#i dunno what it is its probably crow instincts

[ink-the-artist]

First Sleepover

#WOW that took forever to finish whew #if ur wondering what the context here is or who these characters are dont worry ur not missing anything #they basically only exist in my head lol ive done a tiny bit of art of one of them but the ideas n stories for them are uh #not developed #also they are kids so pls dont be weird #art #comic #minicomic #colored pencil #ocs #Illustration #nostalgia #I was def a big fan of looking at my friends nicknacks and jewlery n stuff as a kid #and some of my friends practiced the same sophisticated activity also #i dunno what it is its probably crow instincts #it wasnt even like. looking at stuff because I wanted it or anything. its just fun to look at cool stuff #its the same instinct that to this day drives me to collect cool rocks #i think its just that looking through other ppls collection of cool stuff brings the same pleasure #as looking at your own collection of cool stuff #the pleasure isnt in owning it its in looking meticulously through it

[fluffypeachwriting]

hiyaaa~~

its me, the hitoya and reader getting transported to some unknown place! im rlly happy that u had fun writing it and i enjoyed reading it too! ٩(*•͈ ꇴ •͈*)و ̑̑❀

hehe u mentioned that u would be more than happy to write a sequel and oh my gosh id like to take up on that offer!! huhuu~ im already invested on what would happen to hitoya and the reader, and what theyre gonna do!!

thank you for writing my request and ill be waiting on for the sequel of it! good luck and im wishing you good health now and in the future! (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

I’m sorry that you had to wait so long for this, but it’s finally finished! This sequel turned out to be around 3700 words, so I hope you don’t mind that! I had so much fun with this concept, and so I hope you like reading it! Maybe I’ll do more isekai concepts in the future - I’m so happy that you requested this!  (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Let’s get back to what Hitoya and Reader are up to! Maybe they’re alone on the boat, but are they alone in the water?

When you had stopped crying, you and Hitoya tried to investigate this strange boat. The unease of being thrown into a new world slowly morphed into a strong curiosity. It took about an hour for you to find your sea legs. It was surprisingly easy to get used to the swaying. The occasional movements you had to make to counteract that swaying came naturally to you.

An unexpected calm washed over the boat, and it became easier to think. Only for you though, Hitoya hadn’t said much in a while. In a strange change of heart, Hitoya had warmed up to life on a boat, in his own way. Either that or he was bored of complaining about it. There was a rugged-looking crewmate’s jacket folded over one of the seats inside the ship, which he took a liking too right away. It fit him perfectly, and while the pirate-y look wasn’t his usual deal, it certainly did him favours.  

You had also found something – a pocket watch that had been dropped on the top deck. You were keeping an eye on it, checking on it constantly until an hour had passed. At least, the hour hand had moved from six to seven – that was the only change. The sun hadn’t moved, the air was still brisk, and the sea still looked like red wine.

You sighed and put the watch back. Hitoya was looking over into the sea, thought you couldn’t tell if he was searching for something or simply contemplating things. Usually you wouldn’t hesitate to ask him what was wrong, and usually he would smile and pat your head, saying that everything was alright. But things were not like how they usually were. You thought it was best to leave him alone and stay close by.

In your other hand you were still holding that unusual hat, and until now you hadn’t paid it much mind. There wasn’t any need to, until a harsh gust of wind caught you off guard and knocked it out of your hand.

“No!” You instinctively yelled out, reaching to grab the hat.

Inches from sliding into Hitoya’s legs, you fell flat on your stomach and caught the hat.

“That was close,” You said, standing up and putting on the hat without thinking. Then the unease in your stomach vanished. The salty air felt natural to breathe in, like it was cleansing you from the inside out. A sense of purpose filled you, and the boat felt like home.

“Nice hat you got there, captain.” Hitoya said endearingly, though with a hint of sarcasm. “Where’d you find that?”

“I didn’t find it anywhere, it’s just mine,” You said without thinking. That was surely wrong, since you didn’t have a captain’s hat on you at all this morning. Wait, a captain’s hat? You patted it, and sure enough, it was just like a captain’s hat you’d see in a cartoon.

“Makes you look the part.” Hitoya smiled fondly, making the last shred of unease float away. If he had your back, then everything really would be alright, even in this crazy situation.

With the unease gone, your mind was clear enough to realise how exhausted you were. It was only just this morning when you woke up early to buy Hitoya a cake. That cake sounded really good right now. You were hungry too.

“Hungry… I hope the wind doesn’t pick up… don’t wanna eat when the ship is moving too much,” You said to yourself.

However, life wasn’t so kind, apparently. The sails of the ship started flapping quickly, almost enough to make you jump. A box came from nowhere and slid on the deck, lightly hitting your leg. “Geez…” You held onto your hat pre-emptively, expecting wind.

A moment passed, but no wind came.

“Kid, let’s put this back.” Hitoya knelt down to move the box, but stopped. “Hm.”

“What is it?” You bent down to see what he was curious about. It wasn’t a sight that stopped him, but a smell. It took no time to figure out what it was, in your hungry state, “Food!”

Pushing past Hitoya, you opened the box to find it full of yummy-looking snacks and treats, from sweet pastries to homemade bentos. They were all fresh, too.

“Where did this come from?” You asked into the air.

Hitoya didn’t reply. The ship did. You looked up to see the sails flapping again, and the crow’s nest twirling around. The ship was…

“Alive?!” You exclaimed, already munching on a croissant.

“Hey, are you sure that’s safe?”

“Mm!” It tasted like it was fresh out of the oven.

“Alright, I won’t stop you.” Hitoya threw up his hands and stood, not taking anything from the box.

So this was a magic ship with a magic food box. You thought about this, pacing around the ship while munching on more food, until a glimmer of something caught your eye.

Something shiny had been dropped onto the deck. You went to pick it up, and found that the water was also shiny. Flecks of water surrounding the shiny thing, which was sitting in a pool of glitter, though it didn’t look as artificial as plastic glitter. It was a ring, just a plain silver band, with lots of little scuffs and scratches around it. A voice in the back of your mind told you that it was safe to pick it up, so you did. The water was fine to touch, and the ring itself was normal.

Something was also caught on the inside of the ring, something small, thin, flat, and a little bit curved. It took you a moment to get it out without breaking it. Though, when you got it out, none of your questions were answered. It looked like a holographic fish scale. Tinges of blue and purple reflected off it, in such a way that you could have mistaken it for a precious gem. It felt too hard to be from a normal fish, but then again, you were in no normal land – or, water.

A ring and a fish scale. It seemed like the more time you spent here, the more questions needed to be answered. However, it was something to go off. Before you could form a coherent thought, it was all coming back to you, or at least you would be thinking that if you had been here before.

You quickly looked around to relay this exciting development to Hitoya but he was nowhere to be found. After a frantic search, you found him looking through a cabinet inside what was probably a kitchen.

“We have to look for the water that sparkles. That’s right, we’re here to look for something.” The weight of the captain’s hat got a little lighter.

“Huh?” Hitoya looked at you like you had lost your mind. He shut the cabinet (that seemed to have whisky bottles lined up inside) and faced you. “What’re you on about now?”

You held out the ring to him, “This is a clue. It hadn’t been dropped on the deck by someone on the ship – someone in the water threw it on.”

“There’s not gonna be anyone in that water alive. There’s no one for miles. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head or something?”

He wasn’t ready to humour you just yet.

“I’m sure! This ring is totally a clue, you have to believe me! We were sent here for a purpose!” In your other hand, you showed him the scale, “And this is our way out!”

“Haah, I hate to burst your bubble but, are you really sure you didn’t hit your head? What if we go the same way we came, with a candle. It’s crazy but it’s not out the blue like that – wait, let me see that ring.” Hitoya, with his brow suddenly furrowed in concentration, took the ring from you and examined it. “Tch. I hate to say it, but I think I recognise this ring. I dunno if I like what it implies though…”

“What is it what is it what is it?!” Hearing about this was very exciting. “Your captain orders you to tell me!”

“Heh. Don’t get used to that, kid. Well, this ring looks like it belongs to someone we know. I don’t think we’re the only ones out here.”

“Get to the point!”

“You really can be like my kid,” Hitoya mumbled, “Alright. This looks like Kuko’s ring.”

“What?!”

“It’s a shot in the dark but, yeah. It’d be nice to see those two again, rather than bein’ stuck here.” Hitoya rubbed the back of his neck.

“Aww. Maybe you miss them.”

“Hmph. I’m not saying any more on that.” He crossed his arms, then spoke with a little more energy in his voice, clearly wanting to shift the subject: “Any leads on your end, captain?”

“I’ve got no clue. I… I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t fall overboard. I’m not jumpin’ in after you.” Hitoya said, knowing that he actually would jump in.

“Gotcha.” You left, going out to the deck to look around.

The sun was high in the sky, raining down an intense heat – it was about midday. As you stepped out, a gentle breeze blew away the cobwebs. The afternoon air was nice, although it was not helpful. It had been midday for a few hours. But the last time you saw the sky it was still orange, and you were sure that the sun had been setting. None of this made sense.

“Sparkly water, what does that even mean?” You pondered, pacing around the deck.

The ring and the scale sat in your pocket. You closed your eyes and focused on the smooth surface of the scale, trying to figure out what it all meant. As captain, leading the ship to its destination was your job, and it was even more important to keep your crew in check. That was hard to do when you didn’t know what you were here for.

“And a ring was thrown onto the deck. Even if it’s not Kuko’s, that’s pretty weird.”

Waves gently crashed against the side of the ship, which had been smoothly sailing itself for a while. A soft wind pushed the sails forward. The ocean was endless, with no islands in sight. There weren’t even any other ships. The horizon was visible from all angles, and from all sides. All except near the back. There was an odd contraption laying there, and upon further inspection, you had idea what it was. It looked like an old washtub connected to a wooden crane. There were no levers or cranks for a human to work it by, so you left it alone. For now, you stood near the side facing the sun. Watching the sunlight catch the peaks of little waves was mesmerising. You found yourself watching it for a while, forgetting about this whole ordeal.

Among the waves, there was a small patch of bubbling water. You strained to look at it – there was a pair of binoculars inside, but you didn’t want to move in case this anomaly went out of sight.

At first you thought it could have been mist from a whale’s blowhole, but it was too calm for that. The more you considered it, the more you thought it just looked like someone blowing bubbles underwater. Either way, your heart swelled upon seeing it. It struck you that this whole time you were staring out at sea, you hadn’t seen any wildlife at all – whatever this was, it was something that needed to be checked out by the ship’s captain.

“Ship!” You stood up straight and called out.

The ship’s sails flapped excitedly, like they were responding to you calling out them.

“I want to look at that patch of bubbles from the side, can you sail slowly over there?” Going full speed ahead would certainly sound cool, but approaching this with caution was a smarter move.

The ship lurched forward, obeying everything you told it to do, apart from the ‘slowly.’

“What the hell was that?” Hitoya scrambled onto the deck. He looked like a cat that had just had its nap disturbed.

“I’ve found something! Stay alert, matey!” You kept your eyes peeled and focused. The patch of bubbles split into two smaller patches. One was moving fairly quickly away from the other, but the other soon caught up. The ship, somehow defying the weak breeze, matched its pace with the bubbles.

“Stop, ship!” You braced yourself against the edge of the ship as it stopped. Yes! The water here was ever so slightly sparkly. It looked warm and inviting – you had to hold yourself back from jumping in.

“This seems like the place. You got a good eye, kid. Hey, is that a voice? Is someone drowning?!”

Hitoya was right – from the two patches of bubbles, there came two voices. Though you weren’t too far from them, they were barely audible.

You lowered a rope ladder off the side of the ship and took a few steps down it, hanging on just above the water. “Hey, is someone there? Do you need help?” You called out.

The voices stopped, and everything was quiet. With bated breath, you and Hitoya waited for a reply. Even the ship’s sails were still.

You were about to call again, when a long, red mass swam quickly through the water, creating ripples that splashed on your legs. Another mass was following behind it, though it wasn’t as temperamental as the first.

“Captain, it’s just a weird fish. Come back on board before you fall in.” Hitoya said. “I don’t want you gettin’ eaten.

You stayed right where you were: “No, we’ve come this far! And fish don’t let out bubbles.”

“Fine. It’s a tiny whale.”

“No! We’re staying here.”

Hitoya huffed and leant over to look.

“Listen to your captain, Hitoya.” A voice from under you said.

Your head whipped round to meet the source – it was Kuko! Or at least, it was his head that was peeking out of the water.

“Kuko! Come on board – don’t drown!” You held out your hand to help him up, barely registering the ‘how’ or ‘why’ of him being there.

“Nah thanks, I can’t exactly get up.”

You were about to ask what he meant when another familiar face popped up from the water – it was Jyushi!

“Jyushi! Why are you two in the ocean? And why do you look different? Come on board before you drown!”

“Hey, I hear ya.” Kuko rose up to the surface, just past his shoulders, so that he could freely talk with his hands and he spoke. “Yeah, shit’s different about us – we got other things to worry about first.”

Jyushi, however, only let his head come above water. “Aha! I’m so happy to see both of you again, ehe. I can’t wait to get home!”

“Get home? We can’t even get on the boat,” Kuko snapped.

“Uuuu… I know, but still,” Jyushi whined, and dejectedly blew bubbles under the water.

“You two,” Hitoya butted in, “Don’t keep us out of the loop. What’re you hiding from us?”

“Alright alright. Check this out!” Kuko grinned before diving down into the water and holding himself there, showing off his blue and purple… fish tail. In a flash, he righted himself again. “How’d’ya like that, huh? We’re mermaids – me and Jyushi!”

With your free hand, you took out the scale from your pocket and held it up – it was a match. “So this is from you? And your ring… How did that even happen?”

“Haah? We can talk about all that later. Just help us go home. I wanna get back to takin’ a nap.” Kuko was getting more frustrated by the second.

“I thought you were training today?” You innocently asked.

“Whatever.” Kuko frowned and turned his head.

Instead of his grown out shave, Kuko had long flowing hair like he had been growing it out for years. That long mass of red you saw earlier must have been all that hair. Jyushi was the same; he had no mullet anymore, just a waterfall of black hair.

Kuko must have seen you staring, because he called out to you: “Listen, I dunno if mermaid hairdressers exist but I know they’d have a hard time cleanin’ up all the cut hair when they’re floatin’ all about.” Kuko wasn’t too happy about detracting from the real issue, though he mumbled just loud enough for you to hear: “Kinda like it. Maybe one day.”

“It looks good on you!” You said.

“H-hey! Listen, kiddo. There are things more important than this, like how’re we gonna get up there? Figure that out, captain.”

“I don’t know…”

There was no way you could pull them up by hand – neither you nor Hitoya – and they couldn’t climb the rope ladder only by their arms (maybe Kuko could, but definitely not Jyushi).

The ships sails rattled impatiently. The ship… they needed to get on the ship. If only there was something made just for getting mermaids on the ship. But there was, you realised, thinking back over the past few hours: The strange contraption on the ship was made just for this!

“Ship! Lower the… tub thing… into the water!” You commanded the ship, and it answered.

With a few creaks, the ship turned the gears of the crane and lowered the tub into the water. The managed to swim inside and get settled with minimum fuss. Jyushi was having fun splashing his tub-mate with water, and Kuko was holding back from throwing Jyushi over the side. Soon, the two boys were on board, and lounging in the tub as the ship sailed forth.

Or, you would be going forth, but you didn’t know where you were going.

“Oi, Captain,” Hitoya said, “Where are we headed? If you don’t mind, your first mate here is gonna hit the hay.”

You were starting to feel sleepy yourself. “I’ll join you. I’m tired after all that.”

A loud whine came from behind you, which ended as a yawn. Of course, it was Jyushi. “Uuu… don’t leave me out here with Kuko… He might…”

“What?” Kuko butted in, “Worried I’ll make ya train here? In this boat, as mermaids? Nah. I’m gonna take a nap.” He rested his arms on the rim of the tub and let his head lull back. In almost no time, he was snoring.

You looked to Jyushi, preparing to go and comfort him, only to find that he was fast asleep too. Hitoya had already gone to his quarters so you assumed that he was asleep too. The afternoon was warm, so you could understand why everyone dozed off so quickly. Sitting down on the deck with your back resting against a barrel, you soon fell asleep. You didn’t remember if you were there long, but the sounds of the waves and having everyone safe on board made it easy to rest.

Though you were the last to fall asleep, you were the last one to wake up.

The cabinet behind your head, and the carpet you were sitting on… it was familiar. You were in Hitoya’s office.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Kuko was peering down at you.

“Huh?” You rubbed your eyes and fully woke up, “Was that all a dream? I don’t remember falling asleep.”

“It was real, kid.” Hitoya offered his hand and helped you stand up. “How, or why, did this even happen?”

“M… maybe it was all a freaky dream! That was all had at the same time!” Jyushi said, but his idea was quickly shut down.

“I dunno. I was takin’ a nap, then I fell into the water.” Kuko said, as nonchalantly as if he was telling you what he had for breakfast. “I don’t think worrying about the ‘how’ or ‘why’ will do us any good, guys.”

“Me too… I took a nap… I mean –! I was really tired after band practice and… and…!” Jyushi looked like he was about to make another ocean with his tears, “I wasn’t being lazy… oh… I hope Amanda isn’t lonely without me…”

Kuko clicked his tongue in annoyance as Jyushi whimpered, Hitoya sighing at both of them. Things were well and truly back to normal. Everyone was in their rightful place.

Out on that strange ocean, where time didn’t move in a regular fashion, it would have been so lonely if you were taken there by yourself. You were glad that you weren’t alone, even if the meaning of it all didn’t make sense. You were all back, so why did you have a feeling that you’d left something behind? Was everyone here?

Even without the help of the captain’s hat, you figured out what you left behind: “We never got to find out the ship’s name… It was kinda cute, like a big puppy! Ships all have names, don’t they? Maybe we could name it!”

“Be thankful we all got back in one piece. Don’t go worrying about a boat.” Hitoya sighed, again.

“Right. Um… happy father’s day…?” You weren’t sure if it was still that day.

In the real world, not much time had passed, so it was now around lunch time, despite it feeling like a whole day had passed.  

“Heh. Thanks. What do you all say we go out for food? I’m starving.” A chorus of “Yes!” went around, which made Hitoya crack a smile. “Great. You guys argue and pick something.”

“Hitoya, it’s your day, you pick!” You insisted. It was nice that he didn’t dismiss the whole father’s day thing after all.

“Still hung up over that, huh? Alright. I could go for anything right now. Apart from seafood… huh?” Hitoya apparently noticed something new on his desk. “What’s this? Did you get me this?”

“No, what is it?”

Hitoya picked it up and showed everyone. It was a snow globe, with a tiny model ship sitting in the middle. Around the base, ‘The Chiroptera’ was engraved. The ship was alone in its miniature ocean. When he shook it, little blue flecks flew around, with the occasional fleck of glitter.

And if you looked close enough, the sails were flapping.

#hypmic #bad ass temple #hitoya amaguni #reader insert #mystery prompts #kuko harai #jyushi aimono #hypnosis mic

[mortuarybees]

human au: how did aziraphale come out to crowley?

short answer: he didn’t, crowley came out to him

long answer:

It looks like this:

Crowley has asked Aziraphale out twice now, and it hasn’t gotten any easier.

“You want to go to dinner?” They’re standing outside the English & Philosophy building, and he shifts nervously beneath the imposing sycamore tree, struggling to hold his stack of books. It’s overcast (isn’t it always?), and in the shade of the tree, it’s dark, almost intimate.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to hold those?” Crowley asks doubtfully, catching a thin paperback as it falls off the top.

“I’m–” he blushes, and Crowley beams at him, gesturing for the stack. He hands some of them over, and–alright, yeah, they’re heavy, but whatever. “Thank you.”

“‘Course,” he says. “Where are we going?”

“Ah,” he frowns, looking at him inscrutably. “I was going to go to my dorm room?”

“Lead the way,” Crowley says, waiting until Aziraphale takes a few apprehensive steps to fall in beside him. “Anyway, yes, I–” he ducks his head, wishes he weren’t holding the books so he could fidget with his glasses or tuck his hands in his pockets, “I had fun, last time. And seeing Romeo + Juliet.” He throws him a sideways look to find him staring openly at him, and he turns his eyes forward, clears his throat, cheeks turning a deep red. This is a victory, as far as Crowley is concerned. “Did you?”

“I did,” he says in a rush. “But you…want to do it again?”

“Said I did, didn’t I?” Crowley says impatiently. “Listen, if you don’t want to, you can say so, won’t hurt my feelings.” It might. Okay, it will, but he’ll put on a brave face and just go back to his dorm and listen to the Smiths and cry for a while, like everyone does.

“I want to,” Aziraphale says slowly, as if he’s afraid Crowley’s somehow leading him into a trap but he hasn’t spotted the spring yet. “If you do. You don’t have to, you know.”

“We’ve already covered this, I want to. If you want to, it’s a date,” he says, warmth blooming in his chest like the sun emerging from the clouds. He likes Aziraphale too much, he knows; it’s strange how much he likes him, completely mad. They hardly know each other.

“A date,” Aziraphale murmurs, almost to himself, with a pleased and barely-there curve of his lips, and Crowley smiles at him. Maybe that’s why he likes him so much. He can admit it to himself: he doesn’t smile terribly often, anymore, but Aziraphale brings it out in him, with wonderfully, naively optimistic declarations in class, jokes he tells with a wince as if he’s anticipating ridicule, his odd, circular logic and how he mouths words along as he reads, sometimes even traces a finger beneath the line like some kind of hunched monk in a dim abbey.

“A date,” Crowley agrees.

(It looks like this:

Crowley won’t meet him until the first day of the one class they’ll share, but he notices him at freshers week. He looks like he stepped out of Dead Poets Society or Oxford in the 1950s, in tweed and honest-to-God wingtips, and he’s like Crowley. Well, broadly speaking.

His pale curls are cut unevenly, as if he did it himself, and he wears clunky glasses too big for his cherub–no, they call them something else, putti, maybe–whatever, his round and frankly angelic face. He clings to some huge paperback like a lifeline, gnawing anxiously at his plump lower lip.

Crowley takes a drag of his cigarette and meets his eye through the exhale of smoke. He holds it for a long moment, and lifts the cigarette to him, in a way that’s an invitation, and a greeting, and a subtle gesture to the rainbow pin on his own lapel. There’s a bright flash of recognition in his eyes as he sees.

And then he turns away.)

Aziraphale is not, as Crowley anticipated, in the nice building with central air and heating. Instead, he’s in the big, historic dorm, which he should have expected. If he’s learned anything at this point, it’s that Aziraphale is committed to a certain aesthetic, and modern architecture and carpeting is not part of it.

“I’ll take my books,” he says, gesturing for Crowley to put them on the top of the stack, and though something in his chest leaps at an opportunity to help, insists that he offer to take them up, he understands Aziraphale doesn’t want to bring a guy he hardly knows up to his room, so he hands them over.

“Are you free tonight?” he asks eagerly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was, in truth, planning to wait until his next paycheck to ask him out again, but he can’t. It’s a Herculean feat of effort to keep from asking him out again the moment their date ends, or as soon as he sees him in class. It’s quite restrained of him, he thinks, to have only asked him out three times in two weeks.

“I am,” he says, the tips of his ears turning pink, and fuck, if that isn’t endearing; but then his face closes off, and he straightens his shoulders as best he can with the books in his arms. “Crowley, you…you know I’m not…”

“You’re not?” Crowley prompts when he doesn’t continue.

He bites at his lip, then says quite suddenly, “Crowley, you are…gay, aren’t you?”

Crowley throws back his head and laughs.

(It looks like this:

He sees him around. He’s not looking for him, persay, but it wouldn’t be accurate to say he doesn’t keep an eye out for him, either. There’s a rainbow pin on his lapel, now, small beside his little Stratford-upon-Avon souvenir and charmingly inoffensive Books Not Bombs pin. He could be a lesbian, Crowley supposes, but he doesn’t think so. Sometimes, you can just tell. Lesbians have a boldness about their person that this young man simply does not. Besides, lesbians travel in packs of other sapphics and very occasionally pet straight women they’ve taken under their wings, and he doesn’t seem to have any friends. Wide-eyed and beguiling as he is, he would’ve been adopted by now.

He’s like Crowley. Broadly speaking.)

“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonishes peevishly, after several moments.

He bites down on his smile, and pulls his carton of cigarettes out. Aziraphale shifts uncomfortably as he lights the cigarette, and Crowley raises his eyebrows. “Sorry, I should’ve asked first. Do you mind?”

“No, no, go ahead,” he says. “Just. The books.”

“I can hold them,” he says.

“No, I’ve got them,” he says, after a moment. His face is turning very red, and after he takes his first drag, Crowley notices his eyes have taken on a wounded, watery quality. He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders again, avoiding Crowley’s gaze. “Ah, sorry, I suppose, I just thought, your pins, and–”

“Yeah, angel, I’m gay,” Crowley says gently, and Aziraphale ducks his head; the nickname, employed ever since they left the theater, never fails to make him blush. “Almost exclusively.”

“Almost–”

“You’re the exclusively,” he says. “I’d think that’d be obvious.”

“It’s not,” Aziraphale says, his voice soft, and Crowley’s chest squeezes painfully at that. “You know I’m a man, right?”

“'Course I do,” he says. He takes a nervous drag, flicks ash to the sidewalk.

“You’re sure? Because I–”

“Angel,” he interrupts. “Listen, I promise, I know you’re a man. I probably wouldn’t be asking you out if you weren’t.”

Aziraphale brightens at that. “Probably?”

“I prefer men,” Crowley shrugs. “Can’t really say only, but mostly.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale says, satisfied.

“And you?” Crowley asks, as nonchalant as he can manage.

“Mostly,” Aziraphale echoes. Crowley smiles, knot in his chest loosening.

“Besides,” he says, kicking at a tuft of grass so he doesn’t have to meet his eyes.

“Besides?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowely hesitates.

The thing is, Crowley’s never really talked to anyone about it. Not really, not in so many words.

It’s a hard thing to verbalize, even when you’ve read Butler and Boswell and Bland and de Beauvoir and all the rest of the goddamn alphabet of people like Crowley who never stop asking questions, even when it makes his head hurt.

It feels like it would be an underwhelming statement. I feel like a man, but only mostly. Sometimes almost completely, sometimes only tangentially, really, it depends on how I look at it.

He thinks Aziraphale will understand, though. He hopes he will.

(It looks like this:

Crowley is Antonio is their production of Twelfth Night. He’s in the audience of three of their productions, watching with a rapt attention and delight that makes Crowley forget his lines when he looks at him for more than a beat. Crowley wants to believe his eyes linger a little longer on him than they do the other actors, but he’s not sure if he’s…projecting. If he wants it to be true, so he’s fooling himself into thinking there’s a moment after Crowley’s finished saying his lines and the student playing Sebastian has begun saying his that he keeps looking at him, those blue eyes noticing him, over and over.

He’s like Crowley. He’s confident of it.)

“I understand,” he mutters.

“You understand,” Aziraphale repeats, confused. “You understand what?”

“The whole,” he waves the hand holding the cigarette, ash falling. “Gender. Thing.”

“Gender thing?” He says, and understanding dawns in his eyes. “You’re trans, too?”

Crowley makes a noncommittal noise. “I dunno. Sort of? Not really. Just…don’t feel,” he gestures, broadly. “All…not-that.”

“Are you a trans woman?” Aziraphale asks, and he shakes his head, sighs, shifts.

“No, not like a woman, just, sometimes, not like a man,” he says. “A little? Sometimes a lot. Sometimes not really at all. Does that make sense?”

Aziraphale tilts his head, considering. Crowley appreciates this about him, he really does, that he’ll really think about what you say to him, turn it over in his mind, but right now, he’s kind of having a moment, a big one, and he’d really like some immediate, instinctive gratification. “It does,” he says finally. “I understand what you mean. Genderqueer, yes?”

Crowley stares at him, at the nakedness of his expression, the bare knowing, and he knows he does understand. He feels a tidal of relief crash over him. “Yeah,” he says, a crooked smile finding its way onto his lips. “Yeah, that works.”

Aziraphale smiles back, and there’s something like relief in his eyes too. “Still Crowley, then? And–the same pronouns?”

He nods. “Yeah. That part doesn’t matter so much, to me.”

“So, ah,” he shifts, and Crowley grimaces; this was really all he had to say, he really doesn’t know what else he could articulate, exactly, doesn’t know that he’s going to have answers and worries that Aziraphale will stop looking at him with that understanding, that relieved you’re like me. “Dinner? Tonight?”

Crowley grins. “Is seven alright?”

“Seven is divine, dear.”

(human au masterpost)

#today i'm emo about *spins the wheel* the great unrecorded history and Understanding as euphemism for being queer #thank you so much for asking im love them #henry speaks #good omens #human au #ineffable husbands #Anonymous #henry writes

[tttinytrash]

So I'm ordinarily awful at actually stating which AU I'm using except if you pick it up by context clues. Whoops. But I guess that also works because you can slot in a skele of your choice. I had UT Sans in mind for this one, probably a little bigger than the reader here just to accommodate what ends up happening. I also wanted to do one where it wasn't the first times noms had happened. That was the whole thought process. With that, I'll shut up so you can actually read lol

-----

You were both on the couch watching TV. It was nice, just to be able to chill out like this. You were crammed into the corner of the couch made by the armrest and backrest meeting, and the skeleton across from you mirrored the positioning in the opposite corner. This left your legs to become a haphazard yet somehow comfortable tangle on the middle cushions between you, with a blanket laid over for added warmth.

You were so chilled out at the moment that your eyes started to droop. You fought sleep back and shifted your legs, which drew Sans' attention from the screen to you.

"you nodding off on me there?" he asked, amused.

"A little." You paused to stifle a yawn. "Dunno why."

"then nap, obviously. i don't mind."

"Of course you wouldn't, O Nap Master." You chuckle, and have to stifle another yawn with less success this time. Dangit.

"join the borg." He was clearly having fun teasing you, much to your sleepy annoyance.

"Resistance is futile, blah blah. Yeah. Fine, I'll nap." You moved to get up to follow through, but Sans verbally stopped you.

"where ya goin’?"

"To nap. Duh. Don't wanna hamper what you're doing, and also don't wanna ruin my back by sleeping in a half sitting up position."

He quirked a brow at you "like i'd pass up a chance to nap?" He seemed to get an idea, and asked "hey, why don't we nap together?"

You felt your face heat up, much to your chagrin. "What?"

Sans pulled the blanket off both of you and sat up straighter so that you could see it as he pat his belly while reiterating "nap together, y'know?"

You felt the heat in your face intensify and leak to your ears and neck. You couldn't manage words for a moment.

Sans chuckled and poked your leg as he cajoled "i know you sleep pretty good with me."

"'Pretty well', you mean." You couldn't help but correct.

His wry smile told that he intentionally misspoke, likely since knew that stuff bugged you.

You took your turn to chuckle. "Fine, you win. Nap buddies it is."

He lit up and seemed eager as he pulled his legs under himself and sized you up. You waited for him make the first move.

However, he surprised you by going for your feet. He grabbed both of your ankles lightly and guided them into his mouth. This felt oddly backwards, but you let it happen regardless.

You both heard and felt the first gulp, and now your shins brushed his upper teeth. Another, and you felt the back of your knees on his tongue. He’d bent over to accommodate the fact that your torso still reclined on the couch, and now you were pulled away from your armrest and flat on your back along the couch as the lower half of your thighs were sucked into his throat. This sudden motion drew a surprised squeak out of you (dammit.) which caused Sans to immediately stop and snap his eyelights to your face in concern. 

Your heart was fluttering as usual, fight or flight kicking in despite knowing this was safe. You told yourself it was just the direction throwing you off. Given this, you gave him an encouraging nod and he relaxed.

Consent reaffirmed, he gave another gulp - notably stronger - as he worked around your hips. This left you half in, half out. Your knees down had already squished into his stomach proper by now, which is why they instinctively bent up when Sans moved. He had his hands on your back for support and sat up again which left your torso vertical over his upturned face. Gravity alone slid you a few inches deeper.

You noticed your bent legs meant your feet had pressed into the front of his stomach, actually creating a noticeable lump. You’d never seen yourself pressing out from inside, obviously, so you couldn’t quite help but watch as moving your feet a little made the lump move as well.

You smiled when Sans removed a hand from your back to smooth it over the bump. To you it seemed he was acknowledging what you were doing but also not trying to stop you. You watched a moment more as that lump filled out when he swallowed around you again and more of you entered his stomach. 

One more swallow drew you in deep enough that your observing angle was lost. Your arms were left bent up to shoulder level since your torso was fully inside Sans but your arms were outside. You didn’t get time to be too awkward since the next pull dragged your head in, leaving just forearms and hands sticking up. 

Sans entwined his fingers in yours, and gave your hand a quick squeeze before the final gulp pulled you fully inside to curl up cozily.

Once down, you let him adjust to sprawl over the couch first and then wriggled yourself into optimal position. After you got comfy you nuzzled your head into the wall both for affection and to signal you didn’t plan on squirming further. He sighed deeply, and you turned slightly into the rubs he was giving your back.

“Got experimental on me, huh?” You said after a moment. 

“you did a little there, too.” he responded, still trying to catch his breath a little. (To be fair, swallowing a whole person had to take effort. But why do skeletons breathe?)

“Turnabout is fair play?”

“eh, i’ll grant you that.”

“So, thoughts?”

You felt the slight tug as he presumably shrugged. “other way is easier. but this was kinda fun.”

“And I’ll grant you that.”

“and your experiment?”

“Eh, more morbid curiosity than experiment.” A concerning thought popped in your head. “That didn’t hurt, did it? Stretching like that?”

“i have to stretch way more to get all of ya in there. all good. kinda felt good, actually.”

“Really? Ok, now I’m running an experiment.”

You stretched your arms out in front of you slowly until they pressed into the wall and you felt the opposing resistance was adequate. Then you let up, repositioned, and repeated.

You laughed victoriously when Sans started to purr. Your amusement caused the blue glow in the chamber to ramp up, which you knew equalled a blush.

“You little deviant!” You crowed, still giggly.

“yeah, and you’re not?” he laughed back even as the glow increased again.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive!” You did let up though, and the glow dimmed back to its normal muted level.

After a moment of comfortable silence, he yawned and you responded in kind. Ah. Right. You were supposed to sleep.

“welp, ‘night nap buddy.” he said.

You scoffed. “Pfft, it’s the middle of the day. But sure.”

You both drifted off shortly thereafter, and the only sounds were light snores and he forgotten TV.

#undertail vore #safe vore #willing vore #clean vore

[emblemevents-newyear]

Set 5: Fate’s Blade vs. Pride of Hoshido

“Two fates intertwine... who shall come out on top?”

“We’re back again as the last set of matches close out for the day, so let’s have the two dueling crews out here make it a big one! Returning to the seas once more, we have Captain Ron of Fate’s Blade clashing ships with Lord Admiral, leading the Pride of Hoshido. It’s the first time I’ve personally seen the latter battle today, and he sorta looks like that Corrin guy...”

“The cheers and cries of the teams could be heard across the roaring seas, as they all scramble to their respective stations -- quickly loading up their cannons as the players work together by tossing all the spare ammo to the next person. By this time, it seems everyone’s gotten the hang of their own roles, those bringing in the ammunition while others man the Crow’s Nest. Corona seems a little too eager with having her own cannon loaded up, so much so that it... yup. Fires off, hits the side of the ship, and... oof. Right into her own chest! The sudden explosion alerts Fate’s Blade, with Ron firing away out of surprise, which almost hits Azura! Meanwhile, this only excite Peri who once again doesn’t waste time in aiming her cannon (wildly) and shoots -- only for that to also bounce against the ship too and strike her right in the chest! Listen, you REALLY gotta stop doing yourself in at the very beginning!?”

“The teams move into the first attack, but the confusion is enough to send them into a bit of a frenzy, with some team members once again aiming for one of their own yet again. Is this on accident, or is everyone really that seasick from all the battling today? Anyway, it looks like Tharja’s able to finding her footing by launching a quick shot at Yuuto, who gets struck in the hand (Fate’s Blade+2 Points!). This is followed by Aidan striking an escaping Laegjarn not ironically by the leg, but by the hand too (Fate’s Blade+2 Points!). It looks like the team is gaining some momentum with Azura firing off to hit Adal, but instead, goes straight for her own captain, Ron! And right in the chest! Not only that, but the first mate of the opposing team, Corona, tries hitting her own captain too! C’mon people, isn’t it too early for a mutiny!?! Fortunately for them, Aqua and Tiki both team to fire their cannons at Noire (Pride of Hoshido+2 Points!) and Azura (Pride of Hoshido+2 Points!), getting them by the hands! This wins them back those points from before!”

“After that episode of sudden betrayal, the teams go back to reloading and hopefully talking out their differences. Cynthia gets a bit fired up and slams a hand on her cannon, which then misfires -- honestly, I’m not even surprised at this point. On the Pride of Hoshido’s ship, Vevela tries to load up more cannonballs and doesn’t realize that the cannon has been activated at the same time, which fires off hits Mikoto right in the torso -- yeah, have fun explaining that to the captain. The crew then suffers another case of misfortune with Aqua loading up a cannon while it’s activated too, which then fires off, guess. Guess where. Torso.”

“The cannons have been reloaded, and now, the sea air shall rain hell again! Shots are fired to and fro, but only the ship’s hull takes some damage at first. Err, as well as team members continuing to betray each other whether indirectly or not. Swampy takes a literal shot in the dark and aims for the opposing captain, managing to strike a surprised Ron in the foot (Pride of Hoshido+2 Points!). He retaliates by giving orders to his fellow crew members, with Tharja taking action and shooting at Yuuto yet again (Fate’s Blade+1 Point!). I dunno if she’s specifically bullying the poor guy, but...”

“Both crews run out of ammo after wasting them on hitting the opposing ships, as they once again start reloading for the next onslaught. Azura and Ophelia are fast to finish with their own cannons, agreeing to fire at the same time to catch the enemy off guard. However, once again the RNG goddesses aren’t smiling upon them, as their cannons both misfire. But it decides to take one more victim as well, with poor Adal having his cannon fully load up... only for it to misfire and have all the rubber balls thrash about him.”

“Swampy makes the first shot for the next barrage, striking Azura by the hand (Pride of Hoshido+2 Points!), with Aidan trying to answer to this surprise attack by firing away, hitting Corona in the torso (Fate’s Blade+3 Points!). There seems to be a steady back and forth trade with each teams alternating hits; Yuuto strikes Robin in the arm (Pride of Hoshido+1 Point!), but then Tharja angrily retaliates with hitting Laegjarn in the hand (Fate’s Blade+2 Points!). The teams are locked into a brief battle between who will have the last here, cannonballs being traded but only hitting the masts, while others hit their own teammates out of pure chaos! It ends with Vevela and Cordelia taking shots at each other right at the same, as both are struck in the arms (Pride of Hoshido+1 Point & Fate’s Blade+1 Point!). A silence soon befalls the oceans except for the waves...”

“With both teams tuckered out from that hellish barrage, there’s a bit of wonder if they could continue on, but both captains are determined to carry everyone to the end. Tharja, disgruntled though hoping something good can come out of this, makes her way to reload her cannon which literally blows up not a second later. That’s... not exactly the most inspirational thing to see, for sure.”

“At the start of the next barrage, Lord Admiral makes a bold move and aims straight for his rival captain, managing to hit Ron in the arm (Pride of Hoshido+1 Point!). Yuuto tries going for a quick one too to knock out the captain, but once again, impatience punishes the crew as his cannonballs clocks Swampy square in the chest! Meanwhile, Noire and Vevela get into a brief scuffle which ends with both getting hurt in the arm (Pride of Hoshido+1 Point & Fate’s Blade+1 Point!). At last the current round is about to end with Tiki taking a shot at Azura, but Robin makes a heroic sacrifice by throwing himself in the way and getting struck in the chest (Pride of Hoshido+3 Points!). This brave act... it brings a renewal to win for the songstress!”

“Lord Admiral orders his crew to start reloading ahead of time, but he decides to take matters into his own hand by quietly aiming at Cordelia, striking her right in the torso (Pride of Hoshido+3 Points!). This pushes Fate’s Blade to regroup quickly as it’s clear the other team isn’t playing around -- the ocean’s a cruel mistress!”

“But, Ron makes a last minute decision to not have his crew strike just yet. However, he too decides to repay Lord Admiral in kind by quickly reloading one cannonball, and thus striking him in the torso (Fate’s Blade+3 Points!). Seeing her captain get hit, Vevela figures it’s not worth sitting around as their team gets potentially rained, so she goes for the nearest cannon... only for it to misfire! The remaining crew members figure it’s not worth the trouble and stand by...”

“In the next barrage, the teams trade cannon fire, only managing to hit each other’s ships and causing everyone to become unbalanced -- whatever are in those rubber balls, I’m beginning to wonder if they’re actually rubber! Anyway, throughout all this chaos, Yuuto forgets to look where his cannon’s aimed and instinctively fires it, hitting Tiki in the process right in the chest! That’s... that really had to happen, huh?”

“With the teams both numbered down, the next chance to reload only lasts for a short moment, as Laegjarn quickly has her cannon ready to fire, which hits Aidan in the torso (Pride of Hoshido+3 Points!). However, at the same time Azura rushes to reload hers as well, and upon firing it hits Yuuto in the torso (Fate’s Blade+3 Points!). The battlefield’s been evened out a bit...”

“Azura tries using the gained momentum to point her cannon elsewhere, but for some reason thinks Noire is THE ENEMY! And just like that, the latter is betrayed, struck right in the head. Meanwhile, Ron and Laegjarn both trade hits by hitting each other in the arms, making this a, err, probably close game (Fate’s Blade+1 Point & Pride of Hoshido+1 Point!).”

“The Pride of Hoshido is down to their last crew member, leaving it as a final stand with Fate’s Blade having its captain and first mate together. Laegjarn, ever dutiful and not wanting to back down, takes aim for Ron himself, and firing it earns her a clean shot at his torso (Pride of Hoshido+3 Points!). Azura fights back in a last ditch effort to avenge him, but unfortunately, her cannon misfires into what’s an anticlimactic end for a grueling battle. That leaves Laegjarn as the sole survivor, who earns a bonus for her team (Pride of Hoshido+5 Points!)!.”

“That was a close call, everyone... really at the edge of my seat here! And by that, I mean the tiny beach chair I was given. I think it’s gonna give way...”

Fate’s Blade: 19 points Pride of Hoshido: 30 points

**see below the cut for all simulation results!

#season segue ;; summer solstice #pirate panic ;; summer solstice #mod hector

[im-coming-to-you-live]

SpongeBob- Greying Gracefully

Yeah I keep forgetting I have a tumblr. Hey, this exists.

Greying Gracefully Summary: SpongeBob finds a grey hair and begins to worry about his premature aging. Rated: T for Teen; 13+ Characters: Squidward, SpongeBob, Sandy, Patrick, Mr. Krabs, Pearl, Gary Pairing(s): None Genre: Coming of age/ Friendship Word Count: 6, 058 Fic belongs to me.

SpongeBob Musical belongs to Kyle Jarrow (who wrote the book).

SpongeBob © Nickelodeon.

[X-posted from deviantART]

It was supposed to be the quintessential ‘’best day ever’’, like it was every morning. The sun was shining, and the hills were alive with the sound of music. Nothing could possibly ruin this most perfect of perfect days, that is, until SpongeBob spotted a lone grey hair, interloping among his platinum-colored tresses. His first instinct was not to panic. ‘Okay,’ he told himself, ‘No biggie. It’s only one. And hey, silver’s a pretty color, maybe no one will notice since my hair’s so light anyway,’ but when he went to go pluck it, he found another, and yet another, silver wisps upon silver wisps. He felt the color drain from his face, just as the color had from his hair. He tried to remain optimistic, but wasn’t he a little too young to be going grey? Now, at the age of 25, a few grey strands multiplied to what seemed like nearly a hundred, silently taunting him when he looked in the mirror as if to say, “You’re getting old. You’re getting old. You’re getting old.” He had never been one to fear the future. Rather, he looked forward to it. He looked forward to the day he would turn Squidward’s age and look wise and distinguished with all those lines chiseled into his face like the rocky mountains Sandy often spoke of after her trip to New Mexico last summer. Plus, Squidward’s grey scalp looked becoming to his natural sea-green locks. It reminded SpongeBob of fluffy clouds floating over the ocean surface. He looked forward to the day he would turn Mr. Krabs’s age and still look physically fit, with hardly a wrinkle albeit attractive smile lines, and a load full of pepper and salt chest hair. Yes, the older men in his life made him feel excited to grow old. ‘’To grow old,’’ he once remarked to their wrinkled noses, ‘’Would be an awfully big adventure.’’

‘’You have no idea, kid,’’ they both told him, but SpongeBob had to laugh. To his eyes, they both aged gracefully. But then again, he had never known them to be young. He remembered sauntering into Mr. Krabs’s office one day, only to find it empty. Instead, he found an old-fashioned picture frame stuffed into one of the desk drawers, face down. SpongeBob didn’t mean to pry but curiosity got the best of him, and so he lifted the picture frame from its hiding place and wiped away the dust which coated the glass with his sweater. He didn’t immediately recognize the young man in the black and white photo—handsome, with a strong resemblance to Mr. Krabs. It couldn’t have been, could it? SpongeBob remembered removing the photo from its frame and flipping it to the backside, but there was no date. It must have been taken around 1960-something. 1964  or '65 was his wild guess. Mr. Krabs was pictured in a Navy uniform, with inky black hair and a darker complexion than he sported now. He looked almost exotic, like Egyptian. For some reason, it was eerie and haunting. The man who went off to war would never return the same man he left.  Mr. Krabs never talked about it, but SpongeBob heard stories about what kind of man he was when he came home... Pearl’s grandmother had said she didn’t even recognize her own son. But Mr. Krabs seemed happy here, and so unaware of what was to come. The soldier smiled back at him as if he knew of his innocence. He seemed both eager for its loss and nostalgic for those few years of naiveté behind him. Deeper in the drawer, SpongeBob uncovered yet another photograph, this time of Mr. Krabs in full service dress, with his name tag centered on the right breast pocket. He wasn’t smiling in this one. Most soldiers wanted to escape the draft, probably the reason for him not following the rules (his cap was off, and his left hand was in his pocket, a rakish disregard for the regulation that a soldier in war could never, ever stick a hand in his pocket ).  The hand in the pocket was almost a silent rebellion. The pockets that were empty in the photograph would soon bulge with hand grenades, extra ammunition, food, and many of the gross of condoms they were issued before a combat jump. SpongeBob held these photos side-by-side to compare them. One soldier was happy. The other was not. They almost looked like two different people. But they were both Mr. Krabs, taken in a moment of time, months apart. Is this why he had locked them away? Could he not come to terms with his own aging that began in his mere twenties? And then there was Squidward. SpongeBob had visited his neighbor’s Eastern Island home one day only to find him hiding secrets, too. He had a library under the stairs—not nearly as impressive as SpongeBob’s but the porifera couldn’t resist—and when SpongeBob intruded when Squidward wasn’t looking, he found what appeared to be a high school year book on one of the shelves. ‘’Farlingaye High’’ it said on the cover. Inside, he found quite a few surprises. One Polaroid depicted Squidward entering his amateur piece into the school art show—he proudly held it up: a little painting of Neptune-knows-what. His mum stood beside him, beaming at her little artist son. Between her hands, she held his cheap plastic briefcase that carried all his books. It wasn’t a proper grown-up briefcase that a few of the brain-box nerds had inherited from their dads. Squidward had ‘’graffitied’’ his up a bit—but come to think of it, it was still pretty geeky. Squidward looked no different than he did now, except of course he didn’t have crow’s feet, and so SpongeBob couldn’t possibly mistake the identity. He was still tall and lanky, only this time with prominent buckteeth, bespectacled, spotty, and wore braces. He was nerdy but still charming. Actually, he kind of looked like SpongeBob. But something else was different about him. He looked genuinely happy, with the excited look of a child at Christmas in his eyes, an expression of innocent glee that SpongeBob had never seen in the older Squidward. The next Polaroid, with a stain in the right corner, depicted Squidward in a class photo, wearing a blue cardigan that his mother had probably knitted for him, and a shaggy Brady Bunch haircut that was popular at the time. Again, he looked happy. But then in his graduation photo, wearing his honorary cap and gown, his diploma in his hands, he had the all-too familiar stern look he had now. And he was only 18. What happened? ‘’ I hated German,’’ he remembered Squidward saying as he came into the library to find SpongeBob crouched over his yearbook. SpongeBob hurriedly tried to close the book and return it to its proper place, but Squidward didn’t seem to mind so much. He came up beside him and pointed at his young self and said, ‘’It was’t the subject, it was the incredibly dull, dull, dull teacher. I was always getting shouted at and sent out of the class for messing around. I was always mortified having to take that walk of shame to the door. I was such a loser. Y’know, I got picked on all the time.’’ ‘’Is that why you look so unhappy here?’’ SpongeBob asked. ‘’Yes,’’ Squidward admitted sadly, before realizing his error, and snapped, ‘’I mean no! I was itching to be done with school because, by about 13, I knew I wanted to go off to performing arts college, but I could barely afford it. Looking back, high school only lasted a few years! I should have relaxed and tried to enjoy and get more out of it.’’ And with that, he closed the book and shooed SpongeBob out of the library. He was never allowed to bring up Squidward’s high school days ever again. As SpongeBob studied his grey hairs in the bathroom mirror, he wondered what he would look like in twenty years, fifty. Seeing how rapidly Squidward and Mr. Krabs aged in their youth, when they were supposed to be in the prime of their life, he wondered what he would look like in only a few months from now. Would he forget how to smile? Would he be frowning on his 26th birthday? Was it possible to grow old before he reached 30? He didn’t mind getting old, it was inevitable, but he didn’t want to get old now. He sighed, and walking out of the bathroom, he found Gary sprawled out on his side on the bed, completely content. ‘’Gary, can I ask you an honest question?’’ The snail rustled, looking annoyed that he had been disturbed from his nap. When he finally focused his eyes on SpongeBob, he said, ‘’Do you think I look…old?’’ Gary took one look at him and replied with a sarcastic, ‘’Meow.’’ SpongeBob frowned. ‘’Gee, thanks. You’re a real pal.’’                                                                               *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ‘’ I’m only 25! I found my first grey hair and I might be going bald.’’ SpongeBob complained as Squidward sat him down in a chair. ‘’Congratulations, you’re turning into me,’’ Squidward grumbled. ‘’You lost your hair at my age?’’ SpongeBob gasped. Squidward continued to stare at SpongeBob, not amused, then pointed to his hair, which, despite a receding hairline, he mostly still had. ‘’Gracious me, now where did all my hair go?’’ ‘’Did you check between your legs? That’s where most of my hair is.’’ Squidward slapped his forehead at such disbelief. ‘’You’re such a twit.’’ The boy shrugged. ‘’I dunno. I thought maybe it was a toupee.’’ ‘’Then yank on it.’’ SpongeBob did, reaching out to grab fist fulls of Squidward’s hair to see if it was really attached to his scalp, and it must have been, because he yelped, ‘’Ouch, not so hard, you prat!’’ and he shoved SpongeBob away. Yup, it was definitely real. And soft. Synthetic hair wouldn’t be that soft.   ‘’This is awful!’’ SpongeBob began to cry into his hands. ‘’Am I gonna be all white before thirty, Squidward?’’ ‘’Mellow fucking out, SpongeBob,’’ Squidward snapped. ‘’You’re still young. You have your whole life before you.’’ ‘’Before me?’’ he wailed. ‘’No, all is over for me! I’m dying!’’ Squidward rolled his eyes. ‘’I didn’t think you were so vain. Hey, is this the same guy who said growing old would be fun?’’ ‘’Yeah, but…I’m not old. I mean, I didn’t expect to be turning grey until twenty years from now,’’ SpongeBob said, wiping his eyes on his shirt. ‘’Exactly. You’re not old. Look, sometimes you get a few grey hairs here and there, doesn’t mean you’re aging.’’ ‘’Then what’s happening to me?’’ ‘’There’s nothing wrong with you…Well, alright, there’s a million things wrong with you but a grey hair or two is the least of your problems. You’re freaking out over nothing.’’ Squidward approached him, and then with a comb in tow, he parted SpongeBob’s blonde tresses to inspect the so-called ‘’damage’’. After a few moments of brushing through SpongeBob’s hair, he shook his head and said, ‘’Oh yes, this looks very bad.’’ SpongeBob felt his heart sink. ‘’How bad?’’ ‘’Very very. More serious than I thought. Tsk tsk. There’s a few more back here you didn’t catch. You poor ol’ chap. I suppose your entire head will be all white before thirty.’’ SpongeBob clutched his chest and moaned in fright at such dreadful news. But then he heard Squidward laughing. ‘’What’s so funny?’’ he demanded through the tears welling in his eyes. ‘’I’m just messing with you!’’ Squidward chuckled. ‘’Aside from a few grey strands, your head looks completely fine. Blonde as ever. And you’re not going bald, you have enough hair to make a wig for a grape!’’ SpongeBob stood from his chair and punched Squidward in the chest. He didn’t appreciate the sarcasm, not now in a time like this when he really needed his help. ‘’Oh c’mon, SpongeBob, it was a joke!’’ Squidward tried to reason, but SpongeBob wasn’t having it. ‘’If you’re not going to help me, I’ll find someone who will,’’ SpongeBob proclaimed as he made his way to the door. ‘’Can’t you see I’m ailing? You know what, Squid, you’re so full of—‘’ ‘’Alright!’’ Squidward cut him off. ‘’No need to get nasty. I’ll just cut the greys, and give you some coloring if you want. It’s what I use.’’ This didn’t ease SpongeBob’s worries. ‘’I’m going to have to color my own hair?’’ ‘’Look, it’s not going to turn grey overnight. Those few follicles that lost their pigment won’t affect the surrounding hairs. At most, those are the only grey hairs you’ll have for awhile. As you get older, it’ll get more grey. You’ll most likely still be blonde at thirty. It’s a gradual change, SpongeBob. You get used to it.’’ ‘’Were you greying at my age?’’ Squidward sighed. ‘’Younger than you, actually. In my late teens. You’re lucky. At least you’re almost thirty, in five years. For me, it was over by thirty. It runs in the family. My cousin’s been coloring her hair since she was twenty-two. I used to wonder what propelled my mother to keep her hair dark brown at sixty, when it long ago decided it wanted to be white at twenty-eight. But I’m just as guilty as her now. Truth is, it has very little to do with fear of aging and a lot more to do with an unwillingness to look and, some might say, act my age. I’m one of those people frequently mistaken for someone much younger, and I admit I like it. So sue me.’’ SpongeBob looked at Squidward’s glorious head of hair and couldn’t blame him. Aside from sporting a white skunk stripe down the middle, you couldn’t even tell he had been coloring his hair all these years, nor could you tell he was grey under all that natural looking turquoise. He didn’t even look old, even if he had kept his hair grey. SpongeBob came back to his chair and let Squidward cut out the grey hairs before the older man sent him home with hair dye and pre-shampoo conditioner to keep the coarse, wiry grey hairs moisturized and smooth when they grew back. SpongeBob was grateful to Squidward, but at the same time, he didn’t know if he was ready to start all the daily hair treatments of his 45-year-old neighbor. ‘Well,’ he thought, trying to cheer himself up, ‘I always did think we were something like brothers, but this isn’t quite what I had in mind.’ He began to fear the worst: What if he checked into a retirement home the same day as Squidward, while his younger looking, more vital friends—with their beautiful, un-grey hair—had to pay him burdensome visits? If people remarked that Squidward looked exceptionally young for his age, he wondered if he would begin to look too old for his age. Time for a second opinion.                                                                                  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ‘’Did I ever find a grey hair?’’ Patrick echoed the question as he tread into the kitchen for another grape soda. SpongeBob followed behind him, waiting for an answer. After Patrick opened a soda and handed it to SpongeBob he said, ‘’Nope, can’t say I ever had. But if I ever found a green hair, well, that’s a different story.’’ He opened another soda, took a sip, then continued, ‘’I tried to dye my hair blue once. It turned green for some reason. Or was it lilac? Actually, what is lilac? Is that, like, yellow?’’ ‘’Purple,’’ SpongeBob explained. ‘’Lilac’s purple, Patrick.’’ ‘’Purple Patrick, maybe that was it. Hey, I didn’t know there was a color named after me!’’ In spite of himself, SpongeBob had to laugh. Patrick always found a way to cheer him up. ‘’Yeah, no, about my question…so like, never ever?’’ ‘’What was the question again?’’ ‘’If you ever found a grey hair?’’ ‘’If you ever found a grey hair?’ ‘’No, you.’’ ‘’Got it.’’ And Patrick took another lengthy chug from his soda, nearly emptying it. SpongeBob waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. He seemed to have forgotten what they were even talking about. ‘’Patrick?’’ ‘’Yeah?’’ ‘’Well?’’ ‘’What?’’ ‘’Did you?’’ ‘’Did I what?’’ ‘’Find a grey hair?’’ He blinked, registering the question for a moment, then he suddenly seemed to comprehend. ‘’Oh right. No, I don’t think so.’’ ‘’Positive?’’ ‘’Affirmative. I mean, you can look if you want. Don’t think you’ll find anything.’’ With that, he bowed his head as low as possible, but SpongeBob still couldn’t reach so he grabbed a nearby chair and stood on top of it. But Patrick was right. As he sifted through his cotton-candy quiff, he didn’t see one hint of a silver strand. It was all beautifully bubble gum pink. SpongeBob felt a little jealous. Patrick was 28, and he hadn’t a single sign of greying anytime soon. He would probably still have pink hair at Mr. Krabs’s age. He sighed, and hopped off the chair. Patrick noticed his sour mood and asked, ‘’What’s wrong? It’s lice, isn’t it?’’ ‘’Huh? No, your hair looks fine. Great, actually.’’ ‘’Then what is it?’’ He rubbed his arm, and said, ‘’I...found a few grey hairs this morning.’’ ‘’Seriously? But you’re like, a baby!’’ Patrick joked. But SpongeBob wasn’t laughing. ‘’I’m serious.’’ ‘’Don’t worry about it, buddy. Sandy will know what to do,’’ he said, patting SpongeBob on the back. Sandy, of course. Why didn’t he think of it before? With that, he stood on his tiptoes to plant a kiss on Patrick’s forehead, but he couldn’t reach, so he kissed him on the cheek instead. ‘’Patrick, you’re a genius!’’ And he rushed to the door, but not fast enough in time, for he could hear Patrick angrily remarking as he left, ‘’What did I say?! Just ‘cause you’re turning old, don’t take it out on me! I was just trying to help! You know what, SpongeBob? Screw you! You’re a genius, and it’s showing too!‘’                                                                              *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ‘’Stress, genetics, B-12 deficiency…a lot of reasons people turn grey in their twenties,’’ Sandy explained. ‘’ When your body stops producing melanin, a pigment found in the hair follicle, your hair goes grey. Another factor that may contribute to grey hair is the buildup of hydrogen peroxide in the hair. As you grow older, the enzyme catalase that breaks down hydrogen peroxide diminishes. This leaves your hair bleached by hydrogen peroxide. But here’s what not to do: don’t pluck it. You’ll just go bald from all that trauma to your scalp. Use non-ammonia based color. All those chemicals ain’t healthy. Nutritionally focus on protein at breakfast and lunch—available energy to hair tissue is lowest in the morning, did you know that?--, keep hydrated and choose healthy snacks like yogurt, nuts and fruits. You can do all this, SpongeBob, but everyone’s different. You might be going prematurely grey and there’s nothing you can do about it. All you can do is accept yourself and move on.’’ ‘’Squidward said it’s a slow change, is that true?’’ ‘’He’s right, I reckon,’’ she nodded. ‘’Why? Did he share with you a ‘going grey’ story?’’ SpongeBob just chewed his bottom lip, which caused Sandy to burst out in a hearty laugh. ‘’Hah! I knew he colored his hair!’’ ‘’Is that bad?’’ ‘’Nah,’’ she snorted. ‘’Half the population probably does. Y’know, I just thought of something funnier than all that.’’ ‘’What?’’ ‘’ Caucasians begin to grey in their mid-30’s, Asians in their late 30’s and African Americans in their 40’s, according to a 2011 research analysis published in The Dermatologist. On average, 50 percent of the population will have 50 percent grey hair by the age of 50. Gender seems to play a role as well: Men start greying closer to 30, while women begin to notice grey hairs around 35. So don’t worry about it. Even if you turn grey sooner than all’s the rest of us, give us five more years, and we’ll be greying together.’’ With that, she slapped her knee. She thought it was a riot, but SpongeBob failed to see the humor in all this. ‘’Patrick’s a little older than me, and he hasn’t found his first silvery strand yet,’’ SpongeBob admitted sadly. ‘’Everybody’s different,’’ she shrugged. ‘’But if you’re worried about your mortality, your hair’s got nothing to do with it. You’ll live long, still. You’re a sponge, for crying out loud.’’                                                                               *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * He hoped Sandy was right, but as he left her Treedome, he wondered if he would ever be able to accept himself someday with a head full of grey or white hair. Would he be like Squidward’s mother, and continue to color his hair well into his sixties? It was a ridiculous thought, having blonde hair at that age. But as he bumped into Mr. Krabs on his way to the Krusty Krab, he realized maybe it wasn’t so ridiculous. Mr. Krabs was about 70, he realized, and he sported bright red hair. But then SpongeBob suddenly recalled the old photograph of Mr. Krabs in his navy uniform, and though the picture wasn’t in color, his hair looked too dark back then to be red, or even a burnt auburn. Did he…? ‘’Boyo, didn’t see ya there!’’ Mr. Krabs bellowed. ‘’Hey, Mr. Krabs,’’ he solemnly smiled. ‘’Say, can I ask you something?’’ Mr. Krabs narrowed his eyes into slits and scrutinized SpongeBob like a fly on the wall. ‘’If you’re asking me permission to take out me darlin’, beautiful daughter, a teenager, mind, on a date—‘’ ‘’What? No, Mr. Krabs, I—‘’ But the expression on the retired vet’s face quickly changed into a friendly smile, and he rustled SpongeBob’s hair with his meaty claw to show he meant well. ‘’I’m just joshin’, lad, relax! Should’ve seen the look on yer face! Got ya, didn’t I?’’ and he chuckled his familiar sailor’s laugh. ‘’Yeah. Heh. You got me,’’ SpongeBob tried to laugh along. ‘’Look, Mr. Krabs, I just—‘’ But Mr. Krabs wasn’t listening. He got that look in his eyes that he often did when he thought of a brilliant business venture. SpongeBob knew it all too well, because he titled his head back and rubbed his chin in deep thought. ‘’Come to think of it, that’s not a half bad idea. Could get Pearly outta me hair for a few hours. That is, if ya don’t mind.’’ ‘’Sure, whatever, but—‘’ ‘’She’s been drivin’ me crazy, that kid! Y’know how much the phone bill was this month? Calling and texting! I swear, she’s as bad as her grandmother, she’s got that phone growing right outta her ear! I caught her talkin’ to some friend at two in the mornin’! Two! What’s with kids these days?’’ ‘’It’s a mystery,’’ SpongeBob agreed. ‘’Look, can I ask you—‘’ But Mr. Krabs cut him off again. ‘’She’s eatin’ me outta house and home! I can’t wait till she finds a nice man to settle down with and move out. Well, truth be told it breaks me heart to think of it. You try to hold them as long as you can, but then a day comes when they don’t want to be around you no more. SpongeBob, never have children. You’ll live longer. I’ve been going grey since the day she was born.’’ ‘’That’s what I want to ask you about.’’ Mr. Krabs suddenly snapped his head towards SpongeBob as a dark look crossed him. ‘’You’re poppin’ me the question, ain’t ya, laddy?’’ ‘’Huh? What are you even talking about?’’ Mr. Krabs slung a strong arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. ‘’You’re a nice kid, SpongeBob. I’ve always thought of you as the son I never had. But I don’t know if you’re right for Pearl. No offense. So before you ask, I just have to say one thing: you’re already part of the family, and if you think marrying me daughter is going to get you that promotion, then think again. Because family or no family, you’re just not manager material!’’ SpongeBob blinked, and then shook his head. ‘’It’s not about Pearl.’’ Instead of growing relieved, this seemed to anger Mr. Krabs even more. ‘’What? Now you’re saying you’re too good for me daughter?’’ ‘’No, Pearl’s fine, it’s just—‘’ ‘’Just fine, eh?’’ ‘’She’s great, okay?’’ ‘’She’s pretty, right? Prettiest in all the seven seas?’’ ‘’Yes, absolutely!’’ ‘’So you do fancy her?!’’ Finally, SpongeBob had to push against the crab’s chest to knock some sense into him. ‘’Mr. Krabs, will you just listen to me!?’’ ‘’You’re not poppin’ the question?’’ ‘’No.’’ ‘’What is it, kiddo?’’ Mr. Krabs inquired, finally calming down. ‘’Well, you see…you dye your hair, right?’’ Mr. Krabs suddenly looked self-aware and his claws went instinctively to his head. ‘’What makes you say that?’’ ‘’Well…don’t get mad at me…but a long time ago, I saw this picture in your desk…’’ ‘’Oh, that one. Well, the cat was bound to come outta the bag sooner or later.’’ ‘’So…you went grey after the war?’’ SpongeBob asked. ‘’It was a few years after the war, actually, but yes, eventually I greyed at fifty.’’ ‘’That’s normal, isn’t it?’’ ‘’Sure, but I didn’t want me old Navy buddies to see how much I aged. And so I tried to find a dye that matched me natural color, with no luck. Me hair, SpongeBob, was a dark oak brown back in the day. Hard to believe, no? At least I wasn’t balding, but me friends still had dark hair at me age and I felt ashamed. So I holed up on a small Greek island, hoping that I’d be able to find au nat-ur-al hair color. Turns out that the only Greek colorings available were all unnatural hues of red.’’ ‘’Didn’t your friends say anything?’’ ‘’Nah. Me new red hair blended in with me claws so much, they forgot how dark I used to be. Why’re you asking me all this anyhow?’’ ‘’Oh,’’ SpongeBob smiled, ‘’No reason.’’ Mr. Krabs wasn’t so sure he believed him, but decided not to ask any more questions. ‘’So you’re picking up me daughter at eight and bringing her back no later than 9:30.’’ It wasn’t a request, it was a command. ‘’Take her somewhere fun, and make sure she throws out that damn shell phone!’’                                                                                *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * Maybe it was common for forty-somethings to dye their hair, and though he didn’t mind coloring well into Squidward’s age, he didn’t know if he could keep that up until his seventies. If Mr. Krabs was still dyeing his hair at his age, SpongeBob wondered if he would ever be able to escape. When do you stop? He was reminded of a dinner party a few months ago, when he, Patrick and Squidward decided to have a date, only for Squidward to crash the party. He kept complaining about how lonely and depressed he was, and when SpongeBob asked him why, his response was, ‘’Have you ever had to bury your own mother at 24?’’ He deeply sighed and lamented how he wished he knew how to die. SpongeBob and Patrick of course dismissed such talk, as this wasn’t unusual for Squidward, but his words haunted SpongeBob in that very moment. Squidward didn’t know how to stop what had been started. That’s kind of how SpongeBob felt now about obsessing over his greying hair. No one tells you how—or when—you’re supposed to stop. Intellectually, he knew there would  be a day when he would no longer color his hair. But how do you know when that day is? Will it be when his children go off to college? After his youngest child’s wedding? At the birth of his first grandchild? Or would he be the little old man in the nursing home who, with his last dying breath, demanded that the hair colorist be brought in for a final touchup? He shivered at the thought. And here he always regarded the two men he looked up to the most, Squidward and Mr. Krabs, as having aged gracefully. But they were as obsessed with their own mortality and vanity as SpongeBob was now at 25. He didn’t want to be like that forever, especially not at their age. All that stress would cause him to grey faster. And so as he went to pick up Pearl that night from the Krabs’ residence, he knew a teenage girl may be his last hope. Squidward and Mr. Krabs’s ‘’going grey’’ stories only made him feel ridiculous. A young man such as himself shouldn’t be trying to make himself look younger as though he were 45 or 70, going through a pre-existential crisis. Patrick’s grey-free locks—at 28—only made him feel envious. And Sandy’s cut and dry briefing didn’t help much either. He didn’t need lectures or experiences to help him through this. He just needed to let loose. He was about to knock on the door when it opened for him, and there stood Pearl in the doorway looking stunning as ever. Her dark hair, which was usually elaborately coiffed at the side of her head, was now pulled back into a bun with a pink bow to tie it in place. She wore an off-the-shoulder sweater over a sundress, plum in color, her long skirt ruffling in the light breeze. A silver bracelet danced on her wrist as she raised her arm to greet him. It matched her gold lipstick. As she looked into his eyes and gave him an innocent, childish smile suitable for a six-year-old, especially with that beauty mark at the top corner of her lip, all the breath left his body. ‘’Hi, SpongeBob,’’ she said. ‘’Um, hi.’’ He was surprised he could still speak. Pearl was just a kid, but she was growing up fast. Mr. Krabs suddenly interrupted them, appearing behind his daughter. ‘’Remember, have her back no later than 9:30, or I’ll make sure you never grill a single Krabby Patty for the rest of yer miserable life.’’ ‘’Daddy, stop embarrassing me,’’ Pearl teased, and kissed him on the nose before she stepped out onto the porch. SpongeBob suddenly felt underdressed in his blazer and khakis. He wasn’t even wearing dress shoes. ‘’Make sure she has the best time of her life or yer fired!’’ Mr. Krabs exclaimed before closing the door.     ‘’He doesn’t mean it. You know he’ll never fire you,’’ she reassured him. ‘’I know,’’ he said. ‘’Um, I don’t drive, so we have to walk…if that’s alright. Or we can take the city bus.’’ ‘’Walking’s fine. It’s nice tonight, huh?’’ and she stepped off the porch, waiting for him to follow. ‘’Say, I’m going for my boating license soon. If I get mine before the next date, we can take a drive down at the beach.’’ Next date? He hoped she didn’t think they were going steady, or was only using him to impress her friends because she had a 25-year-old ‘’boyfriend’’. He hoped she knew this was just a favor for her father, although he liked her well enough, but truthfully, she was just too young. Once they got to ground level, SpongeBob realized she wasn’t wearing her usual platform sneakers, but instead, she was wearing flats, perhaps in an attempt to make him feel taller and less awkward. ‘’So where’re taking me?’’ she asked, as she fished for her shell phone in her purse and began to text someone. He eyed her, hoping she wouldn’t be more interested in the phone than in him through the course of the night. ‘’Sssh,’’ she said, putting a finger to her lips when she noticed his look, ‘’Daddy tried to hide my phone but that’s why I always keep a spare. If he finds out I have this, I’m grounded until I graduate college.’’ SpongeBob shrugged. ‘’I won’t tell if you won’t.’’ She laughed. ‘’I always thought you were weird, but you’re kinda cool, SpongeBob.’’ He laughed too, and for the first time all day, he forgot about his dilemma. He looked at Pearl again, in her Maybelline cat eye, and avant-garde chandelier earrings, and wondered if she would ever worry about aging. She didn’t seem to worry about anything. Even though most teenagers never thought too far down the road—he knew at Pearl’s age, he didn’t; he never thought he would ever get old—she didn’t seem the type to develop a keen appreciation of head scarves to hide eventual hair loss, and who would learn the lesson of never traveling without an emergency box of hair color. ‘’Hey, Pearl—‘’ She closed her phone and excitedly remarked, ‘’So I just texted my friend and she said there’s this swanky new joint in town, some new Tiki bar that just opened up! Wanna go?’’ ‘’You’re not the legal drinking age,’’ he pointed out. ‘’I’ll get in trouble if—‘’ ‘’I won’t tell if you won’t,’’ she shrugged. She grabbed him by the hand and they walked towards the direction of the bar. ‘’So, SpongeBob, you were going to ask me something?’’ ‘’Um, yeah. I just…see…it’s complicated…’’ he stopped in his tracks, and when she tried to pull him, he wouldn’t budge. ‘’Who died?’’ she asked. ‘’My hair.’’ ‘’Your hair?’’ ‘’I found a grey hair this morning.’’ She raised an eyebrow at him. ‘’Rough. Hey, aren’t you only 25?’’ ‘’Yeah.’’ She approached him and, with a mischievous grin, she lightly poked his chest. ‘’Oh c’mon, you’re SpongeBob, you’re, like, supposed to be the happiest dude in Bikini Bottom! Do you think one little grey hair is gonna get him down?’’ SpongeBob looked at her, trying to smile, but it pained him to do so. ‘’I’m not always as happy as everyone thinks. I was like you yesterday. So full of life. Now I know how Squidward feels. Someday, it’s all over.’’ ‘’Nothing lasts forever,’’ Pearl said. ‘’If it did, they’d make permanent lipstick that didn’t fade throughout the day, am I right? But you don’t see me crying about it. That’s what the powder room’s for.’’ ‘’Yeah, I guess you’re right.’’ ‘’Let me tell you a story.’’ He sighed. ‘’I think I’ve heard enough today.’’ ‘’No, just listen. See, when I was a little girl I used to love playing with my grandma’s hair. It was pure white, like snow. I thought it was so pretty. I asked her, ‘Grandma, when I’m your age, will I have long flowing white hair someday?’ I wanted to know how the world saw her and how she saw herself. I also asked why she decided to stop coloring her hair and was shocked to hear that she never colored in the first place. That generally leads to mental calculations about how many schools could have been built with what people spend in pursuit of avoiding grey hair. The moral of the story is, SpongeBob, my grandma wasn’t ashamed of aging. Once she started going grey, that was it. She just let it happen. I always wanted to be like her. And even though I’m wearing make-up now, I know someday I’ll think it’s silly. All I know is, when I’m old, I’m gonna have white hair, and rock it like there’s no tomorrow. Who cares what people think? In my opinion, I think it’s childishly stupid that my dad doesn’t let his hair grey naturally. I think he looks better grey, the handsomest man in this little town.’’ She playfully nudged his shoulder when she finished. He listened to her story, and realized she was right. It’s going to happen someday. You can’t avoid it forever. Might as well throw caution to the wind, and whatever happens, happens. He smiled. He couldn’t believe he was taking advice from a 16-year-old girl, but she had a profound wisdom beneath all that typical adolescence. ‘’You know what, Pearl? You’re right.’’ ‘’Amen, lil’ brother!’’ she laughed, and held up a hand for a high-five. He returned the gesture and said, ‘’Amen, lil’ sister.’’                                                                                Fin

#everyone can have their own headcanons for their ages but i just used the actor's ages #except for mr. krabs cuz the cartoon says he's 70??? #but prolly in crab years i guess #my fanfiction #the spongebob musical #spongebob

[knightrepentant]

Just Good Business pt.1

The Courser’s body lay twitching and mangled upon the floor, scorch marks from laser blasts marring every wall, spent bullet casings bouncing off the Fallen’s boots as he turned from the battle scene. The final door creaked open, and he breathed deeply the rush of air that followed. It still held the sour tang of rads, but after the frantic roar of laser pistols and the snapping of his rifle, the smoke and the blood, after that it was the sweetest thing he’d ever smelled. One hand shielded his eyes from a floodlight’s sickly glare, and eventually the light faded to reveal the Boston cityscape unfurling before him. The sun rested like a loose coal upon the horizon, staining the clouds with amber, but the wind was cool and carried with it the scent of the sea.

               “Now that’s something you don’t see every day,” Limping and bruised, but still smiling, MacCready joined him on the observation deck. “Almost makes up for not getting any caps outta this,” he set his rifle on the floor and walked to the very edge. The Fallen’s heart jumped for a moment, but MacCready simply eased himself to the floor with a pained grunt, his legs dangling over a drop that made The Fallen’s head spin to think of it. He left his rifle, sword, bag of grenades, ammo belt, revolver, 10mm and their last Molotov next to the first rifle and went to sit beside his friend. It wasn’t until he bent down that pain roared all across his chest and abdomen, up one arm and down his right thigh. His gasp made MacCready chuckle and pat his shoulder, “Yeah you took a hell of a beating, gonna need patching up on the way back to the Drive-In.”

               “So will you, can’t believe you tried to sock that thing in the face.” MacCready flexed his bleeding fingers,

               “Yeah, not my smartest move. I think it pissed him off, though, and we’re talking about a Courser here.” The Fallen grinned weakly,

               “Definitely an achievement. But then he threw you over the railing, and I…”

               “Aw, you were worried about me!” A gentle punch hit the Fallen’s shoulder, “But hey, I know how to land, so no harm done.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, gazing out at the fading landscape.

               “Thanks, for doin’ this with me, Mack. Two hundred caps probably didn’t cover huntin’ down a Courser.”

               “What? I don’t give a sh-I mean, I don’t really care about the caps. You went with me to Med-Tek, smashed through all those ferals to get the cure for Duncan. I owed you for that, still do. You were the only person in the Commonwealth who’d even talk to me, besides Daisy.”

               “So you aren’t mad that I wrangled a discount out of you a year ago? Because I honestly didn’t have two-hundred-and-fifty caps on me then. Hell, I didn’t have a clue what I was doin’.” MacCready clapped a hand on his shoulder, carefully,

               “I get it, can’t have been fun, leaving that green and perfect life and waking up to this trash heap.” The Fallen looked down at his burnt and bloody hands,

               “It wasn’t, not at first. But then I met Piper, and Nick and Preston, Curie, even Hancock, and you. Comin’ out of that vault alone, I was goin’ out of my mind.” MacCready’s hand squeezed his shoulder,

               “Then you’re in good company, at least.” The Fallen tried to laugh, but pain lanced through him and turned it into a groan through gritted teeth. A hand riddled with innumerable tiny scars pressed into his chest, “Okay, time to get moving. I’m not carrying you down those stairs if you pass out.” MacCready looped the Fallen’s arm over his shoulders and the pair of them struggled to their feet.

“You would, though.” The Fallen tried his best to smile, “bit like a soldier, am I right?” Deep blue eyes snapped around to meet his, really blue eyes. But MacCready said nothing, and their descent was made in pregnant, restless silence.

The dusk sky was ravaged in red and black smog and threaded with rad-lightning.

“Shi-shoot, radstorm, masks on. Their ‘masks’ were actually just neckerchiefs that they just pulled up over their faces. The Fallen was walking upright now, his Pip-Boy held high in front of him to pierce the choking darkness. MacCready was close behind him, so much so that the Fallen could feel his ragged breathing,

“Mack, you okay?”

“Leg’s killing me, and keep your voice down. I don’t wanna get up close and personal with a ghoul pack in these woods.” Boston centre was disappearing behind the hill now, and around them was nothing but dead and twisted trees, and the murk wallowing between. The Fallen heard a family of crows shuffling high above and felt his fingers flicker instinctively to the rifle trigger. Ahead, an angular silhouette loomed atop a rise.

Some old pylon, rusted and swathed in ivy, offered meagre shelter from the winds. MacCready sat slumped against a toppled sign marked ‘DANGER – HIGH VOLTAGE’ until the Fallen returned with his arms full of dead wood. “It’s a risk making a fire, but right now I just wanna be warm.” The Fallen piled the kindling high and began patting his pockets, to no avail,

“Shit. Mack, you got a light?” A silver lighter tumbled across the gap into his hand and soon their small shelter basked in a sphere of orange light. The Fallen lit a cigarette off of a smouldering branch, took a long drag, and then passed it over. MacCready blew a long plume of smoke up into the cloud of embers dancing above the flames,

“Thought you didn’t smoke,” he said, flashing a look of mocking admonition, “’not a healthy lifestyle’ or something like that.” The Fallen limped over to sit beside him, plucked the cigarette from MacCready’s mouth and stole a drag,

“Yeah, well, today’s a special occasion. Now I’m one step closer to gettin’ my son back, I don’t care how many clockwork men the Institute throws at us.”

“I hear that. Shaun’s lucky to have a dad like you.” MacCready scuffed at the dirt with one foot, “Luckier’n my son, anyw…”

“Hey…hey! Thought we said no more of that kinda talk.” The Fallen got up to squat in front of his friend, “You got dealt a crap hand, in the kingdom of crappy hands, and you made it work. We got the cure from Med-Tek and come sunrise it’ll be on its way to Duncan, lotta folks woulda waved him goodbye and then kept on walkin’, Mack. So no more beatin’ yourself down, deal?” He proffered the cigarette. MacCready almost met his gaze as he reached for it, but when the ash flared at its end he saw the glow reflected in those ocean-blue eyes. The merc gave the slightest nod, “well, alright. And speakin’ of special occasions, I reckon this is as good a time as any to show you somethin’ really special.” He pulled up his pack and began rummaging in a secure pocket, muttering under his breath, until a triumphant hand pulled free towards the sky. “Check it out,” he held out a stout bottle full of rich amber liquor. MacCready took it and struggled through the writing that remained,

“Forester…Whisky?”

“Yup, and the best mind you, pre-war, not the cats-piss they call whisky these days.” MacCready smiled and handed the bottle back, 

“245-year-old liquor does sound good right about now,”

“No finer way to get drunk, and no man I’d rather get drunk with,” the Fallen raised the bottle in a mock toast, only to gasp in pain and clutch at his side. MacCready was on his feet in an instant, rescuing the bottle from falling and propping the Fallen against the fallen pylon. He pulled the Fallen’s duster back to reveal a dark stain running from armpit to waist,

“How the heck didn’t you notice this?! Sit…just sit down a moment, while I get…get the…” the Fallen growled in pain as he hit the grass,

“The red case in my pack, nicked a bunch of vac-sealed bandages from Med-Tek, should be enough for both of us.” As MacCready scattered the pack’s contents in his search, the Fallen tried to shrug off his coat, which only sent another ripple of pain across his back. Reaching over to pull his arm from its sleeve met with the same result and he sagged, “Mack. Mack I can’t…”

“Hang on, Sam. hang on, I got…stop fidgeting,” The coat was carefully slid from his shoulders, “Shirt too. I think it’s bad.” His fingers slipped on the shirt buttons, the Fallen could hear his own ragged breathing as he fought for what seemed an eternity to undo each one. Then the shirt was off, and “Oh god…” was all MacCready managed. Somehow, the shirt had been keeping the pain at bay, but now exposure to the cold brought it rushing in. His muscles felt taut, knotted and on fire all at once. Looking down, the Fallen saw a maddening tapestry of purple and black spread across his chest, abs, left shoulder and left arm, and a weeping wound in his left side. He was shaking now,

“Mack…” But MacCready was already working, he’d found the silver tin Curie had given him. Inside was a clear ointment, he’d only half-understood her explanation of how she’d made it but as MacCready started applying it, a cold even sharper than the wind, he found he didn’t mind. It stung terribly for a moment as it covered the laceration, but that quickly faded to blessed numbness. A sigh gusted from his lungs, which only burned a little bit now,

“Fuck me, that’s good.” MacCready gave a nervous chuckle,

“Yeah, well that’s Curie’s handiwork not mine,”

“I dunno, you seem to be doin’ fine to me,” another blue glance, hands slowing in their work for just a moment,

“Done, how’s it feel?” the Fallen cautiously flexed his arms and rolled his left shoulder back,

“Curie knows her stuff, barely twinges. Bandages now.” Fresh from vac-seal, the strips were a pristine white and soft against his skin. MacCready was less frantic now, his hands deft but unhurried,

“Arm up,” the Fallen obliged, and MacCready wound and wound the bandage tight.

“You’d have been a great medic, y’know,” the Fallen said softly as his friend pulled the knot taut. MacCready made a sound that could’ve been scorn, or amusement,

“I’m way better at shooting people than patching ‘em up, but I’ll do both if it keeps your crazy head on your shoulders.” The Fallen just shook his head with a grin,

“Thanks. Now, coat off, shirt off.” MacCready’s duster crackled as he pulled it away, “Geez, dude, when’s the last time you aired this thing out? It was startin’ to become part of you,” the Fallen tossed it over a girder and leaned forward,

“Hey, I can do my own buttons…”

“Hush now, the doctor is workin’.” MacCready snorted, then winced. The Fallen took up the tin of salve and began spreading it over the bouquet of bruises up MacCready’s right side, across his chest. MacCready’s sigh of relief was cut short, “Yeah, still got your stomach to do, that Courser nearly punched a hole through you. Kneel up, Mack.”

He obliged, and the Fallen carried on. Hands made rough by clutching a rifle felt smooth beneath the salve, the Fallen’s fingers getting tangled in his belly hair made MacCready look up. Eyes, soft as silk at times, unbending as steel at others, blinked slowly up at him, then darted away. “Just have to wrap you up now.” The Fallen worked with precise, gentle movements. He noted every old scar, every nick in the skin without really thinking about it. MacCready had muscle but it was all lean and tough, wiry but solid. He stepped back, “Good as new, eh? Now,” he snatched up the whiskey bottle, “we get to the good part.”

“OHHH, THEY CALL ME THE WANDERER…THE WANDERER…I ROAM AROUND, AROUND, AROUND, AROUND…!” Two voices bellowed a tone-deaf accompaniment to Diamond City Radio’s greatest hits. The Fallen’s Pip-Boy was propped up on a tree stump at max volume, while two bandaged lunatics staggered and bounced in rings around the campfire. MacCready’s hat clung to his head a jaunty angle, threatening to abandon ship as he tilted his head back to take another gulp of liquor, “I ROAM FROM TOWN TO TOWN…” The Fallen took a swig from the bottle, “LIVIN’ LIFE, WITHOUT A CARE…” Their laughter, reminiscent of drunken hyenas, echoed off the skeletal trees, “I’M AS HAPPY AS A CLOWN…!” The Fallen had one arm around MacCready’s waist as they jumped to the beat, the other swung the bottle high overhead. He brought it down for another gulp as MacCready pulled his hair from in front of his eyes. The Fallen made up his mind. MacCready met him halfway, arms pulling tight, pulling him close. Travis’ stuttering voice blurred into the background as their kiss deepened. The Fallen’s fingers pushed droplets of sweat down MacCready’s back, hands exploring faded scars on his stomach, grasping at his backside... 

The old bottle fell on its side in the grass.

#fallout 4 #fallout companions #maccready #robert joseph maccready #msolesurvivor #solexmaccready #fanfic #this is my first gay fanfic so we'll see how this goes #part 2 soon