beforus moments
your name is feferi peixes, and this is the fucking worst
you sigh, kicking your feet under the vanity kanaya has you seated at while she works with your hair, braiding it into sections and brushing out sweeps and sweeps of tangles you and eridan had just left rather than lose another brush.
said eridan is sitting by the window, reading a book and chatting to kanaya like you ARENT being tortured by way of comb, which you are sure is some kind of war crime. you glare daggers at him, and he waves you off with a “this is for your own good”, like he didn’t even care about his most wonderful morayeel being actively murdered in front of him.
you seriously consider feeding him to a giant squid.
you’d do the same to kanaya, who gives your hair a sharp tug when you try and slip out of her grip by sliding off the bench shes imprisoned you to on to the floor (step one in a truly amazing escape plan), if you didn’t love karkat and his grumpy face and his grumpy butt so much.
she is, however, quickly going up your list of “people who will be sent to space on short rations when the revolution comes” list, right behind your tratorus moirail, who has scooted his chair up next to you and is trying to feed you sweets from his plate in a attempt to sway your attentions away from the travesty being committed on your scalp.
you bite his fingers.
you guess, in his defence, the two of you had been trying to make your hair work since you first met, and with only seeing eachother once or twice a sweep for the first while had left it a mess, as you were firmly of the opinion that brushing it was for suckers and you swum enough to be basically clean anyway. when you got together, the first few days were taken up by making an elaborate fort in your turret, getting as much junk food his lusis never let him each as possible, and detangling the mess it had become. you used to dish about the cool people he talked to online, and you told him about all your stories about exploring the palace and the cool cave you found. he pulls you out of your thoughts by planting a kiss right on your nose, and you grab his face and blow a raspberry on his cheek. he calls you a “horrible feral child” but his tone is affectionate and you forgive him for submitting you to kanaya's ideas of beauty.
kanyaya seems to be finished detangling your mane, and pats you on your head, rewarding you for your suffering with a gentle word, and is now doing arcane things with oils and combs through your hair, worked silky and shiny by her hands. she hums quietly to herself, and you admire her in the mirror, absorbed in her work she seems softer, less guarded. she catches your eye in the reflection, and you blow her a kiss just to see her flush that pretty shade of green. she looks away, and you continue watching, lulled by her soft movements and the feeling of the unimpeded brush through your hair. she puts her soft wooden brush down, and declared her work done.
you stand, and your head feels strange, but good, and you twirl on the balls of your feet, just to watch your cloud of hair follow you. you shriek with delight, and throw yourself into her arms, peppering her freckled face with kisses. her laugh is surprised, but no less beautiful as she gently guides you back down onto the seat, informing you breathlessly that if you want to keep it, you’ll have to keep it up, and you submit to her winding it around your head, piling coils up and securing them with deft pinning. when shes done, you rest your head on her shoulder, relaxing into her, and she takes your hand, rubbing circles into it softly, and you think that maybe, just maybe, this whole hair thing might work out after all.