In light of N’s latest sketch dump officially making Nurseshark canon, and because @sharkcastic has been enabling me, here’s an abbreviated list of things Nursey has done just to make Chowder blush and giggle

- offers his arm whenever they’re walking together, bats his eyelashes until C gives in and takes it

- bows and offers his hand when he wants C to dance with him at kegsters

- just generally tries to act like Mr. Darcy because it makes Chowder giggly and embarrassed

- boops his nose

- like, all the damn time

- swoons whenever C makes a save during practice

- pulls him in by his belt loops and kisses his nose

- f o r e h e a d k i s s e s

- brags loudly about how awesome his boyfriend is whenever C’s within earshot

- is just generally a lovesick fool

we'll fashion ourselves a better fit

because i project harder than an imax, have some nurseydex relationship talks. big thanks to @vicioushyperbolizer​ for suggesting Shane Koyczan when i was searching for a poem to use in this. (also on ao3)

Dex has never really been one for talking about his emotions, certainly not as plainly and bluntly as he and Nursey have been over the last few months, but he can’t really argue with the fact that they haven’t had the big blowout fight that he’d been worried would come when they first started dating. Between the relationship talks and the therapist he started seeing after he had an embarrassingly public meltdown in front of the team, Dex is pretty sure he’s talked about his emotions more in the last five months than in his entire previous life. He can’t argue with the results, and it has gotten a bit easier with time, but— It’s still really fucking awkward. Which is why he’s been pacing his and Nursey’s room for the last twenty minutes, waiting for Nursey to get back from class. Because as his therapist has pointed out, he’s brought the subject up in every session for the last month and a half, and since Nursey’s the only one who can really settle the issue, at some point this conversation needs to actually happen.

Dex is dragged out of his worrying by what sounds like a buffalo charging up the staircase, and he can’t help but laugh a little. The Haus is old and creaky as hell, but he’s pretty sure that Nursey and Holster are the only ones who’ve ever made that much noise going up and down the stairs. Dex tries to smooth his hair down from where he’s been running his fingers through it (and pulling on it, which is a bad habit that he can’t seem to break). He’s still trying to get control of whatever expression his face is making when the door opens. Nursey drops his backpack next to the door and turns to grin at Dex, pulling him into a quick kiss and what would be a quick hug, except that Dex tightens his arms around him and buries his face against the side of Nursey’s neck. Nursey’s hugs feel so safe, and he always smells warm, and the scared animal part of Dex’s brain is screaming that he’s going to lose this. He allows himself to cling, just for a moment. “Hey, babe, everything alright?” One of Nursey’s hands comes up to cup the back of his neck, and Dex takes a deep breath before straightening up and meeting Nursey’s eyes. “I wanted to talk about something, if that’s okay.” It’s what they’ve settled on to start serious conversations, because it doesn’t help anything to try to discuss something important when one or both of them is exhausted or upset. Dex sometimes hates using scripts and key phrases like this, but it works, and he resents the process a lot less than he appreciates the results. “Yeah, of course,” Nursey says, and Dex has to look away. He goes to sit on the edge of the bottom bunk—technically Nursey’s, but they sleep crammed together in it more nights than not these days—as Nursey drags the desk chair over to face him. Words are always hard for Dex, especially when it’s something he’s feeling vulnerable about, but with Nursey looking at him, open and patient and slightly concerned, they feel almost impossible. “I— Y-you— We—” Dex growls in frustration, now is not the time for his stutter to make an appearance, but Nursey just leans over to grab the fidget cube off the edge of the desk and hands it to him. Dex isn’t sure who it originally belonged to, but it’s shared property now, and he always talks better if he has something else to focus on. He flips it around in his hands a couple of times before he settles on rapidly flicking the switch back and forth, waiting for his breathing to calm. “You knew I was ace before we started dating,” Dex says, trying to lateral his way to the point. “We talked about it. We talked about it a lot.” He glances up at Nursey, who nods encouragingly. “I know you’ve said you’re okay with us not having sex, and I know you’re not lying about it, but I keep being afraid that at some point you’re going to… I don’t know, get fed up and decide I’m not worth it.” Nursey makes a concerned sound and hooks a foot behind Dex’s ankle. “Have you talked to Dr. Ramos about it? I know you said you guys were working on intrusive thoughts.” “Yeah,” he glances up again and catches Nursey’s eyes for a moment before looking away, talking to the wastepaper basket next to the desk. “At like our last four sessions, but none of the counter thoughts I’ve come up with have really been working. We pretty much decided that the best plan was for me to talk to you about it directly, so…” Dex makes a vague, expansive gesture. Nursey takes Dex’s hand, the one that isn’t holding the cube, and squeezes it gently before letting go, shifting his weight in the chair, and saying, “Do you know why you’re worried about it? Is there anything I’ve been doing to set it off?” “I don’t know. I don’t think so?” Dex says, running his fingers through his hair, pulling at it a little, trying to focus. “It’s just, people talk about sex like it’s the most important fucking thing in the world, you know? And I should be able to just trust you when you say it’s not—I want to!—but I hear a girl in my stats class say she’s thinking about dumping her boyfriend because the sex is just that bad or I watch people at kegsters who spend the entire night looking for someone to hook up with and I just—” Dex runs a hand through his hair again, flipping the cube around and rapidly clicking one of the buttons, “I guess the problem is that the only context I have is what other people say, and I’ve got you saying you’re fine if we don’t ever have sex against literally every other time I’ve heard someone talk about it.” Nursey’s quiet for a moment, thinking, and Dex wishes he had something more destructive to do with his hands, like shredding a paper cup. “When I asked you out,” Nursey says, after a small eternity of seconds, “you told me that I needed to be absolutely sure, because you didn’t want to start something if a lack of sex was going to end it. "And I thought about it, Will. I thought about us a year from now, looking for jobs and trying to figure out where we’ll live, apartment hunting together. I thought about us five years from now, with jobs and a life and probably like twelve gigantic dogs because you’re some kind of monster,” Dex huffs, grinning. The dog debate is longstanding and constantly mutating into more and more ridiculous permutations of itself. “I thought about ten years from now and maybe adopting a couple of kids, being dads,” Nursey’s voice has gone soft, and he knocks his knee against Dex’s. “I thought about all of that future, and I want that, I want it with you. Part of being with you is not having sex, and I want that too.” “Derek,” Dex’s voice comes out as a croak, and he has to swallow hard, blinking against the tears he can feel gathering. Maybe three months is too short a time for the amount of love that’s rioting in his chest right now, but Nursey’s looking at him with soft eyes and a soft smile, and Dex can’t help but reach out and cup his cheek, gently pull him in for a kiss, press their foreheads together and try to breathe through the storm of emotions. “I want that. I want all of that so much,” he says hoarsely, pulling back slowly and trying to wipe his eyes surreptitiously. He hates how easily he cries, but Nursey’s never made fun of him for it, never even brought it up. “I just don’t know how to get my brain to stop telling me that it’s something I can’t have. I feel like… like you’re giving something up for me, but I haven’t given anything up for you. I feel selfish.” “Babe,” Nursey says, but Dex can’t drag is gaze up from where he’s staring at his own hands, “relationships aren’t built from a template that you add or subtract from. I never gave anything up to be with you. Us, what we have, we built that from scratch.” Dex keeps staring at his fingers like he hopes they’ll somehow provide the answer to why what Nursey’s saying isn’t helping. It feels like chasing a nasty sliver with a pair of tweezers, every time he thinks he’s got it, it slips out of his grasp and burrows deeper. “I know, I know that,” Dex says. “I’m not trying to be stubborn, but it still feels wrong. It feels like… I don’t know.” They sit in silence for a long time. It’s probably minutes, but it feels like years as Dex tries to let his mind calm, as if the right answer will settle out like sediment. “I think,” he says eventually, “it’s… people talk about sex like it’s food. All the words around it like ‘hunger’ and 'appetite’ and 'sated’. And all the metaphors around it too, the imagery and stuff.” Dex takes a deep breath as the words for the feeling that’s been itching under his skin for weeks finally, finally take shape. He looks up and meets Nursey’s eyes. “It makes me worry that I’m starving you.” Nursey looks startled for a moment, then frowns thoughtfully. “You’re not starving me,” he says, “and I’m not starving myself, either, so don’t start.” Dex hadn’t been planning to, but the thought had occurred. They sit in silence for another handful of heartbeats before Nursey speaks up again. “It’s like,” he says slowly, “if it were important to me, and I asked you to, would you stop eating pork?”

Dex feels all the air punch out of his lungs like he just got checked into the boards as that sliver of doubt is finally, finally pulled out from under his skin. “Yeah,” he says, breathless, “yeah, I would. I— Yeah.” Nursey’s grinning at him like the insufferable asshole he is, and Dex’s hands are shaking just a little with the force of his relief because he suddenly, finally feels like he understands, and abruptly Nursey is entirely too far away. Dex drops the cube as he reaches out and hauls Nursey onto the bed with him. It takes a little maneuvering, but soon enough they’re curled together, facing each other. Dex might be crying, just a little, but Nursey has one hand in his hair and the other around his waist and Dex is hugging him so close that there’s no space between them and it’s good. It’s so, so good. They end up making out on the bed for a while, until Dex’s emotional high settles a bit and they slowly transition to cuddling. Eventually, Nursey drags out his laptop and sets it on their laps. They’ve recently started watching Legend of Korra together, and Nursey’s just cued up the next episode when a thought occurs to Dex. “I think I want to do something like that for you, though,” he says, and Nursey shoots him a look that’s equal parts confusion and concern. “Not— Not as a trade or because I think I owe you or anything, I just think it would be helpful to have something really solid to use as a counter for intrusive thoughts.” “I can see that,” Nursey says, looking thoughtful. He closes the laptop and sets it aside, turning to face Dex more fully. “It’s not like I actually want you to change your diet or anything, though.” “No, I know,” Dex says, taking Nursey’s hand and lacing their fingers together, “and it doesn’t need to be particularly big. Just, you know, something I wouldn’t necessarily do for myself, but that I can do for you.” Nursey nods, and they sit quietly for a moment, this silence so much lighter than the ones previous. Slowly, a smile steals over Nursey’s face. It’s Dex’s favorite, quietly happy with nothing affected about it. He’s seen it a lot since they got together. “I think I have an idea,” Nursey says, standing and walking over to their bookshelf, overloaded and sagging because it’s definitely too small to hold everything that’s been crammed onto it. He pulls out a small book and returns to the bed, handing it to Dex. “Visiting Hours,” Dex reads aloud. The cover is a little worn, and as Dex flips through a few pages, he smiles at Nursey’s handwriting in the margins. “I’ve had it since I was in middle school,” Nursey says, “there’s some really good stuff in here.” “Poetry,” Dex says, letting it fall open to a random page and running his fingertips down a column of text, “I suppose I should’ve guessed.” Nursey flicks his ear, but he’s still smiling. “Maybe you could read one or two a week, give us something new to talk about.“ Dex closes the book again, weighing it between his hands. "I think this is perfect,” he says, then thrusts the book back at Nursey and adds, “read one to me.” “Dick,” Nursey snorts, grabbing Dex around the neck and hauling him in for a noogie. He’s grinning, though, and by the time Dex squirms free (with the help of an elbow digging into Nursey’s ribs) they’re both laughing. Nursey leans over and picks up the book from where it got knocked to the floor, and as they settle back in together, Nursey flips through the pages, seemingly searching for a particular poem. “Alright,” he says, wrapping an arm around Dex’s shoulders. Dex snuggles into his side and rests his head against Nursey’s chest. “I think you’ll like this one. ”During visiting hours I had to read to sick people the kind of people who had no one it was my punishment catholic school community service for farting on a nun’s muffin“ Dex laughs, and Nursey grins down at him before continuing to read. They’re good. They’re so, so good.

Ceramic Frogs

(I assure you that this has nothing at all to do with me taking an intro pottery class, nor does it have anything to do with seeing a plate on the finished pieces shelf that had the Sharks logo painted on it.)

Chowder is the one who suggests it; they’re picking out courses for spring semester their senior year when he says that they should all take an elective together. A senior slacker course, Frog-style.

None of them actually remember who suggested pottery, but it’s the one they all end up agreeing on.

The first class is kind of a mess:

Dex has to ask for help a couple of times because he can’t wedge his clay correctly.

Chowder has to be reminded that wedging your clay too much is bad. (Wedging is kind of like kneading, it’s a lot of fun and super stimmy.)

Nursey doesn’t throw his clay correctly, and when he starts up the wheel and tries to center it, it slides right off.

Chowder spends the entire first class unable to center his clay.  It’s fine, though, he’s having fun and he isn’t the only one who can’t get centered.

Dex asks so many questions. Like, a million questions.

“Yo, dude, is that how you are in all your classes? You sounded like Tango.”

“You have to know what each step is trying to accomplish and what it’s supposed to feel like when you’ve gotten it right. When you’re working with your hands, sometimes it’s easier for a particular person to do it slightly differently, but you can’t know if you’re doing it right if you don’t know what each step is supposed to do.”

“Yeah, okay, but you still asked a lot of questions.”

Nursey actually manages to pull walls up and make a cylinder, but when he goes to stop the wheel to take it off, he accidentally turns it up to full speed and ends up splattering clay everywhere.

 From that point on, classes are a little more straightforward, or at least less disaster-prone.

The first time Dex accidentally collapses a piece, Nursey and Chowder expect him to go off the way he does when his code isn’t working, but he’s remarkably calm. Chill, even. The clay can be reused, so he’s not wasting materials, and unlike buggy code, he’s actively learning the entire time that he’s making a mistake.

Once hockey season has ended, they spend a lot of the time when they would have had practice in the ceramics studio. It’s a really good way to de-stress and hang out.

One of the things they’re taught how to make is coffee mugs. Putting handles on correctly is definitely a skill.

Once they’ve gotten to the step of painting and glazing, Nursey suggests that they all make matching mugs.

After a bit of discussion, they decide on the SMH logo and a frog.

At the end of the class, as they’re all gearing up for graduation, they decide to swap mugs.

Dex gives his to Chowder, Chowder gives his to Nursey, and Nursey gives his to Dex.

It’s a solid, physical reminder that even though they’re graduating and starting jobs and moving to different cities, they’re still the Frogs, and they’re still a team.

So I recently realized that the reason I love Dex so much is that he’s autistic and salty about it like I am, so I’m just gonna tell you some things about myself him:

He doesn’t pick up on nonverbal communication. Like, he understands that it exists, and he can interpret it just fine in a movie or a TV show where it’s the clear focus of a shot or scene, but unless it’s highlighted like that, he just does not notice when it’s happening. 

He’s fully aware that there’s a lot of subtext in conversations that he’s missing. It’s really frustrating, and he feels like people are laughing at him or talking shit about him a lot of the time, just in ways he can’t see. 

He’s very bad at picking up on implied… anything, really. Unwritten rules are fucking bullshit. 

If he’s trying to be subtle or imply something himself, it almost never comes across correctly. 

Going to new places makes him anxious. Going to new places by himself makes him really anxious. He generally deals with this by getting annoyed that he has to go somewhere new. 

He needs to have a plan. Always. Even if the plan is to wing it or just do whatever. He’s not actually bad at improvising and self-directing, but he needs to know that that’s what the plan is. 

There is a small handful of settings where he feels like he knows how to behave: he knows how to be around his family, he knows how to be a student, he knows how to be on a hockey team. In pretty much any other setting, he’s constantly second-guessing everything he says and does, trying to figure out whether it was the right thing or if he just looks like an idiot. 

He has a massive collection of mental flowcharts for how to behave/what to say in different situations, and lists of what to do/not to do in different settings, but they always end up feeling either incomplete or wrong. 

People assume that his default state is annoyance, but it’s actually anxiety. Which he then gets annoyed about. 

He cannot deal with plans being changed, or especially canceled, suddenly on short notice. Even if it’s a small thing, like meeting up with Chowder for lunch at 12:30, if Chowder texts him at 12:20 to say something came up and he can’t make it, he’ll spend 5-10 minutes feeling shocky, and it will probably take him a couple of hours to completely regain his equilibrium. 

Similarly, if he has a plan and something comes up that should probably make him change it, he’ll usually pick up on it in hindsight, but almost never in the moment. In retrospect it’s obvious that he was really tired and should have gone back to his dorm to take a nap before practice, but the plan was to go to the library to work on an assignment, so now he’s got a half-assed paper he’s going to have to rewrite, and he was all but useless at practice. 

Hockey superstitions actually come in really handy for explaining things like why he freaks out if someone sits in His Seat on the bus.

He’s chronically early. On time is late and late is unacceptable. (This generally only applies to himself, not other people.)

He goes to parties and kegsters because it’s the done thing and he wants to be sociable, but he usually spends the first half hour completely overstimulated and wanting to hide/run. Most of the time he’s able to calm down and start enjoying himself eventually, but that first bit is hell.

He’s stubborn as fuck. There are a lot of times when he can see that he’s being unreasonable, but he can’t get himself to back down.

He comes across as really inflexible, but it’s just that sometimes it will take literally months for him to incorporate a new idea, especially if it has anything to do with his self-conception. 

He really wants to be a good friend, but he always feels like he’s Doing It Wrong™.

There’s something about traveling west. Chris stares out the window as the plane breaks free from the low-lying clouds covering Boston and into the golden glow of early sunset. It always feels right to be traveling west. It’s not about going home, not just that. After two years, Samwell is as much home as Palo Alto. Chris had cried, saying goodbye to everyone for the summer, leaving his team to return to his family, the same way he’ll cry in the fall when he leaves his family to return to his team, although the Haus will be so different without Ransom and Holster and Lardo. There’s just something about chasing the sun across the sky. Sunset will last more than an hour before the turn of the earth beats the speed of the plane. Here in the in-between, his two homes are equally important, equally precious, equally missed, a balance that’s momentary and calm. There’s something about traveling west.

Fuck, I just logicked myself into the realization that Dex is autistic. But not autistic like Jack is autistic, autistic like I’m autistic. He’s constantly, consciously trying to assemble a working model of how social interactions are supposed to work, but there’s always something wrong with it, and people misunderstand him even when he thought he was expressing himself correctly this time.

A happy thought

Kit Purrson is a Himalayan or other talkative breed of cat. When she starts meowing, Kent will meow back, and they can and have kept this up for half an hour. Kent will do this regardless of who is around, and it's impossible to chirp him about it because he is. not. ashamed.