this sweater shrunk

When your long soaking wet hair is bundled up under a scarf feeling uncomfortably moist and your base layer isn’t long enough in the crotchal area and gravity is pulling on your corduroy pants but you couldn’t stomach the constriction involved in wearing a belt because your unexpectedly undersized sweater that shrunk in the wash is already squeezing the life out of your arms and you’re slogging your way to the express line as quickly as you can while keeping your pants as close to their full upright position as possible without making a scene, staring at the ground with a probably cranky looking face but then you look up because you are about to to crash into the average well-adjusted looking person approaching from the opposite direction and they smile and make eye contact in a non-creepy way and say “Ni!” with confidence as they walk by and you can’t help but lighten up enough to consider having a good morning despite your wardrobe turmoil.

anonymous asked:

14, ford in merguckets

14. A shrunken sweater

In something that will likely become a pattern with these prompts (see: the the porch swing and couch ones), I’m turning this into a sort of milestone or significant moment.  But this time, with Ford and Tate.  Because yes, in the MerGucket AU, Tate is Fiddleford and Ford’s son.  Their only guppy.  Anyways, I hope you like it.

Send me an AU and a number and I’ll write you a ficlet!


               “Fiddleford, I’m home!” Ford called, setting his bag down by the door. He’d left on a quick trip to the surface, to pick up some old things from his previous life as a human.  He opened his bag and dug through it idly.

               It’s more for nostalgia than actual use.  Ford pulled a tiny piece of clothing out of the bag.  What is this?  Oh, right, my favorite sweater when I was a child.  It went through the wash and shrunk.  

               “Fiddleford?” Ford said.  “I brought back some things you might be interested in.”  No response.

               Where is he?  Still holding the shrunken sweater, Ford swam off in search of Fiddleford.  He stopped by the nursery, his ears picking up on wailing come from the room.  Ford hesitantly opened the door and was immediately blasted by loud screaming from his two-month-old son, Tate.  Tate was the only guppy that hatched in Ford and Fiddleford’s surprise (they decided that was a better word than “accidental”) clutch.  But despite the near-constant care and attention he received, Tate only stopped crying when he was asleep.  

               “I didn’t hear ya come home, darlin’,” Fiddleford said over Tate’s dissatisfied screams.

               “I can deduce why,” Ford replied, swimming over.  Fiddleford was sitting in the rocking chair, Tate in his arms. Tate’s face was red and scrunched up as he continued to wail.

               “Nothin’ calms him down, I don’t understand,” Fiddleford said desperately. He stroked Tate’s wild hair.  “I mean, ‘cept fer singin’, but singin’ sends him off to sleep.  And I don’t want him to be asleep all the time.”

               “Well, the last time I held him, he seemed a bit cold, so I put a blanket over him.  He calmed down pretty quickly,” Ford suggested.  Fiddleford frowned.

               “But he ain’t cold right now.  If anything, he’s hot.  Worked himself up almost into a fever with all this fussin’.”

               “Maybe the weight is comforting.  Honestly, though, what do we have to lose?”  

               “Fair enough.”  Fiddleford took a blanket from the basket next to the rocking chair.  He draped it over Tate’s tail.  Tate continued to cry.  Fiddleford moved the blanket up Tate’s body, Tate’s crying getting quieter as he did so.  When the blanket completely covered Tate’s torso, Tate was dead silent, staring at Ford and Fiddleford with wide eyes.

               “Was that all it took?” Ford whispered, worried a loud voice might set off his son.

               “I- I don’t know.”  Fiddleford kissed Tate on his forehead.  “Did ya just want a blanket, baby?”  Tate giggled. “He- he laughed.  He ain’t done that yet, he’s been so busy cryin’,” Fiddleford said quietly.  He leaned back in the rocking chair.  The movement jostled the blanket off Tate’s torso, making him cry again.  “Is it the blanket?  Or does he just like to be covered?” Fiddleford wondered out loud, quickly repositioning the blanket.  

               “We can test it,” Ford said.  “I, uh, accidentally brought back one of my childhood sweaters that shrunk.  It should fit Tate.”  He held out the sweater.

               “…Worth a try.”  Fiddleford removed the blanket.  Tate began to scream again.  “Oh, hush, baby boy, it’ll be okay,” Fiddleford cooed as he put the sweater on Tate. “Careful over the ears, don’t scrape up against yer scales, and there.  Now yer all covered up.  Dressed like a cute lil human,” Fiddleford said, poking Tate’s nose.  Tate giggled again.

               “Holy Moses, I can’t believe it worked,” Ford said.  Tate beamed and reached his tiny arms out to Ford.  

               “Aw, do ya want yer Dad?” Fiddleford said sweetly.  Ford took Tate and smiled down at his son.

               “You’re a lot cuter when you don’t cry,” Ford remarked.  Tate giggled.  “Wow, when he’s not screaming, he’s such a happy child.”  He stroked Tate’s hair.  “…We should probably get him something to wear that isn’t a wet sweater.”

               “Yes, definitely.”

I just read my first favorite poem for the first time sitting outside my work at one of the wooden fold up tables wearing a blue cable knit sweater that I shrunk just right last night in the wash

We all love winter and cold weather so much more than summer and hot weather. So we can hide ourselves while looking cute at the same time. So we have a reason to be drinking our tea and coffee hot. So we can mix snow, vanilla extract, a packet of sweetener and 1/8 a cup of milk to make ice cream. So we can wear sweaters we shrunk out of. So we can play in the snow in less layers than we should be in because it burns calories on top of being fun. So we can complain about being cold without getting strange looks. Because our bodies burn more calories when they’re cold. So when we cry outside where nobody can hear us, our tears freeze and it’s aesthetic. Smoking outside in the cold is nice, and also aesthetic. To be honest I love winter so much. Stay safe, enjoy the holidays, and add your own reasons as to why winter is amazing!

stay with me: a pinecest playlist

(( listen here ))

no one said this would be easy  cloud cult : and every thing you need is here
everything you fear is here and it’s holding you up, it just keeps holding you up.

i’m a cuckoo belle and sebastian : i’d like to see you but really i should stay away and let you settle down

come out of the shade the perishers : take a step and come out of the shade, i can tell you’re no longer afraid, i’m helpless without your warming smile

hey brother avicci : hey brother, do you still believe in one another? hey sister, do you still believe in love, i wonder?

kilojoules freelance whales : well i’ve been making some cold calculations regarding our body heat, it’s not easy, believe me

pinesong a fine frenzy : with feathered keys you’re mocking me, i am locked, it’s easier to pine, to pine

me and the washing machine my awesome mixtape : another sweater go shrunk, another t-shirt smell of sweat, let the sunshine coming in, let the sun lips kiss your lips

no place to fall isobel campbel and mark lanegan : i’d never tell you no lies i don’t believe it’s wise, you got pretty eyes, won’t you spin me ’round

bad sun the bravery : i don’t know what’s wrong with us, they just made us this way, there’s a hole in you and me, that pulls us together

ourselves halie binstock : we found ourselves saying things we weren't supposed to, things most of you wouldn’t understand

something to do hellogoodbye : and if ever your love should leave, just swear you’ll follow through, and I swear I’ll always follow you

anchor mindy gledhill : there are those who think that i’m strange, they would box me up and tell me to change, but you hold me close and softly say that you wouldn’t have me any other way 

yellow light of monsters and men : i’m looking for a place to start, but everything feels so different now, just grab a hold of my hand, i will lead you through this wonderland

trains to brazil guillemotts : and i think about how long it will take them to blow us away, but i won’t get me down! i’m just thankful to be facing the day, cause days don’t get too far when you’re gone

sea monuments sea wolf : is this what you really want, i can tell by your voice you’re not so sure and I have to admit that I have my doubts and sometimes I’m not so sure what this is all about

go places the new pornographers : yes a heart should always go one step too far! come the morning and the day winding like dreams, come the morning every blue shade of green, come with me, go places