truckin' a


That Aristotle’s lantern tho

Made with Instagram

born on a mountain raised on a mountain born in a cave on a mountain born in a truck all i truckin crave fuckin truckin truck fuckin in a cave on a mountain born a truck 


i owe @chaoticlivi and @skadventuretime my life. ty, betababes ♥

i tried okay. hrrgh. /throws update into the void





She’s calling it spring cleaning, but it’s still not enough to motivate Soul out of bed.

But they have company coming, for goodness’ sake, and if there’s one thing her mama had instilled in her as a child, it was to project competence, despite everything else - a baby on the way, her husband’s infidelity, a crumbling marriage - and if Maka is anything, she is certainly her mother’s daughter. And goddammit, she can get her apartment looking spotless, with or without her lazy, no-good, tall-and-actually-quite-good-at-dusting-the-ceiling-fan roommate.

With her hair tied up in twintails, Maka shamelessly revs up the vacuum and makes her rounds up and down the hall. She knocks her knuckles against Soul’s bedroom door on each pass, just for good measure. His resulting groan is barely muted beneath the hum of their decrepit vacuum.

It’s not that they live surrounded by filth by any means, but the apartment is certainly lived in, and Maka works long hours and Soul overnight, so sometimes routine cleaning doesn’t get done. Dishes are often washed, and they make trips to the laundromat together, but things like dusting and cleaning the bathroom sink’s drain and vacuuming, apparently, sometimes get overlooked. It’s hard, working up the energy to clean by herself, while thinking about Soul, plucking away at his keyboard, looking ridiculously moody and handsome elsewhere. And if she’s not the one putting in the elbow grease and scrubbing down the fridge, well, Soul’s certainly not about to do it. His knees crack and he groans everytime he has to kneel down, and he’s only in his 20s.

She makes a mental note to get on him about that. He’s too young to be falling apart. Bad posture is tearing her newly minted maybe-boyfriend apart, and they haven’t even gotten to second base yet. It’s unfair, thinking about it; those pretty hands of his are distracting on even a good day, and yet the wannabe-geezer still manages to be both the most attractive man she’s ever seen and a creaky bag of bones in the same breath.

read: ffn or ao3!