#i made some good work on the blueberry dex

[anemovictorious]

The Viscous Cycle of Tori Procrastination

Common Sense: Okay, Tori. It's getting late, and you tend to have more inspiration when it's late. Therefore, since you want to impress your old friend AND be productive, you should work on the things you need to do. Me: *Gets on computer* Common Sense: Oh, are you going to work on your computer for once? Usually you work on your phone. Maybe a change of pace- Me: *Inches cursor towards Final Fantasy XIV* Common Sense: No- Me: *Clicks it and launches the game* Common Sense: Why?! Every time, it's playing some sort of game all day or goofing off and watching YouTube, or just goofing off doing nothing! Why are you like this? *This repeats for days on end as I girlflop and girlfailure through life.*

[coincasual]

part 2

Briar goes to the party and helps her crew finish setting up (Hopper, Cupid, Melody, Ginger, Maddie, Blondie, Dex, Humphrey, Meeshell, Farrah)

it’s an orchard star party so it was fruit and star themed! Briar had organized it to show off the botany classes’ year/semester long fruit creation project and to help out her friends’ small businesses!

the party attendees eat the cakes and goodies, all fruit themed (and some were made with/served along side other students’ fruit projects), and many crafted by Ginger Breadhouse! Maddie Hatter agreed to make a special fruit blend of wonderland tea (when consumed it tasted like lemons and blueberry zapples!), and the music was provided by dual dj’s of the night, Melody and Cupid! Briar had asked Blondie to get good coverage of the night, so Humphrey and Dex (and Meeshell, who accompanied Humphrey) as well as Blondie herself, walked around interviewing attendees and getting good party b roll.

apple shows up exactly on time, others arrive, faybelle is the last to get there, both fashionably and rudely late. when faybelle arrived briar noticed she was acting weirdly. but faybelle insisted she was acting normally and went off to talk to some of the other general villainy students in a huff of sparkles and iridescent blue. Briar tried to blow it off, the night wasn’t over yet, and she still had a lot to do.

the party was roaring! and it was only 11:58. as the distant bell towers began to to toll, Melody and Cupid cut the music, Briar was at the mic. Faybelle watched from the back of the crowd.

“How we doing ever after!!” the crowd cheered, “We have one final surprise for you all tonight! As a special appreciation to the students who worked so hard on their projects,” a small, but bright cheer emerged, Briar laughed and waved, “and for all of the encouragement and support we got from our friends for all of those late lab night lattes!” Faybelle felt her pulse quicken.

“Late night lattes? who was she..” Faybelles thoughts were haunted by the sickly sweet scent of apples. Apple. the curse.. Curses! She had been so focused on club-snubbing Briar that she forgot to watch and see if she had given Apple the apple. Faybelle scanned the crowd nervously. Blonde after blonde, where was that short little- there!! Apple was jumping up and down near the front, waving and shouting. Faybelle rolled her eyes. Farrah was on the stage now waving her wand and saying something-

suddenly the entire orchard was filled with a luminous thick blue smoke. it sparkled and swirled, and smelled like blue razzberries. Faybelle coughed, she had never grown used to the taste and smell of good fairy magic, or really anyone else’s magic besides her own.

once the cloud of magical blue razzberry dust cleared- everyone looked down to find their clothes changed into twinkling, sparkling, gem encrusted and fruit themed versions of what they were before! the crowd erupted with cheer as Farrah daintily wiped sweat from her brow and curtsied. With that, the music began again, and the party continued on.

Farrah’s enchantment did more than level up everyone’s clothes- it also replenished all of the snacks and beverages! Briar made a mental note to give her a big gift later, maybe an enchanted spa set to help her relax after performing so much magic. She would have to ask Faybelle.. Briar looked around for the faerie but couldn’t see her. Briar sighed. Faybelle was supposed to meet up with Briar before the party to help show up, and she was two hours late! Briar smiled and waved to a group of people who were thanking her for the party. She headed off the stage and was greeted by a tinkling laugh and a warm hug. Briar looked down onto a cascade of shining light blonde curls, Apple. The friends embraced.

“Oh! Apple!” Briar held her out at arms length, “I made something for you!” Apples red lips formed a surprised O shape.

“A gift! For me? Why, Briar Beauty, you are such a charmer!” Apple giggled and twirled her skirts, “Do I finally get to see what you’ve been working on in such secret?!” Briar clapped her hands gleefully and darted behind the stage, emerging only moments later with a transparent gift box, wrapped in deep red velvet ribbons. Briar began to pull the ribbon, Apple’s eyes gleamed.

Faybelle made her way towards the refreshment table. She saw Briar and Apple hugging near the stage. “Must be soon now,” her hands trembled as she poured herself some tea. Faybelle’s stomach was doing flips. So soon. Faybelle felt nervous. Or… hexcited? either way, she felt the urge to fly. her wings unfurled, and away she went.

[luminous-shifting-vibes]

actual fucking quotes from the shiftblr coffeehouse discord server

out of context of course, what do you take me for? a sane person?

"they made lightning mcqueen hot"

"inch resting"

"Nix: Cars (2006) several people are typing..."

"im evaporating"

"enjoy precipitation"

"tow mater is more attractive than lightning mcqueen/hj"

"lightning mcqueen looks like he would call me a slur"

"why did I come back to a discussion regarding the attractiveness of vehicles"

"lark is the braincell of shiftblr tbh"

"you all need some grass in your life"

"me over here simping for block men and now literal cars"

"didn't nick wilde commit fraud canonically"

"i have no strong opinions on whether or not nick wilde is attractive"

"I AM AROMANTIC AND I AM NOT IMMUNE TO NICK WILDE"

"I am bisexual and I. Am not into Nick Wilde based on a simple fact he looks like he will drink all my pepsi and call me names"

"What is shiftbkr but not a bunch of simps"

"cries in Bianca Monroe"

"listen i have a folder called gayass

it is mostly pictures of kyoka jiro and virgil sanders"

"Nick Wilde x Reader where he steals your car 📷 carjacker to lovers AU 📷"

"he says "mama i like to step on keyboard""

"MY MOM JUST WALKED IN AND I HAD TO TELL HER I WAS LOOKING AT LIGHTING MC QUEEN HUMAN FANART"

"crab walks away"

""Y/N..." Nick whispered into your ear. "Your car...is a Honda Civic, right?" You looked up at Nick with a baffled expression. "Nick, my beloved? Whatever are you talking about?" "Just asking..." He said as he let you out of his embrace. "Hey, wanna see a magic trick, babe?" Your eyes sparkled. "Really, Nick? Of course!" Nick smiled. "Ok, close your eyes!" You giggled and closed your eyes, waiting for Nick to tell you to open up. Instead, you heard the loud rumble of a car starting up, and you open your eyes. Nick has stolen your car, and he has driven off into the sunset..."

"did y'all know his name used to be canonically Montgomery--he changed it to lightning mcqueen to get rid of his past"

"That is my exit number"

"cars trauma arc"

"wait do y'all know about car jesus" "as if jesus wasn't a ford focus in the bible"

"oh yall do not want to know about the trauma in my cars dr lmao"

"Dewit tau style babey make Lightning McQueen outlive everyone and stalk their reincarnations"

"Do they baptize other cars in like gasoline then"

"there is a pope car in the cars universe which means car jesus died for cars sins"

"NOT THE BOOMER MEMES"

"-lays facedown on the floor while caramelldansen plays-"

"like im serious how many of you guys endorse me falling face down on my floor" (NOT THE SAME PERSON AS PREVIOUS QUOTE)

"I will be Tall and no one can stop me"

"is a soft floor?"

"stop I thought faceplant meant like a succulent in the shape of a face instead of falling onto your noggin for a solid 10 seconds"

"Touch some grass??? What about eating grass"

"what if for every employee of the month i just printed out really horrible boomer memes"

"what ab smoking grass /j"

"Can the grassdirt smoothie be a special in the cafe"

"PLEASE IM ROLLING ON THE FLOOR REWRITINH THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE WHIKE SPEEDRUNINT MINECRAFT"

"you have to get good dirt from like the middle of a pennsylvanian forest for it to taste good though"

"I ate a four leaf clover as a kid cause i thought it would make me lucky"

"guys how do i see the mee6 leaderboard"

"I used to think i was half dragon and I ate plants out of sidewalk cracks"

"i think i punched someone"

"my parents told me to stop doing that so I looked at them and ate a flower"

"I ate grass when I was 9 bc I read warrior cats and thought I was a medicine cat ....................."

"bees are just spicy flies"

"I had a mental breakdown when I was three cause I didn’t know how to turn off a phone"

"My mom drank a bee once"

"when I was a baby I kinned ink sans."

"bro who here find the yellow hat man from curious george fine as heck 📷📷📷"

"mY LUNGSSSSSS"

"no one topping Him"

"I like em big"

"I think Moto Moto has no game like move over hunky boy I could beat you 1v1 Roblox Arsenal 📷📷📷"

"If you didnt have a crush on springtrap, jeff the killer, or Underfell/Gaster/Error sans don't talk to me /j"

"LOOK THEY'RE BOTH DILFS WITH ABS THAT WOULD FIGHT GOD"

"ZORO IS BANNED"

"Guys please help I found my old fnaf fanart from when I was 8 I'm in literal tears"

"OH NO BOT MY FIFTH GRADE HAMILTON PHASE"

"The worst attraction ive ever had has to be Sombra Overwatch"

"My family is like "save all ur art so I can sell it when you're famous" I literally could not sell this if I tried"

"screaming puppet"

"I just remembered Ive drawn overwatch/hamilton crossover fanart"

"my hermit crabs ate each other again"

"we're cannibals ????"

"having me here is a curse you have inflicted on yourselves and I for one am glad for it <3" "scitters around like a crab in anticipation"

"CARB DAY"

"WE NEED TO HAVE A WATCH OARTY"

"hey y'all ill be right back i have to throw away a crab carcass"

"if I watch cars I'm going to start laughing in the middle of it nonstop just because the word cars is funny and also cars are funny like how do you move silly little metal box with rubber circles"

"Lark asleep post catboy pitbul"

"Mwista Wowldwide! Nya!" "hermit crab 2: electric boogaloo"

"Is that why your name is chaos"

"manifest the crab power!!"

"cool dex fact: i can't read 📷"

"sighs adds to worship these entities list"

"with a knife <3"

"yeah and if he betrays me I could probably throw him across the atlantic ocean"

"give me his eyes"

"my good citizen i am a- wait no im nonbinary nvm"

"it worked on a fish idk what to tell you"

"what is gender??? Is that a board game?? If so can I be apples to apples that one's my favorite"

"CHUTES AND LADDERS"

"anyways actually my gender is Candyland"

"Oh god romes the destroyer of friendships/j"

"i am a simple gay i see math i run in the opposite direction survival instincts 101"

"math my beloathed"

"algebra makes me want to rip open a bag of swedish fish and swallow them whole"

"cackles in they're au characters and this will be very fun"

"pog !!!! me too ksajgks one of my drs is a sanders sides au"

"Is that bipper"

"tumblr sexyman"

"Good because he’ll fuck u up if u hurt a child"

"I want a wing-suit"

"looks like a bean would poison someone"

"my hermit crabs are cannibals what can i say"

"sonic the hedgehog kinnie"

"get yourself a man who is capable of the most ungodly actions but won't do them because of their morality owo"

"tell him he can steal my wallet"

"eyes"

"idk about y'all but I need blueberry sweet tea to live"

"y'know the red souls from soul eater i really want to eat those"

"but like only respectable crimes like stealing from elon musk"

"You can go cultbashing with he!"

"He acts like a flamboyant gay man, but if a flamboyant gay man was straight."

"Simp Satan 📷"

"definitely arson"

"They look like they enjoy lemon squares and other lemon desserts"

"Satan is all-powerful but he spends most of his time building honeymoon locations because he is convinced that the protag loves him"

"bc shes the reincarnation of his dead wife or something i guess"

annd here's a quote from our very own dream (@shiftingwastaken) that sums this post up:

"shiftblr but context makes it worse"

[connorswhisk]

friendship week day 2: stress ft. ransom and bitty

day 2 of @birlcholtz‘s friendship week!

can also be found on my ao3

It’s not like Ransom actively tries to stress himself out. His brain can just get kind of fragile sometimes, and that coupled with the amount of work he gets tends to freak him out a little bit. He can’t help it. It just happens naturally.

Normally, in times like these, he’ll turn to Holster for help, but Holster’s been gone the last couple of days at his sister’s wedding, and Ransom doesn’t want to bother him via text message. He’s having fun. He shouldn’t have to worry about anything else.

Ransom’s worrying, though. Sometimes he feels like he’s always worrying.

It’s just that - ok, he’s got this paper due for his biology class, right? Which wouldn’t be so bad on its own, but he’s also got four chapters of Les Misérables (gross) to read, plus a test to study for, and regular hockey practice without his co-captain, and he’s supposed to have a meeting with Lardo and the coaches to discuss the upcoming games (again, without Holster). Plus, Mom’s been getting on his case for not FaceTiming her enough, so he’ll have to call her, and she’s going to talk for hours.

Which, like, Ransom loves his mom, of course he does, but he doesn’t have hours to spend.

Needless to say, he’s kind of coral reefing right now, even if only a little bit. Or maybe a lot. He hasn’t decided yet.

He’s just about to start the introduction to his bio paper when someone knocks on the door.

It’s Dex, and he’s carrying his toolbox for some reason. “Hey.”

Ransom raises an eyebrow. “Uhhhh…hey?” He can't for the life of him figure out why exactly Dex is here right now.

“You said you wanted me to look at the fan in here?” Dex gestures towards the ceiling.

“Oh, right,” Ransom says. “Sorry, I forgot.”

Dex shrugs. “It’s fine. I'll probably be kind of loud, though, so you might want to move.”

Ransom feels a little more tension collect in his shoulders. “Sure, sure…I’ll get out of your hair.”

He grabs his laptop and his books and heads downstairs. The best part about the Haus is that there are tons of people! The worst part about the Haus is that there are tons of people. His own room is the most ideal place for work, but if Dex is working in there, there’s really no point.

But maybe Ransom lucked out today? Downstairs is pretty quiet right now, the only sound the faint notes of punk music filtering out from under Lardo’s door, so Ransom drops his shit at the kitchen island and sets to work again, feeling somewhat more relaxed.

He only makes it halfway through his first body paragraph before the door to the Haus bursts open, and Chowder, Nursey, Bitty, Ollie, and Wicks walk in, all talking loudly.

Ransom clearly needs to stop jinxing himself.

Thankfully, most of them go into the living room, so at least they’re a little quieter. Bitty comes into the kitchen, smiles at Ransom, and starts fixing to make a pie (but what else would he be making?), and Ransom is grateful for Bitty’s presence, because he’s relatively not that loud, and Ransom always feels a little more anchored when he’s got someone near him while he’s ‘reefing.

Plus, that pie is starting to smell good as shit.

Ransom continues working, and gets an all right amount of work done before he’s once again interrupted by yelling from the living room. It seems like the boys have started up another MarioKart tournament.

Of course. It’s Friday night. They always do that.

At this point, there’s no way Ransom is going to be able to stay focused. He should really just accept that. Despite this, he pulls out his earbuds and tries listening to some of the relaxing lo-fi stuff Holster put on that playlist he made for him, to try and get himself back in the zone. It doesn’t really work, because why would it? Nothing else has tonight.

He feels a tap on his shoulder.

Ransom pulls out his earbuds and looks up. “Hey, Bits, what’s up?”

“Why aren’t you up in your room?” Bitty asks, looking concernedly at Ransom while he waits for the pie to cool, and god damn, it smells amazing. Ransom should really be used to that by now, but apparently it’s impossible to stay accustomed to the Wondrous and Ineffable Baking Talents of Eric R. Bittle.

“Dex is fixing the fan,” Ransom explains. “It gets kinda stuffy in the attic before it gets cold out, and Holster’s been sweating through at least two shirts a day, so Dex said he would take a look at it.”

Bitty hums. “Swamped with work?”

Ransom sighs, feeling his shoulders tighten again. “You have no idea.”

He puts his head down on the counter and mulls over what to do next: the most likely solution seems either to pass out or have a minor panic attack. He’s just never going to get this done.

“Oh, honey,” Bitty says sympathetically, rubbing a hand on his back. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Probably not,” Ransom groans, his voice muffled in his arms. “Unless there’s any way to shut down MarioKart Fridays, and that shit’s practically in the bylaws.”

“We’ll see about that,” Bitty says determinedly, and Ransom lifts his head and starts to say, “Hey, wait, you don’t have to -,” but he’s already gone.

Ransom shoves his earbuds back in, because he doesn’t need to hear Bitty telling those guys off for him. He’s pretty sure there’ll be a sufficient amount of resistance, but Bitty’s back in the kitchen within two minutes, looking satisfied.

“They said they’ll try for MarioKart Saturday this week instead,” he says, smiling down at Ransom.

Ransom feels a huge wave of gratitude wash through him. “Aw, thanks, Bitty, you’re the best.”

Bitty looks proud. “Well, I do try.”

Ransom swallows. “They’re not, uh - they’re not mad at me, right?”

Bitty’s eyebrows contract. “Oh, sugar, of course they aren’t mad at you. They understand how stressful things can get sometimes. Don’t you worry about it.”

“Ok,” Ransom says, smiling tiredly. “Ok. Thanks, Bits.”

Bitty nods again. “Do you want pie?”

“Is that even a question?”

Bitty laughs and busies himself at the counter again, and by the time Ransom looks back up from his work, there’s a steaming slice of sugary blueberry pie sitting in front of him.

“Shit, Bitty, you’re a life-saver,” he says, rolling his eyes as he takes a bite. “Fuck, I swear these things get better every time you make them.”

Bitty looks mollified, but he just pats Ransom’s shoulder again and says, “It’s going to be all right, darling.”

Ransom grins, because he knows he’s right.

[likeshipsonthesea]

post script poetry

okay i’m going to preface this with a lot of rambling so buckle up my dudes

i started this i don’t know how long ago when i saw a post about how fun it would be if dex ended up being the one to wax poetic about nursey and i saw it and thought the only way that would happen would be by accident, like if he was complaining and started getting mushy

so i wrote this. like, half of this. and then tonight i found it and i liked it and finished it. so here you go. and yes, i did this instead of fulfilling the hozier prompts. sorry not sorry?

Hey Lardo,

I attached my schedule for the week of the 15th. Depending on how long you need me, I can also work this week. I know the sculpture doesn’t have to be done until the end of the month, but I also know how you get close to a deadline. Let me know if any of the free times work for you-- if not, we’ll figure something out.

Dex

P.S. I was going to text this, but since I’m typing I might as well tell you that there’s a horrifying new regular at the café. Every time he comes in he orders something so convoluted and complicated that he has to be fucking with me, and the drinks are so damn sweet he must need to see a dentist every weekend. He walks in with this stupid fucking smirk on his face too, like he derives joy from ruining a perfectly nice--okay well not nice but I’m perfectly civil to customers at least-- barista’s day.

He’s come in consistently for three weeks now. Pray for me.

P.P.S. Did I mention that he’s taken to sitting at a table with nothing but his stupid sweet drinks and a journal for hours on end? Sometimes he’ll buy a muffin and try to talk to me, like I’m not fucking working. Asshole.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

5 on Wednesday works for me. Should I bring anything aside from the regular tools?

Dex

P.S. It doesn’t matter if he’s attractive but since you asked, yes, but only in the way that statues are attractive. They’re carved and perfected and gorgeous, yeah, but when you look at them you’re admiring it, idolizing it-- your own inferiority is entangled in the attraction.

P.P.S. And no, I’m not telling you his name.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

Sorry to hear about the issues with the sculpture. The earliest I can come for emergency repairs would be tomorrow after work. Hope it holds together until then.

Sorry,

Dex

P.S. This seems to be a theme in our emails, but I’m mentioning this only because it literally just happened. The horrible regular was just here in a sweater and jeans. A sweater and jeans. It’s fucking snowing. Below freezing, high teens, stupid kind of cold, and the guy left his jacket home for what? To show the world how pretty he looks in that sweater? The asshole probably looked in the mirror and thought that people noticing how the green in the sweater enhanced the fucking tree top, sea-glass shiny green of his own eyes was more important than not getting frost bite. And he looked so fucking proud of himself too, smiling all big and wide and stupid like his lips weren’t chattering! And then he stayed in the shop forever, obviously, because he can’t go out in the cold wearing nothing and he just sat there and wrote in his stupid journal and looked over at me with his fucking budding-leaves-at-the-beginning-of-spring eyes like he knew how infuriating he was. That kind of stupidity just pisses me off.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

Was going through my messages and saw the last thread. How are the repairs holding up?

Dex

P.S. Shut up.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Glad the emergency repairs are holding. The piece looks great so far, I can’t wait to see the finished product at the end of term.

Dex

P.S. I’m not going to fuck an asshole just because he’s pretty.

P.P.S. Don’t bring up the LAX bro.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

My phone crapped out in the middle of a shift so I’ll be communicating via email for the next few days. I’ve got a bunch of leftover muffins from work. Want me to drop by the studio on the way home?

Dex

*~*~*

Lardo,

I’ll grab all the banana nut and any double chocolates that look good. See you soon.

Dex

P.S. Just because we’re on email doesn’t mean you have to ask about my horrible regular. But yes, to answer your question, he is still a regular and maybe a little less horrible, thank God.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Okay, I’ll get some blueberry ones for Shitty too.

Dex

P.S. Well, he’s less horrible because his orders-- while still stupidly complicated and overly fucking sweet-- have narrowed down to one of two options, so I know what they are now. When he lists off all of the stupid steps, I can just ignore him and stare at nothing, or how he gestures with his hands when he speaks and barely avoids knocking over the tip jar. I guess it’s nice that he talks with his hands, though, because sometimes when he’s sitting at a table and writing his hands start shaking and I much prefer the gesturing to that.

Also he seems to have decided to wear a coat for the foreseeable future, and even if it’s this deep green pea coat that probably cost more than what I make in a month, it looks good on him-- aesthetics and functionality, at least he’s compromising. It’s like cut or whatever, so you can still see the line of his waist, tight to his chest and everything. And he has a matching beanie that doesn’t seem that warm, but he tugs it down just over the tips of his ears and a few of his curls above his forehead poke out of it, all soft looking and stuff. He still needs gloves though.

But, I guess, overall he’s less horrible.

*~*~*

Lardo,

The sculpture looks great! And with the deadline still a week away you have a bunch of time to do all your last little nit-picky things.

Dex

P.S. Okay reading over that last post-script I do sound a little mushy, but in my defense I was coming off a double shift and I’d had a big deadline for CS the night before and I definitely wasn’t all there. This cannot be held against me.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Just because you put it in the P.S. doesn’t make it okay. I am not In Love with anyone, especially not the guy who writes poetry on the twenties he leaves in the tip jar.

Dex

*~*~*

Lardo,

Why does that matter?

Dex

*~*~*

FINE some of it was other people’s stuff-- I googled it and some were Emily Dickinson I think? Some of the lines didn’t return anything, so I guess they were original? Anyway it doesn’t matter-- he’s defacing money.

Dex

*~*~*

Your idea of romantic is weird.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

I can’t get my phone fixed until Sunday, but I wanted to double check that your show is on Saturday at 7:00PM?

Thanks,

Dex

*~*~*

Lardo,

Thanks for clarifying.

Dex

P.S. Actually yeah, I guess there was an update, or whatever.

So he came in with a book last night, late. Not a lot of people come by the cafe at night, obviously, so it was just me and him, and he was there for a while but then we were closing. I went over to tell him we were closing in a few minutes and he asked if I’d sit with him for a few minutes and, well, he’s a nice tipper, so whatever. I did.

And then-- I shit you not-- he started reading me poetry. Actually. Just started reading poetry to me out of nowhere. He’d gesture with his notebook as he did it, his eyes were all lit up like treetops at sunrise or something and his voice just filled up the whole shop, like it was bouncing off the walls and going through me and shit, like he was trying to make me listen in my soul or something. And, like, I’m shit at poetry and I didn’t really get what it was supposed to be, but you know when you hear a song and even without really hearing the lyrics it makes you feel some kind of way? That’s what it did.

Then he stopped reading and asked me what I thought and I couldn’t just say that it made me feel things so I said that the guy in the poem sounded kind of obsessed, and then the guy-- the regular-- laughed, like a full bodied laugh, his eyes crinkled and his shoulders shook and he tucked the notebook against his chest, against his heart, and laughed in public, in front of a stranger, like it wasn’t weird. And you know when something good happens? Something unexpectedly good? Your favorite song comes on the radio or you find a random twenty in your pocket or you catch the sunset on your walk home and its pretty and warm and just makes you smile and think, huh, I’m glad I get to be here for that.

That’s what his laugh felt like. I know it’s fucking sappy but it’s the only way I can come up with to describe it.

Anyway. See you Saturday.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Yeah.

I’m fucked.

Dex

*~*~*

Hey, fuck, I’m so sorry about last night. My phone is still fucked up otherwise I’d call you but your friend-- the one in your painting, Nursey-- he’s my horrible regular.

Small campus, huh?

He was a little drunk-- he kept drinking the champagne for some reason, I think it was to stop his hands shaking, I don’t know-- but I didn’t want to just send him off alone so I helped him back to his dorm and as I was taking off his shoes he kept reciting poetry or whatever and he was drunk, yeah, but he said it so nicely and he kept looking at me with his ridiculous eyes and then he touched my cheek-- like actually fucking caressed my cheek-- and I kissed him.

And I know he was drunk, I tasted the champagne when I kissed him, and I felt horrible and I ran out of his dorm and-- then I fell asleep and woke up and wrote this email.

So, I probably fucked up beyond repair and if you need me I will be kicking myself for the next fifty years. Thanks, goodbye.

Dex

P.S. I forgot to say-- the show looked great. The sculpture, the art, everything. You’re amazing, dude.

*~*~*

Thanks for his number, but I can’t just call the guy out of the blue and say, “Hey, sorry for kissing you when you were all drunk, won’t happen again, please keep tipping me?”

Also, I still don’t have a working phone.

*~*~*

That’ss the problem with falling in love with a stranger, youknow? Like, I never mett the guy really, I just made his stupid sweet coffee drinks and listened to his poetry that one time and stared too much when he talked with his hands and at his stupid eyebrows-- how do eyebrows look soft?? It makes no sense

And he’s beautiful, you know, like can’t stare too long or you’ll go blind, and I felt like he was a good person youknow, an asshole but good, the kind you want. And I could feel it he would probably argue with me over everything but I think I could likee that, like arguing, at least with him, because I know it wouldn’t be out of anger or whatever, he would be coming from a place of understanding or shared values or whatever

and i fucking KNOW that I can’t know all this frm looking at him, but he had his stupidd fucking g journal that he scrippled in all the time and his hadsn were covered in ink with notes to himself and I want to be the person who egts to listen to his poetry at 2 in the morning and watch him ramble about things he loves and tell him how fucking good his writing is because it IS lardo it’s so good, he’s so good, i never spent any of those twenties witb his writing on it i hung them in my dorm isnt’ that fucking stupid god i love him, i love him and I don’t even know him

Love scuks.

P..S yeah, if you couldnt tell, i’m a little drunk. oops

*~*~*

Dear Lardo,

It’s very rude to forward drunken, rambling emails about someone to that someone without the consent of the drunken rambler.

Dex

P.S. Thank you.

[everwitch-magiks]

dance with somebody (ch. 8)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 7 | read on ao3

Whiskey rolls out of bed, his mind still foggy.

He gingerly steps around the mattress on the floor, where Beth and Melanie are still fast asleep, and manages to close the door behind him with minimum sound. Across the hallway, the door to Chowder’s room is ajar, and Whiskey can hear two people snoring in there. It’s no surprise, really – Leo and Jeremy were still dominating the Haus dance floor when Whiskey finally stumbled up the stairs last night. Or, more accurately, this morning – Whiskey thinks it might’ve been around half past three, but he’s not entirely sure. In any case, those two could probably sleep for a week.

A kegster is always a kegster, but last night? Last night was a kegster.

Whiskey will have to remember to get Chowder something as thanks for letting Beth’s friends crash in his room. Then again, Whiskey thinks with a grin, it probably wasn’t a huge inconvenience for Chowder to stay over at Cait’s.

Whiskey sleepily pads his way into the Haus kitchen, only to be met with… Nothing. A resounding abundance of nothing.

There’s nobody in the kitchen.

Whiskey blinks.

Dex did say he had a thing this Sunday – something about a mandatory captain’s meeting at too fucking early o’clock. Obviously, he’d have left for that already, or he’d be running late. Meaning, Dex isn’t at the Haus. Dex won’t be making post-kegster breakfast.

Oh.

The kitchen is something of a mess – although, to be fair, it could’ve been a lot worse. There’s an open garbage bag hanging from one of the chairs, evidence that someone’s already cleared out a whole lot of paper cups – Dex, Whiskey suspects, since no one else seems to be awake yet. The kitchen counter is still covered in a myriad of half-empty bottles and cans, but the sink looks recently rinsed and someone’s clearly swept the worst remnants of the kegster off the floor.

Still. There’s no way they can have post-keg breakfast with the kitchen looking like this.

Without even really thinking about it, Whiskey rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

Fifteen minutes later, when Tango wanders into the kitchen, Whiskey has actually dealt with the worst of it. There’s three filled garbage bags out in the hallway, the kitchen counter is wiped clean and he’s opened the windows to let in some fresh air.

“Hey,” Tango mutters, his voice somewhat hoarse from last night’s escapades, and Whiskey can hear the question in his voice before he asks. “S’Dex?”

“That captain thing.”

“Huh.”

Tango surveys the clean but decidedly breakfast-less kitchen for a moment.

Then he shrugs.

“Scrambled eggs?” he offers. “Probably the best I can do.”

“Yeah,” Whiskey affirms, after a beat. “That’d be great, T.”

Tango’s already opening the refrigerator, pulling out several cartons of eggs while stifling a yawn.

For a moment, Whiskey simply watches Tango. He’s not quite sure what to do with his hands. Or with himself at all, really.

Somewhat hesitantly, Whiskey makes his way over to the shelf by the microwave. It’s where Dex keeps the spiral notebook with the plain, grey front, the one that’s scribbled full of all the recipes Dex uses for baking and cooking. It’s no coincidence that Whiskey’s never gone anywhere near that thing – whenever anyone is using the Haus kitchen for more than making a sandwich, Whiskey tends to feel more comfortable anywhere else.

Which is why Whiskey can’t keep himself from glancing furtively in Tango’s direction, as he slowly reaches for Dex’s notebook.

Tango meets his eyes briefly. Then he yawns again, and keeps stirring his bowl of eggs.

Whiskey still hesitates, before carefully opening the notebook.

He skims through the first few pages, quickly flipping past them. It’s pie, plus more pie, and Whiskey immediately recognizes Bitty’s neat penmanship. Which is just, no. Anything Whiskey can throw together wouldn’t even begin to compare.

The next section is a little more promising – there’s a couple of pancake variations that don’t seem too tricky, except Whiskey’s pretty certain they don’t have an abundance of milk at the moment, and there’s a basic omelet that might’ve worked if Tango wasn’t using up all the eggs.

The next page makes Whiskey pause.

Scones.

That’s funny.

And not too complicated, Whiskey realizes, as he reads through the remarkably brief instructions. Measure, mix, bake. Right.

He holds the notebook up for Tango to evaluate.

“Think I’ll fuck it up?”

Tango takes a moment to skim the page. Then he shrugs.

“Better than nothing, yeah?”

Whiskey nods in agreement. Then he gets to work.

A while later, Ford enters the kitchen. She’s got her sunglasses on and is clutching an Annie’s takeaway cup, no doubt a double espresso. As soon as she looks up, she stops dead in her tracks.

There’s a ton of scrambled eggs, all piled up in the biggest bowl Tango could find, as well as a huge pile of slightly dry vanilla scones. Whiskey’s dug through the refrigerator and found several jars of lemon curd and blueberry jam to go with the scones, and Tango’s made a whole pot of coffee. There’s orange juice, too, and some milk for the coffee, and Whiskey’s just put on some tea in case anyone prefers that.

It’s breakfast.

“What the hell,” Ford mutters, pushing her sunglasses into her hair. She snatches up a scone and nibbles on it experimentally. “Huh. Neat.”

“I made the eggs!” Tango proclaims, not without pride. “But Whiskey’s really behind most of this. He was already going at it by the time I showed up.”

“That’s a significant exaggeration,” Whiskey cuts in, because really, it’s not even true. “I just. I wanted…”

He trails off. He’s not sure what he wanted.

Thankfully, half the hockey team chooses that moment to descend.

“Food! All right!”

“Please tell me there’s coffee, please.”

“Yo, Whiskey, you made those? ‘Swasome.”

Whiskey finds himself taking a step back, just watching. He wasn’t expecting to feel this way. Although actually, Whiskey’s not even sure if he knows how to label what he’s feeling, exactly, as he watches everyone dig into something he tried his best to make for them.

Suddenly, Dex appears in the doorway. Whiskey feels his mouth drying up as Dex surveys the room with furrowed brows, before Dex’s eyes land on the still open spiral notebook on the counter. Right next to Whiskey.

Dex meets his eyes.

“You made this?”

“Tango cooked the eggs.” Whiskey’s got a feeling that’s a phrase he’ll be repeating. “It was, uh. Yeah.”

Dex nods, slowly, taking it all in.

Then he grins.

“‘Swasome. Next time, you guys have to give me a hand with post-keg breakfast, captain’s orders. We can always use a few more scones in the world.”

“Now that’s a fact!” Pippin hollers – immediately, Joyo and Jader cheer. “Samwell class of 2021, make some noise!”

“Yo,” Nursey grumbles. “The kegster was last night. Chill, Scones.”

“Woah.”

Beth and Melanie have just entered the kitchen, hand in hand. Mel’s rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Beth is blinking a lot as she takes everything in.

“This is a frat house,” she states, addressing no one in particular. “And yet…”

“Ah, but you see, post-keg breakfast is an important SMH tradition,” Tango informs her brightly. “Go ahead, grab a scone. No – not Pippin. One of these.”

“Huh.” Beth slides into the chair next to Tango as she bites into a vanilla scone. “Oh. Nice.”

“Whiskey made them. I made the eggs!”

Beth looks up abruptly, meeting Whiskey’s eyes. Whiskey still doesn’t have the right words for any of this. He shrugs, instead.

Beth’s smile is warm.

“Get over here, C – come on, grab a chair. I wanna have breakfast with my favorite cousin before we’ve got to head back to Columbia.”

That sets Whiskey into motion. He finds himself a chair and squeezes it in between Beth and Ford, before carefully taking a scone from the now half-empty plate. Tango pours him a cup of coffee, and Mel passes him the jam.

Whiskey tentatively bites into his vanilla scone with blueberry jam.

It's actually pretty good.

(ch. 9)

[whatwouldfrogsdo]

⛄

A little fic for Day 2 of the @omgcpwinterextravaganza, the prompt being a SMH Snowman Building Competition.

AO3

Holster strode between the entries, clipboard in hand. Chowder suspected that he was only pretending to make notes, but he and Ransom had been so keen to come to Samwell and judge the Annual SMH Snowman Competition, that nobody could turn them down. Despite the fact that Bitty had looked like a shoo-in to win before they even started gathering their snow, simply for the amount of baked goods he had given them, and the announcement that he was going to attempt a Snow Tater.

Holster stopped next to Chowder’s creation. “Snow man, Chowder. What part of man don’t you understand?”

“Also, it’s totes cheating to have your girlfriend help,” Nursey added from where he was trying to patch up the hole he had accidently pushed into his snowman.

“Why would it have to be a man?” Caitlin asked. “Don’t be so sexist, Birkholtz.”

“That would be a great argument, Farms, if you weren’t there building a castle.”

“It’s not just going to be a castle,” Chowder told Holster. “Just wait until we’re done. Cait and I won the Sandcastle Competition at my local beach this summer. We have a plan. The castle is just the kingdom.”

“Well... As long as you don’t get a chisel out or anything.” Holster threw a dirty look at Dex, who scowled back from where he was sat on the porch steps, having already been disqualified.

“It wasn’t a fucking chisel. It was just my pocketknife.”

“No tools, Poindexter! You know the rules.”

“Okay, well what about the help issue? If I’m disqualified, C is definitely disqualified. Cait’s not even on the hockey team!”

“We’ll add it to the rules for next year, but unfortunately, they found a loophole because Farmer’s not on the hockey team,” Ransom explained. Chowder threw Dex a smug grin from behind Holster’s back, and held his fist out for Caitlin to bump.

*

“TIME!” Holster and Ransom shouted, in unison, an hour later.

“Everyone, step away from your snow people. Oliver Lucas O’Meara, stop that.”

Ollie dropped his hand hastily from his snowman and moved away.

Chowder sat down next to their grass-moat, made from clearing all the snow around their snowcastle. Caitlin snapped a picture of him, with the sculpture, on her phone before joining him, and the two waited as Ransom and Holster looked at each entry in turn.

“Nice and traditional, Whiskey. Good effort. It’s easily the biggest here, so ten points for that, but it has to be a C minus for originality.”

“What’s the scoring system?” Tango asked. Ransom ignored him.

“It’s only biggest height wise,” Caitlin pointed out.

“We’ll get to you two,” Holster said dryly. He cast an eye over their work, rolled his eyes and moved onto Ollie and Wicky. “Now, I have to say, despite the whole, no team members work together rule, you two have somehow managed to end up with identical snowmen and there’s something a little suspect about that.”

“Then there’s the way they’re looking at each other and the gloves are clearly reaching out for a fist bump,” Ransom added. “We couldn’t judge these individually because they work as a joint piece and there’s no way of distinguishing between them, but if we judged them together then they would clearly be in breach of the rules.”

“My fellow judge and I will have to discuss this after seeing all the entries,” Holster decided.

“What do you mean you’ll discuss it later? That’s a disqualification!” Dex grumbled.

They carried on looking at the team’s snowmen in turn, praising Ford for her creativity in dressing an otherwise mundane snowwoman and commiserating with Tango for how his snowman ended up slanted. They were full of advice for the new frogs about what they could do in future years to make their work stand out, and to prepare for the competition beforehand. They laughed in Nursey’s face for his.

“It’s not my fault!” Nursey said, when Holster gently nudged the gaping hole in the snowman’s stomach.

“It’s completely his fault. He fell over. He’s a walking disaster.” Dex punctuated his statement with a snowball, which hit Nursey’s snowman in the nose. The celery stick Nursey had used for the nose snapped in half and fell to the ground.

“Hey! Sabotage!” Nursey ducked down to gather some snow to throw back at Dex.

“You’d already lost, Nurse,” Ransom pointed out. “Dex, stop heckling.”

When they came to stand next to Chowder and Caitlin’s snow sculpture, the two juniors bounced to their feet and grinned at each other. Okay, there were two of them, but they had done the most. Theirs was the most complicated and the most creative and given another half hour they could have finished refining it into perfection. Even how they had left it, their mini snowmen were the only things which didn’t quite have the detail they wanted.

“It’s very nice. A good castle, and wow that shark... But the competition was for building a snowman.”

“We have thirty-two snowmen,” Chowder said.

“Those tiny little balls of snow?” Holster asked.

“They are clearly snowmen!” Caitlin argued. “Two balls of snow on top of each other, that’s what makes a snowman. If we had a bit more time-”

“You didn’t have to build a castle,” Ransom pointed out.

“You said the castle was good.”

“Okay, okay, full marks for originality and creativity and the snow shark, but you’re not in the competition for the best snowman. If it was snow sculpting, you’d win, but your snowmen... How are we supposed to judge them if they’re only two inches tall?”

“Size doesn’t matter,” Chowder said. When Nursey snorted, he grabbed a handful of snow, and chucked it in his direction, but it broke apart in mid-air and ended up showering Nursey with snow instead.

Holster had crouched on the ground to look at the snowmen. “Is this one Pavelski?”

“It is!” Chowder said.

“How did you put the C on his chest?”

“Caitlin used her fingernail.”

“I like the goalie pads, too.”

“Thank-you!”

“You still haven’t won.”

Chowder’s face fell, and he and Caitlin sat back down again while they moved onto Bitty’s Snow Tater - the last to be judged.

“Ours is the best, though,” Caitlin said into his ear, in that stage whisper she used whenever she was trying to be subtle. Chowder had to nod in agreement as he looked at Bitty’s. It was a standard snowman, shorter than Bitty, with a large strawberry for a nose, a blueberry mouth, milk chocolate cookies for eyes, and the number 7 drawn into its back. There was nothing special about it.

“Results are in!” Holster announced. He and Ransom had taken their place on the top of the porch steps to declare the winner, and Dex reluctantly moved out the way, to stand by his own abandoned snowman between Nursey and Chowder. “In third place, we have Whiskey with his traditional Frosty. In second place, Ford, with Mrs Scrooge. And the winner is Bitty for his Snow Tater.”

“It’s a total set-up,” Dex muttered. Chowder hadn’t noticed him or Nursey creep closer to them, but now he looked down as Dex placed a snowball in his gloved hand.

Chowder turned the snowball over and grinned. Caitlin had prepped her own snowball on his other side, and the four of them didn’t need a countdown to aim their shots and fire the snowballs at Ransom and Holster.

“Bros, seriously?” Ransom asked, already scooping up some snow to retaliate.

“That’s for being biased,” Nursey told him.

“Nursey? Are you kidding me? Your snowman is terrible.”

“But Bitty’s is better than Chowder’s?”

“Hey!” Bitty said. “No need to be a sore loser.”

Dex turned and aimed his next snowball at Bitty, who shrieked and ducked behind Tango’s snowman. A well aimed shot from Ford hit him in the back, and the next moment, snowballs were flying all over the yard, as Bitty darted to the Haus.

“Aw, come on Bitty!” Ransom called when Bitty had barricaded himself inside. Five snowballs splattered against the kitchen window, and then Whiskey managed to hit Holster in the back of the head and war broke out.

“No! Fuck. Nursey, stop!”

Chowder turned to see what Dex was yelling about and was greeted by a faceful of snow. He wiped it off and narrowed his eyes at Caitlin. They tumbled to the ground when he tackled her. Her hand slid around his neck and she giggled into his chest.

“It’s like how we first met.”

Chowder grinned back at her. “Except that time we weren’t lying on a castle.”

“Oh no! We ruined it.” She twisted her head back to look in disappointment. “Is SJ Sharkie okay?”

“He’s okay, but I think we’ve massacred the defensemen,” Chowder said, poking at a lump which used to be Brent Burns in miniature.

“That’s so rude, Chow,” Nursey said. Chowder turned to see him and Dex lying in the snow a couple of feet away, both panting heavily. Dex had snow poking out the top of his pants, and Nursey’s jacket had come undone. Nursey’s snowman was also ruined, and its head seemed to have exploded over Dex’s chest.

“Well those lasted long,” Caitlin said dryly. “Maybe Bitty did deserve to win, after all.”

Sure enough, when Chowder sat up he could see that the Snow Tater was the only snowman still standing.

[whiskeytangofrogman]

62 FROM THE PROMPT LIST. DEALERS CHOICE FOR THE PAIRING.

oh hell yeah

NurseyDex, 1.2k, from here

Dex slammed the door to the Haus open, looking very much like he’d just shaken hands with a hurricane. The living room fell silent as Dex stalked in, hair sticking up in multiple directions, flannel half off his shoulders, mostly tucked behind his arms, and with a look in his eyes that might have sent a chill down the spines of every SMH member, if it hadn’t been paired with the fact that Dex’s skin was a faint blue.

“Nurse.” Dex hissed out, stomping over and jabbing Nursey in the chest. “You did this.”

Nursey looked confused, and then horrifically, amazingly delighted. There was no way he could deny anything with a grin as bright as the sun on his face, but he tried anyway. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“My skin, you fucking dick.” Dex’s arms were folded across his chest, and he didn’t move away as Nursey stood up, leaving a clean three inches between them. Dex was furious and Nursey was struggling not to laugh at how absolutely unintimidating Dex looked. “You knew.”

“About your baths? Yeah.” Nursey reached up and pulled Dex’s flannel over his shoulders flippantly, looking like a cat who’d got the cream. “I thought the blue would like nice with that pretty red hair, Poindexter.”

Dex sputtered, and then made a noise like he was dying, before spinning away and stomping out of the Haus.

Point for Derek, Nursey thought, watching him go. The dye he used would wash off with Dex’s next shower, but the sheer anger on Dex’s face, well. Nursey would have that memory forever.

It had started the week before, on their bi-weekly coffee/study not-date. Dex insisted he didn’t mean to, but Nursey could tell Dex was being a little shit.

Nursey’s regular order was an iced (or a hot one when the wind was particularly biting) pumpkin spice latte, with no cinnamon. He wasn’t a fan of the spice, and Dex knew this, which is why when he took a drink he was shocked at first, and then a little pissed. A large PSL at Annie’s with soy milk instead of dairy costed nearly five bucks, and now it was ruined.

“There’s cinnamon in this.” Nursey said, setting the drink back on the table.

“Oh? That’s nice.” Dex was staring down at his physics textbook, and making notes in the margins.

“I hate cinnamon.”

Dex looked up. His lips twitched. “Sorry. I forgot.” He looked back down at his book, and then pointedly took a long draw from his no sugar, no cream, disgusting black coffee.

“You did this on purpose.” Nursey took another sip of his own drink, and made a noise of disgust. “You’re going to hell for ruining good coffee with cinnamon.”

“Nope. I can’t go to hell. Satan still has a restraining order against me,” Dex said, without looking up. One corner of his lips was crooked into a smile. “Besides, nothing with that many words in it’s title, or that much sugar, could ever be considered good coffee.”

Nursey stared at Dex, and then huffed. “It’s on.”

Dex looked up, and rolled his eyes. “Drink your coffee and shut up. I know you have a paper due tomorrow you probably haven’t started yet.”

Their unspoken prank war continued. Nursey showed up to practice ten minutes late, because someone had stolen his clothes and his keys while he was showering, and he’d had to wait for the RA to wake up and let him back into his room. Team breakfast saw Dex dump a plate of eggs in the trash because they were absolutely covered in salt.

Dex put paprika instead of nutmeg in Nursey’s hot chocolate. Nursey got Chowder to help him map the “u” key on Dex’s laptop to close whatever window he was working on. Dex replaced all of the black ink in Nursey’s favorite pens with red.

“All this pigtail pullin’ has got to stop.” Bitty finally said one afternoon, after Dex “accidentally” bumped into Nursey, making him land an elbow in a piece of blueberry pie. “These aren’t even good pranks, y’all.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nursey said, wiping off his elbow into the sink and already planning his revenge. “Dex just “accidentally” bumped into me, didn’t you hear?”

Dex snorted. “Yeah, and Nursey “accidentally” replaced body wash with glitter shower gel.”

Nursey threw the towel down, and pointed a finger at Dex. “Well you accidentally changed my ringtone to “Call Me Maybe” and then rang me in the middle of my poetry workshop.”

Dex stepped closer. “Salty eggs.”

Nursey met him in the middle. “Whipped cream. To the face, Dex.”

Dex rolled his eyes. “You dyed my skin blue.”

“You put cinnamon in my coffee!” Nursey threw up his hands. “You started it!”

Dex looked confused. “What are you talking about? You started this, with the dye.”

Nursey shook his head. “Nuh-uh, no way. You made me waste a five dollar coffee.”

Bitty sighed, exasperated. “Boys, get out the kitchen and go argue somewhere else.”

They mumbled sorry, and gathered their things, glaring at one another. Once they were packed up, they headed back to the dorm, and began arguing once more.

“First of all, I didn’t make you waste it.” Dex said, holding open the door for Nursey.

Nursey handed him his coat. “You did. I told you no cinnamon!”

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t remember every detail of your overly complicated coffee order, Nurse.” Dex looked agitated. “Besides, you normally get the drinks, so I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well, you smiled when I spit it out. Guiltily. Like… a guilty person!”

Dex arched an eyebrow. “That’s the best metaphor you could come up with?”

Nursey bumped his with his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“No, but really, I wasn’t smiling because I had some evil plan to put cinnamon in your coffee. I was smiling because-” Dex stopped. “Another reason.”

It was Nursey’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Another reason? Good excuse, Poindexter.”

Dex stopped, and turned to face Nursey fully. “I was smiling because you look really… nice. When you’re frustrated.” Dex’s cheeks, already cold from the late fall wind, went redder.

“Nice?”

Dex nodded. “Nice. Your nose gets all,” he waved a hand at his own face where he was scrunching his nose. “Like that.”

Nursey was confused, but the beginnings of something stirred in his chest. “So you were smiling not because you ruined my coffee but because-”

“I like you, dumbass, and you looked cute.” Dex turned back and started walking once more. “And I didn’t ruin your coffee.”

Nursey caught up to him, and threaded their fingers together. “Okay. You didn’t ruin my coffee. I still think you owe me another one though.”

“Like hell I do! It’s not my fault-” Dex stopped, realising Nursey’s intent, and swallowed. “I mean, sure. I guess we could do that.”

They walked, hand-in-hand, something quiet settling between them. “Sorry I dyed your skin blue.”

Dex shrugged. “It came out. Sorry I ruined your pens.”

Nursey squeezed his hand. “They have those replaceable cartridges for a reason.”

Dex pulled him towards Annie’s, and held the door open for him. “C’mon.”

Nursey followed him to the counter, and was about to speak when Dex interrupted him. “One large Pumpkin Spice Latte, Iced, with soy milk.” He looked at Nursey, and smiled. “With no cinnamon.”

send me some prompts!

[chyeahnursey]

Laying the Groundwork

It’s my birthday and I’m giving you a present! Some Ford fluff

Read here on ao3 (x)

r u available later? Ford types out, her eyes narrowed. my shitty lead just broke half the set and ofc the guy who built it is gone for the wknd

The message comes back almost instantly. wanna do it tomorrow morning? I can finish my piece now and then you don’t have to rush

that would be perf. thx Lardo. Ford sticks her phone back in her pocket and surveys the stage. The lead actor was supposed to slam the door, but he slammed it so hard it had jammed, and then he yanked on it to try and enter again and managed to rip a hinge out. Not only that, but the door had swung open so violently after the hinge broke that it had banged a dent into the adjacent wall. She resigned herself to spending the night in the theatre and headed to the back to find some tools, a can of paint, and if she was lucky, the snacks she’d stashed back there once upon a rehearsal.

Less than fifteen minutes later, she was walking back into the theatre with a few tools, paint, and some questionable but probably still good chocolate, when she saw someone up on the set.

“Hey! You aren’t supposed to be in here!” Ford yelled, her voice echoing in the empty theatre.

“Holy shit-” the other person cursed and something fell to the floor. They turned around and Ford realized it wasn’t some idiot fooling around, it was Dex.

“What are you doing here?

“I, uh,” he held up his toolbox, “I’m here to help with the set? Uh, if you want, I mean.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Lardo mentioned it in the group chat.” He shifted awkwardly. “Sorry I startled you.”

“No, it’s fine, I just thought it was one of the freshman trying to mess with the set,” Ford said as she dumped her haul on the floor. “Our set designer is away for the weekend and took most of his tools, so I’m definitely not going to say no to any help. Don’t you have a big assignment due Monday though?”

Dex shrugged. “C and I finished most of it this afternoon, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Ford nodded. “Here, let me show you the idiot did.”

~~~

It turned out Dex had everything they needed in his toolbox, including some small pieces of drywall they could use to reinforce the area where the hinge was. Dex left Ford to work on the hinge while he checked out the rest of the set. He set about reinforcing some of the weak spots in the structure to make sure there wouldn’t be any more ‘accidents’ caused by enthusiastic actors. They worked in companionable silence for nearly two hours before Ford started yawning so much that Dex took the hammer away from her.

“Hey, I’m not-” Ford was cut off by a yawn. “I’m not done yet!”

“Yep, you are.” Dex started packing his tools up.

“Who died and made you boss?”

Dex snorted. “Do you think Lardo would be happy with me if I let you injure yourself because you’re tired? I don’t want to get stuck with frogs for roommates for the next two years.”

“You do realize that I’ll be your manager for the next two years?” Ford resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

“Mm hmm. Lardo’s still scarier though.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.”

“You know, I think she’d be happy about that.” He surveyed the set. “Really though, you’ve done everything you can except paint that dent, and that can definitely wait until tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Ford sighed.

“Come on, all this hard work calls for pie. Bitty was baking when I left, he said he’d save us some.”

Ford hesitated, thinking about the long walk home from the Haus, before her stomach growled and made her choice for her. “Okay, let’s go.”

Dex grabbed his toolbox and Ford scooped up her bag from the seat she’d abandoned it on. They made their way out of the theatre, and Ford found herself surprised by how dark it had gotten. They walked back to the Haus in companionable silence, giving Ford time to run down her mental list of what she still had to get done the next day. A long list, sure, but getting the set done today with Dex had definitely reduced her stress levels.

Bitty greeted them as soon as they walked in the door. “I’ve been saving you some pie and cookies, and I wouldn’t wait too long to eat them, the others have practically been drooling over them.”

“Practically? Bro, give us some credit, there’s been real drool,” Holster said, winking at Ford from the kitchen doorway. Dex practically kicked off his shoes and bolted for the food, while Ford took the extra minute to actually unlace her shoes and hang up her jacket. When she went into the kitchen, she realized Bitty hadn’t really been joking - all of the current Haus members were there, plus Nursey, Tango and Whiskey, and although they were all eyeing the plate Bitty had set out for her with interest. She sat down, Dex on one side and Bitty on the other, and took a bite of pie.

“Is this blueberry and peach?” Ford asked.

Bitty nodded and smiled.

“Oh my gosh, this is definitely my new favourite pie,” Ford said as she loaded more of it onto her fork.

“That’s what I was saying!” Tango exclaimed.

Ford looked him right in the eye as she ate her next bite, exaggeratedly licking her lips when she was done. “Too bad Bitty saved the rest for me and Dex, huh?”

Tango’s face fell and Ransom and Holster howled with laughter. Ford fought to keep a straight face and kept staring at Tango as she finished the pie, his expression becoming more and more distraught. She saw Nursey take a photo of him, and just knew it would be the next meme in the group chat. Dex was still shovelling the pie into his mouth, and Bitty kept picking up his mug of tea, more to hide his smirk than to actually drink it. Lardo was still hunched over her sketchbook, but she caught Ford’s eye and winked at her. The conversation slowly returned to normal, Ransom and Holster planning their next (and probably last, unfortunately) kegster, the frogs chirping each other about something that had happened at practice, Tango asking Bitty all sorts of questions about baking and Whiskey quietly listening in.

Ford relaxed back into her chair, letting the conversation flow around her. She should probably be heading back to her dorm soon, unless she wanted to sleep on the green couch again - it might have been comfy but the unknown stains kind of freaked her out. Not that it was much better than the green room couch she’d been known to nap on, but the theatre was her territory and no one was throwing kegsters there, so it seemed, at least, a little better. She managed another five minutes without a yawn, but as soon as she did yawn she realized how tired she really was.

“Tired?” Lardo asked her.

“Yeah,” Ford nodded. “Rehearsal was exhausting, and then dealing with the set on top of that - I’m wiped. Thanks again for the help,” she added, directing the last sentence towards Dex.

“No big,” he shrugged. “You had most of the stuff you needed anyways, you would have been fine.”

“I’d still be there, probably sleeping on their gross couch for the night,” she said. She yawned again.

“Wanna crash here for the night?” Lardo offered. “It’ll save you a trip in the morning, since we still have to go over the roadie info.”

“Um,” Ford hesitated for half a second, debating between the coziness of her own bed and the long walk back, “Sure, that would be great. Thanks Lardo.”

“Come on, I was about to head up anyways,” Lardo picked up her sketchbook and pencils. “See you guys later.”

A chorus of ‘goodnight’s followed them up the stairs. Lardo loaned her a pair of pajamas and Ford pretty much tumbled into the bed, half asleep before her head hit the pillow. She could hear Lardo moving around the room, and she could hear voices from the room next door - it sounded like Nursey and Dex were still hanging out with Chowder. Lardo flipped off the overhead light and turned on the light beside the bed, sitting down with a book and wiggling back into the nest of pillows she had made herself. Ford laid there on the verge of sleep, listening to Lardo turn the pages, when there was a light tap on the door. Chowder stuck his head in the room to say goodnight to them again, Ford managing to get out a sleep “Night, C” before he left. Lardo laughed at her and told her to go to sleep, “for real this time”. Ford grumbled but nodded, drifting off to the sounds of the Haus around her.

[juliebeanbook]

one: when the morning comes I will be alright

It was the sexiest apartment anyone had ever lived in. Andy had given it this title, and the title would stick. For years after, whenever I thought about my first apartment, I referred to it (sometimes in my mind, sometimes out loud) as the “sexy apartment.”

There was actually nothing particularly sexy about the apartment. It had two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a living room that had just enough space to fit a kitchenette and a couch. (The building that contained the sexy apartment was called Maplebrook Manor. Andy and I agreed that the name sounded like an old folks home.) Andy, however, was determined from the start to make this apartment a place fit for the “most goddamned beautiful women to ever attend Birkett Uni.”

Andy had a habit of making superlatives out of everything. The grilled cheese she had for lunch was the best dairy-based sandwich anyone had ever made; the chick flick she just saw was the saddest thing she would ever experience. After living with Andy for an entire year already, I had gotten used to it.

Moving day involved a surprising amount of boxes. Our first year at Birkett, our dorm room had become accumulated with various unnecessaries, but I hadn’t realized just how much crap had actually survived the move. Andy’s boyfriend Dex came to help, and the three of us lugged box after box from Dex’s pickup truck up six flights of stairs, since the elevator was out of order. A fellow resident that we passed when making the tenth trip up informed us that he’d been living there for two years and the elevator had been out of order the entire time.

When the last box had made its way up, as well as all the furniture, Andy, Dex, and I collapsed onto the sagging floral couch. “How many times do you think we went up and down those steps?” Andy wondered.

I closed my eyes. “Fifty?” I ballparked.

“One hundred,” Dex said decisively, reaching in his pocket for his cell phone. “I’m ordering Chinese.”

“I like that plan,” Andy said. “Order, like, a gazillion spring rolls.”

“Okay, Andy,” Dex said. “I’ll order a gazillion spring rolls from Golden Queen. I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” Andy punched him in the arm.

I stretched out on the couch with my legs over Andy’s and my feet on Dex’s knees as Andy perused the laminated Golden Queen menu card. We used to order from the Hong Kong Chinese Palace, but one bad experience with chicken balls prompted us to seek our Asian food fix elsewhere.

“Is the TV working?” I wondered out loud as Dex waited for the restaurant to pick up.

“Jules,” Dex said, “why would the TV be working? It’s not even plugged in.”

“Oh,” I said. Dex laughed. Andy didn’t respond. She was focusing.

“Hello?” Dex said suddenly.

“Hi,” I said.

Dex flipped me off.

“Yeah, I’d like…” he paused while Andy pointed out the items she’d picked. “Two orders of kung pao chicken, one beef stir-fry, two orders of chicken balls, three orders of sticky rice, and some spring rolls.” He looked at Andy with a question face, and Andy gave him a toothy grin. “A gazillion.”

Andy and I lost it.

Dex was trying not to crack up as he switched the phone to his other ear. “You can’t give me a gazillion spring rolls? No? Well then, yeah, twenty is fine.”

As Dex hung up, the two of us were still laughing. “Only twenty?” Andy cried, wiping tears off her cheeks. “That’s all you could get? That’s not even close to a gazillion.”

Dex shook his head. “I don’t know, guys. I don’t think Golden Queen is doing it for me. Only twenty spring rolls…this is injustice. I think the search for the best Chinese restaurant in the city will continue.”

There may not have been a gazillion spring rolls, but twenty was almost enough. Andy and I ate Chinese food with Dex on the floor of our sexy apartment that night and felt like Golden Queens.

/ / 

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

Bohemian Rhapsody startled me into half-consciousness. My hand scrambled across an unfamiliar table, eyes still closed, and grabbed my phone. Squinting at the screen, I saw a picture of Andy’s face (one of her unattractive selfies that she’d once filled my phone with).

I groaned and stumbled out of the bed, my feet twisting in my dress crumpled on the floor. I picked up a big T-shirt from its home on the back of a desk chair and tugged it over my head so that I felt a little less naked as I crouched out in the hall.

“Hello?” I whispered.

“Julie? Where the hell are you? I thought you were dead!”

“Andy, I’m not dead –”

“No, like, I actually thought you were dead. Like I really thought –”

“Yeah, Andy, I know.”

“So where are you right now? Slash where have you been since like all night last night?”

“Um…” I looked around. I was sitting on some stained beige carpet in a strange apartment. I didn’t actually recognize my surroundings at all. I peeked back around the bedroom door, and there was Ben, still deep in sleep. Him, I recognized. “Well. Technically I don’t know exactly where I am. But last night I went home with this guy…”

“Um, sorry, who is this? I’m going to need you to put me back on the line with Julie Bean please.”

“Andy…”

“I don’t know who you are, but Julie Bean doesn’t do one night stands.”

“Andy…”

“And I quote, ‘I want to get to know guys, Andrea! How am I supposed to even know a guy at all after one trashy night in a club? Like, eww. What if he murders me? What if I willingly go home with some guy who, I don’t know, collects small figurines of cats in clothing?’”

“Andy, for Gods’ sake, I did not say that.”

“You one hundred percent did, I wrote it down, I’m not lying and you need to give me enough details that I could picture your night, like, in my head –”

“Oh my god, eww.”

“–but first get dressed and come home, kay? We need to finish unpacking, and I’m not physically fit enough to do it all by myself.”

“How do you know I’m not dressed?”

“Just put some pants on, Julie, and come home.”

I hung up and slunk back into the room. The curtains were still drawn, and the morning light filtered dimly through the brown drapes. I dropped to my knees and collected my various pieces of clothing that were scattered across the carpet. I cringed as I pulled last night’s dress back on; it reeked of smoke. Did Ben smoke? I couldn’t remember.

The night before, Andy and I had gone out with a couple of our friends for one last party before they left to go back home, as her and I were some of the only ones sticking around the city for the summer. It had been at a really nice house downtown, a friend of a friend of Renee’s (a childhood friend who’d followed me to Birkett); unfortunately, no one had really appreciated the upscale décor, the hardwood floors and heavy velvet drapes overpowered by the pull of pulsing lights and booming bass. Somewhere in between trying a mysterious fruity drink Andy had made for me and joining some strangers in an 80s jam sesh, I’d met a criminally cute guy with adorably rumpled hair. I couldn’t be sure that I had made out with him in the laundry room, but I couldn’t rule it out.

The light was too bright as I left his apartment, finding myself about ten blocks from Maplebrook. I glanced down at my god-awful heels (correction: Andy’s god-awful heels; I only ever borrowed hers). Why the hell did I think four-inch heels were a good idea at any level? I grimaced as the tips pinched my toes, sharp pain each time I took a step.

I stopped by the Moonlight Cafe to pick up some breakfast for Andy and I, my desire to get home being overpowered by my desire for pastry and caffeine. Maplebrook was just around the corner. I knew that living in such close proximity to a place with such great coffee and sugary items was going to end up being a really bad thing eventually, but for now I loved the convenience.

“Hey Andy,” I shouted into the apartment once I’d scaled all six flights of cursed stairs. “I brought Danishes and coffee!”

Andy appeared suddenly from the kitchen, grabbing me in a hug. “Ahh, Jules, have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Yes,” I said, “and you’re welcome for breakfast.”

Andy giggled and took the bag from me. “Let’s eat it on the balcony,” she said. “I put the loveseat out there!”

“Andy, no. It’s going to get wet when it rains, that’s a really dumb idea.”

“It is not, there’s a roof over the balcony. Just come sit with me and stop being so crotchety.”

It was admittedly comfortable, out on the old leather loveseat that took up the entire balcony. I licked cherry filling and icing sugar off my fingers and told Andy about Ben, including as many of the (admittedly few) details as I could remember.

“Julie, Julie, Julie,” Andy said, shaking her head. “That sounds amazing. So, are you going to see him again?”

I shrugged. “I left my number for him.”

She grinned, blueberry filling on her lips. “That’s my girl. It’ll work out. Hey,” she said, tapping my knee until her mouth wasn’t full anymore, “I meant to ask you. Dex’s band is playing this Friday at the Moonlight, and he’s wondering if you wanted to come in and play as a guest star. I’m pretty sure it’s because they have a shitty setlist this week and they need to fill up their time slot, but whatever, it’s a gig, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, I guess. I haven’t really been working on anything lately…”

“Oh, I’m sure you can come up with something. Do one of the songs from that guy and his sons or whatever.”

“Mumford and Sons. You’re talking about Mumford and Sons.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Anyway, are you in?”

The city underneath us was waking up. Six stories below, cars drove lazily down the road, someone called out to someone across the street, a car horn honked in annoyance. I rested my feet on the railing, legs slightly stubbly, feet still clad in last night’s heels. I felt vaguely sore and stretched-out. I told Andy I would do it, because in that moment I felt good; maybe it was leftover endorphins from sex, or the fresh morning air filling my lungs up full, or maybe the Moonlight’s Danishes were just straight-up magic.

[likeshipsonthesea]

132 for christmas writing ask thing?

ahhh you sent this in a bit ago and now i can’t find the post you’re referring to but i’m pretty sure the prompt was “Yes, I’m drunk in a club on New Year’s, just come pick me up.” sooo i’m gonna pretend that’s the right one and give you a lil new year’s fic?? happy 2020 y’all

“Yes, I’m drunk in a club on New Year’s Eve, just come pick me up. Please.”

Of all the ways to spend the last day of the decade, Dex hadn’t exactly wanted this. When he thought how he actually wanted to spend it, though, he mostly just wanted to sleep, which wasn’t “fun” or “festive.” In Nursey’s words, it was “totally boring and completely unchill and now who am I going to drink in the Roaring Twenties Part 2 (this time with a different kind of racism!) with?”

It wasn’t Dex’s fault he was so tired, he thought grumpily to himself as he struggled to push through the stupidly large crowds in the city. He had a giant deadline at work that morning, and yeah it was kind of a dick move for them to set a deadline on New Year’s Eve, but Dex likes his job and it was his first time heading a project and he wanted to do well, so he maybe kind of went into his “zombie mode.”

“Zombie mode,” as Nursey kindly explained to the Baby Frogs their senior year, “is when our dear captain forgets he has a human body that needs food and sleep and socialization.” At this point, Dex grunted, but didn’t dislodge Nursey’s hand from the top of his head because he was trying to find an error in his code and he’d been doing so for half an hour. “When Dex is in zombie mode, it’s up to those who care about him to make sure he doesn’t die. I will demonstrate.” Nursey bent down to Dex’s level then. “Dexy?”

Dex grunted.

“Dexington, it’s time to eat.”

Dex grunted again.

Nursey then put a muffin on top of Dex’s keyboard, forcing him to eat or get crumbs everywhere. Dex doesn’t remember, now, as he squishes between a loud family looking for the ball drop (several blocks away), he doesn’t remember what the error ended up being in his code, but he remembers that blueberry muffin. Damn. It had been a good muffin.

Dex shakes off his glove and pulls out his phone so he can recheck the address for whatever stupid club Nursey is stuck in.

Usually, Dex’s deadlines aren’t a problem for Nursey. He’s even said a couple of times that he likes making sure Dex doesn’t die when he’s in zombie mode. “It’s like knowing another language,” he said, when Dex apologized after finals week their junior year. “I understand you, even when you’re all like– that.”

Why this week, of all weeks, is different, Dex has no clue. But he’s outside the right club, so he steels himself and goes inside.

Nursey said, in his slurred and hard-to-understand-over-the-thumping-bass phone call that he was by the coat check and he would stay there unless he had to pee. So, Nursey’s bladder willing, he will still be there and Dex won’t actually have to enter the club.

The exhausted looking coat check worker perks up as Dex approaches the booth. “Coat check is $30 for the night,” she says, fake cheerily.

Dex winces at the price. He would never get used to city prices. “I’m actually looking for a friend of mine? He called and–”

There is suddenly some rustling of coats behind the worker and a slurred, but loud, “Sexy Dexy!”

Dex winces again. “Sorry about him,” he says, as Nursey crawls out from behind the booth.

“Oh, he was no bother.” The coat check worker turns to straighten out the coats Nursey messed up. “And even as drunk as he is, he can still recite poetry like Shakespeare or something! It’s actually kind of impressive.”

Dex kneels to help Nursey up off the floor. “The charm wears off after a while.”

Nursey grins once he’s upright. “You’re here!” he says, too loud in Dex’s ear. Then he pouts. “But wait. I’m mad at you.”

Dex blinks. It surprises him enough that he doesn’t immediately get them out of this place. “Why are you mad at me?”

“You ruined the plan,” Nursey says, grumpy, and then drops his face into Dex’s shoulder, effectively ending the conversation.

Dex maneuvers well with a drunken Nursey attached to him after years of practice, so he pulls out his wallet and pays the worker the coat check fee and then tips her a twenty, because she’s working on New Year’s Eve in New York City and that must fucking suck.

“Happy New Year!” she calls after them as Dex begins dragging Nursey out the door. Nursey perks up enough to call it back before slumping once again.

Dex immediately decides against dragging Nursey six blocks through these crowds and hails a cab. He rattles off their address and then addresses the Nursey sized issue still clinging to him.

“Why are you mad at me?” he asks, prodding Nursey’s cheek until he sits up enough so Dex can see his face.

Nursey, previously smiling at some unknown thing going on in his drunk brain, pouts once again at the reminder of his anger. “You ruined it,” he says, grumbling.

“What did I ruin?” Dex glances up and asks the driver to take a left instead of going up another block, knowing that the traffic will be slightly better. When he looks back down Nursey’s staring up at him with his big green eyes and he looks– fuck, he looks actually sad.

“I was gonna do it,” he says, the tone of his voice akin to that of a thousand forlorn sighs. “I was finally gonna do it.”

“Do what?” Dex, usually, when faced with that expression on Nursey’s face, has a place to direct the anger it engenders. The magazine editor that said no to publishing Nursey’s piece, the shitty guy at a party who doesn’t respect boundaries, the producer of a movie that makes Nursey sniffle cry all through the ending. But now the person who made Nursey look like that is him and he doesn’t know why and instead of anger all he feels is an annoying, unrelenting desire to fix it.

Nursey, though, sniffles mildly and hides his face in Dex’s shoulder again. “Doesn’t matter now,” he says, slurring a little, and then his eyes close and Dex knows from experience that trying to make him talk now will get him absolutely nowhere.

The cab ride ends pretty soon after that and Dex pays the guy and then helps Nursey into the elevator and just as the door closes and Dex’s thumb is hovering over the button for their floor Nursey asks, “Why did you agree to work on New Year’s?”

Dex frowns, hesitates for a moment, and then presses the button. “I didn’t really have much of a choice.”

“Yeah you did.” Dex doesn’t turn around, but he can see in the reflection of the closed elevator doors as Nursey straightens up from his slouch. “I was talking to Andy and she said you had the option of making the deadline later in January. But you didn’t take it.”

Dex tightens his hands into fists and then releases. “If we’d made the deadline later it would’ve thrown off–”

“Dex.”

Dex stares at his own reflection to avoid meeting Nursey’s eye.

The truth was, he did have plans in his head around this New Year’s Eve. He’d been planning to watch shitty movies on their couch and to use the fact that he was tired from work as a means of winning any argument over who had to refill the popcorn bowl. He’d been planning on turning down the heat and piling every blanket they owned onto their little three seater and not saying anything when their legs tangled together. He’d been planning to fall asleep on the couch, probably before midnight, and wake up sometime at like two or three and see Nursey asleep across from him and do something cheesy, like whisper “Happy New Year,” to Nursey’s closed eyelids and think something stupid like, “I hope I can welcome in the next decade with him, too.”

The truth was, though, that he still didn’t know how to say to his mother that he wasn’t coming home for the holidays because his real home had stupid green eyes and recited poetry when he was falling down drunk and knew how to keep Dex alive when he went into zombie mode and his real home was a boy in New York and he lo–

“I could tell Ma that I wouldn’t be home for New Year’s because of a deadline at work,” Dex tells his metallic reflection. “I couldn’t tell her that I wouldn’t be home because I would rather be here instead.”

Nursey’s swallow is audible in the small space. “Here, like, New York?”

Dex huffed, a short breath of a laugh. “Here like with you.”

The elevator doors open then so Dex can’t see before he’s being turned around the way Nursey stumbles forward to grab him, and then he doesn’t see anything but the inside of his eyelids as Nursey clumsily, drunkenly kisses him.

He tastes like those stupidly sweet fruity drinks Nursey likes to order and if they don’t stop kissing within a minute the doors will close again or, worse, their nosy next door neighbor who looks through her peephole when they come home will leave her apartment to see what’s holding them up and they’ll never be able to live it down but

But Dex is 24 years old and he’s kissing the boy he’s loved for the past four of them and he’s home and, really, there’s nothing that could make it better.

Nursey pulls back as the elevator doors begin to close. When he smiles, Dex can feel it. “That’s what I was going to do,” he says, breath hot against Dex’s skin. “At midnight, I was gonna do that.”

“Midnight is too far away,” Dex says, and kisses the laugh from Nursey’s lips.