating any pieces, or painstakingly arranging incomplete lines so that the empty spaces form some kind of intricate pattern

gloves and especially scarves are a comfort accessory for him! even before/after the battle body is a thing and he’s wearing different clothes from one day to another pretty much every outfit he wears includes those accessories. if it’s too hot for a huge warm tightly-wrapped scarf he just grits his teeth and wears it anyway

the reason pap hates grease so much is that it sets off literally every single sensory issue he has. it sticks to you when you touch it just a little, it feels just as gross through your gloves, it’s hard to wash off, it stains your favourite scarf so you have to put it through the washing machine twice to make absolutely sure it doesn’t smell weird later and stress you out again, it has a gross taste that stays in your mouth for ages, it’s just the worst! how his brother stomachs the stuff he’ll never know [and it’s not because he doesn’t have a stomach, that doesn’t mean he can’t have standards either]

papyrus knows that sans suffers from depression, and he understands what that actually means as opposed to just having a surface-level grasp on ‘sans isn’t happy as often as he should be’. the issue isn’t that he doesn’t understand or desperately want to help, he does, but the sheer magnitude of sans’ issues is just substantially more than papyrus has any frame of reference for. the best he knows how to do is to be as blisteringly positive as possible in hopes that some of it will rub off on sans, while also refusing to enable any of the lazy or blatantly self-destructive habits sans has that papyrus can tell aren’t making him feel any better. short motherfucker needs a trained therapist and/or antidepressants more than anything but papyrus is doing everything he can, and while papyrus being papyrus is already enough to keep sans going he’s helping as much as he does specifically because of the deliberate effort he makes to beat sans’ depression over the head with a bone until it runs off hissing

wow that one got long lmao sorry i just really hate when people portray papyrus as completely oblivious to sans’ problems when he’s pretty strongly hinted to understand them to at least some degree and 1. it literally makes for such a better story on both the heartwarming and crushingly tragic ends of the spectrum if pap knows and is doing his best to help 2. even if it didn’t people are still deliberately ignoring huge chunks of papyrus’ characterisation in favour of portraying him as the smol little innocent cinnamon roll uwu bean who doesn’t understand anything and y’all have got to realise the implications of forcing this personality on the most heavily autistic coded character in the game :|

on a more lighthearted note, papyrus can reluctantly but wholeheartedly appreciate a good pun or cleverly-planned prank, he just knows that sans likes getting a rise out of people with them and goes with his instinct to groan over his instinct to laugh because it makes sans happy. sans is completely aware that papyrus is doing this, so there’s an unspoken self-aware undertone to their whole routine lmao

whenever papyrus, sans, and undyne are together they have this wacky dynamic where they’re all constantly tossing the straight man role around like a hot potato and i want a dumb sitcom about the three of them living in the skeleton household that goes absolutely mental with this wacky dynamic and god damn it i’ll write it myself if i have to

papyrus gets to kin me for this one, there’s like a single phineas and ferb dvd that fell into the underground a few years ago that made its way to him in one way or another [sans probably gave it to him with no way of predicting the special interest hell [positive] he was about to unleash] and he immediately became obsessed. he can recite entire episodes from memory because he watched them so many times the audio got burned into his brain. his favourite character is doof and he considers the annoying dog his personal perry the platypus. when he gets to the surface and finds out that there’s like 200 more episodes he cries with happiness

aroace papyrus also real

it’s getting late so i’m going to leave this here but i am always down to talk about papyrus. i fuckin love papyrus so much guys

[hemmoangel]

Dr. Gay Dreamboat Pt. 1

AN: I am giving the people what they want! Here is my comeback one shot’s first part. I hope you all enjoy it because this series is going to be STEAMY! 

Basically, Ashton is a doctor and Luke is his hot femboy nurse who has the hots for him...enjoy 

Warning:There will be smut and mentions of smut throughout the series! Bottom! Luke and top! Ashton, of course.  DO NOT READ IF YOU HATE GAY STUFF! Also, be sure to like a reblog if you enjoy! 

Here’s the link for ao3 :) :

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210262/chapters/71721195

Working as a pediatric nurse had its perks. For example, Luke enjoyed socializing with children—they always had interesting stories to tell, and he liked wearing comfy clothes to work every day. He felt so professional in his little white scrubs. He also enjoyed stealing the candy from all the jars at the receptionist's desk. They always kept lollipops or gummy bears for the children who had a hard time handling vaccinations. But perhaps, the most exciting part (for most of the nurses, in fact) was how attractive he found his boss.

It wasn't the reason he had initially wanted the job. He was excellent with kids, and the registered nurse position required only a three-year degree. It paid more than enough to support his dog himself. It was a lovely job all around. The people were friendly, and there was such a diverse clientele that Luke met people from all over Sydney. It was social job with excellent pay; he couldn't ask for more. Except for the fact that his boss was a dreamboat.

They met at the interview—Luke was a blubbering mess. He wasn't exactly the smartest interviewee, so he rambled any time the man with fluffy brown hair and deep hazel eyes asked him a question.

"Are you from around here, Luke?" His voice had hit Luke's ears like velvet. It felt like a question he would receive at a gay bar, but he definitely wasn't imagining this guy at a gay bar during something as important at a job interview. Right?

"Oh, yeah. I grew up here...all my life," Luke swallowed thickly. He watched the doctor's hands, searching for a wedding ring. He didn't find one.

He's probably too busy for a love life, he thought and bit his lip.

"That's great. You'll easily relate to the patients then. They need someone kind and familiar with the area. It soothes them. I think you'll make a great nurse," The doctor, Ashton, assured. Luke had never heard such eloquent words in his life. He wanted to marry this man and have kids with him. But then, Luke realized that he had only answered two questions. Were his responses really that good? He was a dumb twink with nothing in his head except this doctor's dick for crying out loud!

Maybe Dr. Ashton Irwin saw a bright future inside of him too.

After that, Luke made it his personal mission to get on the handsome doctor's good side. Any chance that he had, he would ask his opinion or ask how to pronounce the name of some ridiculously long prescription just so Ashton would allow their arms to brush. Sometimes, Luke could smell the aftershave or cologne that he wore. It made his head spin.

He was always looking for new ways to get close to him.

"Dr. Irwin, I really love the new murals that you've picked for the examination rooms. The kids are going to love all the pretty colors!" Luke gushed, snacking on one of the children's lollipops in the office break room. He sucked it to stain his lips red.

"Oh yeah? I think so too. I was a hyper child, so I'm sure I would have loved all of the mind-numbing rainbow," Ashton laughed, looking over at Luke, "Hey, isn't that one of the lollipops we give to the kids?"

Luke blushed, "Yeah...just one. I really like the cherry ones," he felt like a child being scolded. It almost  was electrifying. He was hoping that his scrubs made him look particularly attractive today. They always did give his bum a certain heart shape.

"That's funny, Luke. You always light up the office," Ashton said softly, unaware that he had just made Luke's entire week. Oh, what he wouldn't do to sink to his knees right there in the break room and risk this man's entire PhD.

The room was thick since they were alone. Luke could hear the coffee machine whirring and the hands on the clock slowly tick tock. He ached to hear more of Ashton's praise. And maybe he was delusional, but Ashton only ever spoke so softly about him. It caused him to fantasize about being the doctor's fem-boy wife. They would have so many kids. Ashton was so thoughtful when it came to children, Luke was positive that he would want a million with him. Plus, what could be better than a man who already knows where the prostate is? Maybe he needed a therapist, but he was only human. When he saw the stretch of veins in the doctor's forearms or caught the glimpse of a sweet smile stretch across his lips, Luke felt true love.

"Yeah, I am pretty thrilled with the rainbow myself. I love representation," Luke pretended to flip his hair.

"That's why I chose rainbow walls. We deserve to be well accounted for in the office just like everyone else," Ashton flashed Luke a sincere smile.

Luke was a puddle. Just like at the interview, he was unsure of how to answer. The love of his life was at least a little gay too! He diverted his eyes back to his sucker, crossing his legs and trying to fight back a burning blush. He couldn't help but hope that Ashton had been flirting with him at least a little bit. They always shared carried good conversation and cracked small jokes between the two of them. His heart wished for the best, but his himbo brain warned him of being too rash. He loved this job, and he didn't want to lose it over an assumption.

But in that same vapid brain, devoid of all thoughts except cock and becoming someone's breeding bunny, he thought of a plan.

Luke was going to seduce his boss.

"Well, our lunch is over, Luke. Time to head back," Ashton threw away his trash from lunch, washing his hands before putting his white coat back on. Luke liked the sight of the doctor's figure in his scrubs.

"Yes, sir, Dr. Irwin," Luke stood, making sure to bend over a little when he threw his sucker stick into the bin. He listened for any sounds of disgruntlement, but all he heard was Ashton's footsteps as he walked to the door.

Luke followed, grateful that Ashton had waited to hold the door for him. Could he get anymore dreamy?

"You're with me in room 5, Luke," Ashton said, "Just a 9 month old's check up, but I need a nurse to help me when they get their first round of shots. Usually when the mums try to help, the baby ends up crying more. No biggie. It's still slow since school isn't back in session." He was checking over the baby's medical record. Luke was checking him out. His future husband knew everything. He had to be good in the bedroom.

"Yes, sir, Dr. Irwin," Luke gushed, correcting his tone when he heard himself. He hoped he didn't sound too smitten already. He had a hard time controlling himself around Ashton, especially when he was talking all smart about doctor stuff.

"Luke, don't call me sir. That's for when we're alone in the break room," Ashton teased without looking up from the paperwork in his hands. Luke gasped under his breath, feeling his cheeks burn hot.

Maybe his plan wasn't so vapid after all.

[tobesobri]

𝒮orry for the delay in this chapter 😬but i just want to say happy birthday to the anon that said this chapter is being posted on their birthday, i hope you had the best day ever!! and yeah, i really hope you all like this one because it’s one of my favorites! 

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h​ for editing ❤️

CHAPTER THREE: DRUNK TO AN 80S GROOVE (3.4K)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

Morning came and went by the time Harry woke up. With his curtains automatically shutting in the middle of the night and all sense of time lost, the only thing he knew for certain was that Y/N was gone. 

After confirming it, reaching out to find cold sheets instead of her warm body, he let out a huff and buried his face back into his pillows. He had wanted nothing more than to wake up with her in the morning and make coffee and just talk. But thinking back on his little daydreams from last night seemed extremely dumb to him now. She had a regular job with regular hours that she couldn’t be late for.

Once he got the energy to do so, he rolled onto his other side to grab his phone from the small, circular table next to his bed. He squinted at the bright light it gave off in his otherwise dark bedroom and then narrowed his eyes even more to read her message that had been sitting on his lockscreen for the past several hours.

(Y/N, 7:52 am)

Sorry I had to get to work.

Even in her texts she was concise. He grunted and practically threw his phone onto the emptied side of the bed. With his fingers dug deep into his hair and his palms covering his eyes, he thought about what she’d said last night for possibly the hundredth time since she’d said it. He still felt the knot in his throat and the stinging in his eyes from just simply repeating her words in his head again. 

For the entire time he’d known her, which was actually a decent chunk of time, he never would have guessed she felt that way. And he definitely would never have guessed she’d be telling him anything about it. He wondered how many nights she spent like last night where she didn’t have him to hold onto and he wondered if she was more like him than he’d thought. If she cried herself to sleep until it made her eyes burn the next morning. If she had the same destructive thoughts he did. Of not being good enough for anyone to stick around. Of desperately craving someone’s touch but being far too terrified to let anyone that close. 

They had their different reasons for it, but in the grand scheme of things, they were exactly alike. 

And he felt like a clown for never noticing it.

Friday night was suddenly not like all the other nights. She came home from work and didn’t immediately crawl into bed after throwing on her worn out sleep clothes. Instead she pulled out a clean pair of sweatpants and a shirt she hadn’t worn in a long time and actually tidied up her room, instead of just tossing things into a chair or under her bed like she had for Harry when he slept over the previous week. She actually put things back where they belonged. She joined the ever-growing, untouched stack of books on her floor with the rest of them on her shelves. She gathered her dirty laundry and put away all the clean stuff that had been sitting in her hamper for weeks since she last ran a washing machine. She saw the clean, white table top of her desk for the first time in months and actually sat down to write in her planner when she was done with it all.

She’d been here before, coming out of the dark, but this time felt different. It felt like she actually had something to hold onto that made her accountable for keeping her shit together. 

And so, after a much-needed shower, she actually joined her roommates in the kitchen and ate dinner at a reasonable hour.

“Finally out of your room,” James commented while Y/N started helping herself to their overflow of Chinese takeout. Will and his girlfriend, Sasha, were already eating at their thrifted dining table with a very tired and stressed Violet sat on the opposite side from them. 

Y/N ignored him for the most part, other than to give him a mocking look, and made a plate for herself before reluctantly joining the others at the table.

“Look at this!” Violet exclaimed, pointing the screen of her phone almost right into Y/N’s face and then, before Y/N could even make out what the picture was of, Violet shoved it toward Will and Sasha. “He’s already with some other girl. It’s only been one fucking week!”

Y/N kept quiet, keeping out of that conversation completely after last Saturday when Violet had kicked her out at four-thirty in the morning because her boyfriend had broken up with her while he was getting ready for work. 

She couldn’t hold too much of a grudge, however, because if that didn’t happen, she would have never gotten into bed with Harry to begin with. On the other hand, if things hadn’t gone the way they did, she’d still have all her secrets to herself that she stupidly blurted out last night, which she’d spent the better half of her day trying to forget. She was pretty sure she trusted Harry, as much as she was able to, but telling him things like that made her remember just how much she hated anyone knowing anything about how vulnerable she could be. 

Ignoring Violet going on about her cheating boyfriend was made even easier when her own phone dinged in her pocket. Even poor Will tried to change the subject by asking who was texting her, but it was no use. Y/N shrugged him off once she saw Harry’s name on her lockscreen and Violet went right back to her rantings.

(Harry, 6:37 pm)

Can you come over again tonight?

She hated the way his text gave her butterflies. Like she was some high schooler with a big fat crush on the hot, popular jock she could never have. Still, she could not deny that him asking her to come over again made her fucking heart melt.

She ate a bit of her dinner before responding to him; just enough time to think up a believable story for her roommates. She wouldn’t get away with her coworker's place this time. She didn’t work tomorrow and had no reason to be spending the night there. So, after a moment to devise a believable plan for her roommates, she gave Harry her simple answer.

(Y/N, 6:49 pm)

Yeah.

Then she spent the rest of her time at her own apartment trying to find the right moment to squeeze into the conversation about her not staying in her own room tonight. She did eventually get it out, making up a lie that she was going over to a friend’s place. Friends she hadn’t talked to or seen since college, but Will, James, and Violet didn’t need to know that.

“I didn’t even know you were still friends with them.” Will questioned while he washed dishes and Y/N dried them. The others were in the living room after they finished putting away the leftovers.

“Well, I haven’t talked to them in a while, but yeah.”

Will just shrugged and handed her another plate to dry and put back into the cupboard overhead. “I know you hate it when I get all sappy, but I’m really glad you’re seeing your friends again and you just seem… happier.”

They all knew Y/N had really rough days and mostly tried to ignore it and let her be like she had asked them too, but Will often tried to get through to her, even if just to remind her that he cared about her and wanted nothing more than to see her happy. 

She felt guilty about lying, that he had no clue what she was really doing. And even though her sleeping with his best friend and colleague was just that, sleeping, it still made her feel a bit dirty, like they weren’t just sleeping if she felt the need to hide it from everyone. 

Telling some of her closest friends that she and Harry were friends-with-cuddle-buddy-benefits was not something she saw happening. Not any time soon. Or ever.

Once the dishes were done and she had a bag packed to take over to Harry’s, she was back on the same winding roads up to his house. This time, however, she felt a little more confident. He wanted her to be here. She wasn’t imposing on him. She’d let him see a glimpse of her true colors last night and he was still asking her to come over again.

They ended up on his couch this time instead of going straight to bed, mostly because it had only been nine o’clock when she showed up and neither of them were tired enough yet. Plus, they couldn’t exactly drown themselves in a shared bottle of whiskey in his bedroom without potentially spilling it all over his 400 thread count sheets.

Once both their brains were swimming in alcohol, Harry finally said what he’d been meaning to the second she stepped foot inside his house. What he’d been thinking about the entire time they sat together and watched multiple episodes of Whose Line Is It Anyway, but he never found the right words or moment to do so.

“You’re not ugly.”

“What?” She flipped her head over to him, staring at him like he was crazy while he laid back against the cushions, practically half passed out at this point.

His eyes travelled to meet hers and his frown became even more prominent. “You’re not ugly and no one would be stuck with you, they’d be lucky to have you.”

She stared at him for a while, not even blinking until she finally averted her gaze and let his words sink in. She knew he was just drunk and possibly talking straight out of his ass, but it still made her feel better nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry about what I said. It’s kind of hard for me to believe you know anything about loneliness.”

He still stared up at her even though she refused to look at him again. “I see so many people every day, but I still come home to this big empty house all by myself at the end of it.”

She was quiet, letting him explain all the things she didn't understand about his personal life.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but too many people, the only thing they want is an interview, a picture, a photoshoot. Whatever. All so they can make money, or get famous on the internet.” He paused and she could hear in his voice that he was tired, not necessarily physically, but mentally exhausted by what his life was truly like at the bottom line. “It’s extremely lonely when every single person you’ve let in your life like that just ends up taking advantage of you in the exact same way as everyone else.”

“What do you mean they’ve taken advantage of you?” Her voice was soft, trying her hardest not to sound as judgmental as she’d been with him last night. They both appeared to have their demons and she had no room to judge him for his. 

He sighed, picking at the front of his shirt distractedly. “My last girlfriend brought all her friends to this party I was having, but they just ended up stealing from me. They took pictures of my house, and of me when I was drunk. I felt like an idiot for trusting her the way I did… I still feel like an idiot.”

Her heart clenched in her chest listening to the way his voice cracked like he was only just breaking the surface of everything that happened in his previous relationship to make him as messed up as he was on the inside.

“So I was being a bit hypocritical when I got mad at you about not letting people in. You’re the first person I let get anywhere near me in over a year.”

“Why did you?”

He was staring at his hands in his lap when she looked over at him again. “I dunno.”

“Wow, great response, thanks,” she said sarcastically and it made him laugh at himself and come out of the hole he’d been digging himself into.

Once they were both done laughing, another risky question came to his mind, but just as he opened his mouth to get it out, she sighed and sat forward instead. “Think I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

“Okay,” he mumbled quietly before yawning at the mere thought of being passed out in his bed, “I’ll meet you up there.”

Nodding, she stood and on wobbly legs made her way upstairs where she vaguely remembered going last night. With her overnight bag in tow, she quickly found his bedroom again in the dimly lit upstairs area and flipped the lights on once she reached the bathroom. Her normal routine went a bit quicker this time, deciding one night without washing her face wouldn’t kill her.

She already knew, once she turned the bathroom light off and made her way back into his deserted bedroom, that she’d regret that decision when she woke up in the morning to new breakouts that had been waiting patiently to pop up.

Her tipsy mind didn’t care too much though and especially not when it cared a hell of a lot more about the view out his windows. So, instead of dragging her tired limbs to his bed, she went up to them, and looked out over the view of the city. At all the lights from tall buildings, other houses and traffic. It was beautiful, breathtaking and the whiskey swimming around her bloodstream couldn’t get enough of it. 

She stood there in front of the window for what felt like hours, staring off into the distance of a pretty good chunk of Los Angeles. It was a different view of the city than the ones she was used to. She usually hated it, the fake people, how expensive it was to do absolutely anything. She couldn’t even park her car at work for free. She hated how the streets always smelled like ass and the way her anxiety skyrocketed just from stepping out of her apartment building. It wasn’t a very forgiving city, but from way up here, she was in love with it.

Harry had already joined her in front of the windows by the time she realized he was there, a side effect of being in some weird drunken trance she supposed.

“This is the only thing I’ll miss about this place.” His voice was calm and quiet. Peaceful. His words weren’t so slurred and filled with disappointment as they had been earlier when he was dishing out his own confessions to her on the couch. 

She glanced over at him, lost now in the way the moonlight reflected off the high points of his face. She always thought Harry was attractive, but seeing him like this and knowing the things about him she’s sure he kept to himself most of the time, made her see him in a whole new light. Like she was meeting him for the very first time and just now realizing all the little things about him. From the way he stood with his weight off to one side and his arms folded across his chest to the way his eyes sparkled just like the city lights below them. All things she probably wouldn’t even be thinking about if she hadn’t gotten herself drunk.

“The automatic curtains are pretty cool.” He shook his head at her stupid little joke and she easily recognized the smile on his face from the shadows of his dimples. Another little thing about Harry she was just now learning to fully appreciate. As well as the way her stomach did cartwheels when he laughed at something she said. 

If she wasn’t drunk, every little feeling about Harry would be an enormous red flag telling her to slow the fuck down. That she was getting a little too carried away. 

And when he was no longer standing next to her, when he disappeared into the bathroom to get himself cleaned up for bed, she found one little thing about Harry she didn’t like. 

His absence. 

She was more at ease being the first one to crawl into Harry’s bed. She didn’t have to worry about getting too close to him right off the bat, or about pulling the covers off of him accidentally. She could get herself comfortable first and with this whole situation being so foreign to her and so new, she needed it. She needed a chance to get used to it on her own. To dip her toes into the water until she felt fully acclimated to the temperature. 

And once he finally joined her, she was. His bed slowly started to become like her own, even if she had only slept there once before. The anxiety subsided while it finally began to feel as though she belonged right there next to him. 

Even from a distance, as he left plenty of space between them, she felt the heat of his body radiating off of him and his impression in the mattress where he laid. She felt him wiggle around a little until he got comfortable. 

And then finally, she held her breath, prayed that she wouldn’t accidentally kick him, and backed up toward him until she could actually feel him. Until she bumped her shoulder into his chest and her foot against his shin. 

Only drunk Y/N would be pulling such bold moves. 

He kept his hands to himself though, and she grew anxious the longer he stayed silent. There was still a small gap between her back and his front, no more than half an inch. Space he didn’t attempt to fill for a long enough amount of time to make her overthink her actions. Like maybe she was being too forward. Maybe they were better off falling asleep apart and naturally coming together through the night. 

But, when she felt his breath on her neck, tickling loose strands of her hair against her skin, she stopped worrying so much. “S’it okay if I touch you?”

Her heart just about stopped when she heard him whisper that, because hearing him ask for permission she realized he’d been sitting there overthinking as much as she had. Wondering if he should just go for it or not. Not being sure if she’d be okay with that. 

And not that she’d ever tell him, but it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her, the way he’d asked first. Because Y/N didn’t like to be touched very much at all. It was a rarity for her to be okay with anyone putting their hands on her for whatever reason. 

But, for whatever reason, she hadn’t minded the few times Harry had done it. In fact, she’d craved his touch. It was something she never thought possible of her, but here she was breaking her own rules.

She nodded, “Yeah.”

As if in slow motion, he slipped his hand onto her side, bringing his body closer to hers as he carefully hugged his arm around her. And with her own arms crossed over her chest, cuddling into herself, he gently grabbed her wrist to hold himself into place. It took them both a couple more moments to get into comfortable positions, but it eventually worked out. He held onto her tighter once he laid his head down on his pillow, breathing in the scent of her coconut shampoo with his face practically buried in the back of her head, and he started drifting off. 

It became very clear, very quickly, that being the big spoon to his pillows was no match for Y/N. Not with how warm she made him feel or the way her breathing offset his and calmed him down. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt the way he did with her with anyone else either. It was different. Y/N had no cold spots, no ill-intentions. She couldn’t possibly want anything from him when she refused to speak to him up until a week ago. He felt free with her. As free as he had been as a child, when he didn’t care about disappointing people and when he didn’t live in a constant state of paranoia about who he could trust. When he didn’t overthink himself into insomnia or toss and turn all night from the stress of it all.

Feeling her against him, breathing her in. He was free.

Taglist: @afterstylesmadeit​ @cxnyon-moon​ @and-im-not-okay-with-it @chrryblsms​ @whydontharry​ @harryinsweatersandbandanas​ @idkthisisjustforfanfic @teddysoldbird​ @shawnsblue​ @thurhomish​ @theasstour​ @hufflepuff-always-and-forever​ @staceystoleyourheart​ @granolagrannie​ @defineharry​ @iambabyharry​ @1142590m​ @ashtondene​ @smokeinherperfume​ @cherryyharryy​ @mellamolayla​ @chrryblsms​ @cassiopeiaskies​ @sunflowerjens​ @detroitkiwis​ @brwnskin-bunnyteeth​ if you’d like to be added, go here :)

[thedenimdentist]

Bleach Soaking my Warehouse 1001XX

Introduction

The proper way to wash selvedge denim (if you even believe in washing your denim at all) has always been a highly debated topic within the denim community. Since I first started wearing selvedge denim a few years ago, my beliefs, methods, and goals in washing my jeans has gone through a lot of the typical phases most “denimheads” experience. I initially never wanted to wash my jeans, hoping to get the most high contrast fades as possible. I never got into some of the more obscure denim practices, such as ocean washing or putting my jeans in the freezer to get rid of stench or “kill bacteria” or whatever, but I have played around a little with starching to try and achieve some of those SE Asian super crispy fades. 

Since then, my approach to washing my denim (as well as my taste in denim fades in general) has shifted dramatically. While I still can appreciate those super sharp, high contrast fades, I no longer really find them as desirable or visually appealing from a fashion perspective. They can be quite impressive when laid out flat on the floor or hanging, but when worn on body or worked into a full outfit, it just looks kind of bizarre and overly dramatic. That’s just my opinion, at least. There’s no “wrong” way to wash or fade your denim, so if that’s your cup of tea, more power to you.

As of late, I’ve definitely been more drawn to more classic fits and more vintage fades. Conveniently, this preference has also made wearing jeans much more comfortable and my washing practices much more hygienic! If you’ve been following along on my Warehouse 1001XX journey, you’ll know that this pair has been pretty much my daily driver for the past 8 months, and I’ve been washing them pretty much once a month (every 30 wears).

This time, at the 8 month mark (240 wear days), I decided to try something new (maybe even blasphemous within the denim community): I chose to bleach my denim. Not gonna lie, I was pretty hesitant and nervous, because I didn’t want to ruin a great pair of jeans I’ve invested 8 months on and am already pretty happy with how they've aged so far. However, I got over the initial fear and took the leap of faith, and am actually quite happy with the results.

Methods

I’m sure adding bleach to soaking/washing selvedge denim is not a ground-breaking, “never done before” technique to fading jeans. However, there is surprisingly very little information available online on how to actually go about doing it. Thus, I decided to give it a shot, and record exactly how I did it, as well as document my results for anyone else who may be interested in doing it themselves.

Step 1: To start, I just used the standard bleach I already had laying around for laundry: in this case, Clorox.

I’ve seen some videos on YouTube where they dump between half and the entire bottle of bleach into the bath tub to lighten a single pair of jeans. However, their goal was to take a standard darker to medium washed pair of jeans they found at the thrift store and lighten the hell out of em. I, on the other hand, chose to stay pretty conservative and only added about 50 mL of bleach to the bath. (I realize that 50 mL for an entire bath of water is fairly diluted, but as this is the first time I’ve done anything like this, I felt it better to err on the side of under-bleaching than over-bleaching.)

Step 2: I filled up my bathtub to about a finger length’s depth. (Clearly this is not a hard science, and everyone’s bath tubs are different. Nevertheless, I felt it necessary to give an approximate volume of water, as it affects the concentration of bleach added to the bath.)

Step 3: I then added the 50 mL of bleach to the bath and stirred the bathwater in attempt to evenly distribute the bleach. (I would've used a stick or something to stir the water, but I didn’t have one at the time. Instead, I just put on gloves and mixed it with my hands. (To be honest, I’m not really sure how necessary it is to wear gloves when touching bleach. I’m sure it’s not great for your skin, but the amount of time you're actually in contact with bleach is pretty minimal, especially it’s as dilute as 50 mL/an entire bathtub. But whatever. The teenage girl on YouTube told me it was CRUCIAL I wear gloves, so I did.)

Step 4: I completely submerged my jeans into the bathwater for 30 minutes, flipping them at the 15 minute mark. 

Things to note:

I left my jeans right-side-out for the entire 30-minute duration of the soak. My theory was, why bother flipping them inside out. What am I trying to do, hide the indigo-dyed warp from the bleach? Nah.

Do your best to lay the denim out as flat as possible. Not sure how critical this is, but people say you risk uneven bleaching if the denim isn’t super flat, and I’m not about to test their theory and end up with some ugly wrinkles or streaks on my jeans.

One extra step that I added was using a hard-bristle brush to scrub down the areas I wouldn’t mind some extra indigo loss (see photo below). I did this around the whiskers at the start of the first 15 minutes on the front, then on the butt pockets and honeycombs after flipping them over. 

Step 4: After the 30-minute bleach bath soak, I drained the bleach water from the bath, and filled it back up with plain water. I did my best to agitate and rinse out as much of the bleach water from my jeans as I could, and then flipped them inside out.

Step 5: I rolled up my jeans, wrapped them in a white rag towel, and ran them over to my washing machine. I then proceeded to machine wash my (inside-out) jeans on cold for 25 minutes, with the spin cycle turned off. (Note: turning “Spin” off does not mean the drum does not roll and tumble during the washing process. To my understanding, it just means it doesn’t spin quickly at the end to try and expel water out of your clothes (in this case, your jeans) before you pull them out to dry.)

Step 6: I hung my jeans to dry overnight. I sometimes hang them outside for better air flow, but I was lazy this time and hung them inside from a doorframe while blasting them with a fan. (I will note that, because the spin cycle was turned off, the jeans do come out of the machine dripping wet. I laid a towel down to absorb the bluish water drops and protect the hardwood floor.)

Results

I will preface this by saying that the results from this bleach soak are not all that significant. I would have loved to tell you that I’ve discovered the holy grail technique of achieving epic vintage fades, but I’d be lying. That being said, I’m in no way disappointed with the results! The bleach did bring up some of the high points in the fades just a bit, and definitely gave the color of the denim as a whole a bit more pop.

First off, here are a few side-by-side comparisons from before and after the bleach soak + machine wash. It’s a bit difficult to really tell what the fades really look like in the before shots (left), as they’re disguised by the shadows of the creases left from wear. The after photos (right) were taken immediately after hang drying flat, leaving just the fades clear and visible, unadulterated by shadows and creases.

Below are the standard views that I’ve been taking for all my post-wash updates. I just posted the side-by-side comparisons above because I thought it'd probably be helpful to see how drastic (or subtle) differences were in my fades immediately before and after the bleach soak.

Even with my Fuji X-T30, it’s difficult to really capture how the fades really look IRL. Thus, here’s a couple photos I snapped with my old iPhone 8 that I feel accurately depict how they looked after bleaching.

Man, so good.

On-Body

Lastly, here’s how they’re looking on body. Sadly, as always, I feel like my on-body photos never do my fades justice. There’s so much depth of color and texture to this banner denim, I just can’t seem to capture it from further away. Maybe I’m doing something wrong, but that’s why I always take so many detailed close-up shots—to best capture what I’m seeing in real life.

Conclusions

While very subtle, I am extremely happy with the results of this first bleach soak. The highlights in the whiskers, knees, train tracks, and butt pockets/seat pop just a bit more, and now I can even make out some visible honeycombs (which have always been lagging). In addition, I feel like it did remove just the right amount of indigo from the entire jean as a whole, bringing up some of the areas of deep indigo and revealing more electric blues. This Warehouse banner denim already had so much depth of color and texture, and I feel the bleach soak only brought out that character even more.

Is doing a bleach soak going to give you instant epic vintage fades? No. But are my jeans ruined forever? Not at all. Maybe bleach soaking isn’t for everyone. If you’re one of those people who are going for super high contrast, chunky, Southeast Asian fades, then no, bleach soaking might not be your thing. However, if soft vintage fades are more your speed, maybe adding some bleach to the mix isn't such a bad idea. 

All in all, I just wanted to document this experiment to prove that adding bleach to a raw denim soak isn’t as scary as people make it out to be. For those of you who may have thought about bleaching your denim in the past but were unsure of how much to do so or were afraid of ruining your expensive jeans, hopefully this will give you the confidence to give it a try, knowing the type of results you might get based on how my pair turned out. Just use your brain and think about what you’re doing and why, and you’ll be just fine. Like so many other strange techniques used to fade denim (most of which I find dumb or so obscure and not grounded in science, or even common sense), bleach is merely another tool you can use to fade your denim.

I’ll probably continue to bleach soak my denim occasionally moving forward. Heck, I may even try doubling or tripling the concentration of bleach to 100-150 mL next time, just to see what’ll happen. Cuz at the end of the day, they’re just jeans, so why not have some fun with it?

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.23

Keith had been had. Lance had slipped out of talking to him by making him flustered, then they’d put a totally dumb movie on... and the stupid night had slipped away before he knew what was happening. Lance was infuriatingly relaxed. He’d laughed at the big pieces of garlic on the pizza, complimented him for not being a bad first timer in a weird way that made Keith’s heart go weird, then started making fun of the horror comedy they were watching. There was some name for the genre that Lance had used, it wasn’t comor, or hormedy, but it was something as equally stupid sounding. After half a dozen drinks it’d sounded good enough to laugh at. Now Keith was laying in bed, hiding himself away from Lance. He’d been aiming to get Lance’s guard down, not his own... What even was last night? And what the heck was Lance doing making so much noise too early in the morning? How was he supposed to ignore his existence when Lance sounded like he was demolishing the house? What happened to getting up and sneaking into his office for his morning meal? And why was keith trying to do the brain without the coffee? He couldn’t brain without the coffee.

Shuffling into the kitchen, Keith grimaced at the noise. Hunk was talking a million miles an hour as he blended something, Pidge sitting at the kitchen table with her knees up and laptop in front of her

“Hey, man! I’m making breakfast smoothies! Do you want one?!”

Yelling over the blender, Hunk’s stupid face was smiling too much... that was mean. Hunk was alright, but too much smile in the morning was weird

“Coffee...”

Lance was already working the coffee machine, Keith frowning as he noticed the way Lance’s hands were shaking

“Way ahead of you. Sit down and I’ll bring a cup over. Don’t disturb the gremlin, she’s extra cranky this morning”

Keith was perfectly fine avoiding a cranky Pidge, carefully taking Lance’s usual seat, lest he bump the table and set the gremlin off

“Get fucked”

Keith raised an eyebrow, not sure who the comment was directed at

“Fucking piece of shit!”

The laptop? It had to be directed at the laptop... right? Shuffling over to him, Keith eyed Lance. He looked like he should still be in bed, most of the coffee in Keith’s cup was now pooling on the saucer under it

“Sorry... here we go”

As Lance set the coffee down, he winced at the minute amount of sound it made. Catching Lance by the wrist, the vampire cringed, Keith staring up at his unwell face

“Lance? Have you fed this morning?”

“Couldn’t... Company”

An unfed vampire wasn’t safe... Not that he was worried about how ill Lance looked... or felt strangely concerned about his wellbeing. That was the lack of coffee talking

“Go feed, I’ll cover you”

“But...”

“Just go already. You’re disturbing my coffee”

Lance stumbled over his own feet as he shuffled off. Keith staring at his half empty coffee cup sadly. What a waste of coffee... Fuck being socially polite. Lifting the cup off the unmatching saucer, something very unLance, further proving how bad he must feel because everything always had to match, Keith poured the other half his coffee back into his cup as Hunk cut the blender. The lack of sound was welcoming. Grinning, Hunk went to turn to Lance

“Here... huh... where’d he go?”

Pidge grunted, Keith trying to get the coffee in the cup when it insisted on running down the side and under the saucer

“Keith?”

“Just a... fuck”

Fuck all coffee wound up in his mug, Pidge snickered as Keith frowned deeply

“Keith?”

“He had to check his work phone”

“Oh, maybe I should take this down to his office... it’s best if he drinks its right away”

“No! No, ugh. We had a late night...”

That wasn’t how Keith wanted it to sound. Pidge closed her laptop, but her and Hunk giving him a funny look

“What?”

“You two had a late night, hmm?”

“Not like that”

“Not like, what?”

Keith groaned. He should have kept his mouth shut

“Shut up”

Pidge poked her tongue at him. All Keith wanted was his coffee. Pouring out the strangely green smoothly, Hunk smiled at him

“Man, if there’s something going on between you and Lance...”

“No”

Cackling, Pidge wasn’t having it

“Me thinks he denies too fast”

“Me thinks I need my coffee”

Keith died a little on the inside. Who the hell was he? He didn’t talk like that

“Keith and Lance...”

“Sitting in a tree?”

Hunk didn’t sound sure about continuing Pidge’s teasing

“Look, it’s not like that. He’s a friend. I’m just worried about him...”

Oh. Fuck.

Pidge grinned at him so widely that she surely thought she was right with her line of teasing. Hunk, on the other hand, lost his smile

“Something’s wrong with him, isn’t it? He said it was Miriam. Was he having tests? Is that why he wasn’t responding? He’s been acting really weird for the last few weeks”

“He’s acting weird because he’s been hiding his boyfriend”

“Pidge, you know what I’m talking about. He like never leaves without letting us know”

Raising the cup of coffee to his lips, Keith was so close...

“Keith, what’s going on with Lance?”

Why did people have to think he could human before his coffee? It was cruel and inhumane to bully him like this. Lowering his cup slightly, Keith sighed

“Lance is fine. We’re not dating. My stupid brother took off and thinks being here will be good for me. Shiro has like no chill, as you should know Pidge. Miriam had a really bad fall, broken hip and messed up her face. He was organising things in Platt”

It was on the tip of Keith’s tongue to mention that Luis had been there, but he didn’t know what Lance had told his two best friends in relation to his family, outside of Miriam being his grandmother.

“And he didn’t have another doctor’s appointment?”

By “doctor’s appointment” Keith assumed that was Lance speak for a visit to Coran. The previous days talk with Coran felt like it’d happened weeks ago

“Nah. I mean, I wouldn’t know. He does his own thing”

“He always has. We totally tried to have him move in with us when we were in Platt, but he wasn’t having it. He’s always been a bit odd”

“And here I thought you guys were best friends?”

“We are. He’s our odd best friend. And you’re our new odder best friend. We totally decided that in group chat”

Keith didn’t know what to make of that

“You talk about me?”

“Only to tease Lance. You do know you’re like the first person he has ever like warmed up to like this. That’s why we were sure you two were secretly dating”

“Oh, we totally are. Keith’s dick game is totally on point”

With his coffee cup heading back towards his lips, Keith was glad he didn’t have a mouthful or it’d have been sprayed across the table at Lance’s casual remark

“Lance!”

“What? You’re a total dick and you know it”

The bastard vampire shot him finger guns as Keith’s heart decided it needed to keep racing from Lance’s comment. Pidge cackled with laughter

“Oh, man. If I wasn’t convinced before, I am now. You should have seen the look on your face!”

Being a total arsehole, Lance placed his hand on Keith’s shoulder

“Did you tell them all about us, baby cakes?”

Keith growled. Why the fuck had ever been worried about this dick?

“Keep touching me and I’ll break your hand”

“Look at them, Hunk! Okay. So you’re like weird room mates...”

“Yep. For now. At least until I paint the house”

“Have you thought of a colour scheme yet?”

“I was thinking of going full ‘70’s. Shag pike carpet, lots of mismatched prints...”

Why was Lance’s hand still on his shoulder? And why was Keith now hyper focused on the fact Lance was touching him? He didn’t like it. He didn’t like Lance. He didn’t like the way he felt all weird since coming to the house... Something was definitely wrong with his heart, it kept racing for no good reason

“You do that and you’re dead to me”

“If I’d known that, I would have done it sooner”

“That enough you two. Here, I made you a smoothie. It’s chocked full of the good stuff”

Lance finally removed his hand from Keith’s shoulder. The idiot walking into the dining chair in front of him. Maybe Lance had been using him for support, and there was no greater meaning to it? Shiro did say he had the tendency to over think things...

“God, you’re worse than me. Sit down before you break your whole house”

Lance took a seat next to Pidge

“Better?”

“Much”

“You’re not as cranky”

“And you don’t look as dead”

Pidge wasn’t seeing Lance the way Keith was. Lance had a little more colour in his face, but there was pain in the corner of his eyes

“Damn, I was hoping to be the best looking dead guy in town. I take it you got their number plate?”

“I got more than their number plate. I got their home address and two dozen eggs that’d look great splattered across their windows”

“Pidgeon, that’s not my field of expertise”

“Then they shouldn’t have sideswiped my car”

So that was what Pidge had been so cranky... her anger hadn’t been directed at him

“No, but violence only leads to more violence”

“That’s why I’m egging their house and not punching them in the face. Hunk, help me out here”

Hunk placed the glass of smoothie in front of Lance who wrinkled his nose at it

“I’m kind of with Lance here. Besides, I already helped you out, dad’s organising the repairs as we speak”

“Merp”

“Merp to you too. Hunk, do I wanna know what’s in this?”

“Nope. Drink it all fast”

“I hate it when you say that”

As Lance drank his smoothie, Keith settled back in his chair, finally able to enjoy his first, half empty, cold, sad looking coffee.

*

Lance was not having a fun day. He’d had a very, very, very vivid dream. A very, very, very vivid dream about bending a very, very, very emo vampire hunter over his kitchen table... He’d woken up feeling strange, waking up secondary to the lower parts of his anatomy that’d apparently had a pretty good time without his permission. Washing his underwear had been a lesson in humiliation, the only consolation being he had his own private bathroom. His dream had been way too vivid, like waaaaaay to vivid to the point he swore he could feel Keith on his skin... and after showering, he just felt deflated. Like he was running on a third of his strength. Weak and shaky, worse than he had the day before. He’d barely been out the shower five minutes before Hunk was calling to say they were on their way, and Pidge was pissed.

Trying to choose something to wear had been a struggle, by the time he’d done that, he could hear Hunk’s car coming, his stupid senses deciding he needed to hyper aware. He hadn’t had time to feed, nor to prewarn Keith, or get his shit together because how he was supposed to face Keith. He felt as if he’d violated the man by dreaming about him... Especially when he kind of wanted to reverse the positions... He was a goddamn pervert... Keith wasn’t... they hadn’t... He hadn’t been horrible company the night before. He’d tried to press him for information, but couldn’t a guy just relax and eat some bad pizza in peace? Not that the pizza had been bad... Keith didn’t know better when it came to a pizza drowning in toppings.

When Hunk started the blender Lance had felt as if his brain was in their with the other half dozen ingredients. Pidge was murderous, someone having sideswiped her car during the early hours of the morning. She’d spent the morning reviewing the security feed from the front of her house... Lance not quite able to find the right time to slip out the kitchen and drain a blood bag like his body was telling him he needed to do. He hadn’t thought Keith would see how poorly he felt, his hands were shaking as he tried to banish the thoughts of his unwanted dream. He felt like he should be apologising repeatedly and begging not to be decapitated for betray him like this.

Then Keith had gone and been even nicer, sending to feed while he babysat Pidge and Hunk. Lance had nearly torn the blood bag in half in his rush to feed. Coran had said “changes”, not damn dreams like he was a teenager again. They’d had a bonding moment watching TV. Keith was pretty funny when he wasn’t trying to murder him, or being stupider than words could describe. His taste in movies really was as bad a Pidge’s, the pair would be an unstoppable remote hogging pair if they teamed up. Keith just... He’d opened up somewhat, awkward with Pidge and Hunk, but not as awkward as he’d been. He talked. He covered for Lance over what had happened in Platt. He’d covered for him a lot, and Lance didn’t know why he was going that little bit extra to keep Hunk and Pidge from worrying.

“Dude, I’m surprised your kitchen’s this messy. Normally you’re a clean freak in here”

As Lance recovered from the horrible green sludge he’d choked down for Hunk’s benefit, he was almost envious that Pidge had missed out. He’d take a dirty kitchen over that smoothie any day of the year

“Keith made pizzas last night. We couldn’t be bothered cleaning up after”

“Keith, man. Another cooking aficionado?”

“No”

Keith’s answer was blunt. The fact he’d pulled himself together after Lance’s little temper tantrum was to be applauded. The wood fire stove came with the house, but rarely got used for anything other than pizzas. The thing was a temperamental old bitch on the best of days, but at least she was always there when there was no power or gas. Poor Hunk didn’t know how to deal with Keith

“Not from scratch, but it was pretty good”

“Are you two sure you’re not dating?”

Lance really wished Pidge would give the topic a rest. He’d had a tough enough morning as it was

“Pidgeon, I wouldn’t hold out on you if we were. I know how much you love those tiny little details...”

Pidge covered her ears with her hands

“I don’t want to know”

“Then give it a break already. Hunk, what are you Pidge up to for the rest of the day?”

“Not much, man. This wasn’t even planned...“

Planning would have been nice. Then he could have planned to hide until he died. He wouldn’t have had to face Keith. What kind of idiot put their hand on a caffeine deprived hunter and cracked lame jokes? Oh, that was right, it was him. He was the idiot. He wasn’t even sure why he had. He’d felt a little woozy as the blood rushed through his system, but once his hand was on Keith, he’d had a hard time letting go.

“... I’ll probably help my dad at the garage today. What about you, Pidge?”

“Seeing I’m not allowed to egg houses even when they house arseholes, I’ll probably set up a board and see what I can figure out. It’s been ages since we went on a proper hunt”

Pidge had the remnants of various boards tucked away in the attic of her family home. They were essentially murder boards for supernatural things. Photos, timelines, interesting articles. It was something she didn’t really talk about around outsiders, and something the three of them had taken to doing together. Lance felt a flare of jealousy over the fact Keith was being made privy to secret group information. Hunk didn’t seem to care

“Ooooh. Why didn’t you tell me you started a new board?”

“It’s an old one. Garrison, again. I mean, like, you’d think they would have fixed the arrangements of the wars. We all call it the Third World War, and sure there was a huge technology jump, but it was aaaaaaaages before the First World War”

It was and it wasn’t. That was the weird thing. Everyone knew it happened, yet when you tried to focus really hard on it, things became a bit muddle. Lance couldn’t quite put his finger on it either. It was kind of like some mass imagination thing had happened, but there was proof of it happening even if they couldn’t say exactly when. Personally Lance wouldn’t have listed it as a world war, and more an allies skirmish between two sides who both thought they were right and leader who had peanuts for brains... or maybe one of those monkeys with the cymbals that smashed them together every time they got remotely close to a good idea

“The good old Garrison board. How we loved you so. You revisiting the hospital?”

“No, I was thinking of re-examining the building usage lists. I want to see if we can set up again for another night in another building. Lance is probably going to be busy with Miriam, so I’m keeping it local for now. There’s this total members only club in Platt, that I have been dying to see. They reckon it’s run by werewolves who were born werewolves and that all the staff are werewolves that drank from water in their footprints”

Werewolves. Lance’s mood shifted again. He was turning into a breeder, with two new werewolf roommates coming. Werewolves could be quite lusty, and his arse was definitely saved for someone else. Someone with a big dumb black mullet... Lance chocked on air as he quickly cut that train of thinking off. Keith was basically a working condom advertisement. Emotional issues that’d never been treated, far too good looking to be human, cranky 24/7, plus he wasn’t even domesticated. He was never going to be interested in him and the sooner his brain got it together, the better it’s be for him.

“How about Pidge and I go pick the board up, then we all can work on it together?”

Noooooooooooo. Lance loved Hunk with the power of a billion suns, but noooooo. He didn’t want to be trapped on the couch next to Keith. He still needed time to settle his instincts, and to push down that damn dream... mostly the dream. Making the mistake of closing his eyes, the dream popped back into the forefront of his mind. Back’s had never really been sexy, but Keith’s broad shoulders and muscular form as he gripped the table... the sounds he made as Lance rode him hard into the table... The warmth... Keith was so fucking warm and loud... Whining, Lance clamped a hand over his mouth as his eyes shot open

“Dude?”

“I think I’m going to be sick”

He was... Hunk’s smoothie had to come out one way or the other. Bolting from the kitchen, he heard Keith covering him again. Why couldn’t keith go back to being a dick! Things were so much easier then, and now he was all friendly with his friends

“We kind of got drunk last night. He’s probably hung over... I’ll check on him. Why don’t you guys come back this afternoon and we’ll work on your board then?”

“Damn, man. I’ve never seen him hung over before...”

“Are you sure it’s just a hangover?”

“He’ll be fine. I need more coffee”

[babysizedfics]

Hey, when you're not on a pre-upload post limit, so you can post freely again, may i request some soft Papa Pat, cuz hes underappreciated, n we dont talk about him enough?

doing this now because i need som soft patton content ASAP and you all do too you just don't know you do

first of all chubby beefy patton is being slept on too much!! his chub is perfect for cuddles and his strength is perfect for picking up every member of his family

yes im looking at logan

he already had so much information about everyone saved in his head about peoples favourite foods and their favourite type of physical contact and the music that relaxes them most and where their worst tickle spots are

so he's like scientifcally already set up to be an amazing caregiver

because he already knows that roman needs to listen to upbeat music to be able to actually relax so it's not much of a change of pace to put on dora the explorer party tracks instead of the usual pop rock music

and he already knows that stroking virgils hair can distract him from anxious thoughts so its not that big a deal that when he does it now virgil is sitting in his lap instead of awkwardly leaning against his legs on the floor like he used to do

when roman became a voluntary little patton did not question it at all

he had no idea what age dreaming was, he only knew about age regression to the extent which virgil experienced it so there was no idea in his head that people might do it for fun and be fully aware of that decision

logan wasn't against it but he was slightly confused and skeptical

but there was absolutely no barrier between patton hearing roman say that and accepting it completely and i just think thats so telling of how empathetic he is

he helps roman brush his teeth because roman tends to forget and/or rush through it because it's not enough input for his brain to not be bored

and patton makes it fun for roman, they dance along with the brushes, like when roman does the up and down strokes they bob up and down and when he has to reach the bottom molars they shake their booties

hahshshs thats so fun omg

when patton is taking care of vee there is literally nothing in his brain except I am Papa I must Protect my Baby

he is incredibly attentive, and yeah sometimes it's not exactly healthy and he can become overbearing and sometimes it makes roman feel left out, and this will all be developped and addressed

but that attentiveness is exactly what virgil needed when it was just him and patton at first

you've seen how young virgil is when he's regressed, and how important it is that he has someone looking after him

his regression has been like that all of his life, plus he has regressed almost everyday since he moved in with the light side family (5 years roughly) - i think we need to understnd how lonely and scary that must have been for him cobsidering how young his headspace is

so patton becoming his caregiver and being instantly so attentive and gentle with him has really helped to make up for all those years of him having to deal with it on his own

patton isn't too good at playing games, he doesnt like coming up with ideas in romans make believe games because he wants to let his little prince do whatever he wants to do, and he's awful at any and all video games but he still plays kingdom hearts with roman and cheers for him and laughs with joy even when his own character has died for the fifteenth time in ten minutes

the boys know patton is always going to be available no matter what, when theyre little or big, even though neither of them are very good at being honest with their feelings but on the rare occasions they are going to admit a tricky feeling then patton is the first one to hear it

one day he was super busy trying to fix the washing machine and he had tools everywhere and had banged his wrist so many times it was growing a bump and his back was seizing as he kept having to lean inside the drum

and he was honestly a bit angry and grumbly and red in the face from the frustration and the heat in the laundry room and he wasnt in a good mood at all

but then he heard a shaky 'dad?' from behind him

and even though he jumped and banged his head on the metal and it stung SO BAD he didnt let anything show on his face other than complete open kindness when he looked to the door to see virgil stood in the doorway with tears in his eyes

'stormcloud whats the matter?' he asked really softly

'it's dumb' 'not if its upsetting you'

and patton pulled him into his arms and swayed him and let him vent about a disasterous scenario that was replaying over and over in his head (about logan and roman never coming back from their shopping trip that day)

pat helped him through the breathing exercises first then the grounding exercises then vee regressed and patton abandoned his chores to take care of him for a few hours

and the washing machine remained broken that day and patton had to wash everyone's clothes by hand in the bath and he was up much too late and was far too exhausted and it took even longer to fix it the next day but he didnt care a single bit because he was there for his son when he needed patton and thats all that mattered to him

[asleepinawell]

disentanglement

A Root x Shaw fic

Shaw doesn't register how long Root's hair is until it suddenly isn't anymore.

It's a part of Root's routines more than anything else (routines which are now woven intricately into Shaw's own)--she has to wash it, brush it, curl it, and so on, all of which takes up quite a bit of time. Shaw's no stranger to all this with her own long hair, but Root's got her beat on the amount of time invested in something that seems almost frivolous. (Both of them are equally guilty of the rate at which they go through shampoo).

The time they take on their hair is fit in between the rest of the pieces of their lives, as unnotable as brushing their teeth or taking out the trash. It's understood and accounted for, but not remarked on. It's a constant.

The only real discussion of hair length comes up when Shaw complains, yet again, that Root is going to get herself killed when her hair gets in her face in combat and why can't she just use a damn hair tie? Root smiles at her in that annoyingly smug way she has, pats her on the cheek, and ignores all the hair ties Shaw slips into her jacket pockets.

Shaw lets it drop because for whatever reason the long hair situation never does seem to get in Root's way. Maybe her stupid nerdy brain has calculated out the correct timing and angle at which to flip her hair back in a way that is both ridiculous and, okay, kind of hot. When a problem finally does arise, it isn't under any circumstances Shaw had worried about.

The mission has gone poorly from the start and now they're running away from way too many armed security guards but at least they've got a decent head start. The door to the outside almost knocks Shaw over backwards when she pulls it open because apparently New York is having some kind of freak wind storm today. It's a big metal door with no handle on the outside and when it slams behind them with a thud, Root yelps and almost falls over.

Shaw turns back and sees how a bunch of Root's hair, no doubt streaming in the wind, had gotten caught in the slamming door, and she doesn't even stop to think about pulling her knife out and slicing through the stuck locks. They've got men with guns after them and that door isn't going to open from this side, so it's the obvious and best answer.

With all the other excitement going on, she half-forgets it happened until they're home later and she sees Root standing in front of the mirror finger-combing around the damaged area. It's way more than Shaw realized--a sizable area of Root's hair on the back left side of her head has been hacked much shorter than the rest--and it's extremely noticeable now that she stops to look. Root doesn't have much of any sort of expression on her face and after a second or two she shrugs and goes off to work on her laptop so Shaw figures it's not a big deal. Root will probably wear some ridiculous and embarrassing headwear to hide it until it grows out, she expects.

What she doesn't expect is for Root to come home the next day with her hair cut short so it only brushes the tops of her shoulders. It's not that much shorter than the shortest Shaw has seen it before this, but Root's hair has been halfway to her waist and wavy for so long now that the sudden change is a bit shocking. The curls are definitely gone now, though the ends of her hair curl up naturally and unpredictably on her shoulders. Shaw gapes at her like an idiot for far too long and Root chuckles and bops her on the nose.

"Don't you like my new haircut, Shaw?" she asks after escaping Shaw's half-hearted attempt to capture her finger.

Shaw thinks it looks good because, frankly, Shaw thinks Root always looks good, but she feels weird about the whole thing and she doesn't know why and it's just so...annoying.

"It's fine," is all she ends up saying, but the feeling that something is wrong stays with her the rest of the day.

She takes some time to think about it later because sometimes figuring Root out requires a lot more effort than Shaw generally puts into anyone and that seems to mean a lot of thinking. She watches Root sleep that night--her short hair stuck to her cheek and not spread nearly so much across the pillow as usual--and she thinks a lot about Root and her choices, specifically her choices relating to her own appearance.

It's complicated, she gets that. Root still takes on new roles and personas for her work, still becomes new people at the drop of a hat to help the Machine. Even when she's not on a job, she often has this affected air that she never seems to fully let down except sometimes, privately at home with Shaw. No one has seen more of that part of Root than Shaw, and even Shaw feels like she's missing pieces of the picture sometimes. She'd like to think she knows who Root is by now, but she's not sure how Root sees herself. Who does Root think Root is?

There are things Shaw assumes Root likes for herself: the leather jackets, the black nail polish, the ridiculous bunny slippers. These are all things Root clearly chose for herself. She hasn't cut her hair significantly since Shaw had met her and, as far as Shaw knows, the wavy curls aren't for any mission. All that combined with how much time Root put into taking care of her hair and curling it must mean that she liked it that way, Shaw figures. It's a thing she must want for herself. Or maybe it was part of the person Root wanted the world to see when they looked at her? Would Root make a distinction like that? Would it be a bad thing if she did?

Shaw has a headache.

It's simpler for herself, she knows. She likes her long hair--likes the weight of it and the way it hangs around her when its down--but if it had been her hair that had gotten hacked off in the door it wouldn't have been more than an annoyance. She'd probably have gotten it cut and maybe she would have left it shorter for a bit. It's been a while since she had short hair and that had been fun in its own way. It wouldn't have changed how she sees herself though.

And that, she realizes, is the reason she's sitting here having Root's existential crisis for her at three am. There's something tenuous about Root's sense of self, but maybe it's gotten a little stronger in their time together and Shaw is worried that she cut away some part of it when she freed Root's hair. Cut away some part of Root.

It's probably a really dumb thing to worry about, she tells herself. It's just hair. It'll grow back. Root hadn't seemed to care at all.

And maybe that's why the whole situation feels off to Shaw. There hasn't been a joke or a complaint or an inappropriate joke or anything Shaw would have expected. Root barely seemed to have noticed the change.

Shaw's headache is a steady, dull throb now so she gives up, takes some painkillers, and goes back to sleep. She'll talk to Root in the morning.

They don't do a lot of talking in the morning, but for the very best reasons. Shaw enjoys herself, but she definitely notices that Root's hair doesn't fall like a curtain around her the way it used to and doesn't lie across her thigh quite the same way. These are brief thoughts, quickly replaced by much more urgent ones, but they serve as a reminder to Shaw that she'd promised herself to talk to Root about this.

It's not a conversation she knows how to start, but that turns out not to matter.

"Want to tell me what was on your mind the whole time?" Root asks as they're lounging in bed after.

Shaw thinks that it's extremely unfair that Root can read her so easily while she's stuck with sitting up half the night and giving herself a headache to try and figure out if there's even something to worry about.

"It's nothing," Shaw says, because she still doesn't know how to explain why she's worried over Root not being upset and it sounds silly no matter which way she puts it.

Root tsks like there's no way she buys that for even a second. "You must really not like my new haircut," she says, and it's a joke.

"Do you?" Shaw asks, and it's not.

She can see in Root's expression that she's not going to get a serious answer out of her, but maybe Root sees something in Shaw's expression, too, because she pauses and appears to reconsider.

"I'm not upset you had to cut my hair free, sweetie," she says carefully. "It was the best option at the time. I don't blame you for that."

"You'd better not. It was the only damn option."

Root frowns, visibly perplexed by where the conversation has gone. For once it's not just Shaw scrambling to understand.

"Do you like your hair short like this?" Shaw asks, because she doesn't think she can explain her concern, but maybe she can steer things in the right direction.

"It's not a problem," Root says, turning away from her to fuss with her phone on the nightstand. "It's really not a big deal, sweetie. I doubt the Machine will have any missions for me that require hair that long anytime in the near future."

"You didn't answer my question."

Root turns back and Shaw sees something in her eyes that looks almost like panic. She takes Root's hand and runs her thumb along the side of it. It's cheating, she knows, a sure fire way to make Root go all soft and mushy and also give them both something to focus on if they need to avoid eye contact the way Root is doing right now.

"I don't know," Root says finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Shaw waits for more, but Root just sits there looking a bit miserable so Shaw gets up and shoos her into the shower while she makes breakfast. Root will talk when she's ready, she figures. Root's shower is shorter now with less hair to wash, and Shaw isn't quite done cooking when she joins her.

They're quiet as they eat, Shaw trying hard not to look at Root's wet hair hanging around her head in dark locks. She starts to think that maybe Root isn't going to say anything more about the whole thing at all, but halfway through her pancakes Root finally starts talking.

"Did you know that I originally grew my hair out because of the Machine?" she asks. "Not because She asked me to, but because I thought that I could always cut some off at a moment's notice, but I couldn't make it grow longer instantly. Having it long gave me, and Her, more options to work with." She rests a single prong of her fork on her plate and twirls the fork in her hand. "I didn't really think about it much at the time. Even before that, most of how I looked and dressed was temporary. Another tool to be used."

She switches to dragging her fork through the syrup on the plate, leaving wavy paths behind. "Once I finally got to a place where I felt like I could do what I wanted with my hair I...well I didn't know what to do. I liked my hair long, liked curling it, liked how it felt around me, but out of all the options in the world, was that the one I wanted?"

Shaw refills both their glasses with orange juice without saying a word.

"I said I don't know because I really don't know. I think I liked my hair long. I think I like it this way as well. I'm not...not sure who I'm looking at in the mirror sometimes, and I'm not sure who I want to be looking at."

Shaw feels some pressure that's been inside of her since Root had shown up with her hair cut ease up a bit. It's replaced with the feeling of inadequacy because she has no damn clue how to sort out all the things she finally got Root to admit, but she's still going to call it progress. It would be easy for her to say that Root looks great no matter what she does with her hair, that she could shave her head and Shaw would still be weirdly attracted to her the way she always had, but, even though that's true, she suspects it's not what Root needs to hear right now (though damned if she knows what is).

She could also tell her that even when she's racking her brains trying to figure Root out she still knows who she is on some deeper level she doesn't have words for, but she's not sure that's the right thing to say either.

She needs to say something though because Root is watching her and doing her best to cover up how nervous she is even as she scrapes the hell out of her dish with her fork.

"Do you think the Machine can hold off on giving you any jobs that require identity changes for a bit?" she asks finally.

It's not the response Root expected based on the flicker of surprise on her face. "That shouldn't be a problem, why?"

"Guess I figured maybe you could, you know, take some time to think about this."

"Think about this?" Root echoes and there's a hint of amusement in her voice.

Shaw scowls at her. "Yeah, like…." She knows what to say now, but she has to force the words out. "Sometimes I don't know why people do things or act certain ways and usually that's fine because fuck people I mean, but sometimes…" She wants to stick her head down the garbage disposal because this is not coming out right at all. "Sometimes I need to know so I have to think all of it through from beginning to end. And a lot of times it doesn't make any damn sense at all, but I think..." The frustration she feels in those moments is something she doesn't know how to articulate in a way to really encompass the experience. "...I think I've gotten better at it." She knows she has. The faint echo of her headache from last night and this whole conversation prove that she has. "So maybe take some time and let yourself think about it. If that's something you want to do, I mean."

She gets that this is about way more than Root's hair now, that after an entire life spent slipping into other people's identifies Root's own identity is the one she has the most trouble embodying.

"And what if I don't reach any conclusion?" Root asks.

Shaw can hear the waver in her voice and she picks her words carefully. "Then we'll figure out what to do next. Which can be nothing. You hair will be long enough to get caught in another damn door in no time."

It's not a perfect answer and she knows that, but Root looks less distressed and she's stopped trying to murder her plate.

They don't talk about it more right away, but things feel better to Shaw. Root is back to her homicidally cheerful self by the next day and it doesn't feel like an act. Shaw doesn't know if Root spoke to the Machine, or the Machine had just heard all of that, but there aren't any more undercover missions for either of them for a while.

About two weeks after the hair incident (as Shaw thinks of it to herself), Shaw walks by the open bathroom door she catches a glimpse of Root standing in front of the mirror looking thoughtful. She figures it's probably a good sign and slips away before Root catches her spying. Root's wardrobe has been all over the map in the last week, in a constant flux that is probably costing the Machine a pretty penny. Her choices have started to stabilize a bit though, patterns becoming more and more prevalent, and while most of them don't surprise Shaw at all, she never mentions that to Root.

"You know I never did get that apology out of you for chopping my hair off so rudely like that," Root says later that night in bed. It's clear she's joking and Shaw rolls her eyes.

"Next time I'll leave you there."

Root pats her on the arm in a patronizing way and then continues. "I was thinking that maybe I should thank you instead."

"What'd you have in mind?"

What Root has in mind takes up the rest of the night and into the early hours of the morning and both of them are so worn out that they don't wake up until late morning. Shaw wakes up second to find Root aggressively cuddling her, head resting on Shaw's chest. She thinks about protesting, but she's still kinda sleepy and Root is soft and warm and looks so...peaceful that Shaw is okay with it.

Maybe Root not wearing a goddamn hair tie had turned out to be a good thing this one time, but that doesn't stop Shaw from waving one in Root's face the next time they go on a mission. Root doesn't use it, but then Shaw hadn't really expected her to.

Root spends half the mission struggling to flip her shorter hair out of the way effectively. Shaw spends the whole mission rolling her eyes.

[earthseaborealis]

New Traditions and Worlds

My @homestuckss gift for @dykeiatrist ! I used “Davekat,” “Jane,” and “Hurt/Comfort” (with a bit of DirkJake) to create a cute little holiday fic! Hope you enjoy it :D Have a wonderful holiday season!!

Also on ao3 (@detective_in_space if the link doesn’t work!)

“Twas the week before Christmas,” Dave started before pausing, “Yo Rox, what’s somethin’ that rhymes with Christmas?”

“Ass? Wait, no, no that doesn’t work… Christmas…” Roxy muttered, “Okay so, like, the only thing I’ve got is Christmas, but you absolutely cannot rhyme ‘Christmas’ with ‘Christmas,’ right?”

“You’re definitely right,” Dave sighed as he scratched out the words in his notebook, “Dude, like absolutely nothin’ rhymes with Christmas words.”

Roxy moved over and rested their hand on his shoulder, “Karkat will appreciate the thought at least. Hey, there are other things than Christmas raps, like festive interpretive dances! Or Festive slam poetry?”

“Well, duh, it’s Karkat we’re talkin’ bout,” Dave laughed, but in his defense, it was true. Karkat would yell and insist that he hated Dave’s most ‘ironic’ gifts, but there was a certain fondness in his tone. Like it was just a whole elaborate game. The edges of Karkat’s eyes would wrinkle as his lips curled into a small grin. A small chuckle would escape, which Dave would obviously point out, and in response, Karkat would punch him (before wrapping him in a hug). Oh god, that was the best… 

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Roxy interrupted, as they lightly hit the side of Dave’s head, “Did ya invite me over here just to fall asleep?”

“Nah dawg, I was just thinkin’ about the usual,” Dave brushed their hand aside. 

“So,” Roxy drawled, “Karkat?” Roxy wiggled their eyebrows at Dave. 

“No,” Dave exclaimed, “Fuck, I mean, no. Hey, do ya know any, like, traditions that people do for Christmas and all that jazz.” Now that was a smooth change of topics. 

“Smooth like a baby’s bottom,” Roxy laughed, “But, nah. I didn’t even know Christmas was like a real thing… thought it was an urban myth or something.” Oh, right. Roxy lived in some highly-futuristic society that was enslaved by a fish bitch, but there was none of that oppressive dictatorship on Earth C. Trolls, Carpacians, Humans, and well, any other species were free to chill by the fire and enjoy whatever holiday they wanted. Now that, was what sweet, sweet democracy was about (preach Obama). 

“Lit, lovin’ that we’re both oblivious of any cultural traditions… hey, you think one of the Crocker-Harley-English… berts... would know more about this? I’m feelin’ like they’d be all up in that shit,” Dave said, “Oh fuck, I’m so smart. That’s like totally their thing.”

After quickly picking up all his stuff and saying goodbye to Roxy, Dave picked up his phone and dialed Jane Crocker, the holiday expert, on his way home. Wait, oh fuck, what if she was busy? It’s not like he usually talked to her, so was it out of the question? Oh no, maybe he should’ve just texted John...

The phone picked up, “Hello, Jane Crocker speaking?”

“Oh… oh! Hey Jane, it’s Dave… ya know… Dirk’s cooler bro,” Dave started. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and kicked a stray pebble on the sidewalk. Yes, he could be floating around, but exercise was important. 

“Well, howdy there Dave. It’s been a while since we’ve talked, hasn’t it,” she chuckled, “Anyways, did you need anything?”

“So, like, Rox and I were talkin’ about Christmas and stuff… and well, we’re both dumb and have no idea what people actually do for it, so I thought you might be the expert on the subject? Because it totally seems like it’d be up your ally,” Dave rambled on. 

“Well golly, I’m flattered. It’s been a while since I’ve actually celebrated the holiday, but of course, I’ll help you! Before the game, my father and I had so much fun celebrating… let’s see… Well, I’m sure you already know this, but we’d go out to a farm together and pick out a tree. I’d always search for the fattest tree, and my father would help me cut it down. And then we’d go get Hot Cocoa and pick out ornaments together, and well, oh sorry, I’ve gotten a bit off-topic, haven’t I,” Jane apologized.

“No, no! You’re literally the best… lemme just get a piece of paper to write this on,” Dave fumbled around his captchalogue, and pulled out an old notebook (of course, with Obama on the cover). “Okay cool, I got one, hit me with all that sweet, sweet info.”

“Alright… let’s see, what else… oh, well after we decorated the tree, we’d make and frost sugar cookies and cakes together. Oh! Karkat and you are welcome to come over together sometime and make cookies with me if you’d like,” Jane offered. Hell yeah, she was a literal legend. Roxy and Dirk had the best friends. 

“Yeah, dog, we’d love to! I’ll hit you up with a date once Karkat checks the calendar. You know him and… schedulin’,” Dave said as he continued to write down Jane’s suggestions. 

Jane chuckled, “Sounds good… and one more thing… My father and I would always put cheesy Christmas music on. That was the best… we’d make absolute fools out of ourselves, but it was so much fun. Literally, we’d just dance around and belt the lyrics… those we’re the days,” Jane’s voice started to crack… fuck… had Dave made her cry? “Sorry…” she continued, “I don’t mean to be so emotional. Oh lord, I’m sorry. I… I hope I helped you a bit, and just, feel free to come over whenever for cookies…” 

“Fuck, no,” Dave searched his brain… what would Karkat say… “Sorry for bringin’ up those memories. I know it sucks and all. I’ll give you some time and just hit you up later.” 

“Yes, that’d be great… see you later then,” Jane said as she hung up. 

Well, shit, Dave had already made one person cry and it was only 11 a.m. Maybe Christmas was just an emotional time and stuff. Jane was cool, though, so he hoped that she was okay. Plus, she gave him some kickass advice, and he was so ready to get his holiday spirit on. 

The rest of the walk to his place was boring. Dave tried to come up with some more sick raps for his Christmas album, featuring the new and improved version of “Jingle Bells.” The air was crisp and way too cold for Dave’s Texan roots (he blamed John for the freezing wind), so he was thankful when he finally reached the door. 

“Yo, Karkat, I’m home, and I come with words of wisdom from the one and only Jane Crocker herself,” Dave announced as he closed the door behind him. He attempted to throw his coat and hang it up, but it fell clumsily to the floor. He shrugged it off and continued through the cozy lil’ condo, finding his way into the kitchen, where he found Karkat doing a load of laundry. Yes, the washing machine and dryer were in the kitchen… it was only the most ironic, British mom location for them. Dave, being the coolest man to ever exist, ran up to Karkat and hugged him from behind. 

“Jesus fucking shit Dave! Are you trying to give me a blood pusher attack?” Karkat screeched as he jumped like fifty feet in the air (okay maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but it basically happened). 

“Nah dude, you wouldn’t dare be all anime protagonist on me and faint. Like, imagine me runnin’ to cradle you in my arms while you murmur ‘I’m goin’ to have to kawaii the shit out of your desu.’ Literally, imagine that” Dave rambled. 

Karkat groaned at this, “Stop spending time with Dirk. You’re turning into a shitty weeb Karkat said as he pushed Dave away. 

“I can’t help it… it’s who I am,” Dave clutched yo his chest and fell to the ground, pulling the other boy down with him. Karkat’s words. The worst weapon of all. 

“I’m going to go live with Kanaya and Rose,” Karkat grumbled, falling to the ground as dramatically as possible (making sure to land on Dave with as much force as possible). 

“Like you’d do that,” Dave scoffed, “She’s worse than me. Plus, is you did, we couldn’t be all romantic and celebrate human holidays together. C’mon dude, we gotta act like a high school couple. Get all up in each other’s space and kiss under the mistletoe. Oh, speakin’ of that! I talked to Jane, who is literally the best, and she was like ‘oh Dave! Check out this super lit tradition I did back on the o.g. Earth. Like, you get to cut down a tree and decorate with the most ironic ornaments.’” 

“Sound detrimental to the environment and a waste of time. What’s the point of celebrating a fucking tree,” Karkat asked.

“Dude, it’s a pine tree, which is superior to all other trees. Besides,  it’s about family and friends. I mean, I never celebrated Christmas with Bro, but you can’t just diss Karen like that,” Dave said, using his best white mom voice. 

“Fine whatever. I’ll celebrate your dumb human holiday, but I call picking out the decorations,” Karkat bargained as he stood up and dusted off his pants (getting rid of Dave’s germs).

“Hell yeah, deal! Get your coat on, we’re gonna get a tree and bring it in our house,” Dave exclaimed, quickly getting off the ground. 

The boys quickly got ready and we’re out the door, hopping into their car. Dave has gotten it because well, basically of all Karkat and his friends could fly. He has listened to Karkat’s complaining enough and invested in an older, used minivan. And man, did he love the thing. Hey, maybe he’d become a car person after the holidays were over. 

Dave was about to drive to the nearest park with a saw, but Karkat demanded that he call and ask Jane first. Jane recommended a small farm in the middle of nowhere, and with the use of a GPS, they eventually found their way there (after a few hours of trial and error).

“Jane said that fat trees were better, but honestly, I’m lovin’ this tall ass one right here. I mean look at it. It’s taller than the Empire State Buildin’… wait, is that still a thing? Like an Earth C Empire State Buildin’?” In Dave’s defense, it was a totally valid question. Like, did Earth C have the same seven wonders of the world? Who knew. 

“Shut the fuck up. We’re here for a tree, not imperialism,” Karkat groaned, “And besides, our house isn’t big enough for that.”

“But Karkat, the economy,” Dave whined, “But like, what about this tiny one… it reminds me of you, short stacks.”

Karkat shoved him, “And the other reminds me of your flat ass.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment… since you're lookin’ at my ass and all,” Dave pulled down his Stiller shades and winked.

“Shut up, you fucking twink. Let’s just celebrate your weird human holidays and get the tree,” Karkat grumbled as he attempted to pick up the tree. 

Dave doubled over laughing as he watched the 5’3 troll struggle, but once Karkat shot him an angry glare, he rushed over to aid him (with his huge muscles, of course). “Nice, I can feel it pokin’ me through my mittens. Ten out of ten would recommend.”

After endless trial and error, the pair managed to carry the tree to the register and on top of their car, a red minivan that Dave had picked out.

“So,” Karkat started, “We just put a tree in our block and decorate it? And then some creepy old man flies around the world and gives presents to children by putting them under the tree?” His eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to understand human traditions.

“Dude, I can’t even explain it. Humans can come up with some weird shit when they put their minds to it,” Dave laughed. The rest of the car ride consisted of Karkat rambling about trollian traditions. Their hands managed to find one another and rest comfortably on the center console (Dave, of course, kept one hand on the steering wheel at all times… hey, safety is important). 

Their next stop was the local hardware store. It was owned by a sweet, older Carpacian. In all honesty, she reminded Dave of the Mayor… a kindred spirit whose goal in life was to just lead and help make others happy. She made the place seem like the opposite of a place to buy tools. The place was decorated with festive garlands and cheery music rang through the air. Dave waved at her as the pair walked towards the Christmas section.

“So,” Dave drawled, “What kind of ornaments are we lookin’ for? Personally, I wanna find a dick shaped one… for the memories of cockscotch. Bless that game.”

“This is a family store, dick-muncher! And we’re getting triple-f ornaments! Family fucking friendly!” Karkat screeched, marching ahead (but not before grabbing Dave’s hand and pulling him along). 

“Fine, fine, I get it… gotta make our house grub friendly, for when John comes over,” Dave snickered as they walked the ornaments aisle. Who knew there were so many different variations in fucking decorations? You had some for your Karens, poor college students, newlyweds, too many to count. Karkat busied himself with the… glass ball? Well, whatever that kind of ornament was called. 

“These are nice,” Karkat noted, showing Dave a set of jade glass baubles (haha, like Kanaya).

“But like, dude, they’re so borin’,” Dave whined, “We gotta spruce this tree up… get it? Spruce is a kind of tree.” Dave chuckled at his own dad joke. Shit, he was hilarious. 

“Hey, I’m just trying to make this actually look nice. We’ll get other colors too, and “spruce” it up, as you say,” Karkat said as he went back to check out the boring ornaments. Dave, on the other hand, went to look at the children’s ornaments on the other side of the aisle. Most of them were new pop culture things that Dave didn’t recognize (God was he growing old). However, there were a few that grabbed his attention, and obviously, he was gonna have to show these to Karkat. 

“Yo, dawg. Check out these cool little fuckers. They’ll make our tree look mads cool,” Dave opened his hands to reveal a bunch of little crab ornaments. They were cute and not boring glass balls. Plus, crabs were like Karkat’s thing… he’d definitely appreciate them.

“Crustaceans? Don’t you just know the way to my blood pusher,” Karkat rolled his eyes, “Just put them in the basket before I change my mind.”

Dave threw his fist in the air and gave Karkat a side hug, “Hell yeah, you won’t regret this. We gonna get so festive up in this joint. All the moms will be beggin’ to check out the coolest tree in the neighborhood, which if ya didn’t catch on, will be ours.”

“You got me. I’m only doing this to make Carol jealous. She fucking deserves it,” Karkat chuckled. Yes, Dave knew he was doing swell when he made Karkat laugh. If only he could give himself a, well earned, golden star. 

“Dude yes, I fuckin’ hate Carol. C’mon, let’s get more lights. We gotta make this flashy and blow a fuse, speakin’ of which… do you know how to fix a broken fuse? Because I do not wanna call Dirk over to fix it for us. He’ll be like ‘Dave, I’m just tryin’ to celebrate the holidays with my darlin’ boyfriend… have I mentioned Jake’s ass? Damn, lemme just rant about that and never actually fix your broken utilities.’ Can you imagine the pain, Karkat,” Dave lamented? He loved his brother, don’t get him wrong, but he did not want to mess with Dirk this close to the holiday season. 

“I can, actually. Remember what happened the week before Jake’s birthday? Dirk is batshit crazy, but he gets it from you,” Karkat smirked as Dave feigned an offended expression, “Now, can we stop talking about his love life and actually pick out some decorations?”

The pair still had one more destination before they could go home and relax, maybe even decorate the tree… but knowing themselves, they’d probably wait until Christmas Eve to put the new lights and ornaments up. 

“Oh my goodness, I’m so glad you two could make it,” Jane said as she opened the door, “I’ve already got everything out, so all we have to do is bake and decorate cookies… and perhaps eat a bit of dough.” She ushered the two inside. 

“Hell yeah, you’re the best Janey,” Dave said as the pair put away their coats and walked to the kitchen with Jane. Everything was so clean, especially when compared to their house. Karkat would always fuss about his habits, but Dave felt a sort of comfort in the messiness. So what if there were shirts thrown on the floor and an unorganized stack of papers on the kitchen table. It built… character. 

“I’ve never had what you humans call ‘cookies,’ but thank you for having us,” Karkat added. 

“Oh please, it’s no problem. I love baking, and I especially love helping people get into the holiday spirit,” Jane said. The trio fell into a simple routine once Jane showed them the recipe, helping the two boys when need be. Dave filled the silence by rambling under his breath about whatever he deemed important, while Karkat concentrated on making his cookies perfect. 

“Hey look,” Dave exclaimed while holding up one of his doughy creations, “It’s a Karkat angel! A Kar-Angel… a Karkat Van-Angel!” His cookies were shaped into gingerbread men with nubby horns and an uncharacteristic smile. 

“And I made a Dave-Cookie… oh wait, it’s just a blob of dough, my fucking bad,” Karkat retorted, going back to rolling out his dough. 

It was a long process, but after a few hours, the boys had successfully made their first batch of Christmas sugar cookies. A few of the cookies weren’t burnt on the edges, but they were delicious nonetheless. Jane demanded that the pair take home their creations, as she didn’t have enough room in her cabinets for more holiday desserts. 

“Goodness, thank you so much for coming over and making sugar cookies! I haven’t had this much fun since… well, it’s been a while. Feel free to come by and help me whenever you all would like,” Jane chirped. 

“Of course, Janey,” Dave replied, “You best bet we’ll be back for some more goodies! Gotta get my housewife on. I can’t be accidentally poisoning Karkat with some undercooked cake.” 

“You’ve poisoned me with every meal of your’s, except the Kraft Mac and Cheese, but only because Roxy helped you,” Karkat spat. 

“Oh well, we certainly can’t have that. I’ll be seeing you both again soon then. Have a Merry Christmas and a wonderful new year!”

It was dark by the time they were home. Karkat and Dave both felt the sleepiness enter the body, as they kept yawning. It was too late to decorate the tree, so it was leaned against a corner. The pair immediately plopped down onto the couch and put on a holiday classic, Tim Allen’s “The Santa Clause,” which Dave argued was the best Christmas movie known to mankind, trollkind, and carpaciankind alike. 

“Y’know, I never imagined that I would celebrate Christmas. Like, dude, that shit was mads uncool,” Dave said out of the blue, interrupting the beautiful sound of Tim Allen interacting with CGI reindeers and kidnapped children.

Karkat groaned, “Well, me either, yet here I am, celebrating a dumb holiday for dumb human grubs.” He was just trying to enjoy this wonderful holiday film, but with Dave, silence didn’t last long. In a way, it provided comfort to the pair. He knew that Dave absolutely hated the silence, as it reminded him of his Bro. For Karkat, Dave’s endless rambling allowed him to take his mind off of his worries. It was an odd relationship, one that had taken years to achieve, but here they were… they had made it, yet Karkat knew there were still shaky moments for the two of them. Like now, for example. The pair both would jump around certain barriers, trying desperately to aid one another, while still attempting to not dig too deep. 

Dave rested his head upon Karkat’s thighs and snuggled into the pile of blankets, reminding him of their time on the meteor, “Y’know, I wouldn’t have this whole thing any other way. ‘M glad my first Christmas is with you, instead of Bro.” His words are slurred together and slightly muffled, and Karkat can’t help the stupid ass blush that creeps onto his face at the sound of them. 

“Fuck that guy,” Karkat spits. After a moment, he starts again, this time with a gentler tone, “And it’s nice to have you here too, no matter how fucking dumb your endless rants may be.”

Dave could almost hear Dirk whispering “Tsundere” in his ear as he chuckled, “Awe, love you too, KitKat.” He sits back up, nearly smacking the top of his head into Karkat’s jaw. He looks away for a second, briefly hesitating, then leans in, closing the distance between the pair. It’s just a brief peck, but it leaves the two of them speechless. Dave looks at Karkat through his shades. A light brush coated his cheeks and his lips curled into a small grin. 

Karkat pulls Dave into his side and looks towards the corner of the living room, where their small, fat tree is leaning against the wall. It was empty and in desperate need of attention (aka Crustacean ornaments). Filled with a sudden burst of energy, he paused the movie and stood up, pulling Dave with him, “Get off your lazy ass and get fucking festive. We have a tree to decorate.”

[danetobelieve]

Fangs For The Memories || Ricky and Winston

Really, as far as roommates went, Winston was pretty much as good as one could get. Ricky liked having them around, and they got along well enough, but sometimes it was nice to have the house to himself. Winston had mentioned they were going to spend the night at their parents, so Ricky was enjoying the concept of some home-alone time which meant time he didn’t have to spend in hiding. Rifling through the refrigerator, Ricky decided it was as good a night as any to treat himself to the nice piece of salmon he’d bought the other day, and he was in the process of firing up the stove to sear it when he heard the front door slam open. Several things went through his mind in quick succession; one, that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and two, that his false teeth were in their case in his nightstand, and not in his mouth which was currently filled with very bright very sharp fangs that were on display for his very human roommate to see. He slammed the refrigerator shut and busied himself in the spice cabinet, keeping his back to Winston, “Oh hey dude…. You’re back early. Everything good?”

Winston was very wet still. After hanging out at their parents they’d been distracted by Pokemon Go and through a weird series of events with Skylar -- a girl they met through chance really -- they had been attacked by a gollum-esque creature and Skylar had revealed a rather sharp looking set of fangs. It was … well it was a lot to take in. Winston was trying to explain what they had seen just hours before, and on autopilot they had driven straight home to change. After all the Cave of Voices wasn’t the ideal place to go and fight weird animal things (which Winston was in the process of convincing themselves that’s what they must be) without getting a little wet. Brushing sand out of their hair, they slipped in the front door and pulled off their coat, hanging it to dry before heading towards the kitchen. “I had a very … weird experience.” Winston frowned gently as they strode into the kitchen. 

Ricky carefully kept his back to Winston, grabbing some spices from the cabinet and mixing them in a small bowl. Without turning he reached over and twisted the volume down on music he was listening to; he knew it was probably louder than was standard for a normal conversation. “A weird experience?” He called over his shoulder, patting the spice mixture into the large salmon filet. There was no easy way to exit the conversation and make his way upstairs to put the most crucial piece of his human disguise back on. He turned over his shoulder to look at Winston and furrowed his brow at their appearance, “why are you wet?” He kept his lips as close together as he could but knew it’d be a hard conversation to follow if he couldn’t read Winston’s lips as they were talking. His hearing wasn’t completely absent on land, but it was bad enough that he usually needed to supplement with lip reading “Didn’t think it was supposed to rain tonight?”

Winston had left a basket of clean laundry in the utility room, slipping in, they began to peel their now damp clothes off of their skinny body, throwing each item of clothing straight into the washing machine and stepping into a fresh, clean pair. “I am getting to why I am wet, but have you ever been to the Cave of Voices beneath the Hanging Rock?” Winston was sure that Ricky wouldn’t have been there, “I was up at mom and dad’s and they were boring so I was playing Pokemon Go and I wandered over there.” They paused as they pulled on a warm pair of joggers and zipped a hoodie snuggly around them, pulling the hood up and slipping their glasses back on before going to take a seat at the breakfast bar. “So I go in search of a Pokemon I want, I end up in this little sea cave, and there’s that girl who helped me at the internship with those hard of hearing kids, Skylar, I’m sure I mentioned her a few months ago.” They weren’t really paying attention to what Ricky was doing, focussed more on explaining their weird day. “But that’s not the weirdest part. There was something in there.”

Ricky stiffened slightly when Winston mentioned the Cave of Voices. As far as he knew it wasn’t the permanent home of anything dangerous but it definitely had enough supernatural visitors that it wasn’t a place humans should be hanging out regularly. “You went to the Cave of Voices for a Pokémon? That place is super dangerous, Win. The tides will drag you out to sea real easy if you’re not careful.” It was Winston’s mention of something else in the cave that really gave Ricky pause however. “what kind of something?” He turned to face his roommate, cupping his chin in such a way where his fingers obscured his mouth. He didn’t think anything had taken up residence in the Cave recently but if something had it was something that was going to have to be addressed sooner rather than later and he didn’t really feel in the mood to have a knock down drag out fight with yet another alghoul. “You want some dinner? I’ve got enough for two here.”

Raising an eyebrow gently, Winston couldn’t help but admit that they wished they had known that before hand. “Now you tell me that it is dangerous?!” Winston replied exasperatedly, “If I’d known about the tides I would never have gone there.” They were too nervous taking risks as it was already. Risk averse might as well be their double barrelled middle name. “But like I was saying, the tide was not the problem, the problem was this something, and what kind of something I couldn’t tell you. Maybe if a bat and orangutan had a baby then it would’ve looked like this, but it also just looked like a jacked Gollum.” Winston wanted to tell Ricky the whole story, to explain about Skylar’s veneers and everything with her mouthful of teeth, but they didn’t feel as if that was really their secret to share. “It came after me and Skylar…” they paused and shrugged, “I’ve called animal control and informed the sergeant at the office.” After all one of the perks of working at the police department was if anything went wrong then they would be able to talk to someone they knew personally. “They said they’d send someone down there to check it out, but I don’t know if they really believed me.” Pausing for a moment, they adjusted their glasses and nodded. “If you’ve got enough, I wouldn’t say no.” 

“Haven’t you lived here your whole life?! You should know that tidal caves are some bad news bears up in this bitch. I’m glad you two made it out okay but that shit coulda gone south if the tides were super strong.” Ricky grabbed a pan from the rack and lit the stove, listening to the click click click of the pilot before the burner caught and the flame whooshed to life. A pat of butter went in the pan as he carefully listened to Winston’s story, mentally trying to catalogue what it might be that was lurking down in the cave. “Did it hurt you guys? Wild……. animals can have all sorts of nasty diseases. We should get you to the hospital if you got bit or scratched.” He knew a lot of the lesser necrophages were disgusting disease vectors, and even a scratch from one of them could lead to a terrible infection. “Well. I believe you. The legends about that place” and the entire town, he thought silently to himself, “put some pretty gnarly shit down in there. I haven’t been in since I was a high schooler,” another convenient lie, “and I don’t plan on going back anytime soon.” Given the description Ricky thought it was probably a ghoul that had attacked them, which made him feel slightly better. Ghouls weren’t that terrible. “Two salmon dinners coming right up then.” 

“Hey,” Winston snapped back, shaking their head indignantly, “I know it was a bad decision, I don’t need you to call me out like that. Besides, I’m just fine at swimming, I’d have managed. I’m more concerned about the fact that Gollum is down there and apparently without the one ring.” Raising their palms, Winston showed Ricky their palms which were still grazed and raw from their fall in the cave. “I have a few bumps and bruises, it really went took it out on Skylar worse, she was in a worse state then me but we both made it out.” Winston was surprised that Ricky accepted their story so easily. “I can’t reconcile it within my own head, it was like something out of a game dude, there’s… there’s …. I just can’t get it straight. I know rationally that this makes no sense. But I saw what I saw.” Not to mention Skylar’s fangs. This town was getting weirder and weirder by the second. Picking at the drawstring  of their waist band, Winston smiled gratefully before taking their glasses and anxiously polishing them. “Thanks, I appreciate this dude.” They knew they must’ve interrupted a quiet night alone, which was a rarity for the both of them. 

“It’s literally your roommates job to call you out when you do dumb shit. It’s like in the roommate handbook. You need a beer to settle your nerves?” Ricky pulled two out of the fridge and popped the tops off, sliding one across the counter without waiting for a reply before turning back to the meal he was cooking. The kitchen was starting to fill with the smell of pungent spices as Ricky thought about his next move. He prided himself on being honest with the people around him; but there were some very specific loopholes to that policy and they all dealt with the supernatural. Which is why he was less than pleased with his choice to gaslight his roommate. “I’m sure Gollum himself wasn’t lurking in the Cave of Voices.” He kept his voice pitched light and breezy, “it’s dark, it’s cramped, and it’s more than a little creepy. The human brain likes to fill in all sorts of blanks with the insane when it’s confronted with something terrifying. You probably just startled some poor forest creature who got stuck in there by the tide. You’re lucky you don’t catch rabies.”

Winston was about to say that they didn’t want a beer, but Ricky put one in their hand anyway and the cold, malty liquid felt good. “Thanks dude, I know it is your job to make sure that I’m not doing anything that could potentially kill me.” Ricky was a good guy. He had done a lot for Winston in the small amount of time that they had been living together. Winston was distracted, otherwise they might have noticed that Ricky was keeping his back to Winston. They might have noticed that they weren’t directly addressing them and they hadn’t seen their teeth yet. But they were kind of preoccupied. “I don’t think it was Gollum either, probably an animal and a bump on the head or something, i know that your brain tries to turn everything into a narrative and the fear probably just y’know, changed my perception.” They had been convinced earlier that whatever it was hadn’t been an animal, but this was the real world. It had to be an animal. There was nothing else that it could be. “I know, I know,” Winston replied glumly, their left thumb picking at the corner of the label on the beer, rolling and unrolling it restlessly, “I just can’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it then a rabid animal.” It wasn’t really their problem. They weren’t a member of animal control.

“Your mother would kill me if I let anything happen to you and frankly I’m convinced that she could do it with little effort on her part.” Ricky plated the salmon and slid one of the plates across the counter to Winston, setting a fork down next to it. “Fear is a powerful thing. But I know deer and badgers and the sort go down there to forage at low tide and then get trapped in the cave. You might have just startled one of them that was already at the end of its rope and its fight or flight response kicked in.” He waved his own fork glibly as he laughed off Winston’s story, trying to put them at ease while pushing them towards believing they hadn’t seen a necrophage and instead had just seen a frightened animal. He realized too late, however, that between taking a bite of his salmon and laughing brightly he’d left his mouth open for far too long, and he no longer had his back to his roommate. He snapped it shut and took a sip of his beer, hoping that Winston has been too distracted by the delicious food to look at him.

Winston didn’t think that their mother would kill Ricky. They were certain that their fate would be far more gruesome then an easy death. “Well don’t worry because I won’t let anything happen to you, and my mother isn’t about to find out about this.” Turning the plate round, Winston scooped up their fork and picked at the slice of salmon that Ricky had cooked for them. Ricky didn’t seem to eat much other then fish and meat, but they knew how to cook it and they did a damn good job. Winston just assumed that Ricky was fussy and out of deference to their friend had elected not to bring the topic up, incase it embarrassed them. “Maybe, but I’ve got to admit that it didn’t look like any sort of deer or badger that I have ever seen before, this looked like a cross between a monkey and a bat.” Winston looked up just in time to see Ricky’s gleaming mouthful of fangs. Wait … fangs? Winston felt their eyes widen and realised that they had caught Ricky’s eye for a moment. A look of shock on their face before they looked at their plate and shovelled a huge mouthful of fish into their mouth. “Mmhmmm this is great fish dude,” they said inbetween bites, doing what they could to avoid admitting to what they had just seen. But they’d seen those very same teeth on Skylar, hours before. What the fuck was going on? 

Given the profound look of shock on their face and the renewed vigor with which they ate and commented on the fish, Ricky knew pretty immediately that the jig was up. “Winston…” he sighed wearily as he set down his fork and took a drink of his beer. “Yeah. I know it’s great fish. I can cook fish like a motherfucker. Because fish and meat are pretty much all I can eat. Listen. I know you saw and you can stop trying to hide that behind food comments and eating. Mostly because at the rate you’re going you’re gonna finish that fish in two bites. So. Yeah. Let’s talk.” He’d really planned on going a lot longer without having this conversation. But. Hopefully Winston’s cool head would prevail “if it makes you feel better… it definitely wasn’t a badger or a deer you saw.”

With a mouthful of fish, Winston looked up at Ricky and let out an uneasy laugh. “Yeah, I know you eat fish and meat, because you’re a giant baby living in a man’s body and you hate your veggies, you’re a fussy eater and you’ve probably got like a gluten intolerance right?!” They let out a high pitched anxious laugh and shoved more fish into their mouth. “But you’re right, really good fish, you did an amazing job, like you always did. HA ha what amazing fish.” They chewed extra slowly on the tiny amount of fish that they had left. “I’m sorry Ricky,” Winston said glancing at their wrist and realising they weren’t wearing a watch, “but I’ve got to dash, my parents are expecting me for dinner and they’ll be upset if I’m late…” they tried to force their heart to slow down, but it wasn’t working. They didn’t have time to focus on something else and just breath. “Anyway, I’ll catch you later.” They were standing and grabbing their rucksack and keys. They would stay at their parents house tonight. They would also be checking to see if they too had a mouthful of sharp teeth. “Thanks again for the fish dude.” 

It became readily apparent to Ricky that this was going to be at least a two part conversation, as Winston gathered their things and started to head towards the door. “Winston.” Ricky called out from where he was sitting picking at his fish, “my….. fussy eating” which seemed to be the terms they were going to couch this in for the moment, “Is a secret for a reason. There are people who would use that as an excuse to hunt me. Literally. So if we could keep this between us for the moment. I’d appreciate it.” He took another swig if beer and glanced down at his phone as Winston headed for the door, “also. It was probably a ghoul. Down in the cave. Sounds like one. Don’t go back there again. It’s not safe til that things been taken care of. Be careful.” All he could do was trust that he and Winston had enough of a bond that his roommate wouldn’t go blabbing to the whole town. 

Winston was pulling their rucksack onto their back and had their hand wrapped around the handle to the front door. “Ricky,” Winston said turning to face him, “Ghouls aren’t real. In the same way that ghosts, vampires, werewolves and magic aren’t real. This isn’t supernatural or the Witcher. None of these things exist in the real world. If they did exist, don’t you think that the internet would’ve spread the word about them? You think that a secret that big could be kept?!” They laughed nervously, suddenly unsure in everything that they had just asserted was the truth. “I won’t tell anyone about your fussy eating,” Winston said sourly, “I know how to keep a secret,” they pulled the front door open and felt a cold breeze roll into their house. “Besides, I’ve always got your back, even if you … are a fussy eater.” With that they were taking a step out of the front door and heading towards their car. They needed answers. They needed time to think and try and wrap their head around this. Ricky had used the words ghoul for fucksake?! 

[crying-gay-tears]

Man to Man

The air in Leorio’s fancy high rise office was stuffy. A huge mahogany desk rested in the center of the room, it’s top laden with scattered papers, odd looking trinkets, and a few picture frames holding some familiar smiling faces. The walls were lined with tall, matching mahogany book shelves, boasting an extensive medical encyclopedia collection.

Gon sat in a squishy chair that was parked in front of the desk, waiting patiently as Leorio fumbled with his coffee pot. He laughed to himself when the older man let out a quiet stream of profanities followed by a loud “AH-HA!!” The sound of the machine percolating followed. With a hot cup of coffee in hand, Leorio walked over to the two leather arm chairs facing the window, and motioned for Gon to join him. “The view is nicer over here” he said with a light smile, gesturing towards the huge window. Yorknew city bustled below them, the setting sun enveloped the world outside, casting everything into an orange glow. “Now,” Leorio peeked at Gon over his glasses while he blew steam off of his coffee, “what did you want to talk about?” Gon looked up at him, eyes round and bright. He swallowed nervously and glanced down at his feet before starting. “Well-“ Leorio held up a single finger. “Gon, I’m your close friend, there’s no need to be embarrassed or nervous. We can talk, man to man! Now, look me in the eye, and tell me what’s on your mind!” He squeezed his eyes shut, and with a deep breath and furrowed brow, opened them again, amber orbs now shining with resolve. “Leorio, I want to know about sex!” He blurted out, cheeks on fire and mouth dry. Leorio sputtered, spilling coffee onto his pristine white button down. This was a shock for sure! Gon was at that age, he supposed, but Leorio felt out of depth for this conversation. Why couldn’t Gon just talk to his d—his thoughts stopped in their tracks, he suddenly remembered Ging and wished very much that he could punch him again. Harder this time. His son was here, needing guidance! And where was that sorry excuse for a parent? Who knew?! Damned vagabond. Well, it is what it is, and Leorio was a doctor after all, aside from Gon being his dear friend, this was also his duty as a medical professional. After taking a second to regain his composure, he finally spoke, “Gon, you’re really growing up!” His loud exclamation was followed with a hand reaching over to tousle a patch of black spiky hair. Gon saw a tear glint in his eye. “Does this mean you like someone??” He pressed, shooting a wry smile and leaning over to elbow Gon slightly in the ribs. “Well out with it! Who’s the lucky lady, eh?” Gon’s face was deep red. “I-it...w-well, it’s not...” the boy trailed off, reaching an arm up to rub at the back of his neck. This was harder than he thought it would be. Leorio seemed to understand and took some pity on him. “Don’t worry, Gon. I won’t make you tell me. This talk is embarrassing enough without also having to talk about your crush!” He sipped his coffee before starting again. “Gon, you’re growing up, and with getting older comes new feelings and urges” —Gon cringed— “that may be tough to understand. The most important thing when you’re trying to navigate this new territory is to always be safe! Sex is a wonderful and powerful thing, but sex without safety measures is just dumb!” Gon’s adrenaline was rushing and his heart was fluttering in his chest. “What safety measures?” He asked, voice almost a whisper. “Ah! Good question!” The tall man quickly walked to his desk and rummaged through one of its many drawers. He fished out something small and walked back over to Gon. Taking a seat, he passed the foil square to him. “Do you know what that is?” He quirked an eyebrow at the mortified looking teen. “No... What is it?” “That is a condom. Whenever you want to have sex, you should always use one of those! It keeps you and your lady safe from diseases and unwanted pregnancy!” Gon’s face fell. “O-oh. Okay.” Leorio felt a blush rise in his cheeks. He knew what that disappointment was. “I know you may be thinking it feels better without a condom, but the risk just isn’t worth it! One day you might meet a nice woman and settle down, and you two decide together th—“ “Leorio?” “Eh?” He was a little surprised by the interruption. “I want...” Gon cleared his throat. “I want to know about sex with... boys.” Oh. Oh!! Leorio’s eyes grew wide, a new wave of understanding washing over him. Images of a pale, silver haired teen suddenly flashed through his mind. Everything made much more sense now. Gon, looking mortified, continued. “Aunt Mito talked to me about the birds and the bees a long time ago, but she never went into details. Now that I’m older, I need to know more, so I came to you. I really appreciate you giving me details, I just want to make sure they’re...the /right/ details. I don’t want to mess up or-or do something wrong...” Gon hung his head to hide his blush. His slightly upturned nose was now pointing down at the carpeted floor while his hands fidgeted in his lap. Leorio, still a little lost in thought, shook his head to clear it. “Gon. I appreciate your honesty, and so I’ll be honest in return when I say I don’t have much...er- personal experience in this department. But I can still go over the basics with you, and I can also get some helpful pamphlets from work to give to you. The clinic I work for has got tons of informational pamphlets, I’ll snag two for you in case Ki—“ he stopped himself abruptly. “In case you need an extra.” Gon hadn’t missed this, as was evident from the deepened blush now rising to the tips of his ears. “Let’s go over the mechanics now, eh?” Leorio quickly backpedaled. After a long and awkward talk that involved rolling a condom onto the banana Leorio happened to have in his lunchbox—“Gon! You’re in luck! I ran out of apples this morning!”— Leorio finally stood. “Wait here for a bit, I’ll take the elevator down to the main floor where the clinic is and I’ll bring some stuff back for you.” Gon, still sitting with pink tinged cheeks, nodded a confirmation before he head out the door. Gon’s brain was working in overdrive, trying to process all of the new information he had just received, on top of all the new feelings said information had stirred up. Thoughts of condoms, lube, and a certain blue eyed boy were flashing through his mind as he stared blankly out the window at a darkening sky dotted with city lights. He must’ve been truly lost in thought, as he didn’t even notice Leorio return until a hand was on his shoulder, and a small cellophane bag was being placed onto his lap. “There ya go Gon! It’s your ‘Becoming A Man’ Starter Kit. That should be everything you need. For now, at least. There’s pamphlets, some lube, and some condoms. Make sure you practice putting them on! I can’t tell you how embarrassing it is when you’re in the moment and you can’t figure the damn thing out—” Gon stood abruptly, legs shaky, and threw his arms around his friend. “Thank you, Leorio!” He gave a tight squeeze before letting go. “I appreciate all of your help. I didn’t know who else to go to-“ a long finger wagging in the air cut him off. “Now, now! No need to thank me, I’m your friend, Gon. That’s what I’m here for! Not to mention, this was good practice for me! I am a doctor after all, if I couldn’t handle this, I would’ve needed to turn my license in!” The man laughed. Gon looked up at him with a huge smile. “You’re a great friend, and a great doctor Leorio!” He exclaimed, shooting him a thumbs up. Gon could swear he saw another tear in the corner of Leorio’s eye as he returned the thumbs up. “Ah, well. Thank you Gon. I’m glad you think so! Now, off you go! I’ve got some stuff to check on down stairs and you’ve got some practicing to do!” Gon let out an exasperated groan, and Leorio laughed boisterously as they walked out of the office together.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Imagine Samuel being a father

A/N: So, in my opinion... Samuel Drake as a father would a killer. I think that he would be somewhere between Ryan Reynolds (find his parenthood tweets, oh lord) and Josh Wolf (such a good stand up comedian).

He would love his children endlessly, he isn't his own father, after all, but he'll maybe terrorize them a bit. Like in a funny way.

Also, I might start a series of one-shots, because I have a ton of ideas for this one.

Warnings: Samuel being a kickass father. There's some weed mentioned in here, but it is meant to be fun.

You and Samuel were together for some time.

Let me say, you were that badass Californian couple - partying, drinking your ass off, smoking weed and doing a lot of fucking things.

Like, you were practically animals. Party animals.

And of course, you were on your pills. We don't want any accidents here, right?

But, if ya know and are aware of - antibiotics and hormonal pills kinda don't do a single shit when mixed.

You should let him know that when you were finishing your antibiotics after a looong illness.

But you somehow magically forgot when he started to nuzzle you on the sofa. You know the drill really well. But why not, you were horny as hell, you missed his weenie and his body. Boy, it shouldn't be a sin to make love with your boyfriend, right?

Ya know how this goes, don't you? You don't? But I do and let me tell you.

Nuzzling > nude dudes > just the tip > oops, I cum in you.

It wasn't a sin to make love with your boyfriend. But you didn't count on that you actually get pregnant.

Yet there you were, holding that goddamn stick in front of his hazel brown eyes.

"Alright, young man." - You went. - "You wanna tell me something about dat? Because I'm pregnant and I don't certainly didn't impregnated on my own." - You asked, looking at him with that you know what you have done. But he just slapped you in the face with his answer.

"Maybe it's God's will?" - Samuel asked and you didn't know if you were about to cry or laugh actually. There was a fucking baby on the way and you two weren't that couple who would get rid of it. Maybe it hadn't the most perfect timing, yet you two have done it, so it was your responsibility now.

"Are you joking me?"

"Babe, I have one question and I am scared of the answer." - He whispered and you waved your fingers as sing for him to go on. - "I've heard some... Rumors? Like... Will your vanana be the same when he or she gets out of your body? I kinda like your tight little girl."

So yeah. There were no fights, no yelling or tears. The only two things Samuel was concerned about was the health of the baby and how actually make your vanana tight again after that.

He's an idiot. Don't mind him. At least he was looking forward to being a father. He looked like the type who runs away directly after telling him - but he was fucking pumped for your child.

That didn't mean he would be a good father. Not at all. You could tell, you could fucking tell, that he'll be that prankster, pretty tough dad with some terrible fucking jokes and you were sure that when your child will be an adult, they'll have some freaking funny memories to share.

Let me say one thing - he read as many books about labor and pregnancy as he read on the topic of vanana. He has his priorities straight. And you couldn't tell otherwise.

But no one else could believe.

"I'm with a baby." - You told Elena and Nathan who has their daughter just a few months ago. She was gorgeous after her mother and you were all scared that she'll catch Nathan's attributes.

Nathan started to laugh hysterically, but you guys were looking at him with a frown. Elena slapped his back and her stare was like can you calm the fuck down, man?

"I meant that they were joking."

Nobody could believe that Samuel Drake is about to be a father.

But when your belly got bigger and bigger, they figured out you might not be joking at all.

Samuel loved when he could speak with your belly, whispering to it when the evening came and you two lazily lied on the sofa, watching some dumb movies with Bruce Willis.

"Hi there, little one." - He carefully descended between your legs, nuzzling your belly with his lips and nose. You unconsciously messed his hair with your hand.

"Had a crazy day, I tell ya, buddy. My head is blowing up with one thought at the moment." - Samuel sighed dramatically.

"What thought, daddy?" - You messed with him with a quiet laugh. You were all in about calling him daddy in the family way and in a naughty way as well.

"I was thinking about marrying mommy, little fellow."

It wasn't history's greatest proposal, but it was something, right? It was romantic in its own way and it made you really happy.

And when the baby moved under his palms for the first time ever, it made him legit cry like a little boy.

At the moment he officially started the age of Sam, the sensitive and loving father™ (even tho it was insanely lovely, it didn't stop you from making fun of him).

He acted around you as if he was walking around some porcelain which he could break easily. He made sure you don't drink, you don't even get close to some weed, he was cooking you the healthiest recipes and even bought you some pregnancy clothes.

You wanted to know the gender, of course, but Samuel was strictly against it. So you knew it would be a boy from the start, right?

But his curiosity almost killed him. He asked you many times during different events.

Once you made dishes? He asked. You were cooking? He crept being you and almost killed you because of freaking out. You were washing clothes? Dear, that man just magically stood next to the washing machine.

But in the end, you finally told him.

And he cried again - he was about to have a baby boyo. His own son. Someone to pass the legacy on.

That made him the happiest man under the sun.

When that day came and Thomas finally saw the light of the world, Samuel was under serious pressure, shaking and crying a big time, white as a fucking wall - and you were screaming that you'll kill him if he ever tried to have another child with you.

And yes, your firstborn son was named after a pirate - Thomas Tew.

It was a long and let's be honest, painful a fucking lot in the end, labor but there was a small little bean in your arms, both of you were crying like little fucking girls and you almost immediately fell asleep after breastfeeding the baby and having all of those pregnancy things out of your body.

"You can breastfeed me as well." - Samuel whispered wickedly, thinking about sexual stuff again, and you were so disgusted by it after baby just fucking crawled from your vanana that you smacked his cheek hard. He was mesmerized, shocked and partially amused.

"If you ever put your lips close to my boobs or your penis somewhere near my vagina, you better be sure that I'll cut your weenie off, you motherfucker." - You sighed painfully with your eyes closed. He chuckled.

"From today on I'll be a motherfucker, I solemnly swear." - Samuel said in a loving tone.

He called Nathan as soon as he left you when you fell asleep. Both of them cried and they decided to have a shot for the welfare of his son - which meant that Nathan vomited in the park at three am and Samuel tried to kick hydrant because that hydrant insulted him.

They were fucking high, having the biggest hungover of their lives, waking up on the beach and neither of them knew how the fuck they got there.

You came home after a few days with a baby in a safety cradle and you couldn't believe your eyes. Those little things which made baby safe about sharp edges and some fuses.

The funniest was when Samuel forgot how to open the one on your toilet. And he needed to pee desperately. 

He always thought that babies are more fun than just crying, eating and pooping - why would everyone want them then? 

He kinda didn't understand Nathans feelings about Cassie. It doesn't mean that he doesn't love his little baby boy, alright? He was just that kind of a man who thought that babies crawl out of the woman and they immediately do everything. He needed to learn that it takes some time before they walk and talk.

So when he was holding Thomas in his armchair, he whispered him his pirate stories and fact and that little one didn't understand a single word, but it calmed him down.

So be sure that Samuel was PUMPED when the boyo started to crawl around and saying those sweet nonsenses. Samuel also almost threw a huge celebration when Thomas said mama for the first time or when he did his first step.

“He's a genius! Have you heard the pronunciation? Our little boy is exactly like his dad - fast, charming and extremely good with ladies. Have you seen him with Cassie?”

“Samuel, I think that you're freaking out and overthinking it a lot.”

He was basically pumped every everything Thomas did. 

And when his boy started to draw? Jesus, Samuel was ready to call him Picasso. In his eyes, he was extremely talented (and you didn't ruin it by saying him that Thomas is completely normal, little boy).

You were pretty lit parents, to be honest. 

When you had a long day at work and Samuel was too sick from Thomas making him angry (like when he fucked up your beautiful white wall with Nutella and fucking ketchup), you just waited until your son fell asleep.

“Are you ready for it?”

“You bet your ass, Samuel. I just need to turn off my brain.”

And you two smoked some tree (weed, who doesn't know). You were high as a kite. You didn't smoke weed much, just sometimes and it wasn't even a lot of it. Just to make you feel ok, restart your brain.

But one day you came to the bedroom and Samuel was pale and looking into your closet. 

“What is up, baby? You look scared.” - You said and stood next to him, looking into that closet next to him. - “Babe?”

“You were... You know, eating our happy brownies what you've baked for today's evening?” - Samuel asked and you shook your head and his eyes and expression went to “What?” to “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Thomas ate your weed baked in brownies. There was not a lot of it, thank god, so he was mostly okay. He was totally fine the next day - but the evening, man, that was a wild one. You both didn't leave his side all night, watching him and you didn't even fall asleep. Nothing happened, thanks to god.

Even tho, years later you burst out of laugh when Samuel was talking about his baby boy getting high on accident.

Yet, from that day on, you started to hide your edibles and weed more carefully.

From that day on, Samuel sometimes didn't leave his side all day - he woke him up, prepared breakfast, took him to kindergarten, took him out, went out with him and so on - sometimes he even fell asleep during telling him a proper pirate story. 

Especially when you somehow got pregnant, again. What should I say? This man just has good genes and really good sperms. 

Nobody knew how it happened again. 

But Thomas was just about to have a sibling when he was four years old.

So Samuel took the role of father for 24/7 when you got really pregnant. It was nice and Samuel was a lot calmer this time. 

He was a self-proclaimed pregnancy expert since Thomas was born and he was pretty sure your vanana can be tight once again after labor because you were successful the first time.

Especially he loved to take Thomas out to the park. 

He was sure that his son will be like him. When he was five years old, he was pretty good with the girls his age and because he took after your beautiful face and he took after Samuels' eyes, he was good even with women. Thomas was an adorable boy.

But that's what made Samuel worried - if he would be like Samuel as a teenager, you will through some tough shit. 

But hey - for that moment, he was only five and he had a little sister named Anne after a pirate woman Anne Bonny. Sam did his puppy eyes for that one and he promised you endless nights of eating out if you name her Anne. 

And Thomas was like “Why the fuck should dad eat mommy?”. He was pretty scared at that moment.

When Anne was actually born, you had already learned from the mistakes you have done with Thomas. 

Your life went on - you got a house, Sam was still in the business with Sully and yet Sam wasn't exactly the youngest, he had a hella energy for his children and job. And he got a hella money from that. Sully knew really well what he was doing. Tom started to go to elementary school and it wasn't a much of time before Annie went to kindergarten.

You stopped smoking tree at home; Elena and Nate were looking after Tom and Annie and you just got off to the woods or you want on to some mountain cottage. But you have still done that only when life was too hard on you and you needed to relax really badly.

Sometimes you took Cassie to your house, planning the evenings of their life to them.

Samuel and Nathan even started a competition who will do it better - but let's say that Samuel wasn't as much pussy as Nathan. That prison made him crazy a bit.

But oh man, then it started. 

Thomas was twelve years old and he was a high-school boy. So watch out. Obviously, you are old as fuck and you don't know shit about his cruel, tough life.

He stopped telling you everything, but you know it was only a natural thing that you had to accept. Annie was seven at the time and she was Samuels little sunshine and princess and you were her best friends.

But Tom had a strong relationship with Sully and Nathan and Sam. And the older he was, the stronger it was. 

He wasn't that little boy anymore. He slowly started to be a man. And you couldn't be prouder.

He had his moods, yeah, but he helped you at the home, he cared about his grades, he even hadn't that much of a mess in his room and he was really well brought up. And he loved you more than anything else in the world - you were his mommy. 

But just as Sam, Nate, Sully, and Tom had their club, you, Elena, Cassie and little Annie got you a one.

But oh my fucking Lord, you loved the stories what Sam was telling you when you got to bed. He didn't tell you Tom's problems in from of him, but you two were still his parents and you know how the drill goes: what does your dad know, your mom knows too.

"Dad?" - Tom came to Samuel one evening and he was looking like a piece of shit. Samuel frowned immediately and put his newspaper on the table. He was still worried about Tom even tho he was really smart, pretty non-problem thirteen-year-old boy. He knew how to take care of himself.

"What's up, kid?" - Samuel smiled and massaged his son's shoulder with his palm, trying to calm him down.

"I, uh, oh damn I don't know how the hell I should start." - Tom said quietly and if you were there, you would look at your son and mouth language, but there was only the two of them, so it was cool. - "Okay, okay, okay, I have a problem. It's a huge problem. I think that there's something wrong about me." - Tom whispered.

"Why would you think that? Look at you, you're a handsome young lad, just as I was back in my days." - Sam chuckled and gulped a sip of beer.

"I just gonna tell it, okay?" - Thomas took his face into his palms and started to mumble. - "So my classmate Lindsay had a really nice, tight shirt on today and I saw her boobs in a coincidence and something happened in my pants, you know, with my weenie. And then it happened again when I was a math class and I don't know what to do, because it never happened before and I'm so scared." - He finished and Sam just smiled and patted his shoulder.

"There's nothing wrong with that. Your body just tells you that you're ready to have a woman. But try something when you're underage and I'll kill you, understood?" - Samuel told him with a proud smile. - "And I don't know if this happens, but if you get hard for a man, I don't tell you it has to happen, it's just as good. I don't care whom you bang when you'll be an adult, understood? But you are still young for doing that, so try anything and I'll tell your mother."

He was so proud at that moment. His boy became an official man in his eyes. He wasn't little anymore. But still fairly young.

And you also worked as the biggest threat to Tom, so he was almost shitted because of fear at the moment. You were worse than a hurricane when he did something really bad, like throwing up on your mom's dog or when he broke a toilet at his school.

And you giggled when Sam told you that your son is a man.

He talked with Sam about everything as he grew up - he had told him about his first making out with a girl, about his first boob-touching session which he was really excited about (Tom hummed songs all evening, which wasn't a thing he would normally do) and he even asked for advice when he was about to touch his girlfriend's, her name was Carmen and she was a lovely girl, vanana for the first time ever. They had a big group meeting with uncle Nathan and pa Sully about that - it was huge for Tom and they just quietly remembered how it was for them.

But let me say - Samuel and Nathan aged like a fucking good wine. They maybe weren't the youngest around, but hell, they still did something to the women around and they had plenty of experience.

And it was three times more for Sully. Even he got married to a woman named Florence (@missdictatorme I had to) and when he was twenty years younger, he knew how to do her good.

"Alright, old man." - Eighteen-year-old Tom sat next to his father and grinned at him in the Drake-typical way with his corner-turning upwards and his eyebrows risen a little. - "Might I ask you for some tips and tricks? I think I really love her and I need to be gentle with her so she would enjoy as well."

"I might be an old man," - Sam grinned and looked at his younger brother. - "But I think your mom doesn't think so at times. Am I right, boys?" - He looked at Sully and Nathan, and every one of them laughed a bit. Sully was a really old man; each one of them was considered old, and he was now sitting on a wheelchair. He could walk, but those years of treasure hunting hadn't done any good to his poor knees.

"Ew, Jesus. That's gross. I don't wanna think about that at all."

But they got him some useful tips. Like: don't try to find her vanana on her stomach or when you stick a finger inside, make sure it's wet and don't your hand just, you know, stuck out there. Move it.

They had a great bond. Otherwise, he and Samuel would never talk about it this openly.

You two as parents got a lot of fun with your son, especially when he was nineteen and he was ready to try some new stuff. You knew he will get drunk - but when he vomited all over your terrace and when you heard him speak and say I love you for a million times while you recorded him, you had the fucking time of your whole life. Don't worry, you made it clean up after himself.

Samuel recorded all of his son's bullshit - how he spoke when he had eaten those weed-brownies when you were camping in the wood while he was eight and somehow he got his shit on his earlobe when he totally burned your Christmas sweets... Baby, there is a lot of your son's mistakes you had a proof for.

But the biggest fun actually came when he wanted to try weed. You and Sam acted a bit mad, but you knew it had to come at one point.

So, in the end, you told him "Okay, you're eighteen, so you're in law, but we'll do it together so when something happens, we are with you". And of course, he went like "Wtf no".

But you have all of that shit recorded, and when you have your bad day, you just play the speech of your stoned son. It's embarrassing and he wanted you to delete it immediately - so you knew you'll play it at his wedding.

But when it came to Annie, his baby princess and a flawless small girl being in the same age his son were when he started his sexual life, oh dear lord.

A boy looked into her direction? Sam was there, looking at him like "touch her and I would fucking break your hands, hands and penis, punk".

But you knew it is going to happen someday, so you went all in about hormonal pills, condoms, other sources of protection, you told her a hundred times that she shouldn't do it because every girl has done it but because she loves somebody... And she was like "mom, you've told me a million times and I'm not an idiot."

But you know - Tom, now a twenty-two-year-old adult, and his fiancée moved into a flat together, so you took care of Annie even more intensely.

Annie accepted your opinions if they were useful and not too idiot-sounding like. But you know girls her age - she was sure that Samuel is a huge dick who just wants to make her life harder.

And he almost fainted when she came home with a boyfriend. His name was David.

In your opinion, he was a nice boy, he was really nice to you and your daughter and polite to Samuel as well. They got through everything together - first kiss, boob-touching, making out, even first sex.

Annie even married him five years after that evening. And they moved out as well.

At the end of the day, besides for your son getting high as a kite when he was just five years old, your daughter accidentally drinking aid alcohol, losing your children in the mall a few times, a heck of bruises and a load of embarrassing, childhood stories... You were good parents.

And your son and your daughter knew that they were very lucky to have you because you taught them how to love and enjoy life and every time they need you for anything...

You were there for them.

[winterysomnium]

post graduation roommates/getting together Todobaku tho

this is what happens when I’m too lazy to write but also have an idea

- they’re not even sure how it happens, this whole living together thing, but after graduation Todoroki wants to move out permanently because as much as Enji’s trying, they still see each other all day at work and Todoroki just needs his peace and Bakugou doesn’t wanna commute ‘cause it’s a hassle and it’s better to live closer to where most villains operate, right? right

- they get a small, cramped top floor apartment with a tiny balcony, joint kitchen and living room, an old fashioned bathroom and two tiny bedrooms

- they spend a better part of a week cleaning and fixing it up and Todoroki is infuriatingly good with setting up Ikea level furniture and decoding the manuals to Bakugou’s eternal irritation because this is the guy that doesn’t even know how to cook a medium rare steak?? but somehow cryptic fucking language makes sense to him?? how??

- and where did he even get the tatami mats from stop pulling all-nighters just so you can set up your dumb manga shelf, you goddamn nerd!!  (Kirishima gets a lot of annoyed texts like that that week. Todoroki will be good for Bakugou, he thinks.)

- Bakugou’s pretty much in charge of the kitchen and all hell breaks loose if Todoroki does the thing where he just puts stuff away randomly (as he tends to do) because why would you put rice to your tea ?? do you even have a brain up there?? Todoroki: it’s breakfast food Bakugou: that’s not how you fucking sort -- just get out, oh my god 

- but he still makes enough for two bentos even if he just leaves the food on a plate or in the fridge for Todoroki to put into his bento box, which Bakugou also got him because he’d found out that Todoroki didn’t have one and just bought lunch at random places and geez first of all: do you even know what a budget is and second of all: it’s not healthy so shut up and eat your damn fried shrimp rice

- Todoroki has incredibly steady hands. Bakugou learns this when he gets his first bad face injury; it creeps up from his cheek across his eyelid to the edge of his brow and there’s necessary aftercare and a few days off work which leave him frustrated and irritated as hell. His face itches and he can’t really touch it too much besides redressing it and he keeps want to rub his cheek aggressively and his hands keep getting sweaty when he tries to fix the bandages so he almost bites Todoroki’s head off, snaping at him when he grabs the salve and wound dressings  out of his sweaty explosive hands but Todoroki just offers “Eye injuries is something I’m familiar with,” as explanation and he treats Bakugou so so tenderly it almost feels like a punch and grudgingly, Bakugou lets him.

- They help each other out after that, regularly, with small scrapes and scratches or hard to reach lingering hurts and not once, not even after gruelling days of work and nearly sleepless nights and bad endings and the feeling of not having done enough, not once do Todoroki’s hands tremble.

- Bakugou cuts the back of Todoroki’s hair after he finally stops laughing because that’s the most impressive fucking sinusoid he’s ever seen in hair form and maybe. just maybe Todoroki looks a little embarrassed when he hands the scissors over which counts as a win in Bakugou’s book

- two am is their talk hour, in the liminal space of Torodoki’s gentle treating hands and sometimes in the crook of Bakugou’s mouth when they sip on Bakugou’s Dad’s special ‘bad day’ tea and the cups somehow feel more and more full the more they drink, emotion and exhaustion and doubt soaking the ceramic and Bakugou’s voice goes soft and quiet and in exchange, Todoroki bumps or simply touches his shoulder, as if he’s trying to amplify his voice again and sometimes, Bakugou will grudgingly admit, it even works. (Todoroki’s hands don’t tremble, but sometimes, his voice does.)

- they get a little ( a little) drunk on Midoriya’s birthday and pass out on top of each other in Bakugou’s bed and one of them might have held onto the other’s fingers and pressed their whole body against the other, flush and warm and there’s a lot of non-utilized bed space left but they’re stubbornly ignoring any opportunity of using it and just pretend there’s nothing beyond the border of their own bodies

- it’s a close call on both ends about a year and a half into being roommates, when a good chunk of the bay tears itself apart under the hands of a villain group and there’s a surgery, a couple of broken bones and ironically, they share a room at the hospital as well. “Maybe it really is a curse, me messing up people’s hands,’’ Todoroki says and there’s a wry, hurt smile and somehow it hurts even more to look at, so Bakugou knocks his cast against Todoroki’s bruised ribs ‘cause it serves him right. As if he’s the only one worried here.

- Bakugou stays in the hospital a day longer than Todoroki and when he comes back Todoroki has managed to nearly destroy their second best pot but the curry’s not as burned as the pot made it look out to be and it’s hot, burning in the way Bakugou likes his food to burn and if he tears up it’s the big chunks of chilli peppers Todoroki put in there that’s not how you do this, candy cane face,  haven’t I taught you better?? (and then Todoroki reveals that he has also bought Bakugou’s guilty pleasure take out as a fail-safe because he’d thought he might actually set the kitchen on fire despite Bakugou tutoring him on cooking and that tight press of anxiety snaps and falls off from around Bakugou’s chest as he scrubs the burned bottom of the pot, thinking of Todoroki, and why does this put him at ease, out of all things?)

- and yes, Todoroki has definitely set fire to several things in their kitchen in the name of reheating something or just probably wanting to piss Bakugou off because he told him he hates that and don’t you dare stick your grubby fingers into or anywhere near my drink, I’m getting my ice from the fridge, you freak

- Bakugou’s lip gets split the next time he’s back on duty and Todoroki keeps looking at it, his eyes drawn to the cut relentlessly and his looks are like an itch; Bakugou corners him in the middle of sorting out their fresh laundry, presses him against the washing machine and asks him what the fuck are you doing? and Todoroki just clenches his jaw and his eyes drop to Bakugou’s mouth again and heat rises inside of Bakugou like a shock wave and then Todoroki licks his own lips and Bakugou shoves him, just a little, what the hell are you thinking, giving a guy a look like that? he asks, voice rough but he feels a flush on his face and with slow, deliberate hesitation Todoroki’s fingers cup his face, and he leans in, kisses Bakugou softly and barely there and like a tease but Bakugou knows Todoroki’s dating expertise is zero and it’s not like either of them have time to date anyway -- yet, he kisses Todoroki back, presses him some more into the uncomfortable plastic of the washing machine and when the beat of his heart stops engulfing the whole of his heart, his being, he notices something else: Todoroki’s hands are trembling against his face, imperceptibly.

- and because they are a couple of dumbasses they don’t really talk, just make out, occasionally, on slow afternoons and after long long painful days, and sometimes, sometimes Bakugou kisses Todoroki after breakfast and before bed, but never on the same day. 

- one night, Todoroki stands in Bakugou’s bedroom’s doorway, shoulders so tense he’s probably pulling a muscle and they stare at each other for a long moment, before -- can I sleep here with you, tonight? Todoroki asks and he seems to be so vulnerable in the faded light and with his sleep clothes on and his bare feet; and Bakugou nods and scoots, but I’m keeping the right side of the bed, he growls as a warning but it’s half hearted at best and they both know they’re gonna end up pressed against each other in the middle of the bed anyway, arms and legs tangled, and the moment Todoroki’s under the covers Bakugou pulls him in, doesn’t ask and closes his eyes; he won’t ask. But Todoroki offers it anyway, sinks into Bakugou’s bed and Bakugou’s arms, fingers curling against Bakugou’s own; “My father is an asshole,” he says angry and bitter and sad and Bakugou knows enough to not pry and just kisses the back of Todoroki’s neck, once, asks: “Wanna forget about him?“ and Todoroki’s breath hitches but he nods and when they’re done, hours later, Todoroki’s silhouette stays relaxed, pliant under Bakugou’s palms. 

- it becomes a thing, and it grows underneath and between them and sometimes they’re hungry, sometimes they’re hurt and angry, sometimes they’re tender and scared and because Bakugou thinks it’s pathetic that Todoroki made all the first moves before, and because he thinks Todoroki needs to hear it, more than Bakugou, more than most of them, probably, he tells him; says, “Shouto, I love you, but that shirt is fucking hideous.” and Todoroki looks up, startled, and so what if Bakugou said it in the middle of an Abercrombie and Fitch store, both are true and both needed to be said and they’re definitely worth the smile Shouto gives him, and -- “Don’t know if I should take fashion advice from a guy that still shops at Hot Topic, Katsuki,” Todoroki teases and yeah, yeah, it’s good. They’re good and -- (’I love you, too,’ Todoroki says, the moment they step into their tiny hallway and the door is shut behind them.) Yeah, they’re great.               

[selenecrawford]

Selene Crawford: The Lady, The Promise, The Kiss

Warning: Cursing and a bit mild sexual scene

Nobunaga walked with a purpose to his meeting with Kincaid. When he set the meeting late night the day before, Kincaid was reluctant until he heard about the shooting. It was then that he told Nobunaga to bring all of his men as soon as possible to the docks. Approaching the entrance he met with Hideyoshi, Mitsurani and Mitsuhide.

“Where is Kincaid?”

“We just arrived a couple of minutes ago. Ever since we here, I got the feeling that we are being watched.” said Hideyoshi taking a look around.

“My, always late for the party Hideyoshi. This place is really kind of unique, considering what it's real purpose is.” Mitsuhides comment just earned a frown of disapproval but nothing else. He on the other hand was excited, finally the forbidden den was opened for him to explore and dig it's secrets. Too bad she wasn't here to see her face. An yet, he wouldn't want her to get hurt. The girl felt like a kindred spirit. But at the same time he also wanted to protect her. It was a shame that she choose the dragon instead of him. Chasing her away from his mind he started walking when little red dots appeared from nowhere next to him.

“I thought we were allowed in there? Are we missing something?” putting his hands up Mitsuhide turned around looking for the snipers. “A Secret handshake or,...”

“Ah this is why you were banned from here young Akechi. That tongue of yours and your eyes of a sly fox. No wonder they don't want you here. You should be humble and grateful, after all you finally got in, isn't it?” the old voice echoed thru the space with a hint of sneer and almost regret.

“Thanks for coming Kincaid.” Nobunaga approached the old man with caution extending his hand to salute him.

“Ah, Oda is nice to see you here. I see you brought everyone. Follow me they are w” he gave a look at Mitsuhide still with his hands up. “Come and if any warning is good, don't stray from the path we are walking, or you won't come out of this place ever again.”

“I guess that's for you Mitsuhide.” said Hideyoshi passing him by while following Kincaid.

The path was thru the whole fish market on the docks, Mitsurani kindly smiled to everyone and at some point a  Russian blue cat tag along. She meow sweetly and kept following Mitsurani. Meanwhile, Hideyoshi behaved like a gentleman with the ladies and the women. Nobunaga just observed the whole scene played out in silence. Mitsuhide took in into the place, from time to time counting the people who we ready to jump into them. Yes, this was getting amusing, interesting and maybe...dangerous. They kept walking for another half an hour until Nobunaga stopped. Kincaid turned around raising an eyebrow.

“Something wrong Lad?.”

“We been walking around the place for 30 minutes now, what's this?...”

“Ah, the Devil, The Brains, The Snake and the gentleman or perhaps mother hen? But some people are missing, I said bring everyone didn't I? Where is the Dragon? And the Do...”

“He is out of the equation...” Nobunaga cut it, only to be interrupted again.

“For now, I don't like to waste my time with this. That girl is such a troublesome thing. First the wedding now this. Where is she anyway?”

everyone turned to the right to see an old tall man walking to them. He seemed to be on his fifties with an old classic black with fine white stripes suit, leather shoes, a cane with the head of a Viper. Behind him Shingen and company were also walking.

“Great of you to join us. Shingen here is involved, so you will have to make a truce and come with us.” another old man appeared in front of them.

“And if we don't agree?” asked Nobunaga tentatively.

“Ah you live up to your reputation, Devil. Selene told me you were wise for your age so asking dumb questions is not wise. She has a lot of faith in you, even you Akechi.” the man answered with a sarcastic chuckle. “So you left her with the Dragon aren't you?” the old man continued to walk toward Nobunaga and stopped in from of him.

“It was the best choice, Masamune will take good care of her.” said Hideyoshi.

All the old men started laughing at once. Shingen's group and Nobunaga's exchange a confused look to each other. Only Kenshin was also laughing. After calming himself he said. “ The moment he gets outnumbered is over. That man does not do well on cases where he needs to protect people I believe the girl is still in danger.”

“Wrong, God of War, I'm surprised you haven't found out. That girl is such a stubborn thing sometimes. We didn't raise a fairy tale princess if that what you think. If the bad comes to worse she will be the perfect killing machine, but we made sure she never went down that path if she and the Dragon are truly soulmates as that old witch said they could wipe anything that dares to oppose them. Come, we need to talk.”

“You are still blabbing all those things Ian, that old woman died years ago. Stop spitting old nonsense.” Said the Old suit guy.

“Oh, piss off Lancelot, you know those where her last words, and so far Selene always, loved to hear her. I hope he takes good care of her. Because no one wants to see her pissed off like that time uh Kincaid? Come its getting cold.”

Nobunaga and Shingen started walking and their men followed.

Selene finally woke up sleeping next to Masamune. She slowly and calmly went out of the bed and washed her teeth and went to the  bag that was left on the floor of the room. Revising the things Hideyoshi packed were underwear a pair of sweat pants and a couple of t shirts. She was only wearing Masamune's shirt and felt her cheeks growing hot from embarrassment. Once she put on a sports bra, panties and the sweat pants, Selene started to explore the kitchen. The clock on the wall indicated that it was 3 am. She started to investigate the freezer when she felt his presence behind her. Putting an arm to block  her from leaving, Masamune rest his chin on her head and ask.

“Hungry?”

“Yeah, I was looking to make a simple sandwich. You?” she didn't move, her heart skipped a beat when he got close to her.

“I want a princess, rare,” both chuckled and Selene started taking things from the fridge.“Too bad there is none around here.”

Masamune took a bottle of water and opened it. Giving a long sip on the bottle. He stood next to Selene and said. “Meh, I spotting one in front of me right now.”  finishing with a wolfish smile.

“This princess stuff is getting old. First of all I'm not pretty, second will you stop...” any other reply died on her lips at the moment Masamune shut her up with kiss.

Selene closed her eyes and put her hands on his shoulders. Gripping the his shirt when her knees started to getting weak. Masamune assaulted her lips with a sweet yet firm demand. His tongue teasing her until Selene gave up and open her mouth with a soft moan. While one hand hold the base of her nape the other hand went down her shirt caressing her ribs and her stomach sending shivers, turning to the left he pin her between him and the counter. Lowering  his hands to each tight, Masamune lift her sitting her on the counter without stopping his assault. Masamune wasn't letting her think just feel, letting her know how much he wanted her. He didn't care about the damn scar, or anything only her. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss and touch her forehead with his. Both, were panting agitated trying to catch their breathing. Still Holding her by the thighs he took her to the sofa. He took a sit in the middle of the sofa and let her sit stranded on his lap. She now hugged him and rest her face on his chest. Hearing his heart beating as fast as hers Selene closed her eyes and let him caress her back.

After a couple of minutes, Selene  retire from his chest face him and spoke softly with a soft tremble in her voice. Her face was flushed red and her eyes like two shinning emeralds while her lips were swollen from the kiss.

“I'm not worthy of you...”

“It's me who is not worthy and yet I can't stop thinking about you. “

He saw her eyes opening wide and put her mouth on a fine line. “This is not a competition you know?. Who are thou worthy of who?” he couldn't help it and started laughing. “Lass, really? Now we got Shakespeare? I kissed you because it was the only way to let you know that I want you.  I want to know you better also, Selene. I like what I see, and I don't care if you are even a demon I want you ok?” the look of desire on his eyes sent a shiver to Selene.

The doubts were still there in her eyes he could see them. But also he saw something else. Everyone had a past, he knew that very well. But which past she had and how bad was only time will tell and her will tell.

“So you don't mind take things slow?” he hesitation was understandable.

“No kitten, with you I don't.” he looked her directly at the eyes.

Slowly Selene raised her hands to cup his cheeks and kiss him softly on the lips. “OK then can we go back to my sandwich? I'm starving.” with a smile Selene stood and offered her hand to Masamune.

“Right, lets get some food on that stomach.” he stood up kissed the back of Selene's hand and said.

“ I don't make promises but on this case I want to make an exception. I promised I will make sure you are always safe, no matter the situation.” Masamune looked intensely and serious.

Selene felt her heart pounding furiously on her chest, with a smile she squeezed his hand and said  “I want to make a promise to you too, Masamune Date, I will also protect you, no matter the situation, you are now mine to keep and cherish until the end. No matter what happens.”

“Hey, that sounded cooler than mine,” he frowned at her confused.

Giggling Selene replied “Common, is a promise, besides I'm cooler than you.” she just winked at him while going back to the kitchen.

“As if.” Masamune followed her into the kitchen intended to keep making her smile as long as he lived.

@colivara @datemasamunemaiwaifu @elievalentine @unstoppablelinda @la-piperina @epicdragonlady @jennacat84 @ikesenhell @serenity-writes @xathia-89 @kimi00twin  @notsafefortum-blr @mikamiw @yeshasays @masa-little-kitten

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Love Is A Free Washer/Dryer

Rating: T Pairing: Shane/Female Farmer Tags: Fluff, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Developing Relationship Word Count: 3000 Summary: Farm life doesn't come ready-made with modern conveniences, but Lydia's laundry situation evolves over the years. Strangely, every step of the way seems to mark a milestone in her relationship with Shane. Also on AO3. Notes: This is a story about laundry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

When Lydia had lived in the city, when she’d worked at Joja, she’d carted a Ziploc bag of quarters up and down six flights of stairs to do her laundry—packing the machine as full as she could, making those two dollars stretch, and who cared if some of her towels ended up with weird splotches of color on them from being mixed with the wrong stuff? No one was looking at her towels. She worked too much to have people over, anyway.

She worked too much to have people.

And then, the move—to a ramshackle little cottage where she was lucky that the plumbing wasn’t in such bad shape. Robin told her so, anyway, upon initial inspection, and Lydia, knowing exactly nothing about pipes except to pour some Drano down them occasionally, had to take her word for it. Robin didn't charge her anything, and if she was trying to rip Lydia off, she'd have done that, right?

She washed her underwear in the sink when it was too dark to keep clearing the land or planting or watering or fertilizing or or or—and she leaned against the countertop to stay upright by the light of the single lamp. Her eyes were always at risk of closing. She'd woken up in the middle of the night on the floor more than once, freezing. Never bruised, so clearly some part of her had made a decision to lie down instead of another part of her making a decision to fall down. Her wardrobe had been replaced: jeans and flannels and t-shirts to match the new lifestyle, the old "sensible" high heels and pencil skirts and satin blouses left behind at her dad's. These new things could survive soaking in the ancient claw-foot tub and then being hung to dry on the line behind her house when the sun was hot enough.

There were no neighbors to see her kangaroo-patterned underwear flapping in the breeze.

Well, there was one neighbor. By some stretch of the word.

"Hey," Shane said, his voice a little gravelly and resentful. "Marnie asked me to deliver your new chicken."

His eyes were squinted up and red-rimmed in the bright summer sunshine. She felt a little red-rimmed herself, mostly from staying up until one in the morning to hang her laundry out on the lines before collapsing in bed. No big deal, she’d thought. No one would come by and see all her unmentionables.

She’d entirely forgotten the chicken.

Best to just forget the underwear, too. Either he’d look over to the left and see them, or he wouldn’t. He was rude, but probably not rude enough to comment on her choice of patterns.

"Perfect, thanks," she said, trying for brisk. "You think she'd like the coop better today? Or, I built an enclosure around it, you know, so she can be outside—too much, too early? What do you think?"

He gave her a somewhat-blank, somewhat-bemused stare. A feathered head with a particularly beady eye poked out of the basket to do the same.

"Let her loose outside and see what she does," he said, holding the basket out to her.

She made a few calculations. Saturday mornings were not the best time to push him; Friday nights were some of his worst, and the mood seemed to linger into the weekend. There was still the faint hint of beer lingering around him, and it was hard to tell if it was leftover from last night or if he'd started early this morning.

Well. What was life without a little risk? The things he'd said at the dock just a couple of weeks ago lingered in the back of her mind, and the last thing she wanted was to allow him to swiftly retreat back to the ranch and a six-pack.

Besides. She liked him, rude or not. She’d seen the suggestion of a dry humor during a couple of their previous conversations, and she wanted to see more of it.

"Let's head over to the coop, then," she suggested, pretending as if she hadn't noticed the attempt to offload the basket.

His eyes narrowed, just a little more, and as she brushed past him on the stairs she held her breath—bracing for a rude outburst, ready to take the basket he would undoubtedly thrust into her arms before storming off. But as she passed him, he let out an exasperated sigh, and his footsteps clunked on the stairs as he followed.

She was so smug in her victory that it came as a nasty shock when he commented, "Laundry day, huh?"

She glanced back in time to see him look away from the laundry lines—from the towels and the jeans and the t-shirts and, yes, the underwear. Had he seen the kangaroos? Could you make them out at this distance? She didn't dare look that way to be sure; her face was red enough as it was. She could pass that off as a sunburn, probably. She'd only learned the hard way, and recently, to be religious about sunscreen.

"Yeah," she said, making a stab at staying casual. "Best day of the week, right?"

"No dryer? Or are you just really trying to embrace the country lifestyle?"

There was a jab in there somewhere; she ignored it.

"No washer, no dryer," she said. "Guess Granddad did things the old-fashioned way."

They were on the path through a stand of pine trees, now, and the laundry was out of sight. She barely withheld a sigh of relief.

"Why?" she continued. "Is this how you're supposed to do things, out in the country? Am I doing it right?"

She smiled at him, so wide-eyed and guileless that he snorted in reaction. Maybe he was just laughing at her, the weird wannabe farm girl who wouldn't stop saying hello to him on the street no matter how many times he tried to put her off, but it was some version of a laugh.

"That why you're raising chickens now?" he said. "Trying to do things right?"

"I'm always trying to do things right," she said, knee-jerk, her mouth running ahead as fast as her brain could propel it. "Trying being the operative word."

He didn't laugh. Despite the lingering scent of beer, he gave her a considering, sidelong look. She pretended not to see it.

"Hey, Marnie’s decided to replace her old washer/dryer," Shane said, one night that first fall when he was fifteen days sober.

They were sitting by the big pond on her property, legs stretched out toward the campfire, backs braced against a sturdy log they'd hauled over just a week or so ago, and he looked both better and worse than she’d ever seen him look: better for the aggressive water-guzzling, worse for the hunted look in his eyes that said a beer would go down real nice right now. Better, but haggard for it, too.

He reached for another one of the lopsided pepper poppers. She had a ways to go for presentation, but clearly, they tasted good. She felt a swell of pride for that. That he liked anything she'd offered him—that was still new enough to delight her.

And that he broke a silence first, sometimes. That he sought her out instead of the other way around. That he'd spent today, a Saturday, his day off, helping her convince her new cow to follow her home from Marnie's ranch. That he'd laughed when they were both braced against the cow's backside, pushing, and she'd sworn reflexively like a violent sneeze when her feet slipped in the mud and he'd caught her by the elbow and hauled her back up and she'd felt a jolt in her chest like—

She stuck another marshmallow on her marshmallow-stick and held it out over the fire, firmly ignoring the dumb list-making that her brain did when it had a crush.

"That right?" she said, refocusing.

He kept a wary eye on her roasting marshmallow. "The dryer doesn’t dry so great." He pulled a face. "I mean, it’s slow as hell. Thirty years old and all. But it works. You want ‘em?"

She turned the marshmallow. It was really hard to ignore the crush when the crush remembered something that caused you an inconvenience and offered to fix it. She did her best, even though her heart beat a bit faster at the idea of a dryer. Even a thirty-year-old dryer.

"How much?" she asked. "I could really use them, but—"

"Lydia," he said, a stamp of exasperation—completely, totally familiar—imprinted on her name. It was how he usually said her name, but it had shifted over the last few months from aggravated exasperation to fond exasperation, and yes, there was totally a measurable difference. "They’re thirty fucking years old. They’re free."

Her eyes stung. She didn't dare blink; it would dislodge the completely excessive tears. She could pass off the glassiness in her eyes as the heat from the fire. Maybe. Hopefully.

She cleared her throat. "I’ll take them," she said. Her voice didn’t waver; that was something. "Thanks. I’ll rent a truck sometime this week—"

"You can just borrow ours," he interrupted again, and then, exasperation and fondness growing in equal measure, "You’re real bad at accepting help, huh?"

She managed a laugh. "It takes one to know one, right?"

He snorted—as good as agreement—and she started planning out how she’d get the machines hooked up, envisioning it, while Shane ate through another pepper popper and considered the pond.

"Thanks," she said again, because she thought it bore repeating.

He shrugged, shifted a little. "They're Marnie's machines."

"But you thought to offer them to me."

Was he blushing? No. Impossible. The firelight was just weird. He cleared his throat.

"Just seemed like you might want to keep your kangaroos out of the snow, with winter coming, and all," he said.

For an instant she was too apoplectic with embarrassment and anger and—yes, a little amusement—to react, and then she smacked him on the shoulder. "You looked?!"

He leaned slightly away from her, as if that put him out of range of future smacks. "You leave them hung up on lines in broad daylight!"

"That's not an invitation to—"

"I didn't go over and inspect them, or anything, just out of the corner of my eye while we were weeding—"

"Oh, I'm sure it was out of the corner of your eye—"

But it was impossible to keep up, this righteous indignation, when there was a hysterical laughter bubbling inside her that burst forth before she could keep talking, and he joined in, forehead thunking down on his knees, as she clutched her stomach and tears of mirth shook free from her eyes.

She dropped the marshmallow and the marshmallow stick, of course. The whole thing got subsumed into the fire. It only made them laugh harder.

And then, without thinking, as they started to get their breath back and the laughter wound down, she leaned sideways and dropped her head down to rest against his shoulder.

For a moment, he froze. She froze. Muscles tense, confused, reacting. She could still pull away, pass it off as a brief gesture of—of camaraderie, or something, instead of cuddling—

But then he relaxed, by increments; he didn't pull away. Though their arms were slightly squashed together, he shifted, just enough to take her hand in his.

This was still friendly, right? Just perfectly friendly. Nothing untoward, here. It would be a long time before he saw her kangaroos in any context besides on the laundry lines.

But. Maybe. Someday.

And then it was another fall—because time in the valley passed in a peculiar way, both too fast and too slow, and years seemed to go in great dollops sometimes—and the farm was doing good. Great, even. She had money left over, money used to make additions to the cottage and renovate the old cellar. And to move the washer/dryer inside, instead of huddling over it on the back porch.

This would all be wonderful, except that Lydia couldn’t actually find any of her laundry, and she knew she had plenty of it. Jeans splattered with mud. Flannels stiff with sweat. She'd looked forward to doing it inside, for the first time in literal years. Still in pajamas and with freezing toes, she made her way to the back of the house and poked her head through a door that still hadn’t quite been fixed with a handle. It was on the to-do list.

"Hey, Jas," she said. "You’re not playing some fun prank on me where you hide all my dirty laundry, right?"

Jas looked up from her book, quietly indignant in the way that only a nine-year-old could be. "Vincent hasn’t been over in a week," she said, trying a very dignified voice that really exercised Lydia’s poker face, "so unless it’s been missing that long—"

"No, no, I know. You wouldn’t. I can’t find anything, though."

"Maybe you already put it in the washer," Jas suggested, looking back down to her book, eyes already scanning. The first Harry Potter—she was halfway through, which was much further than she’d been a few hours ago.

"I’ll go check," Lydia agreed, though she was absolutely sure she would not have forgotten putting the first glorious load of laundry into a machine that was inside, "and then I’ll make some lunch, okay?"

"Can I eat in my room? I want to know what happens next."

Lydia grinned. "As long as you tell us all about what happened at dinner tonight."

Jas grinned back at her—not shy anymore. That, too, had been years ago. "Deal."

Lydia detoured back to her own bedroom for socks—the cellar got damn cold this time of year, and there was at least one fuzzy pair left in her dresser—and made the descent beneath the house. There was something a little creepy about it, always had been, but doubly so when she heard the sounds of movement below.

Halfway down the stairs, she froze. Shit, did they have rats, now? Just when things were going good—

But then there was a breath and a grunt, and she relaxed. There was something about knowing someone for three years that allowed you to recognize all their sounds and mannerisms and even their silhouette at a distance in dim light, in an instant, and she didn’t know why he was down in the cellar, but it was just Shane.

"Hey," she called, continuing on down the stairs, "have you seen my—"

She stopped dead at the bottom as he started and looked up at her. The whole western wall of the cellar had been cleared, the many racks of preserves jars and aging cheese shifted out of the way. Still organized, though. She could see even from here that her system had been preserved.

And in place of all of those rickety shelves were two gleaming machines that looked horrendously out of place in this early-twentieth-century-hole-underground, complete with some kind of built-in cabinets and tables in a nice honey-golden wood on which currently sat all of the clothes she was looking for, perfectly clean and nicely folded.

Shane shot her a glare over a pair of kangaroo-patterned underwear he was folding. What timing.

"If you’d given me maybe ten more minutes," he grouched, "I would’ve shouted surprise and everything." He sighed and ran a hand over his face, then gestured to the machines. "Tada?"

As if in slow motion, she realized: every time she’d been about to go down to the cellar these last few days, either Jas or Shane had distracted her and she’d forgotten her intentions entirely; there had been a few odd noises coming from the house when she’d been out in the field, but she’d discounted them as the wind, which was always sporadic and feisty in the valley this time of year; and her husband had done her laundry after assembling a new laundry station. That was what this was. A laundry station. A beautiful, wonderful laundry station.

Apparently she'd been quiet too long, because the exasperation on his face took on a bit of anxiety. "Don’t tell me you were attached to those old machines," he said. "The dryer took three hours to dry a couple of sweaters, Lyd."

She opened her mouth to say something, found her throat stuck fast, closed her mouth again, and shook her head. That much was safe.

"I read all the labels," he added, inspecting the folded clothes with a critical eye, "if that's what you're worried about. Everything washed per care instructions. No weird splotches or shrinkages."

He was going to keep running down the list if she didn't say something, but her heart was damn near bursting in her chest, which made speaking challenging. She'd felt about as overjoyed on their wedding day. She knew that this made her kind of weird.

"You built this?" she managed, though she sounded even to herself like she was getting over some kind of sinus infection. "It looks so nice."

The anxiety dropped away. He gave her an understanding, if exasperated, look. "If you cry over a washing machine again—"

"I’ve never cried over a washing machine before—"

"I was too polite to say anything at the pond that night," he said, now smiling in that way of his that had turned her heart for years, "but I saw—"

And then he didn’t get the chance to heckle her further, because she’d used her lightning speed and superior reflexes to dart across the cellar and kiss him thoroughly, which he reciprocated with enthusiasm, hoisting her up on top of the washer (a little clumsily) and knocking a stack of underwear to the floor. She burst out laughing but kept kissing him, and after a very halfhearted attempt to pull away, he allowed the underwear to languish on the floor.

"You're so fucking weird," he mumbled against her mouth. "You know that, right? You know that nobody else gets as excited as you do about laundry?"

She cupped his face in her hands, pressed her forehead against his. "I know how many books you have about chickens," she said. Threatened, really. "I'm in good company."

And it was a testament to the kind of day he was having—to the hard-fought ground he'd gained over the years—that he rolled his eyes and grinned at her and didn't argue.