You hate my mustache.

[quickied]

The Personal Hygiene Shipping Meme


Personal hygiene is just that - personal. By the time we've come to a point in our lives where we notice that the concept exists and we should be prudent about it, we can take care of ourselves. There are also many practical reasons why we don't involve other people in this process. We're not too keen on showing off parts to be cleaned that are private in most contexts, and there's definitely an ingrained aversion to showing so much soft, fleshy skin. Hot water or a sharp razor could spell dangerous with a capital D should they come into the hands of someone with a vendetta against you. No need to be extra vulnerable.

So, if you're involving another person in your cleansing routines, it must be someone you trust. Not only that, but it's most likely someone you're comfortable with and likely at least somewhat open to being intimate with. You may not be dropping all your clothing in front of them, but it's still you opening yourself up to touching and closeness unparalleled in more "usual" moments.

Established and burgeoning couples (or not-so-couples) can bond through this showing of care and good faith. Will you like being pampered and find the attention endearing? Or will things go terribly, terribly wrong?

...you never should have let them near that shaving cream.

• Comment with your character and preferences.
• Smut is not required. Mention if you want/don't want it.
• Reply to others and use the RNG.

1. Comfort: You've decided to pitch in a helping hand to get your partner to unwind, and warm water or suds may do the trick.
2. Romantic: The sole purpose of this endeavor is to set a lovey-dovey mood. No shame here!
3. It Started Out Platonic...: What a good pal you are, volunteering to give your friend a good scrub. Of course, you didn't count on the cute way she squirms as you scrub her back or how he blushes when you shampoo his scalp.
4. No Choice: Currently, you're unable to clean yourself up. That means that you need assistance, and it might as well be the person you lov- tolerate the most.
5. Open: You have trust issues. Actually, you have backlogs of trust issues. Still, you want to show the person you love that you're willing and trying to change for them, and what better way than letting down your walls and having the assist in your grooming?
6. Shave: Whether it's your face, your legs, or...your other places you've decided to shave, there's a certain intimacy involved in letting your lover do it for you. Let's hope they won't leave you looking like you got into a battle with a book with the paper cuts to prove it.
7. Reluctant: They want to get you clean. You don't want to show off your body at all. It's injured, it looks weird, what if they don't like it...
8. Forced: You love them, you really do, but you won't kiss them if they continue to look like an unwashed hobo clown. You have to draw the line somewhere, and if they won't take action, you will.
9. Beat Up: You've been trampled in a fight. Your partner isn't about to let you wallow around in your own mud and blood.
10. Hair: Some find that there's nothing quite as soothing as getting their hair washed or brushed. Of course, those with more luxurious locks may find any hair care a burden, so the assistance is appreciated.
11. Make Up: They think you're beautiful already. See how they'll paint you up when they get the chance.
12. Unique: If you're not human, you probably have your own proceeders you have to do to keep all spiffied up. There are wings with stray feathers to pluck, horns on heads to polish, scales to shave down, all sorts of tasks! Introduce your ignorant (and most likely human) boyfriend or girlfriend to your world...and your pain.
13. Accommodations: Those with disabilities or prosthetics may also have their own routines, and anyone who wants to be with them should learn how to pitch in.
14. Sponge Bath: You don't have enough water to do this right or you just want to give them a nice rub and scrub with a gentle sponge or wash cloth.
15. Wound Care: In order for wounds to heal, proper care must be taken. Bandages have to be changed and cuts cleaned out. It's certainly easier when you don't have to do it all by yourself.
16. Together: You're both cleaning up, taking a bath, splish splash, in the same tub because there's no where else to go. This is the most likely smut option, even if, again, it starts off "platonic."
17. Clothing: Don't forget that clean clothes are an important part of personal hygiene. Always make sure your partner has a nice, fresh outfit, even if it's to your taste and not theirs.
18. I've Made a Terrible Mistake: Somehow, everything's now shit. This little experiment went haywire and you may be sporting anything from the worst hairdo of your life to a Columbian necktie.
19. FREE SPACE

Comments

[eidosariste]

Certainly not the first or last time. Paris smirked briefly, and closed his hands reflexively when he caught Cassandra looking down, though it was a little too late to hide anything.

And why did he bother, anyway?

"What can they even do?" The smirk became a smile, breezy, and he flexed his hands again, but it didn't quite stop the trembling. Which seemed a little ridiculous, that he should be back to this when they had had to deal with the Greeks from the walls for a couple years by now. "Anything they say, I've heard before, and they won't care for whatever I show, or don't."

Depending on what they said, it could admittedly actually still hurt. Not that he would admit to it. Hector would be more tolerant if he saw him upset rather than laughing the whole thing off, but in the end it was the same, Paris had found out.

The underlying 'problem' had, after all, not changed, which was Paris being Paris.

"I'll have this washed for you," he said, running a hand down the shawl, clinging to his arm and side where it was draped, still wet as it was.

[cassie_of_troy]

Cassandra truly hoped that Paris didn't believe she actually cared about the shawl. That it was just a way to brush off her warning. To make himself feel better. Which was the only thing that kept her from making a snide remark about the fact that she didn't even know whose shawl it was. But that she dearly hoped it was one that belonged to Laodice. Because irritating Laodice had only become more enjoyable, over time.

She waved off the remark.

"Paris," she said quietly, evenly. "Don't go out there again. The field of battle is not for you."

Not that he needed her to tell him.

"Stay in bed with Helen." Out of sight, out of mind. "You'll be happier there."

[eidosariste]

He truly didn't need her to him. The laugh, intended to dismiss the whole thing, got stuck in his throat. He really shouldn't - couldn't - be vulnerable in front of his little sister, not when he hadn't been very nice to her for the last little while. But he was used to it, so he didn't really think about it as he covered his eyes with a hand and sighed.

Pressed it down until the darkness behind his eyelids pulsed with colour, and smiled wryly. Other men would be angry, being told something like that. Paris rather wished he would be told that and allowed to do so. He didn't lack skill, especially with a bow, and he would be upset, if he ever knew he could have kept someone from being injured or killed by being there, but he also didn't think his presence alone would have such import. And then, too, war was so ugly and exhausting, and everyone who wasn't of the common man cared for things in it he saw no worth in, had no understanding of.

"Believe me, I'd really rather do that." Dropping his hand, he smiled with something that was true humor, if a little thin. "Unfortunately Hector won't let me avoid the walls - and now the battlefield, I suppose - for long."

Sometimes, he's managed a day or two, considering the walls are long and there's many spots he could be. Other times it's just hours, coming out to the wall later than everyone else.

"And it's very hard to say no to Hector."

[cassie_of_troy]

"I said no to an Olympian. You can say no to a man." And she raised an eyebrow, as if to ask if she, a mere fragile woman, had more of a constitution than a grown man.

But he was right, of course. It was very, very hard to say no to Hector. If only because the look of disappointment...it was so very powerful. She was well aware of how that look used to hold power over her.

Used to. Before she understood that their lives and choices were ultimately meaningless.

"Just...do it," she said, venom in her voice. "Do it and live the rest of your life with what little happiness you can."

[eidosariste]

"There's no need to remind me, but I'm afraid I don't have your fortitude," he said lightly, hiding the irritable edge and choking down the less charitable words. What had refusing the god given her, truly? "And Hector might not be a god, but he is our brother."

Pausing, Paris eyed Cassandra, the venom in her voice impossible to miss. Did she want him to do it just so she could dislike him more than she probably already - and rightfully, for the last couple years - did? It wasn't like he didn't want to. Really, really wanted to, in fact. But there was, perhaps, just as much a small part of him that felt guilty.

He would never admit to the responsibility other than agreeing that he had seduced Helen out of Sparta, claiming the act of it in full, in fact. Would never admit to guilt like he heard Helen do, because what good would that really do him? Allowing himself to be dragged out to the wall while taking the rebukes he was given with no protest was the least he could do, however.

"Cassandra... I already am." Paris sighed, shaking his head. Refusing to such a degree everyone stopped badgering him wouldn't make the life he could carve out that way happier, he was sure. "Are we sure Hector isn't the son of a god, however? His stares, sometimes..."

Oh, things like that always came out sooner or later, and Hector was far too old for such a secret to be found true, now, and Paris knew it. Still, their older brother was such a blazing tower of near-indefatigable strength Paris really did wonder, sometimes, with awe. Or frustration, when Hector pushed himself too far, when he let Priam, their brothers, the city push him too far.

He was only a man, and men needed rest.

[cassie_of_troy]

"Believe me," she said darkly, "Hector is as much the product of Priam and Hecuba as I." Which was to say that he was stubborn, determined, observant, and deeply angry, in a way that could never precisely be defined. They matched each other, in that way. Although Hector would certainly never admit it and Cassandra knew better than to suggest it.

There was no point. They didn't believe her prophecies and they barely believed her own observations, keen though they were.

Paris, on the other hand...

Well, if he didn't look so much like Hector, Cassandra would believe that he was of another sort of seed. A lighter, happier origin. One meant for laughing and smiles.

[eidosariste]

"He is, isn't he."

Paris chuckled, and then sighed. Looked himself over, fiddling with how the tunic sat and the belt. The tunic, which was definitely marred by sweat, so it was fortunate it was one of his plainer ones. Still, he wanted to change out of it. Get rid of the reminders of today and feel more natural.

"And since he is, we should get you back to the palace, before he spots you here," Paris said as he picked up his chest armour and the greaves and shoulder guards, as little as he wanted to touch them right now. "I hope you feel finished."

There was no use in wondering if she couldn't just have waited until the evening, when the hall would be filled up with people and feasting and, definitely, talk of today's battle. Half the time she didn't turn up, and half the time she was barred from such communal events any more. With some reason, no matter how uncomfortable it was to admit to it, or the discomfort of remembering Cassandra standing in a crowd and saying things that couldn't be, weren't, true. Though most of it was because Cassandra made sure to make herself unwanted, in ways that had little to do with the false things she spouted. Thinking about it, it was hard to tell how much of Cassandra's... everything in the last few years was truly for what she said and what was only what she chose to do.

Even if she wasn't mad in the way she might seem, and Paris was pretty sure, now, that she wasn't, though what he was going to do with that knowledge he didn't know, Cassandra certainly made an effort for it. It was a little impressive, in a way.

[cassie_of_troy]

"Finished," she repeated. It was a bit of an odd word. He might have chosen at least half a dozen others: Satisfied, enlightened, relieved, informed, comfortable, even fulfilled or happy, considering she'd been needling him a bit. But instead he chose 'finished.'

Was she finished?

Would she ever be?

Cassandra shook her head. Just slightly. "No," she murmured. "I don't think I'll ever be."

Which really wasn't meant for Paris at all.

After a moment, she flicked her eyes up at him. She'd begun to resemble a lizard, constantly staring without blinking. But after a moment, she did, making a vague, dismissive gesture. "But if you wish to escape, now is the time, little sheep."

[eidosariste]

Realising how clumsy that had sounded, Paris looked away, clearing his throat and ignoring the faint blush. He was not precisely at his best, currently, which was clearly having an appalling affect on his choice of words. Shaking his head, he turned his gaze back on her.

"Sheep? Your teeth aren't long or sharp enough to be a wolf's, Cassandra. Besides, we're leaving together," he said, flapping a hand at her as if to try and shoo her out before him. "I know you got down here unseen, but that doesn't mean no one will notice on the way back."

And no matter how she behaved, she was still his little sister. She was still Cassandra, and claws or not, better to discourage any potential urge to bother her by not letting her walk back alone.

[cassie_of_troy]

She pulled back against the side of the niche when he moved his hand, quickly trying to get herself out of arm's reach. It was a reflex. Defense against being touched. Not that she could stop him, if he tried to grab her. They were just too close. But to discourage it, her own hands when to her girdle, gripping the knife she had hidden. The blade flashed out from the folds of fabric.

But he didn't touch her. So she didn't draw.

Perhaps they were all right. And perhaps she truly was mad. But she wasn't mad enough to spill familial blood. The Furies were the last thing she needed falling down on her. And just because she saw the future didn't mean she saw everything that happened.

She could still surprise herself.

"I can manage," she whispered, her knuckles going white in her grip.

[eidosariste]

"Cassandra!"

Somehow, Paris managed to squawk and yet be as quiet as possible about it so as to not draw undue attention. He lurched back on reflex, flinching more for how he cracked his elbow against the basin than anything else as he staggered into the wall of the niche.

The basin wobbled, water splashing over its edge, but it didn't tip over and cause a ruckus in its fall.

Heart hammering in his chest for a couple uncomfortable moments, Paris wasn't sure whether to feel ridiculous for overreacting or get angry. Shaking his head, hands shaking again, he scrubbed his face with both hands, leaving them to cover him for a moment.

"Clearly," he snapped, not finding equilibrium quickly enough. Taking a breath and letting it out slowly, he dropped his hands. "But a weapon doesn't necessarily keep anyone from being accosted."

The smile was tight, briefly more a bared set of teeth than an actual smile, but it was as much for the knife Cassandra apparently thought suitable to flash as if he was an actual threat, as for the memory that turned the words weighted with certainty.

[cassie_of_troy]

It was somewhat satisfying to force him back. But that pleasure was fleeting and immediately followed by whatever Cassandra had left inside of her that passed for guilt. Not a very strong emotion, but enough to keep her from getting too cruel about it.

If it had been anyone other than Paris...

"I know," she said, letting her hand fall away from the knife. "But a knife is only the last line of defense."

She had her prowess and stealth. And if that failed, there was her terrible reputation. No one wanted to mingle with a mad woman.

And if they did...

...the knife.

[eidosariste]

Staring at her quietly, Paris once again ran a hand through his hair, and then he squatted down to pick up his armour. It'd be more awkward to carry than wear them, but he wasn't putting these things on now that he'd finally gotten free of them. The shawl was by now draped around his back and caught in the crooks of his elbows, and Paris did not mind wearing it like that for the walk up.

"If you're sure," he chose to say, even if it felt like he should say 'humour me', instead, despite how things had been the last couple years. Or otherwise insist - something, anything. But the knife had rather rattled him and he was feeling peevish, regardless of if that was fair or not.

"Either way, I am going to have a proper bath and change clothes," he said as he stood up with his awkward armful of armour, his good mood nearly fully restored at the thought.