#why does this man think the dishwasher is the only chore that exists

[sillypilled-friendcel]

if something someone you live with does bothers you, you can use your big boy words and talk to them 🙏 except you apparently only know how to throw tantrums when you don't get your way so whatever. honestly the more pissy he gets about the dishwasher the more i avoid it, so suffice to say when he opened the dishwasher before leaving i did my due diligence and closed it 🥰

[dinogoose]

it’s been a long time coming, but (it’s you and me)

Suddenly words are falling out of Buck’s mouth faster than he can catch them,

“Marry me.”

Eddie spins around so quickly Buck’s worried he gave himself whiplash.

“What?”

“What?” Buck parrots, attempting to play dumb.

(or, a buddie friends to fiances, in the kitchen of course.)

Eddie’s humming a tune Buck vaguely recognizes. Buck is pretty sure it was the song playing on the radio when they took Chris to school this morning.

The brunet's back is turned to his, as he expertly hand-washes a knife. Eddie may be a wreck while cooking but that man takes pride in his cleaning skills, and rightfully so.

Buck is leaning over the counter just watching him, enjoying being in the mere presence of Eddie (the love of his life).

The sun's setting, casting a glow throughout the kitchen. Eddie’s face in particular is now radiant, causing the already gorgeous man to be ethereal.

Buck wishes he could stay here, in this moment forever.

Watching Eddie sway as he happily cleans, surrounded by the warmth that lives inside the Diaz’ home, the only place Buck feels truly safe in.

They had the day off, choosing to spend it together. Eddie dragged Buck along to all the mundane places he didn’t want to go to alone, the grocery store, the pharmacy, and even the bank- where Buck had stolen a huge handful of lollipops. (He considered it compensation)

If it meant being with Eddie, Buck would do every boring task or chore in existence.

So here he is, watching Eddie do the dishes.

The rhythmic movement of his hands, scrubbing back and forth, the whir of the dishwasher, just all of it makes Buck feel at peace.

Maybe too at peace, because Buck wants to confess every little secret that has been living under his skin. Every word that has never made it past his lips. He wants to tell Eddie everything.

And, because of this peace, suddenly words are falling out of Buck’s mouth faster than he can catch them,

“Marry me.”

The words startle Eddie as he drops the knife he was cleaning, it clattering loudly in the sink, then the man spins around so quickly Buck’s worried he gave himself whiplash.

“What?”

“What?” Buck parrots, attempting to play dumb.

“You just-“ Eddie shakes his head, his expression showing things that Buck couldn’t even begin to name. “You said ‘Marry me’.”

To Buck, Eddie’s words sound like an accusation (a fair one) but they also sound like a desperate plea. As if Eddie wants as much as Buck does.

Eddie’s hands are still wet, and steadily dripping onto the floor, which distracts Buck for a second, before he focuses back on Eddie’s face.

“No, that doesn’t sound like something I’d say.” He deflects, blatantly lying. Eddie gives him his patented ‘You’re an idiot’ stare.

“Buck you just said it, I heard you, you’re standing five feet away. Why did you say that?” Buck looks away from Eddie, his face hot.

“Why?” Eddie repeats, stepping closer to Buck.

Buck turns back to him, his gaze pointed over Eddie’s shoulder, “Well marriage is a legally recognized union between two people. It’s actually derived from a Latin word-“

“Buck.” Eddie scolds, arms crossed across his chest defensively. Although Buck can see a tiny hint of a smile on his handsome face.

“Okay fine.” He takes a deep breath, moving fully into Eddie’s space. “I love you, and I think you should marry me.”

Big brown eyes search his own. Buck knows he will find complete sincerity, because despite how utterly insane this request is, Buck fully means it.

Yes, maybe proposing before they’ve even been on one date is… abnormal (Unhinged, bonkers, loony, take your pick), but Buck can’t help it. He doesn’t want to just be Eddie’s boyfriend. He wants to be Eddie’s eternal partner. His husband. A stepfather to his son. The man he falls asleep with and wakes up to each and every day.

And Buck’s pretty damn sure Eddie wants that too. (At least he hopes so, otherwise, this might destroy him)

Eddie’s now scrutinizing him, eyes pinched together, nose scrunched. Buck thinks he looks positively kissable- though when does he not -, but he feels this may be the wrong time to point that out.

“You think I should marry you? That’s all you got?” Eddie challenges, his expression is more open now, happier, which is making Buck feel brave.

Buck reaches out to hold both of Eddie’s hands in his.

“Edmundo Diaz, you and Christopher are the two greatest things to ever happen to me. Every day you make me better, and being in your life is an honor I cherish. I am so grateful to be your friend, your partner, and I would be the luckiest man on earth if you agreed to marry me.” He punctuates his final point by kissing each of Eddie’s hands, which makes the older man chuckle.

Eddie sighs, long and hard as if he’s put off by Buck’s impromptu proposal, “Yeah okay, I’ll marry you.”

Before Buck has a chance to yell from the rooftops, Eddie adds,

“But-” Buck freezes, “-I want a redo proposal, one that includes Chris.” There’s finality in his tone, showing above all Eddie’s dedication to his son.

Buck loves that about him. Loves every part of Eddie. He loves all the broken, jagged parts of Eddie in the same way he loves the beautiful shiny parts. Because his love for Eddie has no bounds, and never will. Their souls are tethered together.

“Of course Eds, this is something that includes him, he’s my family, and if he said no then I wouldn’t push it I promise” The blonde promises him, Eddie’s eyes shine with fondness as he squeezes Buck’s hands.

“I know you wouldn’t. And he won’t say no, he loves you. I love you.”

Buck finally, finally, closes the gap between them, their lips coming together for a chaste kiss. A chaste kiss quickly turns to something deeper when Eddie drops his hands in favor of cupping Buck’s jaw.

The dishwasher is still running behind them, the setting sun spilling in through the curtains, and occasionally a car passes by, although Buck registers none of this anymore because Eddie’s lips are on his.

Buck can taste the beer he had earlier on his tongue, and feel the drag of Eddie’s stubble against his chin. He wants to drown in it.

Which isn’t an option because Eddie pulls back.

Buck whines attempting to chase him, “Come on can’t I kiss my fiancé?” He pleads, but Eddie just laughs before shoving him away.

“No, because I have to finish these dishes before we get our son from robotics. And you should go switch over the laundry.” He’s leaning away as he says this, and Buck already misses his warmth.

“So bossy.” Buck grumbles.

“This is just the beginning of bossy, my husband-to-be.” Eddie winks, sauntering back over to the sink.

Buck grins, completely elated, “Can’t wait.”

(hope you enjoyed! :] see you soon)

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Sinners & Saints-Chapter 14

               A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Fourteen

The tender ride to the island had Claire’s last nerve in shreds. She was very afraid of having her chip taken out today, even though Jamie already tested the safety of the procedure the day before. The four of them split up at the front of the clinic, Darius and Maia would hang out at the back door of the facility just in case the good doctor made a run for it.

Jamie held Claire’s hand and scowled at the nurse during check-in. The doctor saw them and abruptly turned around but was soon escorted back by Darius. The nurse was decidedly unfriendly today which added another layer of stress to the procedure. Jamie just wanted it over with and pulled Claire to the treatment room when they were called.

The doctor thankfully started with a shot of Valium that put Claire out completely. It was a little unnerving. Claire was not a rambunctious mover when she wasn’t sedated, but this complete stop even unnerved the doctor, so he put a monitor on her heart. Jamie held a glass jar out for the doctor to drop the bloody implant into before closing the incision. He knew women had a thing about their upper arms looking nice, so he watched every stitch closely.

Jamie handed the doctor ten one-hundred-dollar bills and they left as soon as Jamie could wake her up. Claire smiled continuously and said hello to everyone they passed. She stopped to pet a lady’s purse and asked what its name was. Jamie was struggling to keep her walking in a straight line and if he stopped she would go off in another direction, so it took multiple attempts to call Darius.

Once Claire was in the tender, he searched for Darius and Maia, hoping they would hurry. The inebriated Sassenach needed to be locked in her room until the Valium wore off. Everything almost went south getting her onto the aft deck when she fell backward. Jamie was able to catch her before she slipped into the ocean. He was so rattled, he put Claire to bed and watched her from a nearby chair. Maia came in with a tray of food and agreed to sit with her so Jamie could get his sketch pad. He was intrigued by the locals, the tone of their skin, their gestures, and facial expressions. While Claire slept, Jamie roughed in the scene he wanted to paint and the remainder of the day was uneventful.

Jamie had given up hope that Claire would wake up that day. He wanted to talk about Danny and the extraordinary things she said and knew about his paintings, even those not done yet. It would have to wait until tomorrow he decided and slid his sketchbook into his bed table.

Claire’s eyeballs peeked out from under their lids at first light. She could hear the rhythmic breathing of her husband next to her, so she knew it was very early and after almost twenty-four hours of sleeping, she needed to get up. Adso had other ideas and did nothing but purr when she stroked him.

Sipping delicious coffee on the foredeck, the sun energized her to feel more alive by the minute. There was movement on Danny’s yacht and she watched the peculiar crewman standing on the foredeck holding a flat of flowers like a statue. How odd, she thought, until she saw Danny’s head pop up and take a handful of young Petunias before dropping out of sight again. She forced herself to stop looking and jumped at the vibrating cell phone next to her. Javier was the only person who called so she picked it up and said his name.

“Javier!”

“No darling, it’s Danny, do you remember giving me this number? If not, I’m sorry to intrude. How are you on this beautiful morning?”

“I feel amazing today, and you?”

“Very well indeed, but I could use a hand with these young plants if you have a moment.” She chuckled, “I apologize for being unacceptably straight forward, dear, please forgive me.”

“No, no, I would love to help, plant flowers? On your boat? I love gardening but never considered doing on a boat. Yes! I would love to help you, Danny. I see your tender is out, can someone come and get me in ten minutes?”

Claire left a note for Jamie and got into the tender waiting for her at the aft deck. She was excited to see Danny again and planting small flowers, however weird that was on a boat, was the perfect activity for her energized morning.

Danny smiled brightly when Claire walked onto her deck, removing her gloves to shake her hand warmly. The tender engines screamed away until it was clear of the yacht, then the crewman pulled the steering wheel harshly for a nautical-donut that launched the young man sideways, splashing down about twenty-feet from the tender.

“Oh my God!”

Danny held her arm before she could jump overboard and rescue the man. “Don’t worry about the cub my dear, he has a racer’s heart and can’t help himself. I had the tender engine modified so when someone let’s go of the throttle it stops moving. He’s fine,” she giggled. “Let me show you our chore for this morning.”

Claire followed Danny along the side deck to the other end of the enormous yacht and stepped down to the foredeck. She watched her step descending the six steps and noticed greenery around her feet and heard the most amazing music. Once on the deck, she looked around at the beautiful garden Danny had created. There were large trees, many bushes, vines, trellis clinging roses, a proper rose garden, and planters overflowing with pansies in every color that lent their sweet smell to the air.

“This is amazing, Danny! It is the last thing I would expect on a boat. It is beautiful but what happens during a storm?”

“If we can’t outrun it the planters are wheeled into a garage beyond that door. You just lift a bit on the end of the planter and the wheels pop out.”

“Oh! That is so clever! Well, I’m ready, where do I start planting?”

Danny showed her an empty planter and they discussed what levels and colors should be included then Claire got to work. When Danny came to check on her a bit later, the planter was done. She and Danny took turns watering the expansive deck full of flowers and talked as they worked.

“Have you always loved to sale or yacht?”

“No, I bought this yacht to get away from my son who wants to put me in a home. Turns out I really like the freedom, the people, and my crew.” She regarded Claire for several minutes and finally spoke to her about the joys of being nosy.

“My dear, I was raised strictly, trained in social graces at the best boarding schools, I was a debutante, and my family is at the top of the social food chain so to speak. I caught a fever in my early thirties that killed my husband and put me into a coma for a month. I had a lot of time to think before I woke up and I was a changed woman from then on. The first change was I spoke my truth, whatever that was. Let me demonstrate.”

Claire was delighted with her perky and fun attitude and listened closely.

“You, my dear, might spend the entire time asking socially acceptable questions and never get an answer to the question that burns in your mind. Give it a try, what do you want to ask me?

Claire watched Danny encourage her to speak up and she finally blurted out “how can you afford this boat and live-in crew? Oh God, it’s none of my business Danny, please forgive me!”

Danny stood straight and held her head high, “nonsense! When I tell you the answer, we will be friends and I want to be your friend so come inside, out of the sun for some refreshment while I explain.”

Claire pulled off her deck shoes and looked up as a glass wall opened to the formal saloon. She was struck dumb as her eyes took in the exquisite furniture and art in the massive room. There was a double grand staircase that went up to the second floor of living space and the boat seemed to go on for a mile. She was barely aware of Danny talking to her until she felt her hand slip through her elbow, leading her through the saloon.

“I can see that you like my floating home, and now there are two burning questions, are there not?”

“What…what does the rest look like?”

Danny chuckled and led Claire on a tour of luxury and abundance she didn’t know existed. The artwork was exceptional and they chatted about several of the artists. The formal dining room could serve twenty-four people comfortably with another dining room for everyday use. The floor to ceiling windows provided a stunning view with glass doors spaced to provide fresh air and an exit to the side deck. Beyond the double staircase were Danny’s expansive office, sitting room, private atrium, and bathrooms as big as Claire’s bedroom. All the flooring was Italian marble that also lined the walls of the shower, which you could fit a basketball team in.

“I don’t stay in these rooms, too big. I live in one of the staterooms and it’s just right for me.”

“What? Why? My God Danny, this is so beautiful it’s making me emotional.”

Danny showed Claire the private deck with a hot tub, full bar, outdoor shower, and lounges big enough for two. They continued the tour to the upper decks, four of them, a large movie theater, an upper saloon that was a bit more casual with flatscreen televisions that appeared when a button was pushed, a bar that looked fully stocked, and a foredeck with formal dining. Another level was dedicated to a full-sized gym with all the equipment, free weights, benches, a huge screen for watching aerobic videos, two saunas, a huge hot jacuzzi, and a running track that circled the enormous room.

They stepped into an elevator made of glass and went down to the lower deck with a large swimming pool and waterfall. The glass wall in front of the pool opened completely to the aft deck that was set up like a beach party with two bars, outside showers, lounges, and a closet full of towels. Danny pulled Claire’s hand and they were somehow back on the main deck walking through the expansive galley that included four of every major appliance needed for entertaining, four commercial refrigerators, freezers, and dishwashers, a two-hundred bottle wine cellar, and huge tables for food preparation.

Claire was in luxury overload and felt sad she would forget half of what she had seen.

“I wonder if you would accompany me for lunch and the second question you asked?”

Claire was delighted to spend more time with a woman she was really starting to like. Danny led her out to yet another private deck off the galley that was smaller and more intimate with a small table for two already made up for lunch. She picked up the phone and spoke to someone about a sore ankle, asking questions that made Claire feel she was really concerned about the person on the other end. Then she ordered avocado toast and tuna stuffed tomatoes with several side dishes and iced tea. Claire was overwhelmed by the experience and the calming water around the deck, about thirty feet down she guessed. When the food came, a muscular young man brought the plates stacked carefully up and down his forearms which were transferred to the table with no apparent effort. He limped away.

“You are very quiet dear Claire. Oh, you’re starving, poor thing, I don’t imagine you had much to eat yesterday.”

Claire’s head jerked up to look at Danny, smiling at her cheeks stuffed with food. How would she know about no eating as she slept yesterday away?

“Well, you eat while I tell you who I am and maybe what I hope to be to you sweet girl.”

“My birth name is Sepora Cornelius Meyer. My grandfather immigrated to America from Poland and worked in a small grocery until he learned to speak English. He purchased the store eventually, but I digress. Everything my grandfather touched turned to gold and he reinvested every dime he made in oil, real estate, and steel. The short version is he became rich and celebrated before he died, leaving a son to take his place, my father.”

The young muscular man came out with plates of cheese and fresh vegetables that were bite-sized. While Claire crunched on carrots she looked to Danny with anticipation.

“Things were different then. The household adopted the opinions of the father and never questioned. They had more money than could ever be spent but an idle life was not allowed, so my father worked, starting at the bottom, learning the business of steel, oil, and real estate. He was quite a man, my hero, never to be replaced.”

Claire waited and crunched celery while Danny took several tiny bites of her avocado toast.

“Before my brother died, poor Alfred, my life was positively glorious! Boarding school in France and Sweden, summers in various countries with my friends, and beautiful parties during the social season where we could be in the same room with boys our age. It was such fun. When we buried Alfred, all that changed. No more school, no more summers away, and parties became a new kind of classroom where I would learn from watching the men. I didn’t like it one bit so I stuck my nose in the air through the first season and won myself a stiff neck and a cross father, more determined to ruin my life.”

“What took the place of school?”

“I spent dreadfully long hours reading communications from my father to other companies, banks, businessmen, and political people. When the steelworkers refused to let me take an active role on the production floor my father set up a small desk and chair and that is where I read stacks of documents. When I could finally wash at the end of the day, I pretended I couldn’t hear my mother saying I was now deaf from the ungodly noise of the production floor. She smiled and told me to set the table when my hearing came back or none of us would eat. I recovered quickly.”

“Did it ever get more tolerable for you?”

“Father planted fake letters, several of them during my second year leaning the business. Brazen mistakes in accounting, materials, even which political party he supported. I missed them all because I was daydreaming of lovely parties or who I would marry. Father became distant and terribly unhappy and one night I heard him talking to mother about his shame over not having a qualified heir to lead the business. He was so sad and it broke my heart hearing his defeated voice. It took about a minute to realize I was an utter failure to the most important man in my life.”

“Oh, Danny, how could you know how important it was for you to learn?”

“He and mother both told me and I didn’t listen, until that night. After that, he would hand me a stack of documents and I ran back to his office for more, asking questions about certain decisions and correcting the math where I found mistakes. It took several days to convince him, but soon I was waiting for him to come down the stairs for our walk to the office and I pumped him with questions along the way. It seemed like he grew three inches but it was the weight of defeat getting off of his back, allowing him to stand straight and proud, beaming his smile to the world. I was never so happy, or relieved, to know I wasn’t a failure in his eyes. And that’s all there is.”

“What? How old were you when you took over? Did your family keep all three businesses? How did you survive the depression? What was it like to be the leader of that kind of fortune? What …”

Danny smiled at Claire and her eyes twinkled. “I would love to tell you more after we discuss my coma.”

“What?”

“I had become my father when I fell ill. My loving husband had succumbed to the illness and I didn’t know it for over a month as I was deep inside myself. I could see how I distanced myself from real life to free my mind for running the business and such. When I woke up I had a new burden to suffer because I could see things in people. Their happiness, sorrow, who they loved, and who they were deceiving. It was like living in a nightmare that never ended. Young people from the best families would shake my hand and I would see their hands around someone’s throat, choking the life out of them. It felt like I had gone insane, especially when my mother had me committed and took over the raising of my son.”

“Good God.”

“You are feeling my pain at the moment because you are an empath, dear Claire, and those that confide in you feel they are truly understood for the first time. It is a rare quality.”

“I think everyone feels the way I do.”

“Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Claire heard a loud whistle and looked across the water finding Jamie and Darius standing in the tender holding spears up with two large fish impaled. She smiled and clapped a bit in the air, suddenly wanting to wrap herself around her husband.

“Thank you for spending time with me today, Claire. I hope to see you again, but it is time for me to rest. The cub has a boat race later and I will need my strength to endure it.”

Danny walked Claire to the aft deck and was truly surprised when Claire hugged her, thanking her for everything. Jamie helped her into the tender and she waved to her new friend who watched them smiling, until she disappeared into her own boat.

Jamie, Darius, and Maia, were asking about Claire’s morning making her uncomfortable with keeping Danny’s confidence about all she told her. She finally went to her room and drew a bath with bubbles to idle away part of the day.

“Everything alright, love?”

“No.” She looked at Jamie’s handsome face, “I miss you, although I don’t know how that could be.”

“I do, because I miss you too Sassenach. I came to ask you to go to the island with me today. I want to take some pictures of the five lads that will be in the painting. After that, we can play, have dinner, or drinks. But it is a date so look your best, like you do right now, mo chridhe.”

“What, here in the bath?”

“No, that wouldn’t be right unless we stayed right here.”

Jamie smiled and tried to grab her getting a wet sponge in the face for his efforts. Claire pulled the plug and stepped into the shower so Jamie could wash her hair.

When he came back an hour later, Claire was sitting on the deck in a pretty yellow dress that reminded him of something. She had straightened her hair and wore makeup to add the exotic dimension to her eyes. He slid his arms around her waist and asked if she was ready to go.

Once on the island, it wasn’t hard to find the five boys that hung out together. Jamie explained he was painting a picture and they were in it which caused quite a ripple in the calm of the afternoon.

Jamie took several pictures of each of them, close up of the face, one showing some mannerism, the other a body shot. He showed them and they laughed. Once Jamie sat down to sketch, Claire called them to her and when they realized how friendly, and pretty she was, they showed off for her trying to outdo the others. The sun was shining off her hair and shoulders and her smile was like a beacon on her tanned face. Jamie laughed at the playfulness of the boys he guessed to be fourteen to eighteen. Gentle, beautiful boys who had taken over his creative mind. Jamie packed up his paper and tools and they bid the boys goodbye to wander around town.

Jamie could see Claire’s shoulders getting red in the sun and pulled her into a dress shop that had a large section of hats, which he brought to her, five at a time. He chose a wide-brimmed hat and the shop owner was happy to wrap a yellow ribbon around it, tied in the back with the extra length hanging off the brim. They laughed and stole kisses and wandered aimlessly until it was time to find a restaurant and gorge themselves on local cuisine and whisky. Jamie slipped an arm around Claire when they left. If they had been more aware of the people around them, they might have noticed the stares, but they were in their own world.

Claire pulled her shoes off when they reached the sand. Jamie waited to be alone with her on the beach because the full moon provided all the light he would need.

“Sassenach, I have something for you.” He pulled her hand and she turned around with her tipsy smile and sparkling eyes. “God, your beautiful.”

“Do I get some sort of prize for something awesome I did?”

“Something like that.” He pulled a tiny box from his pocket and handed it to her.

She looked excited until she pulled the box open and her eyes fell on the diamond inside. She could not pull her eyes away from it.

“We can take it back and get something you like better. Just put it on, one time, and then decide.”

She handed him the box and never took her eyes off the ring. Offering her outstretched hand she watched him push it onto her finger, and then he pulled her to his mouth for a sweet kiss.

“Thank you, Jamie,” she whispered.

“Your welcome, love.”

Once in the tender, they moved slowly to the yacht, careful to keep the engine quiet as they passed boats and yachts with people sleeping inside. Claire moved to the floor of the tender and leaned against the inflated side and dropped her head back. She was looking up at the moon, directly above her, feeling deliciously happy, slightly buzzed, and ran her hand down her burning nipple. Jamie watched her tipsy arousal and wanted her naked under the moonlight.

When the motor shut off, she looked at him like he was all she needed for the rest of her life. Jamie crept toward her and pulled off his shirt and shorts. He wanted her to remember this night. The dress came off, as did the tiny thong she wore and he pulled her leg up and over the inflated side of the tender. He pushed into her body placing greedy kisses on her face and neck. He wanted it to last but seeing his naked wife and the way her breasts bounced with every thrust was his undoing. He couldn’t help himself, he let it go when her orgasm started and pumped his warm love into her body while she clung to him.

They laid in each other's arms and talked quietly, about love and what was ahead.

“Jamie, I want to buy a new tender. This is like an inflatable raft, so I suppose the previous owner had little use for it. It doesn’t feel safe, but it was a marvelous bouncy thing to make love on.”

“Of course, Sassenach.”

Jamie raised up on an elbow and looked around the tender in all directions. He pulled Claire up with a worried look and helped her dress before getting them back to the yacht. He held Claire with one arm and drove the tender with the other.

“Did you just turn completely around?”

“That I did Sassenach. Lay against me and rest, we’re almost home.”

When Jamie turned again she started giggling. “Sweetheart, are we lost?”

The motor started to sputter and lurch as the last of the gas was consumed. Claire could not stop giggling which calmed Jamie more than she would ever know. Claire dropped to the soft bottom of the tender and held her arms out to him.

“Come here, my darling man, and rest under the stars with me.”

Once she had twisted her arms and legs with his and laid against his chest, Jamie smiled at the moon and decided to relax. When they were dropping into sleep a huge noise woke them up and they clung to each other.

“What the fuck was that, Jamie?”

“It’s gone love, whatever it was. Rest now.”

Claire wasn’t relaxed and buzzed anymore, she was panting with fright and suddenly felt something very large push against her from under the water. Before she could say anything the horrendously loud noise was back and slimy cold water rained down on them.

“Jesus Christ, Jamie, what is that?”

Jamie suspected it was a whale that surfaced near them but had not formed a word before he felt something bump the tender. Claire started screaming as the bump came again, harder this time. Jamie pulled out his cell phone and prayed Darius would answer.

“Darius, thank God. We have a bit of a problem here.”

Something under the surface pushed on the tender again and kept pushing it until they were spinning around clinging to each other. Claire was screaming for all she was worth, and Darius was trying to sound calm for both of them.

“Do you see any lights, anywhere?”

“No, Claire sweetheart please don’t scream.”

“Do you have a flashlight? If you point it at whatever is beneath…”

“No.”

They were spinning in the tender pushed by something massive under the surface. Darius was running down the stairs as fast as his legs could go, worried they had drifted into the shipping lanes where they would never be seen before a gigantic cargo ship plowed over them, dragging them underneath it.

“Darius searched the water and saw nothing. “Jamie look up and tell me if you can see…”

“The sky is full of clouds now Darius, I can see nothing, it’s pitch black out here and something under the water is pushing us in circles. We need help!”

Darius noticed the lights coming on all over Danny’s boat and two bright searchlights swept the water for as far as he could see. He heard a tender approach and jumped in pointing a direction for the crewman to go. He had his phone on speaker and the young man was getting rattled by Claire screaming. He moved away from the throttle and told Darius to drive.

Claire was screaming the boat was going to tip over and Darius did his best to calm them down.

“Jamie! Hold onto Claire really tight and ask her to stop screaming, I’m in Danny’s tender and I’m coming to get you!”

When it was quiet Darius took a deep breath and played the only card that might save them.

“Be calm and don’t blow this, my friend. There is a flare gun in the water-tight compartment under the steering whflareIt is the only chance I have of finding you so ask Claire to sit perfectly still, take aim at the sky directly above you, and fire.”

A minute later the crewman pointed to a brilliant purple streak climbing into the sky, in the other direction.

“Did you see the flair from the water level?” The boy shook his head no, which meant they were very far away and Darius had only seconds before the flair extinguished.

“Sit down!”

Darius pulled back on the throttle and the dual engine tender launched in the direction of the flair. He noticed both searchlights were now directed at the ocean under the flair and hoped they could see the lights and know help was on the way.

Talking at that speed was impossible because the wind snatched your words away. Darius dropped the speed enough to tell the crewman to keep sight of the flair and then watch the smoke if it went out, then tap his leg when they were close. The tender jerked alive again, like a bullet shooting across the water. Darius was feeling frantic when the boy tapped his leg and he pulled up on the throttle. It was black as pitch above and below them and he knew his friends must be terrified. The boy put something in his hand, it was a flare gun!

“Holy shit, you just saved the day my man!”

“Jamie, are you there?”

“Well, I was about to hang up but decided to stay on a little longer,” said sarcastically.

“We have flairs, shooting one now, watch it for my direction.”

The bright red flair went shooting to the heavens. “Starboard, maybe half a mile.”

The crewman found an emergency box stored inside the bench seat at the back of the tender. There was a light that plugged into the battery port and it almost blinded them both. He held it high above his head and Darius shot another flair.

“Talk to me brother!”

“Portside, same distance.”

“What?!”

“We aren’t spinning anymore, it’s pushing us, a bit rough I might add.”

Darius could not wait. They had to take a risk if they were going to find them before the boat sank from something underneath.

“Your name.”

“Ethan, sir.”

“I’m Darius. It’s only right I know your name before risking your life. How do you feel about that..Ethan?”

“It’s what I came for, sir.”

“Perfect.”

Darius aimed the light a foot above the water and about 500 yards ahead. Once Ethan took the light, Darius pulled back on the throttle and kept his eyes glued to the direct path ahead.

Claire was on the edge of sanity after being bumped, spun, and pushed, by something large underneath the little tender. She couldn’t see anything in the dark black night except maybe a two-foot space that was lit by Jamie’s phone. She watched that space while Jamie talked to Darius and when an unexpected shape came up out of the water, caught by the dim light, Claire’s scream shattered the night and she fainted.

Jamie looked up at a large head shaped like a torpedo with an eye that regarded him before slipping back under the water. He held Claire on his lap and patted her cheek, begging her to wake up. Jamie was aware of another flare shot into the sky and realized he heard the gun go off this time.

“Darius! You’re close! Starboard and close!”

“Can you see my light, Jamie?”

Suddenly, there it was, like a hand reaching through the dark night to save them. He watched it until the white teeth of Darius’s smile materialized. Claire was rubbing her eyes and crying, waving at Darius in her filthy yellow dress.

Jamie pulled her to him, “thank Christ.” He reached for the rope and tied it tightly to the tow ring at the front of the tender. Darius heard the song of the Humpback whales in the distance and smiled at Claire.

“There’s your tormentor. Probably a female with a calf who had a bit of fun playing with the tender.”

Her ghostly white face peeked out from Jamie’s chest and he could see her shaking and teeth chattering. Jamie asked if she wanted to ride back on Danny’s boat. She moved to the side of her boat and looked down at the water before launching back into Jamie’s arms.

Darius slowly turned Danny’s tender around and moved the boat forward very slowly until the rope was taught and they were pulling the other boat. He turned toward them and asked them to lay on the floor of the tender and hold onto something. They were right in the middle of a shipping lane and Darius wanted to get them out of there pronto. He told Ethan to watch for bodies flying out and picked up speed gradually keeping the tow rope taught. Soon they were flying across the water until he gradually slowed down when the yachts were in view. Darius circled the boats twice, letting his wake provide resistance to slow the towed tender. Danny was waiting on Claire’s boat with Maia and helped bring Claire on board with teeth chattering and pasty white skin. The women helped her into bed and covered her with a quilt.

Danny sat next to her and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “I can’t imagine how terrifying that was for you. Luckily, your man is strong as an ox and would have beaten the sea thing off to save you.” Danny’s voice was soft and caring and Claire was so grateful for her help. Jamie is coming to warm you up and I hope you rest tonight dear. Goodnight.

Jamie and Darius thanked Danny repeatedly, not finding the right words to convey she had saved them tonight. Danny looked at Darius with a sleepy smile.

“You are rather good at what you do, don’t ever doubt that Darius. I saw your brave heart tonight and felt your relief when you found them. Quite extraordinary. Goodnight.

“Thank you for everything tonight ma’am.”

Darius helped Danny into her tender and watched until she was safely on board, the tender was resting in the garage, and the lights flicked off one section at a time. He knew the chance of finding them in time was zero without a fast boat and he felt the gratitude down to his toes.

Small arms circled his waist and he looked down at the incomparable Maia with her head tilted and her chin raised in a healthy come fuck me pose that threatened his very sanity. She would pull him back to earth and make him right again. He gave himself over to her.

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Aces in Spaces Chapter 16

OH MY GOD HAVE YALL SEEN THE BAD BATCH TRAILER????????

Roman and Erica have been dating about 2 years now and are having dinner at Roman’s.

Tags: @sunshinepascal @rentskenobi @maybege @obaby-wan @princessxkenobi @agent-450

You can listen to the song Roman plays here (He doesn’t sing it because I don’t believe Ewan has ever sung this song but its still extremely soft).

Masterlist

They’re washing dishes together at his house after having had dinner again (despite the fact he’d insisted the dishwasher worked fine). She’d picked up the sponge and he couldn’t have that so it became a team effort, and Erica’s been quieter all night but seems to have finally gathered herself, taking a deep breath before saying,

“So, the lease on my apartment will be up soon.”

Roman pauses his scrubbing mid-stroke, sponge still in hand and purses his lips. He’d rolled the sleeves of his button down before starting and he shoves them up a little higher with the back of his wrists while he thinks. A beat passes before he responds.

“Are you um, are you going to look at other places?” His eyes never leave the plate and he begins scrubbing again, if all she wants is a normal conversation, he can do that (never mind that he’s jumping up and down on the inside at the possibility of what she could actually be asking about).

“Well,” she starts softly, resuming her own chore of drying the silverware before walking around behind him to place it in the drawer. “I thought I’d see if there was anywhere you recommended.” She responds with a shrug before continuing. “You being a boss an all, figured you’d know.”

He licks his lips before gnawing on the bottom one. She’s doing to him what he usually does to her, teeing it up for him to say what he wants, make the offer, or say he doesn’t like something. He begins to understand why she gets frustrated by it at times.

“Well um, I heard, from, somewhere” He begins, knowing he’s bumbling, “There might be an open room here. Pure speculation though.”

The plate he’s holding was clean at least six passes of the sponge back but it’s something to focus on and he isn’t going to give it up. Until she’s slowly pulling it from his grasp, that is.

She rinses it, hands firm but constantly moving, eyes sliding his direction at least four times before the suds disappear.

Erica reaches for the towel again before speaking, she attempts to start out jokingly, but her tone stays mostly serious despite her best effort. “Any specific tenet you’re hoping for?”

Roman throws caution to the wind, taking the plate and towel from her hands and setting it on the counter before grabbing both her hands and leaning in to look her deeply in the eyes.

“If you’re thinking about moving in with me please do, I’ve never felt about anyone the way I do about you. All that time ago when you said romantic attraction was wanting to slow dance with someone in the kitchen in the morning? Rarely does a morning go by I don’t think of it, wish you were here so I could hold you in bed instead of holding the car door for Butch to take you home.” He pauses, wanting to clarify something else, squeezing her hands a little tighter.

“I know men think of moving in together as a step away from marriage, I read about it, but I’ve never been more sure I want to marry you. I’ve known since I first laid eyes on you.”

She’s barely moved all through his speech, mouth falling open somewhere in the middle and he thinks she’s closed it a few times but it’s open again and he has another thought in the meantime.

“And yes maybe Butch getting ready to get married has made me think of it more but you don’t have to answer me now, and we don’t have to think of it as a step toward that if you don’t want to. I still want you to always feel safe with me and—”

She cuts him off with a kiss to his cheek, soft, slow, lingering, and he nearly melts.

Erica pulls away and smiles kindly, “I, I wanted to kiss you, but I want to have this conversation too, can we, can we sit in the living room?”

He nods, breathing deeply, and never letting go of her hands, leads her to the living room.

They both sit down facing each other and for a moment Roman is thrown back in time to when she’d sat on this same couch and come out to him. How worried and afraid she’d been and how much more comfortable she is around him now. He’s so in love with her.

She speaks first. “I’d like to address the comment about loving me more than anyone else first because, that’s very easily explained.”

He frowns but gestures for her to continue when she seems to be wanting permission.

“I’m undoubtedly much taller than anyone you’ve ever loved before, so there’s more room.”

She says it as if she’d just informed him that the sky was blue, and would always be so, as if questioning it was a silly thing to do.

“And you already know why I will always love you more.” She carries on in the same sincere yet jovial tone. “Because I’m bigger, I have more capacity.”

Now she sounds like she’s explaining something to a five-year-old (still very kind, but still leaving no room for contradiction) and he forces himself to look away before giving in and snorting with laughter.

“That’s ridiculous!”

“No it isn’t! It’s perfectly scientifically sound!”

He barks out a laugh before looking back to her, prepping a snappy comeback, only to see her throw her head back to laugh and completely forget it in favor of smiling like an idiot in admiration of her.

She laughs a little longer before realizing she’s laughing alone and she sighs softly, smiling down at their joined hands in her lap before she speaks again.

“I have thought about moving in with you, but the lease isn’t up for a few months so we can both have time to think about it if we want.”

“I don’t have much to consider, I’ve wanted you away from that part of town for a while now, getting to have you all to myself is a bonus.”

She fixes him with a look, “That is a perfectly decent part of town and you know it, I ought to renew the lease just to spite you!” She spits her tongue at him to top off her good-natured teasing and he blows a raspberry at her before they again start conversing like adults.

“You could always sleep over a few times.” He drops his eyes to their hands and starts drawing lines on hers to distract himself, “See how you like it. See that I really am as insufferable as Butch says.”

She smacks his arm before pausing and running her hand along it soothingly, eyes taking on a far-away look as they follow the movement. “You’re not insufferable.”

It’s said quietly, but Roman hears it anyway, and covers the hand that’s resting on his bicep as he considers it. “Next month maybe?”

“I was thinking next Friday.”

He looks up to her face startled, before looking down again and blinking quickly. “After the support group?”

“I thought we could go together like always, and I’ll just come back here” She says with a shrug, “I don’t work Friday nights anymore.”

Roman smiles at the floor, he wonders if she told the elderly man she works for at the bookstore that she needed them off or if he’d decided that himself.

“That sounds fine” he finally manages, “Snacks? Movie?”

She nods, and he finally looks back at her, reaching out to cradle her cheek in his palm gently and leaning forward slightly to let her close the space between them. She pushes her forehead to his and he smiles cheekily. She’s left him an opening.

“I love you more.”

“You and your smart mouth.” She says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes before moving in to press her lips to his.

His retort is cut off with less than an ‘oof’ to prove it ever existed.

He pulls away and she follows him

“ah, ah, ah” she’s reaching forward (either to bring him in or put her hand over his mouth he isn’t sure, and doesn’t wait to find out) and he grabs her hand before speaking again.

“No, no, no, I just remembered—” they start to scuffle, pushing and pulling on each other playfully, “stop it!”

She’s laughing again and he can’t remember a more beautiful sound, further cementing his need to tell her what he just remembered, attempting to detangle himself from her to head toward the kitchen in pursuit of his phone. He manages it, but she whines at him rather pitifully and pouts over the top of the couch (he decides not looking at her will make it easier) and re-enters with the phone in hand triumphantly a moment later. Except, she’s, gone?

His face falls, had she been serious?

“Love?”

“No.” it sounds equally pitiful to the earlier whine except that its muffled from her face down position on the couch. He manages to disguise his laugh as a clearing of his throat and focuses his attention on his phone to avoid the glare he knows is being thrown his way.

Music starts to flow through the room, a soft slow tune and she frowns harder before turning her back on him and crossing her arms.

“No. You don’t get to come in here an be all sing-y and cute to me when I’m mad at you. It’s against the rules.”

He doesn’t succeed at hiding his laugh that time.

“I will not be able to live like this Roman.” She’s still pouting but it’s obvious from her tone that she’s also hiding laughter (and not very well at all) and he moves around the couch in an attempt to see the nose scrunch he knows is happening.

“This is no way to treat the person you see as your---” She snorts now, folding over herself and giving in as he rounds the couch.

She’s dabbing at her eyes as he reaches her, and he’s taking a knee and offering his hand as he restarts the song and leaves the phone on the table.

“May I have this dance My Love?”

She shakes her head at him (though her smile gives her approval away even if the placing of her hand in his didn’t) but acquiesces and he pulls her into his arms, hers going across his shoulders to bury her face in his neck as the music carries them both through the dance.

“I’d sing along but, I only just heard it today.” He whispers it against her ear as the first words reach them, “I mean all of them though.”

She nods against him, gripping tighter and listening.

[cdelphiki]

Bewildered was the only word Damian could use to describe how he felt.

Because just that morning, he hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge what the day even was. But now, after he’d spent the morning playing video games with Jon, chatting with his Father on the phone, and then having a rather lovely lunch, people were showing up at the apartment.

Lots of people.

People Damian knew.

That he’d call family, if pressed.

...Plus Drake’s insufferable friends.

Which was just weird. Kon and Stephanie were there among the attendees, right along side Jason, Cass, Duke, and Alfred. 

So yes, Damian was bewildered. Or befuddled. Or just plain old confused.

Alfred he understood, of course. Even if the two of them had barely spoken since Damian got whisked away to the Kent’s, Alfred had always been one to remember things. And despite their relationship’s rocky start, Alfred had always been someone stable and supportive in his life. So, actually, he thought himself stupid for not realizing Alfred would actually remember.

It was the rest of these people that startled him.

He’d felt off kilter ever since he’d answered the door, an hour before, at Jon’s insistence that “it’s for you, D.”

Which, that was just annoying. The x-ray vision. The flagrant use of powers within the privacy of the apartment. Damian wasn’t used to it. Clark and Jon just…. casually floated around, sometimes. Used heat vision to heat things up. Speed to get chores done in a blink. And x-ray vision to look at and find things.

Damian was becoming progressively more amused by the exasperated glances Lois shot him, though, whenever one of them forgot that the rest of them couldn’t just look through the fridge door to see how many eggs were left.

It usually made him grin, actually. And he’d caught himself giving her the same look, a few times.

When Damian opened the door, however, he kind of wished he did have x-ray vision. Just so he could have had those precious few seconds to prepare himself.

Because on the other side of the door was Tim Drake. Just standing there. Holding a neatly wrapped gift with a card on top, and surrounded by all those people.

“Uhh,” Damian had stammered, a horrid habit he’d acquired from Jon, no doubt.

“Hey,” Tim had said, offering a lopsided grin as he pushed the gift at Damian, “Happy Birthday, gremlin. Gonna let us in?”

So Damian did, and it’d been a literal party ever since.

Which was what was so bewildering.

He’d never had a birthday party before.

Not like this.

They had cake and ice cream, as a group, and suddenly it made sense why Lois and Clark had made such a large cake. Before Damian was allowed to blow out his candles, he had to listen to the group sing him a ridiculous song, and it made him nostalgic for that first birthday he'd had away from the League.

Back when it was just him and Grayson and Alfred.

Grayson had sung this same song, all off key and squeaky, entirely on purpose, just to annoy Damian. But it’d been that gentle teasing, The kind Damian had come to associate with Dick Grayson. The kind that made him ache for his older brother, wishing beyond hope that the man would just hit his head and suddenly remember everything. Even though he knew that was not how brain injuries worked.

But just as the song had done on his 11th birthday, it made Damian feel warm inside on his 14th. It filled, just a little, that empty spot in his chest. The one that so often burned, with a soft almost…. happiness he had a difficult time describing. But damn was he going to cry again today. Especially not in front of all these people.

It was one thing to cry in front of the Kents, but like hell would he make such a mistake in front of the Bats.

“Clark,” Damian asked, once everyone had finished their cake and Clark and Lois were gathering the plates to wash, so they could ‘open presents,’ as Jon had shouted so enthusiastically. Brat probably knew whatever Damian got would be stored in their room, and therefore was basically his, too.

At least, that had been his reasoning, a few weeks back, when Damian caught Jon using his nice markers to draw the most horrific drawing of his dad he’d ever laid eyes on. ‘A school project,’ he had said, ‘we have to draw our favorite superhero.’ Damian had just scoffed and criticized both his misuse of the expensive Copics, as well as his predictable selection of his own father as his favorite superhero.

‘Isn’t Batman your favorite,’ Jon had said, to which Damian scoffed, ‘Yes, but Bruce Wayne is not.’ It had effectively shut Jon up. And relaying the price of each marker had also caused Jon to hand them back over, not wanting to replace any by ruining them.

“Yeah, bud?” Clark asked, smiling as he rinsed off each plate at lightning speed, even while he spoke to Damian. They were alone in the kitchen, and even though it was an open concept apartment, the group was being loud enough that Damian was confident in their privacy.

“Did you invite everyone?” he asked, resisting the urge to look away or pull his hood up. He hated his tells, and he tried his best not to show them.

“No,” Clark said easily, now drying the dishes off and putting them away in the cabinets. Why have a dishwasher when you have a Clark, Lois always said. “Tim did, actually. This entire party was his idea.”

“Tim Drake,” Damian asked incredulously. Because that made no sense. Damian had just been curious whether he should thank the Kents or Alfred for the party. It had never even crossed his mind that Tim might be the culprit.

Because what the hell??

“Is there more than one Tim?” Clark asked, clearly amused, now just leaning back against the sink to chat.

Well, yes, there was more than one Tim, Damian thought, but it was true that he didn’t personally know another Tim. It’s just, never in a million years would he have expected Tim Drake to be the one to do something so…. thoughtful. To be the reason Damian felt at peace for once, in a world without Dick Grayson, that is. And without Father around.

“But… Tim hates me?” Damian whispered, failing to prevent his shock from showing on his face, “Why would he….”

When Damian trailed off, Clark just frowned. “I don’t know what all has gone down between you two,” Clark said slowly but softly. In that same tone he always used when comforting Damian. He kind of hated that he liked it so much. “But I can tell you this: He does not hate you. I’d venture to say he actually loves you.”

All Damian could do was shake his head. Because no. No no no no no. That wasn’t right.

That couldn’t be right.

Tim Drake did not love Damian. Tim was the one who always rolled his eyes whenever Damian started speaking at family meetings. He was the one who groaned whenever Damian crashed one of his cases. When he had to team up with the Teen Titans, and Damian was there. When Father assigned them to patrol together. When he just remembered Damian existed, in general.

And it’s not like Damian didn’t deserve it. He realized, now, how wrongly he had treated his ‘brother’ from the beginning. Pushing him off the dinosaur had been unforgivable, he now knew. The fact Tim even tolerated him enough to simply groan and roll his eyes at his presence was more than Damian deserved, after breaking so many of his bones for no good reason.

So, no, Tim Drake did not love Damian. It was impossible. If their roles were reversed, Damian would never forgive Tim. Ever. Would be glad to be rid of him after this whole thing went down between Father and the rest of them, pulling Damian out of Gotham and Tim away from Father.

“Damian,” Clark said, wrapping his arm around Damian’s shoulders and pulling him in a little, “whatever is going around in that head of yours is wrong, okay? Tim cares about you, pal. Otherwise he wouldn’t have reached out weeks ago to make these plans. All those people over there care about you. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t, okay?”

Resting the side of his head against Clark for a second, the only acceptance of the half hug he’d show, Damian looked at the group of people sitting in the living room, carrying on and laughing about whatever dumb thing Jason had just said.

Steph noticed he was staring, and she smiled brightly and called, “Come on, birthday boy. Come open your presents, and be prepared to be amazed by my awesome gift. Everything else on this table pales in comparison, I promise.”

“Shut up,” Jason said, tossing a chip at her for the comment, “I’ll have you know my gift is very thoughtful and incredible. The demon will cry I tell you. Cry.”

“Pfft,” Tim said loudly, “Mine’s the best. Kon already confirmed it.”

“That’s cheating,” Steph screeched, “You can’t use powers like that!”

It just devolved into chaos from there, as the lot of them continued arguing. Clark squeezed Damian’s shoulder and said, “Go on. I don’t think they’ll stop until you open them all and declare a winner.”

“Tt,” Damian huffed, even though he was smiling a little, “it is not proper to play favorites with gifts. It is the thought that counts, I have been told.”

“There’s the Alfred in you,” Clark said fondly, pushing Damian toward the living room.

The gifts were all incredible. Well, some more-so than others. Jason got him a gift card to one of the local art supply chains, as well as a copy of one of his favorite books. Alfred got him a set of teas, all of his favorites from when he was living in the manor. Steph got him a cartoon-style Robin figure, which was just insulting and kind of hilarious.

But when Damian opened Tim’s gift, he make sure to pay attention to his brother’s face, without making it obvious he was doing so. Tim’s expressions were carefully blank, but Damian could tell he was doing that to cover up for anxiety and excitement for whatever he had gotten Damian. And once the item was fully unwrapped, all Damian could do was gawk.

Because in Damian’s hands was a set of extremely rare natural pigments. He actually hadn’t even heard of half of the pigment sources, that was how obscure they were. But they were some of the most vibrant colors he’d ever seen. Bright purple, rich orange, dark blue, deep red, just to name a few of the colors he saw.

They were…. incredible.

He actually could not wait to mix some of them up and try them out.

“I got them in the gem world,” Tim explained, “a lot of those are made from materials not found on earth.”

When Damian realized what that confession meant, he almost did cry. Because at some point, months ago, before this entire fiasco had even begun, Tim Drake had seen a set of pigments while stranded in another dimension and thought ‘hey, Damian would like those,’ and then got them. Stored them away and waited for his birthday, and then planned an entire party when he realized the Bats were not doing one.

Just that realization threatened to set him over the edge again, but instead he just smiled.

He smiled and started to think that, yeah. Maybe Tim didn’t hate him.

Damian definitely didn’t hate Tim.

[heathenarmyimagines]

Title: A Different Time

Summary: (Y/N) goes to get the Vikings some clothes, but she gets a little more than she expected.

Pairing: Ivar x Reader (Is anyone surprised, really?)

Taglist: @ubbesgirl, @shewolf2000, @tis-itheapplepie, @atequila, @demoncrypt1066, @greennightspider, @badbitsh13, @fireismysaftey, @minarawr, @laketaj24, @hvitserksgirl, @blahblahcookiesdoma, @fabulous-peasent, @sforsammmmmi, @minmiin1d, @courtrae89, @letsloveimagines, @tomarisela, @titty-teetee, @beyond-the-ashes@elenawrit, @mblaqgi, @whenimaunicorn, @chuflisworld, @mystruggledlife, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @syreni-dea, @trashqueenbitch, @alykatv, @mbaku-babygirl, @perfectus-in-morte, @beyond-the-ashes, @neeadinghugs, @readsalot73, @triumphantreturnofpies, @anarchy-is-coming, @tephi101, @alicedopey, @ivarslittlebadgirl, @jtrstp, @nejijjeoroo, @charlylama, @ivartheblessed, @captstefanbrandt, @fabulouschrissi, @ivarsrideordie, @3x5gurl, @the-writer-appreciation-blog, @lolabee9, @captainfoxy22, @young-ugly-god, @im5ftbutmythroat66, @bribyyy, @irishhiggins, @cadetomlinson, @keclleon101, @slutforragnarssons, @ltkeke, @meeeeeeeeeps, @lille-kanin, @opalscarab, @ssraven7, @ivarandersen, @concretewaywardangel, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @sharon-is-tired, @cadetomlinson, @mystruggledlife, @chuflisworld, @justmarissa97, @lol-haha-joke, @weirdly-randomly-awesome, @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanim, @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @alexa040004, @buckythetinman , @burntmythroatskullingmytea,@jorunnravenslayer, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @buffy-the-vampire-blogger

Part One, Part Two

Lunch was filled with awkward silence, everyone fearing if they said the wrong thing the war they started centuries ago would commence.

Eventually the moment passed and things eased into normalcy.

As normal as it could be…all things considered.

You went around and took up all the plates and dishes.

‘Let me help.’ Lagertha offered, standing to help.

'Oh its no trouble, I’m just putting them in the dishwasher.’ you assured.

Lagertha gave you a confused and remembered that she had no clue what you were talking about.

'Right, um what I mean is its no trouble.’ you corrected.

'What is a…dishwasher?’ Ubbe asked.

'It’s a machine that washes dishes for you.’ you said as you placed the dishes in the sink.

Ivar rolled around the table and watched you.

'Machine?’ he asked.

'Yeah, its just like a…bunch of little metal parts that move together to get a job done.’ you explain as best you.

'And how do you use this dishwasher?’ Lagertha asked, walking over to watch as well.

'You just put the dishes in the rack put in the little pod close the latch and…hit wash.’ you demonstrated.

'Just like that?’ Hvitserk asked in amazement.

'Yeah, there are all kinds of machines that make chores easier. Washing and drying machines for laundry, vacuums making sweeping a thing of the past.’

'Amazing, we wouldn’t need nearly as many slaves if we had these…machines.’ Bjorn said.

'Excuse me?’ you glared.

'She doesn’t like the word slave…makes her very angry for some reason. She doesn’t want us using it at all.’ Ivar explained.

'If you wish us not to use it then we won’t, but may I ask why?’ Ubbe questioned.

OK time to give Vikings a black history lesson, because that’s what your life has come to.

'Because my ancestors were enslaved for over two hundred years. Even after slavery was outlawed my people are still treated as less.’ you answered.

They all took in the information.

'We apologize, where were your ancestors from?’ Hvitserk asked.

'Africa, and I prefer not speak of such an unpleasant thing. For now I need to get you all in actual clothes.’ you sighed.

'Are these not suitable?’ Ubbe asked.

Your eyes went from your mom’s Tupac shirt to the man’s pale hairy legs.

'Not at all.’ 

‘So we are to go out and get clothes?’ Lagertha asked.

‘Well, I could go and get some clothes and you all wait here.’ you deny.

Ivar squinted his eyes and tilted his head.

‘You do not want us out in public.’ Ivar accused.

You sighed, caught red handed.

‘Why not?’ Hvitserk asked.

‘Well beside you all being a step over naked, if a cop stops us none of you have any ID. Who knows what will happen then, not like they can deport you, you have no country for them to send you.’ you said.

‘We do not know half the words you just used and I think you know that.’ Ubbe said.

‘OK in simple terms, in our systems none of you exist. There is no official papers with your names on it, no birth certificate or license. Some might think you snuck into the country as terrorist or as spies for other countries.’ you explain.

‘Is that a common happening?’ Lagertha asked.

‘Not everyday, but it could and has happened, and a lot of people die when it does. The point is if you go out there dressed like that you will draw attention and we don’t need that.’

They all seemed to understand what you were saying and silently agreed.

‘At the same time I don’t trust you all left to your own devices in my house.’ you said looking at Ubbe who had stealthily moved back to the dishwasher.

‘You cannot neither take us with you or leave us behind.’ Bjorn said.

‘Now you’re getting it, I guess I can do both. Bring you with me but keep you out sight, you all give me a minute to get dressed.’ you instruct.

‘Are you not fully dressed as well?’ Ivar asked.

You look at the Batman onsie you had put on after your cookie monster one had got soaked in the pool.

‘Not exactly.’ you smiled.

As you went to go to your room you stopped in your tracks and turned around.

‘Do not break anything...please.’ you begged.

You picked out your outfit and a small bit of make up, and thanked God for the fact that your hair was dry enough to style.

Briefly you spare a thought to what the Norse Gods did; took a whole family through time and space, for only one horse. The God you prayed to your whole life was nowhere near as active.

You shake the feeling away, you had come to and respect all religions. Never judging your degrading anyone for their faith.

You finished your hair and hurried back to the living room and saw all the Vikings sitting on the couch looking a anything but you, only Lagertha met your eye.

She motions her head to the flower pot, that usually on your table, was now on the floor.

‘Ivar was messing with it then he dropped it.’ Hvitserk snitched.

‘I was trying to see what kind of flower it was and if I had ever seen it before, then Hvitserk startled me and I let it go.’ Ivar explained giving his brother a dirty look.

You sighed and got your broom, not in the mood to either bust out your vacuum or explaining what that was to your house guests.

After the mess was clean you motioned for them to follow you.

‘What of the mad woman you hid us from?’ Lagertha asked.

‘That crazy woman is only out of her house to be nosy or to garden, and the sun is beginning to set, no doubt  she is inside.’ you dismissed.

You lead them through your patio area to your driveway that was almost littered with cars.

‘What are these?’ Ivar asked, touching one as he wheeled past it.

‘More machines, these are called cars, the proper name is automobiles, but no one feels like saying that all the time. We use these to travel long distance, they come in all kinds of different makes and models.’ you answer.

‘Why do you have so many?’ Ubbe questioned.

‘Three belonged to my mom before her eyes got too bad to drive, the others are run down pieces of junk my family dump here until they can get them fixed.’ 

‘They can break? Do all machines break?’ Hvitserk asked.

‘Yes, sometimes the little metal pieces fall out of place or get too damaged to move with the others. Now one of you help Ivar in the car so I can put in his chair, before any other neighbors see you.’ you urged, unlocking and opening the passenger door.

‘We get inside?’ Ivar asked, staring at the van in distrust.

‘Yes, think of it as a big metal wagon...or a cart.’ you say, trying to ease their worries.

With a deep breath Ivar motioned for Hvitserk to lift him from the chair and put him in the seat.

With a relieved smile you open the door and direct the rest into the van, Hvitserk and Ubbe in the back row and Bjorn and Lagertha in the two middle row seats.

You personally put the seat belts on them, to avoid any trouble, then went to fold down the wheelchair and put it in the trunk.

You got in the driver seat and strapped yourself in and checked your mirrors, you looked and saw that everyone was watching you.

‘OK, I’m going to start the car and your gonna feel it rumble and when we start driving you will feel a few bumps and dips.’ you warn before you start the car.

Ivar tighten his grip on the armrest.

‘If you feel sick please say something so I can stop and let you all.’ you say as you pull out of the driveway.

You stuck to the neighborhood speed limit of twenty miles per hour, making sure to stick to the back roads.

‘This moves much faster than any carriage.’ Ubbe said as he, and the others, looked out the windows at the outside world.

You watched as they looked at the houses and signs and all the other things they had never seen and asked questions about them.

They asked a LOT of damn questions, but you stayed patient and answered as best you could.

Finally you pulled into the Walmart parking lot, it wasn’t too crowded, but you still park a good distance away from the building.

‘OK, stay in the car, do not make too much noise, don’t touch any buttons and if anyone comes close to the car look down at your hands.’ you instruct as you got out after you made sure the AC was going so they wouldn’t die while you were in the store.

In the store you bought a lot of white shirts and sweat pants for the guys, you got pretty much the same for Lagertha but you added in a few bras. You had to guess on the sizes for everyone’s underwear, well everyone but Ubbe, you knew his size.

Large.

You shook your head and head over to your socks and grab a few packs, then you grabbed a fuck ton of hard bottom slippers.

With everything you needed for clothes you decide you might as well get some groceries.

You went about adding things to the cart without glancing at the price, you didn’t need to. It wasn’t that you were saving up or anything, its just that since you started living alone you worked a lot more than you needed to. That on top of all the money you got for your brothers and taking care of your mom...money wasn’t a big issue.

As you stood at the cash register, paying for your stuff you looked over and saw a familiar face.

Your boyfriend Alvin, and he was not alone. 

There was a girl that you had never seen in your life all over him, and from how he was returning her touches you knew what was going on.

You wanted to feel angry, and run up and start some shit in this Walmart, but all you felt was mild annoyance. For the last month you had been suspicious of him, and you will admit that you had been pulling back from the relationship.

The woman gave you your total and you payed and hurried off hoping Alvin hadn’t seen you. You could talk about it tomorrow.

You got to the van and put your haul into the trunk and got in the car, unintentionally slamming the door.

‘Was everything alright?’ you asked as you strapped in and start the car.

‘Yes, we followed orders, no one came near this machine.’ Hvitserk replied.

‘Good, now lets the hell out here.’ you said as you pulled off.

The drive home didn’t consist of that many questions, or much talking at all, everyone seemed to be watching you.

OK maybe you were becoming more upset the more you thought about Alvin, you hate cheaters.

If you lose interest then end the relationship, that way you can do whatever, but stringing you and this other girl along is unnecessary. 

Once you had made it home you, with the help of Ubbe and Hvitserk, got all the groceries in and put Ivar back in his chair.

They all went to get dressed while you were going about putting up the food, after a while they came in looking much more modern.

‘You all look good.’ you commented.

Before anyone could say anything you heard a door close outside, you immediately rush to the window and peaked through the window.

Alvin’s busted ass truck.

‘Shit, all you get to the back!” you hissed pushing Ivar’s chair to the guest room that sat behind the kitchen, everyone following you.

Once they were in you told them to keep quiet and don’t come out.

You hear a loud banging on the door and roll your eyes as you go back to the door.

The second you unlock the door Alvin barges in, he nearly knocked you down.

‘Well hello to you too babe.’ you sassed.

‘Where he at?’

‘Who?’ you asked.

‘The motherfucker you were buying boxers for!’ Alvin yelled.

You scoffed.

‘You can’t be serious with this, OK, where was the girl you were with?’ you asked.

‘Don’t change the subject!’ he shouted.

‘The subject is cheating and that’s what you’re doing dumbass!’ you yelled back.

‘So are you and I want to see him, so he can catch these hands.’ Alvin explained.

‘There is no guy idiot! As one-sided as it was I respected you enough to not cheat on you, where as you didn’t hesitate!’ you accused.

Alvin got quiet.

‘How about I get my phone and go through all the DM’s I get from random bitches telling me that you were sending them all kinds of messages? Or maybe we can look on your phone and see how many girls’ pictures you comment on.’  you challenged.

‘I said stop turning shit around!’

‘You know what, get out of my house! Tell all those InstaBitches they can have your grimy ass. And tell the girl in your car that I said good luck, I hope she has more fun with you than I did.’ you spat as you open the door.

‘I ain’t going nowhere till I find this dude.’ Alvin argued.

Get out, or I’m going to call the cops, and I’ll bet my whole ass that you have a least a joint in that hotbox you call a car.’ you threatened.

Alvin groaned before he threw up his hands in the air.

‘You know what fine, your prude ass was a waste of my time anyway. Never putting out and always asking for me to be patient with you. Your little ass wasn’t going to be worth the wait anyway!’ he snarled as he left slamming the door.

‘Fucking dick!’ you yelled angrily kicking the door in rage.

You took a deep breath as you go to make sure Alvin had driven off before you let everyone out of the room.

‘We’re good, you can come out now.’ you said.

‘Who was that?’ Lagertha asked.

‘No one important.’ you snipped.

‘He seemed very important.’ Ubbe said.

‘I said he was no one! Why do men never listen!?’ you snapped.

Lagertha sighed and turned to Bjorn.

‘Take you brothers back into the room, she doesn’t want to see any of you right now I assure you.’ 

As all the men head back in the room you hear Hvitserk mumble. 

‘It is almost comforting that women still blame all men for one idiot’s actions.’

You went about putting up the last of the food.

‘Would you like to tell me about him, I may not understand much, but I will listen.’ she offered.

‘I met him at my job, he helped train me and even though he was lazy and made me do a lot of grunt work, I am one of the best waitresses in the restaurant now.’ you started.

‘We would talk and flirt, but I refused to date someone I worked with, I didn’t want there to be drama or gossip. Then he quit and found a job he liked and we started dating.’

‘When did it go wrong, the animosity you spoke with shows an anger that had been growing like a weed.’ Lagertha said.

‘Months ago, women would message me saying he had been sending them messages asking to meet him privately and requesting...intimate pictures of them.’ you said.

‘Did he bed them?’

‘I do not know, but when I asked he would get angry and say I was wrong for not trusting him. I saw him out today with another girl, and he had the balls to come here and accuse me.’ you seethed.

You leaned against the counter and threw up your hands in surrender.

‘Why can’t I find a good guy? I mean really good and patient guy, one that doesn’t only want to put his dick in something.’ you said as your eyes watered.

Lagertha came and wrapped her arms around you as you sobbed in her shoulder.

‘It is alright.’ she soothed.

‘I’m not crying over him, I’m not...I’m just tired of trying and failing to find someone. I’m so damn tired of it all, and I think I’m going to give up on it.’ you sniffled.

‘I was betrayed by every man in my life, and understand wanting to stop, but as I aged I learned to love me first. Never look for any man or woman to complete you, be whole on your own.’ Lagertha advised.

You pulled away and wiped your tears, and nodded.

‘I’m sorry for crying all over you.’ you apologize.

‘It is alright, I had a daughter once and I never got the opportunity to console her after a broken heart. She died too young, you are not her and I know that, but if you ever need me as a friend or as mother I will do the best I can.’ she smiled.

You smiled back and laughed.

‘I should probably apologize to the guys, they didn’t deserve me yelling at them.’ 

‘Of course they did, they are men, they are always doing something worth yelling about.’ Lagertha grinned.

You laugh as you go to open the door.

All the men but Bjorn were all right by the door, Ubbe nearly fell over Ivar’s chair.

‘How much did you hear?’ you asked.

‘Enough to know all men deserve to be yelled at...mother.’ Bjorn said raising a brow at Lagertha.

‘I will only apologize son when it stops being true.’

‘We are not all like this...Alvin, not all men mistreat women.’ Hvitserk said, stepping closer to you.

Lagertha stepped between the two of you.

‘How many of you men here have never mistreated a woman, or been truly faithful to one in both heart and body?’ she asked. 

Hvitserk looked away, as did everyone else.

‘I have never mistreated or been unfaithful to any woman.’ Ivar said, looking at you intensely.

You were caught off guard by the stare and became visibly rattled by it.

For a while the two of you continued your intense staring contest, Ivar was smirking at your reaction while you just stood there too shook to speak.

‘Ahem.’ Bjorn cleared his throat making you jump.

‘Yes, what?’ you said.

‘I would like to leave this room but you two are blocking the way.’ he said.

‘Right, sorry.’ you blushed as you left the room, watching as they all came out, one by one.

Ivar was the last and he gave you that look again as he past.

What the hell just happened?

[neondreams-rp]

[ ♫ ] “ I’ve been talking to the voice in my head, making me second guess. Making me think I’m not good enough, making me think I’m not like the rest. ”

Name: Ruby Maddox

Age: Twenty-Four

Face Claim: Sophie Skelton

Affiliate: The Devils Playhouse/Crimson Cobras

Occupation: Bar Manager/Dancer at the Devil's Playhouse, Queen of the Cobras

Availability: Taken

“I wish you would have slept in the guest room. Cause maybe I'd still feel alive without you. I’m pretty sure that all of this was my fault, I'm the one who kissed you first and took my clothes off”  [ ♪ ]

Positive: Determined, Feisty, Silver-Tongued.

Negative: Stubborn, Defensive, Gulliable.

CHAOS IS THE LAW OF NATURE, ORDER IS THE DREAM OF MAN

To start this story, you need to go back to the day Ruby Maddox was born. Which will be hard because Ruby Maddox doesn’t exist. Olivia Maddox, however, does. Which is what Ruby’s name was before she moved away from her small town of Blackwell, Texas. A population of 310, it was the type of town where everyone knew everyone and that was something that Ruby hated. Growing up, she had a normal life, a normal family and basically everything about her was normal. Another thing Ruby hated. Her life revolved around her family’s farm, a small cattle farm that provided their town with their meat and milk. She was a farm girl, despite wanting to be more. At the age of seventeen, the young girl went on a trip to Austin, three hours from her hometown, with her school. It was there that she was approached by a talent agent. Frederick Grigson, or Fred as he liked to be called, claimed to be a big time model scout looking for fresh, young faces to represent a popular California clothing brand. Handing his card to the young ginger haired girl, he told her that she was perfect for the role and that this was an opportunity she could not pass up. A chance at becoming someone important, which is exactly what Ruby wanted. Unfortunately, it wasn’t exactly what Ruby had hoped it would be.

With determination, later that day she went home, sat her parents down and said she was moving out. Having saved up a little bit of money from chores around the house and her part time job, she had enough to get started and much to her parents dismay, she packed her bags and left. Catching the first bus available to Los Angeles. After a day of travelling, the wide eyed girl had finally arrived to Los Angeles, checking in the nearest motel, she prepared herself for the day she had ahead of her. A phone call was made to Fred, confirming a time for her to come meet him and the rest of the people that mattered and that night, she slept with a smile on her face. This was it, this was her time to shine. The next day she awoke early, she showered, she changed into appropriate clothing and put her makeup on and counted down the hours, the minutes until she was to meet up with Fred. The meeting--however, wasn’t what she thought it was and instead, she was thrown straight into a photoshoot. The popular clothing brand? Lingerie. This was red flag number one for Ruby. Time passed, photos were taken and Ruby had never felt more uncomfortable then she did during the photoshoot. She was sexualised, she was poked and prodded, she was bare skinned in places that not even her mother had seen for a long time and that woman changed her diapers. Ruby was demoralised. But Ruby stuck through it. This was her shot at being anything but normal, so she continued to be torn down.

Months passed and things were looking up for Ruby. She was starting to get a some jobs, some for underwear, some for actual clothing ranges. She had made enough money to find herself a small, shitty apartment, somewhere to lay her head after a long day. She was doing okay, and that’s what she’d tell her brother each week when he called to check on her. Her parents would never talk to her, no matter how many times Jamie, her brother, would ask them to, but that was fine with Ruby. She preferred it that way. She considered herself lucky of sorts. She was doing something that mattered to her, didn’t make her feel like a nobody. But unfortunately, her luck would soon run out. A year after her first job, her anniversary of becoming a somebody, she booked a job. It seemed pretty straightforward, another shot for lingerie. Little did she knew, the manager and everyone involved had ulterior motives. The job was what they said it would be, a simple lingerie shot, it was what followed afterwards that was the trouble. An after party full of drugs and alcohol and everything that an eighteen year old shouldn’t be around. They wanted to take advantage of the innocent little girl, as Fred put it. Show her that you have to get used to being used in order to get what you want. That night, Ruby Maddox lost all sense of virtue and respect she had for herself. Not to mention her ability to trust others.

The next morning Ruby woke up, disorientated, alone and naked in a stranger's bed. Confused and hurt, she stumbled, now fully clothed, out of the room and into a lounge room full of people. They all stared and laughed and Ruby felt tears pool in her eyes. She was humiliated. She ran from the house, somehow found her way home and cleaned herself up. She was taken advantage of, she was used and she couldn’t see herself getting through this. Thoughts had ran through her head, one being to go to the police, but part of her knew that wouldn’t work. They wouldn’t believe her. So instead, she went to the closest bar. Having a fake ID was her brothers idea. He had gotten it for her back home when she had turned sixteen. Of course, coming from a small town, using an fake ID wasn’t exactly easy as everyone knew of the red-haired Maddox daughter. In surrounding towns, however, it worked like a charm. So there she was, downing shot after shot until she could no longer walk. A horrible situation to get yourself into after having gone through what she did. Thankfully, nothing happened because that’s when Norah Harris found the young girl. Barely able to talk or walk, the young brunette picked her up and helped her out of the bar. Still to this day, Ruby has no idea what compelled the other woman to help her, and no matter how many times she’d ask why, Norah would never really respond. But several hours later, after sleeping off the worse of the alcohol, Ruby awoke in yet another unfamiliar room. She started to panic, her breathing laboured as she looked around the room. She scrambled up and out of the bed and started to race out of the room. Only when she walked out the door, she collided with Norah. It was then that Norah explained the situation that Ruby was in. That she couldn’t leave the young girl there to be taken advantage of. Ruby calmed down and the two talked. Ruby had learned that Norah was a dancer at the Devil’s Playhouse, a place that Fred, her former boss had mentioned wanting to go to quite a few times. Norah had offered her a place to stay if she didn’t want to be alone, which Ruby had gratefully accepted. It was that day she met Andrea Hallstorm. An elegant woman who owned the club that Norah worked at. For some reason, Ruby found herself being able to trust the older woman. So she told her everything and when she finished, the older woman just looked to the girl. Andrea gave Ruby a place at the Devil’s Playhouse, going over her own rules of not allowing anyone under the age of twenty-five to work at the club, she allowed Ruby to work there as a dishwasher.

Six years later, Ruby Maddox now works as a full time dancer for Andrea. Being the youngest dancer there, she was considered the baby of the unusual family but they were a family nonetheless. Ruby pushed her past to the back of her mind, never forgetting about it but not dwelling on it. At least, not until she met Tarik Deveroux. At the time, she had no idea who he was or what he was involved in and it was on one of the daily runs that she had actually met him. But from the moment she had met him, she was enthralled by him. There was something about him that intrigued her and she wanted to know more about him. It didn’t take long before she found out about his past and his present. About his life with the Crimson Cobras and at first, she steered clear of him. But with a connection this intense, the two floated back to each other every time they tried to stay away from each other. They were one hundred percent perfect for each other. They leveled each other out. With her fiery, feisty temperament and his calm and collected one, these two were invincible together. That was how Ruby Maddox became the Queen of the Crimson Cobras and a force to be reckoned with.

& FORTUNATELY, CHAOS IS A FRIEND OF MINE.

Tarik Deveroux - Lover

From the moment they met, there was this indescribable pull to Tarik that Ruby could not deny. No matter how hard she tried to fight it and even after she found out his involvement with the Crimson Cobras, she couldn’t stay away. Their chemistry was too strong to ignore. The two of them were absolutely perfect for each other. Completely balancing one another out. She was feisty and silver-tongued, he was calm and collected. She was the perfect Queen the Cobras needed and King is nothing without his Queen.

Norah Harris - Bestfriend

Norah is the person who found her that day in the bar, completely unable to make a coherent word and drowning herself in liquor. If it wasn’t for Norah, Ruby would have no idea where she’d be right now. If she’d be alive or dead in a ditch somewhere. Ruby and Norah became fast friends and the young girl could not imagine her life without her.

Andrea Wallstorm - Boss/Mentor

Andrea gave Ruby a chance when she didn’t think she’d deserve it. Humiliated and ashamed to even be living, Ruby was found by Norah, who took her under her wing and introduced her to Andrea. Andrea is one of the only two people that know what happened to Ruby that night and thus, Andrea took Ruby under her wing. Giving her a job at The Devil’s Playhouse as a dishwasher until she was old enough in Drea’s eyes to dance for her.

Elise Harris - Goddaughter

When Ruby met Elise Harris for the first time, the two bonded really quickly. She was only four years old when they first met but their bond was strong. Norah had asked Ruby to be Elise’s godmother a year after they met which Ruby graciously accepted and now Ruby spends as much time as possible with the young girl.

[allofbeercom]

Dirty secret: why is there still a housework gender gap?

Research shows that British women do 60% more housework. Is there any hope for balance when it comes to emptying the bins?

Inequality

The housework gap

Dirty secret: why is there still a housework gender gap?

Research shows that British women do 60% more housework. Is there any hope for balance when it comes to emptying the bins?

• Five couples on how they split the housework

• For more housework tales, listen to our Home Truths episode of The Story podcast

The Inequality Project is supported by

About this content

Oliver Burkeman

@oliverburkeman

Sat 17 Feb 2018 05.00 EST Last modified on Sat 17 Feb 2018 05.20 EST

Share on Facebook

Share on Twitter

Share via Email

View more sharing options

Share on LinkedIn

Share on Pinterest

Share on Google+

Share on WhatsApp

Share on Messenger

Close

Photograph: Aaron Tilley/The Guardian. Set design: Elena Horn

Why, exactly, is housework so annoying? Certain specific chores are obviously pretty unpleasant: few people relish cleaning the toilet, or extracting mouldy vegetables from the bottom drawer of the fridge. But why housework in general? Part of the answer, surely, is that it’s unending, so you never achieve that satisfying sense of getting it out of the way, nor even of having made a little progress. The only reason you’re stacking the dishwasher is so the dishes can be dirtied again tomorrow; you’re fishing the toddler’s toys from under the sofa so he can fling them back there as soon as he wakes up. “Few tasks are more like the torture of Sisyphus than housework, with its endless repetition,” wrote Simone de Beauvoir, in The Second Sex, published in 1949. “The clean becomes soiled, the soiled is made clean, over and over, day after day.” Needless to say, De Beauvoir wasn’t objecting solely to the work, but to the division of labour: housework is also annoying because, if you’re a woman living with a man, it’s highly likely you end up doing most of it, no matter who earns more, or who spends longer at the office. To be fair to us, men do a lot more housework than in 1949. But women still do a lot more than that. So now both sexes have grounds to resent how much of their lives they spend with Toilet Duck in hand, or scooping bits of spaghetti from the kitchen sink.

Nor are same-sex couples immune from these sexist expectations. In 2016, a revealing American study presented people with fictional accounts of gay and lesbian households, asking them to judge which partner ought to take responsibility for childcare, groceries, laundry and fixing the car. Reliably, respondents assigned the stereotypically female tasks to the partner described as having the more stereotypically feminine interests, such as a fondness for shopping or romantic comedies.

What’s puzzling is that housework doesn’t seem to be following the same trends as other fronts in the struggle for equality. Over the last half-century, across the developed world, more and more women have gone to work, the gender pay gap has been steadily narrowing, and fathers have spent more and more time with their children. But the “housework gap” largely stopped narrowing in the 1980s. Men, it seems, conceded that they should be doing more than before – but then, having half-heartedly vacuumed the living room and passed a dampened cloth over the dining table, concluded that it was time for a nice sit-down. In Britain in 2016, according to the Office for National Statistics, women did almost 60% more of the unpaid work, on average, than men. As of a few years ago, even in Sweden – that bastion of equality where “latte papas” in stylish knitwear choose full-time fatherhood at no apparent cost to their sense of masculinity – women were averaging 45 more daily minutes of chores. When the Guardian invited readers around the world to unburden themselves about their own housework battles, their complaints overwhelmingly confirmed this picture, often despite the fact that neither partner had really intended things to work out that way.

Dig deeper into the numbers, and things look worse: according to some studies, in heterosexual households where the woman is the main breadwinner, the more she earns, the less her partner will contribute to the housework. And, of course, to the extent that women scale back their career ambitions in order to focus on domestic matters – childcare plus housework – this inequality at home perpetuates inequality at work. (“It’s not a glass ceiling, it’s a sticky floor,” to quote the title of one book addressing that question.) Meanwhile, everywhere, men get special credit for the chores they do do, because their contribution gets assessed at “the going rate”, as the sociologist Arlie Hochschild put it in her 1989 book The Second Shift: if a man does a bit more than the notional average man in his community, he’s viewed as exceptionally helpful.

It would be easy, and perhaps not totally unfair, to explain this as another straightforward case of men acting like entitled jerks. But the daily experience of tussles over housework suggests that something more complicated is going on. If you do the lion’s share of the chores in your home, the chances are you have mixed feelings about the idea of your spouse taking on a bigger burden, even if he were willing – because you suspect he’d do them wrongly, or to an insufficiently high standard. (In one US survey, some women said they were more likely to delegate tasks to their children than their husbands for precisely this reason. “My wife insists on doing most of the cleaning and all of the laundry because of her belief that I don’t do well at these tasks,” as one male respondent to our survey put it, echoing many others.)

In her memoir-cum-self-help book, Drop The Ball, the American writer Tiffany Dufu calls this “home control disease”, and diagnoses herself as a recovering sufferer. This isn’t the simple sexism of the man who’d rather drink beer and watch Top Gear, but the insidious, internalised sexism of the woman who’s been raised to see an impeccable home as a sign of her worth.

Photograph: Aaron Tilley/The Guardian. Set design: Elena Horn

“We obsess about things that honestly aren’t important in the scheme of things, because you’ve been socialised to attach your value to those things,” Dufu says. “A well-managed home is still a gendered expectation, which is why it’s so very difficult for men to get home control disease – they just don’t attach it to their value.” A man who places a high priority on domestic cleanliness is just a clean man; a woman who doesn’t is a bad woman. Researchers argue that this probably explains the tendency for men to do less housework, and women a greater proportion, as the woman takes on more of the breadwinning: both sexes, subconsciously disturbed by their violation of traditional gender norms, start acting hyper-conventionally to compensate. It also helps explain why women usually assume the extra burden of the “worry work” – the job of keeping track of what needs to be done in the first place – while men merely pick tasks from this readymade to-do list. (“It would be nice if he’d clean the bathroom without me asking him once in a while,” as one woman told the Guardian.) Behold the power of gender: were men to take on more of this worry work, many women would presumably just worry that their spouses weren’t worrying hard enough, or about the right things.

And, of course, they’d be right. All the anecdotal evidence suggests that, generally speaking, men genuinely don’t care as much as women about a clean and tidy home. “There exists no standard definition of what has to be done in a household,” Stephen Marche writes in his 2017 book The Unmade Bed: The Messy Truth About Men and Women In The 21st Century. “There is only what feels so intensely like it needs to be done that it needs to be done… The question of what constitutes a clean bathtub has as many answers as there are people.” The same sexist socialisation undoubtedly explains men’s lower standards. But the situation leaves even well-intentioned men in a fix. If you’re a man who doesn’t mind mess, surely your commitment to equality doesn’t require you to meet standards of domestic perfection you don’t care about, and which are, as mentioned, only the result of stupid sexist expectations in the first place? Wouldn’t it make more sense – wouldn’t it be, dare one suggest, more feminist – for your partner to chill out and let things slide?

“Viewing housework inequality as entirely a phenomenon of exploitative men free-riding off [women] makes sense only if you think men derive equal enjoyment from a cleaner and neater home,” observes the New York magazine columnist Jonathan Chait. “I like having magazines strewn across the coffee table. My wife doesn’t. I won’t protest when she stacks them up somewhere, but when she does it, I don’t regard it as her participation in the shared household duties.” The “hope of the future”, Marche argues, is for us all to do less: “Housework is perhaps the only political problem in which doing less and not caring are the solution, where apathy is the most progressive and sensible attitude… Leave the stairs untidy. Don’t fix the garden gate. Fail to repaint the stained ceiling. Never make the bed.”

Quick guide

Housework inequality

Show Hide

Who does what: housework around the world

The global “housework gap” has narrowed since the 1960s, when women did at least 85% almost everywhere in the world. Men in the UK, for example, now devote 24 minutes more a day to housework than they did half a century ago, while those in the US do an extra 20.

But women still do the bulk of the chores, according to recent analysis by Oxford University’s Centre for Time Use Research, funded by the Economic and Social Research Council. In the UK, they spend an average of 132 minutes a day on housework (62 of them cooking) versus men’s 69 (31 cooking). In the US it’s 112 minutes compared with 58.

In the least fair country surveyed, South Korea, women still do 87% of the housework – two hours and 27 minutes a day – while men do just 21 minutes. Even in the Nordic states, known for family-friendly policies, women continue to do around 60% of the housework.

As for Italy, it remains slow to change, with women still spending three hours 30 minutes on chores each day, compared with men’s 37 minutes. Much of that is taken up by cleaning and laundry, although this is down to 110 minutes, from 132 minutes in 1980.

Naomi Larsson

The CTUR research looks at nationally representative samples of men and women of all sexualities, aged between 20 and 59.

Was this helpful?

Thank you for your feedback.

At this point, I should be candid: I’m not the kind of man who’s comfortable with mess. I’m the kind who stacks up magazines, like Chait’s wife; I’m the kind who conducts a regular late-evening circuit of the kitchen and living-room, wiping and tidying and neatening and reimposing order, sometimes even if my partner’s already done so, which I realise is obnoxious. (She’s cleaner than me but I’m tidier than her, a state of affairs that mainly promotes peace, but also occasional cross-border skirmishes over unmade beds or gunk in the oven.) I’d also say I take on my share of the worry work – though admittedly this just leads to the new problem of worrying about which of us is supposed to be worrying about what.

I’m delighted to report that, in an interview for this article, my partner confirmed my sense that I truly do do around half the housework, though the conversation became slightly aggravating after that. “I do sometimes wonder if you love the way the house looks clean and tidy, or if it’s that the house being in any kind of disorder makes you feel out of control,” she said, with galling perspicacity. “I’m always shocked, after you’ve done the cleaning, that there’s still something there that horrifies me – some disgusting bit of slime around the sink, even though you’ve tidied everything into neat little piles. And for someone who thinks he’s so frigging tidy, I’ve got to tell you, you leave a trail of things behind you. Sometimes I walk around with the baby just picking things up and putting them back where they belong. I don’t know if you even notice that. In fact, that’s the most irritating thing, to me, when it comes to housework – thinking you don’t always notice what I do.”

These defamatory allegations aside, I do think my divergence from the cliche of the mess-loving male gives me more credibility in endorsing Marche’s call for more neglect. As a neat-freak, I take no pleasure in the idea of embracing the mess, but I fear we may have to. We tend to assume there must be some way of organising life so that our homes stay orderly, without women being held back in their careers, or resentments starting to fester. But who’s to say this is a puzzle it’s possible to solve? Maybe something’s got to give – and since it shouldn’t be workplace equality or happy relationships, it’s going to have to be the dusting. Good communication, Dufu notes, makes this all much more tolerable: “If you’ve decided the car won’t be cleaned for six months, there’s no resentment when the car isn’t cleaned.” (She and her husband made a spreadsheet of tasks, with a column for each of them, and an important third column for “no one”.) This works if you’re single, too. In a BBC documentary, JK Rowling once addressed the question of how she’d found time to write the first Harry Potter book while raising a baby alone. “The answer is: I didn’t do housework for four years,” she said. “Living in squalor. That was the answer.”

Photograph: Aaron Tilley/The Guardian. Set design: Elena Horn

“I consider myself a feminist and am driven mad feeling that I, like my mother and so many others before me, have succumbed to this bullshit ‘female role’,” one Guardian respondent wrote. It would be a very good thing if men were to start shouldering their share of the housework burden. But it would be an equally good thing if men and women alike could put down some of that burden, stick it in the cupboard under the stairs, and forget about it. Women wish they didn’t have to do so much housework; men don’t feel the need to do it. If the patriarchy is so invested in the cleanliness of our carpets, let it come round at the weekend and vacuum them itself.

• Commenting on this piece? If you would like your comment to be considered for inclusion on Weekend magazine’s letters page in print, please email weekend@theguardian.com, including your name and address (not for publication).

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/dirty-secret-why-is-there-still-a-housework-gender-gap/