Domestic Fic Meme Responses
Nashville Verse:
Chuckler/Runner for uniformly
There were a lot of assumptions people made about Runner and Chuckler, plenty of bar bets and drunken discussions passed around the tables of Allison’s. Gossip was like air to their group of friends and Runner was used to being asked at least once a week, “but how do you work” as a drunken asshole looked between Chuckler’s towering height and Runner’s shorter stature.
What they didn’t know was that Lew liked to be cuddled. Runner had to lay half on top of him to do it, but Lew would curl up into a little ball and curl back into his arms, seeking warmth and security, clinging especially tight if he’d been on the road for a few months. They didn’t know that they’d spend their days off watching and mocking cooking shows together, trying to recreate the dishes and failing miserably. Runner looked forward to those brief, if failed, experiments. They’d learn to balance their two different natures. Runner was always freezing cold, used up all the hot water in the mornings, dressed in layers, and left their landlord truly scathing voicemails when the heat went out. Lew gave off heat like a furnace and could be found walking the streets in flip-flops and t-shirts come winter. Oddly enough, Lew was the one who always stole all the damn blankets. He only grew cold at night but Runner was okay with that, since he basically had his own space heater in the form of Lew.
The kitchen, while the place of all their failed cooking show experiments, was also the place of most contention. The one stupid thing they constantly fought over was how to put cups in the cabinet. Runner had diner training, he always stored them bottom’s up. Lew like to stack them doubled and rim-up. It was a stupid thing to fight over, but hell, each couple had that one stupid thing they always fought over. The Great Milk Debacle of 2009 also stated that Lew was in charge of the milk. Even if he was on the road, he was required to send texts reminding Runner to check the expiration date and buy new milk. It worked out pretty damn well for them.
They both loved Chinese take-out, not that they could find good stuff in the middle of Tennessee, but they made do. Lew had to order it because Runner was “such a snobby New Yorker” and confused the poor people at Great Dragonfly every single time he ordered a meal. Even though he always got the sesame chicken on white rice with a spring roll and some garlic noodles on the side. Lew mixed it up from week-to-week, and he always had to try damn hard when Judith at Great Dragonfly replied “Again?” to Runner’s order.
Runner was the more orderly of the two. Lew sort of suffered the musician’s curse of leaving his shit in a trail all over the house, but he loved doing laundry and was down with moping. Runner favored all the outdoor chores. Anything that didn’t involve shoveling Buffalo-levels of snow made him happy. And he always felt like a little kid when he raked up leaves. Even if, every single year, Lew would ruin his hard work by jumping in at least one of the piles.
Then there were the parts of their relationship that were just kind of logical. Runner ran the Netflix queue because he was home more often to use it. Lew had the season pass for Sons of Anarchy and Breaking Bad on the DVR because he was never home to watch them aired live. Hell, he was lucky if he could decent Wi-Fi access while on the road. And yet, despite his orderly nature and more time spent at home, Lew was the one who always remembered anniversaries. He always said he had more time to focus on the little things, unlike Runner who basically worked two jobs and guided many careers. Lew still sent actual cards out, from whatever city in the world he was playing in, sending them early enough to get there on time.
It wasn’t a storybook romance. Or a happily ever after. Or perfect. But it never is. It’s what worked for them and even if the bar rats of Allison’s couldn’t understand how, they both knew why.
Hoosier/Skinny for skylilies
Skinny Sisk ran Hoosier Smith’s life and had been doing so for over a decade. It wasn’t a surprise that in their household, he was the one who made sure the bills were paid on time, the utilities were working, that anniversaries and birthdays were remembered, and that there was enough food in the house to keep Hoosier living on something that wasn’t mustard, moldy bread, and three week old milk.
It’s not that Hoosier was incapable of taking care of himself, Skinny just did a much better job, and they’d settled into a well-working routine after so many years together. As much as Hoosier didn’t believe in shitting where he ate, even he was willing to admit that no one else would ever get him the way Skinny did. So they were both resigned to their fates.
Not that it was all sunshine and roses. Their personalities and relationship together was built on an inherent need to bitch each other out at least once a day. Hoosier’s biggest pet peeve was Skinny’s habit for squeezing the toothpaste tube in the middle. Skinny cursed out Hoosier at least once a week for leaving wet towels all over the house. Carwood gleefully referred to them as the Daily Bathroom Wars and claimed a day wasn’t done until one of them argued about toiletry placement. Burgie always asked why they didn’t just use different bathrooms, and he seemed even more stunned when Skinny replied that they did. It was just old habits die hard, they were used to living in each other’s pockets, and while Skinny was all about saving a buck and buying the cheap toothpaste, he was addicted to Hoosier’s $6-per-box kind. The only thing they could agree on for bathroom usage was alternating who took the first shower each morning. Years on tour meant they both appreciated a long, hot shower and no water tank, not even the one attached to their mansion of a house, could supply two of those a day. Hoosier thanked god he was loaded, or else he’d be out in the streets selling himself to pay the water bill.
Even though Skinny was the one in control of their finances, he was, at his very heart, a slob. A slob who left things in piles sloppily kicked together, but a slob nonetheless. Everywhere he roamed, a trail of Skinny-related paraphernalia followed. It didn’t bother Hoosier though, if Skinny was relaxed enough to let out his lazy side, it meant he felt like this monstrous house was truly his own. And the house was huge, which meant they had a cleaning staff because their hours and general apathy meant the house would fall into ruin if they didn’t. Still, Hoosier would be a hell of a liar if he said he didn’t look forward to the seasonal cleaning sprees they did. Something just made him feel accomplished, throwing out or donating a bunch of shit.
Their favorite thing to do together, outside of pissing each other off, was dinner and a movie. Granted, their version meant homemade meals and whatever was on the DVR or Netflix, but hell, it still worked. Luz’s trainer Rudy had finally weaned them both off the take-out addiction. If they got anything it was pizza, and they’d even gotten used to making that on their own. They traded off on the cooking and entertainment duties. That way, they didn’t have a full month of grilled cheese (Hoosier’s specialty) and Bruce Willis marathons (Skinny’s movie addiction).
For the sake of their sanity, and Hoosier being a secret clotheshorse, they maintained separate bedrooms. That wasn’t to stay they stayed in them for the full night. Skinny had woken up multiple times to Hoosier spooning him, and Hoosier was used to waking up freezing ass cold because Skinny had stolen all the blankets. All of them. And Hoosier had four on his bed. He generously let Skinny keep them, since he figured he owed him for life.
From the outside it probably didn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense, but Skinny and Hoosier were just contrary enough that it worked out exceedingly well for them. Hoosier had someone who put up with all his bad habits and Skinny found someone who didn’t try to change who he was at heart. Not that either of them gave a rat’s ass what anyone else though, but it was kind of warped that among their group of friends and colleagues, they were considered the old married couple. Well, except for Nix and Winters, but hell, no one could top that level of co-dependency.
Ack-Ack/Hillbilly for skew_whiff
Eddie and Andy had six years and two houses to get used to living in each other’s space. That didn’t mean they completely changed their habits, both being stuck in their own ways by the time they met, but they had learn to compromise. Take the bed, for instance. There was no spooning or cuddling in the bed of Andrew Haldane and Edward Jones. Eddie, eldest of ten, touring musician, and general blanket stealer, tried to take up the whole damn bed when he had the chance. Every last inch, space, and side. He’d sleep sideways if given the chance. Andy had grown used to it over the years, knew to no longer take being kicked out of his own bed as an insult. If he’d had to share sleeping space with four brothers his whole childhood, then spend his adult years sleeping in the back of vans and in tour bus bunks, hell, he’d try to take up all the bed space too. It’s also why Eddie will take hot showers that last for about an hour when he’s home. He revels in the luxury he didn’t have growing up.
Eddie is tyrannically opposed to take-out. Unlike the Haldanes, the Joneses didn’t donate to the local food bank, they benefited from it and those lessons in making every last cent count means Eddie refuses to waste money on take-out when he’s not on the road. They only food they “take-out” is from the bar. Andy still orders out when Eddie’s away, his love for crappy Domino’s pizza is a vice he just can’t let go.
When it comes to bills, Eddie takes care of the household, Andy’s got the business covered, and they take turns calling the utility companies when something goes wrong. Andy makes the grocery list while Eddie does all the actual shopping when he’s home. And even though their memberships to Costco and Sam’s Club are supposed to be strictly for the business, Eddie’s not allowed to go unsupervised. Andy put his foot down when they had more toilet paper in the bathroom closet than they could possibly go through in five years.
Eddie loves to clean, it reminds him of his Mama, being little and helping her fold all the nice linens, learning to sweep the floor just right, dusting off all the precious knickknacks on the high shelves. Andy’s tried to help, but after years of being told, Damn, Andy, you still don’t know how to fold a towel right he’s given it up to Eddie’s domain. He takes pride in the fact though, that if a pipe should burst or the wiring needs fixed, Eddie lets him handle it.
Neither one leaves stuff trailing through the house. Bocephus is another matter, but outside dogs always drag mud and leaves in, nothing to be done for it. The muddy paws are one matter, the muddy shoes another, and Eddie and Andy still argue about the proper place to store muddy, dirty, or wet boots. Of all the stupid, trivial things they fight about, that one tends to top the list.
So many of their activities involve their work that their favorite thing to do is simply take Bocephus for a walk. It’s a quiet, calm, normal part of their routine and makes them feel like everyone else on the block. Andy loves the walks because the countryside reminds him of Maine, and he doesn’t always take the time out he needs to appreciate nature. Eddie loves them because of the sheer amount of space he feels outdoors. Bocephus loves it because his owners will let him get away with damn near anything when they go on those long walks.
Technically speaking they do have a wedding anniversary, though that’s not the one they celebrate. Both agreed that their meeting in Knoxville was much more a momentous occasion than the wedding-on-a-whim in Boston. They’re both good at remembering dates, but Eddie likes to switch it up sometimes, just celebrating on a random Tuesday for no good reason other than that his thankful for his life.
When it comes time to relax, when Andy forbids any more work on music and Eddie hides Andy’s briefcase behind the washing machine, they like to relax with some beers and mindless entertainment. Bocephus takes up most of the couch, and Andy and Eddie inevitably end up sprawled together on the floor, scrolling through the Netflix (which Eddie controls) or the months of programming Andy’s scheduled on the DVR out of boredom. They don’t speak of Andy’s addiction to The Real Housewives series or Eddie’s addiction to Pawn Stars, just enjoy the time together before another day of work.
Modern AU:
Roe/Babe for skylilies
There is no spooning in the bed of Babe and Gene. Babe is an unrepentant flopper and Gene’s crazy hours mean it’s a rare occasion when they fall asleep and wake up together, much less spend a full night’s sleep curled around each other. Hell, Babe’s usually getting home from work when Gene’s getting up to leave, and on the rare days they share the bed together, spooning is pretty damn far from their minds.
Gene has an old camera Paw-Paw Roe gave him when he turned thirteen. He still uses it, refuses to give in to the digital age, clutching tightly to that bastion of childhood memory. Gene’s loves documenting St. Boniface, the bayou, their home. Especially since each year more and more of the bayou gives way under the pressure of Mother Nature and Modernization. He’s well aware that twenty years from now St. Boniface might not even be standing, so he takes pictures to cement the memories. And Babe loves watching him do it, pointing out locations and sitting beside Gene in the dark room while he develops his photos. Babe doesn’t have a photographer’s eye, never quite grasped anything dealing with art, but when he shares these times with Gene, he almost feels like it’s something they’re creating together.
In a house as old as theirs with as many people under its roof as they have, there is no hogging the hot water. To do so would genuinely be one of the most shitty and assholeish things to do. If anything uses the hot water up it’s the laundry machine or the dishwasher, and they both have priority over showers. As Merl-Francis so lovingly put it to Sid, the new roommate, “If you want a long, hot shower that bad there’s a Motel 6 down the highway just waiting for your credit card with a body under the mattress.” Not the friendliest way to put things, but direct enough to understand that in a house of six men, no one best be using up the hot water.
Take-out’s not a common thing for them. Besides the fact that St. Boniface ain’t exactly a fast food bastion or a restaurant haven, they’ve got more than enough hands on deck to make meals. Spina’s the best cook out of all them but they can all scrap a decent meal together if need be. Besides pizza, Merl-Francis got Babe and Spina addicted to Popeye’s chicken and catfish with red beans and rice. Gene-Baptiste would be a liar if he said he didn’t eat half of Babe’s portion too. He just wished he could get him to embrace crawfish. Babe refuses on account of not eating anything that still has its eyes when it’s served.
They have disagreements about the big things, like Gene’s working hours and Babe driving when he’s too tired but too damn stubborn to call, but the most trivial thing they fight over is proper way to pronounce water. Both refuse to admit that their accents make the word sound different than it should, and both are far too full of cultural and home town pride to admit it. It’s a completely stupid thing to fight over, especially with the more serious matters weighing down in their lives, but neither of them know how to stand down when their pride is up.
Babe does most of the cleaning by default. Cleaning’s both an essential part of their jobs, but anyway it’s sliced, Babe works the fewer hours. Household chores are left up to everyone, but as for their own room and bathroom, Babe’s got it covered. As much as he love Spina, he doesn’t trust him to stitch up Gene’s head right, if he trips over a pair of wayward jeans and hits his head on a dresser. Really, keeping their bedroom clean is more for Babe’s state of mind than anything else.
The DVR and the Netflix are the domain of the whole house, and Babe and Gene, as the couple, rarely get a say. So they make do with their own movie collection. Babe’s made some noise about getting a DVR for their bedroom, but Gene doesn’t see the point when they don’t watch much TV to begin with outside of Babe’s addiction to Animal Planet.
The house is, for all intents and purposes, in Gene’s name, so he gets the calls whenever anything goes to hell. Either Gene or Merriell have to make the calls to the repair people. They just don’t trust Babe, Spina, Sledge and Sid all that much as outsiders. And it’s just not neighborly to try and screw someone over when your grandparents worked the oil rigs together.
Gene and Babe both leave their stuff around the house. It’s a bad habit the whole house has fallen into and the kitchen table holds everything from scrub tops, to bar rags, to sketch books. Gene is probably the worst offender of them all, but that’s more because he’s usually called out for some emergency before he can properly put anything away. Babe doesn’t have that excuse, he’s just bad at dropping left over change and random mints in any empty dish or drawer he can find. He gets it from his Ma. In the Heffron household, there wasn’t a specific junk drawer, so much as filling up every free spot with random treasures and finds.
Babe likes to go grocery shopping. Even though they have a rotation of chores for everyone, because buying food for six young men is a task no singular person could or should be saddled with, Babe still likes to make trips on his own. And that’s why he’s the one to buy the milk. It’s proved disastrous on more than one occasion, with Babe being out of town for a week and the milk either disappearing or going bad. He’s gotten to the point where he appoints Renée the milk caretaker if he has to be gone for more than five days.
Anniversaries really aren’t a big thing for them. It’s not that they don’t remember their first meeting, their first date, but some much of that time is clouded with the memory of Julian that it’s hard for Babe to remember any of the initial stages of their relationship with much of a smile. Gene understands it, completely, and feels no need to begrudge Babe his need to mourn. He’s just happy to have him here, in St. Boniface, making a life and putting down some firm roots. He don’t need a fancy dinner and some prefabricated sentiment to tell him that Babe is happy here, and with him, he pretty much gets that each morning. And that means more than any anniversary date could.
Other:
Ray/Walt for melkerr
Ray likes to think he’s the big spoon, but he’s the little spoon, all the way. Not that he’ll ever admit that, especially not if Colbert is around, but it’s true. He tries to go to bed asserting his place as the big spoon, but by the end of the night Walt’s won out. It’s okay though, Ray still wins all the blankets.
Ray would say drinking and video games are their favorite non-sexual activity, but Walt would give him that look. And if he could keep a straight face while saying it, he’d claim working for a charity. Or leaving annoying voice messages to Brad, but that’s more Ray’s favorite activity. So he’ll go with their one true love: Monster Truck Rallies. It might make them redneck hicks, but hell, got to keep pride in where you come from.
Walt steals all the hot water in the morning. Every last drop. They’re both fans of long showers. Months in nothing but MOPP suits full of grime and smelling like ball-sweat will do that to you. Ray’s used to cold showers though, he doesn’t care as long as he’s fucking clean.
Ray loves Italian, from the shitty Chef Boyardee in a can, to the real stuff, it’s his favorite cuisine. Even if he cheats on it some time for some gut rotting KFC or Taco Bell, he always goes back to the Italian. Walt, usually trying to make up for stealing all the hot water afuckinggain, will pick up some chicken parm with penne for Ray on the way home. And he’ll put up with the horrible garlic flavored and smelling Ray mouth, b/c he’s the one who used up all the damn water to begin with.
They fight about a lot of big things, like Walt working with private contractors and taking his ass over there again to get shot at without Ray or Colbert or Trombley or hell, even Reporter to watch his six. They fight about a lot of little things too, but the most bullshit thing is where Ray puts the keys. Walt went out and bought some redneck gun rack altar piece of shit that has a key holder on it. Ray hates the thing and plots each morning how to accidentally break it. In general protest he purposefully leaves their keys in different places throughout the apartment.
The Corps brainwashing is still strong in both of them. They clean pretty much equally and rarely let shit trail through the apartment. If anything, Ray’s likely to leave his hoodies over the back of the kitchen chairs and Walt’s got an odd habit for taking one shoe off by the door and dropping the other by the couch. Other than that, their place is damn near sparkling.
The DVR is too advanced for Walt, so Ray’s got that one covered. Walt’s in charge of the Netflix queue, but Ray will still goes in and changes the arrangement just for shits, giggles, and boredom.
Walt’s the one in charge of calling their landlord when shit gets fucked up. They both know Ray will eventually stoop to long, drawn-out observations on the landlord’s sex life, brains, competency, and the lack thereof, so it’s really better if Walt makes the calls. It guarantees they won’t get kicked out or warned by the cops for making lewd and violent threats or some other bullshit Ray thinks they made up just to fuck with him.
Ray buys the milk. It’s a habit left over from childhood. If it’s Sunday, he must go to Wal-Mart, and he always ends up buying milk. Walt stopped laughing when he realized the Evil Empire really was a cheaper place to shop than the grocery store.
They don’t really celebrate anniversaries. The Marine Corps Birthday is one they keep up with, the dates Ray and Walt completed their service another, but they’re not the cake, candle, and roses kind of guys. As long as they remember birthdays and to pay the rent they’re both pretty much happy and covered. They’re just damn thankful to be alive and mostly whole. Hallmark doesn’t make a card yet for I’m Happy You Survived A War so they just make do. Like always.