#never to early to write something and stash it away to post later

[ddejavvu]

pairing: anakin skywalker x reader

summary: you and anakin have a mug that you set out if you want to tell the other that you're in the mood. You're discovered at a rather unfortunate time.

a/n: basically just that new girl scene where nick and jess admit that they've got a sex mug except i wanted to do it with anakin and quin is my favorite character so this manifested itself. if you're unfamiliar with quinlan vos, all you need to know to understand this blurb is that he has psychometric powers, meaning he gets a sort of 'force echo' of what he touches. When he touches something, he sees its ‘memories’ of those who touched it before - what they were doing when they touched it. sorry if this isn't what you wanted to see but i'm so goddamn obsessed with quinlan that i need to write about him so bad or i'll short circuit and this is my blog so i do what i want 🫡

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Typically, you've got no problem with Obi-Wan walking into the Knights' quarters you share with Anakin. After being knighted, the Master-Padawan pair had been understandably uncomfortable with seeing each other less and less, and you'd always enjoyed the man's company when he came by to visit.

Now, however, it's proved itself to be a problem.

Obi-Wan sits at your small dining table, his only company being a misplaced mug at the place beside him, having helped himself to a cup of tea that he'd brought the leaves for. He'd been less-than-impressed at your dismal selection of teas, and had stashed a box of his own atop your cabinet for when he came to visit. Now he's nearly downed his cup, and neither of you are back yet from your classes that should have ended an hour ago.

He shouldn't worry. There's plenty of reasons why you'd be late; maybe you've stopped by the creche to help out with the younglings, or Anakin had dragged you to one of the refectories to scarf down an early dinner.

Except Anakin has never, never volunteered for creche duty, and the refectories are serving his least favorite meal today.

Obi-Wan has generous faith in you. But you've been roommates with his former padawan for long enough that he's sure Anakin's unbridled mischief has rubbed off on you by now, and he's worried that the two of you might be getting into something you shouldn't.

To his credit, he's right.

Anakin is in something he shouldn't be in. He's in a supply cupboard, he's in you, pressing you flat against the wall and hiking your thigh up over his raised forearm.

"Higher," He grunts, his nose bumping yours as he breaks away from kissing you to mumble into your mouth. Then he bites softly at your lower lip, licking over the momentary sting as you try lifting your trembling thigh higher over his arm.

"Come on," He goads, his grin bright as his eyes glimmer with a touch of sadism you wish you weren't attracted to, "Where did all that Jedi strength go?"

You want to spit something sharp at him, perhaps tell him it fell to the floor when his pants did. But all you manage is a weak groan, and Anakin hikes your leg up for you. His cock is thick, heavy, and hard, and it pistons in and out of you at a steady pace as slick dribbles down your thighs.

Both of you are blissfully unaware that Obi-Wan is waiting for you in your quarters, and that another wayward master has picked up on his trail.

"Knock knock," Quinlan says after the door to your quarters is already open, which doesn't surprise Obi-Wan in the slightest. Quinlan had the same habit when they were younger, barging into rooms first and apologizing later.

"Obi," Quin greets with a grin, in that sing-song-y tone of voice that he uses only for the nickname, because Obi-Wan has corrected him just over a thousand times throughout the course of their friendship that it's Obi-Wan, thank you very much, "Where'd the brats go?"

"I don't know," Obi-Wan admits, offering the seat across from him to his friend, "I do hope they haven't gotten themselves into any trouble. There's tea in the kitchen, if you want some."

Quinlan, who has expressed his rather harsh opinion on tea just over a thousand times throughout the course of their friendship, glares at Obi-Wan. Payback, he supposes.

"No, thanks." Quinlan flops down in the empty chair with a huff, and Obi-Wan marvels at how he manages to act thirteen while being over thirty, "I'd rather drink my own piss out of this mug." He reaches forwards to grab the dishware that had been sitting out on the table when Obi-Wan had arrived, then in a split second his face changes - dropping into a horrified grimace - and he flings the glass across the room.

It shatters as expected, and Obi-Wan jerks in his seat.

"Quinlan," He chides in disbelief, but waits for an explanation.

Quinlan, poor Quinlan, with stronger psychometry than he knows what to do with most times, who doesn't bother to shield himself from any potential memories in the presence of close friends, has had a rather unsavory vision of your past uses of the mug.

"Oh, kriff," He grunts, chest heaving slightly as he stares at his bare hand like it's betrayed him, "Kriff, Obi-Wan, they're having sex."

Obi-Wan feels like he may have just been struck full-force by Coruscant's train.

"What?" He sits impossibly straighter in his chair, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I touched that thing," Quinlan explains, "And- and I was assaulted with unsavory visions, and- Obi-Wan, they put it out to let each other know they wanna fuck."

As soon as Obi-Wan processes the information that he'd really rather not have, he's on his feet.

"We need to find them," He declares, and Quinlan's jaw drops open in a display of the dramatics that the man is so fond of.

"You want to find them?" He asks, "Like- you're gonna march around the temple, and try to find them while they're banging?"

Obi-Wan considers this, and his face wrinkles into a grimace, "No. No, I don't want to find them."

Obi-Wan sinks back into his seat, speechless for the first time in a very long time. The two friends stew in an awkward silence until Quin swallows, clearing his throat.

"I'm almost.. a little proud. I think."

"Quin," Obi-Wan groans, but his friend is already talking over him.

"-I'm just saying! Good for them."

"I'm going to have to give him the talk," Obi-Wan groans, burying his face in his hands and wishing to pitch himself off of the temple's rooftop gardens instead, "I never did. I thought- well, I don't know, he had a lesson on it in class. I thought that would be enough."

Quinlan, who has very vivid memories of defacing the desks in the temple with drawings of the same reproductive organs that he and Obi-Wan learned about during their own youth sex ed course, nods in remembrance. Silence descends upon the pair once more as neither one can muster up enough energy to properly address the situation. Not enough time has passed for the mortified blush to be off of Obi-Wan's cheeks when the door opens once more, and he bets that Quinlan's face is similarly warm, and perhaps twisted into the faintest smirk.

"Oh, hey." Anakin nods once at his former master, missing the aghast expression on his face, "How long have you guys been waiting for us?"

"I just got here," Quinlan informs him, "And I should leave."

"Don't-" Obi-Wan starts, but reconsiders, because he thinks Quinlan might not be the best influence during a serious sex talk. He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose, "Just- go."

"See 'ya, kids." Quinlan's grin as he claps the both of you on the shoulders is equal parts resigned and amused, "Enjoy what's to come."

Anakin's brow furrows alongside yours, and in explanation, Quin offers only four haunting words: "I touched your mug."

[namig42]

random OC ask: say your OC is a love interest (in BG3 or a relationship-heavy game format of your choosing) — what does their first romance or "deepening the relationship" cutscene look like?

OOOOO, I'VE NEVER CONSIDERED THIS BECAUSE I'M THE ONE ALWAYS ROMANCING OTHERS. WHAT A GOOD QUESTION.

Strap in because this is going to be a loooong post. I could make a whole write up for each of these interactions with how intricate they are and my process behind each one. It may even be fun to do another post exploring what their character arc would be if they were proper companions in a BG3 run instead of just a Tav/Durge character.

These are all written with the idea that each of them are companions in your party during a standard BG3 run. There's still the same premise of the threat of tadpoles and the Absolute, so there's some common ground that the love interest (you) has with each of the members immediately to bring them together.

---

Wyndolyn

Wyndolyn will approach you early on in the evening and ask if you'd like to take a walk with her later on when everyone else is asleep. If you agree, then she'll wait for you by the edge of camp that night before leading you down to the river. As you walk in the moonlight along the bank, she'll open up to you a bit and take you to a spot that reminds her of happier days. She smiles a bit more and her face softens as she tells you about one of her sillier memories from when she first used to run off into the woods outside Baldur's Gate. She laughs a bit at how dumb she was, and comments that she probably isn't much brighter now. She meets your gaze for a moment, then turns her eyes to the river. She proceeds to wade into the water a bit and grabs a stone to give to you. It's a smooth, round stone that fits well in your hand. "I always like to keep something like this in my pocket because it makes me feel at home. I thought you might like one, too." She blushes a bit as she takes your hand and places the stone in it, then wraps your fingers around the rock. She holds your hand for a lingering moment before letting it go and taking a step back, smiling at you. After another moment of looking in each other's eyes, she'll say that it's getting late and that you two should head back to camp for the night. With a light touch, she takes your hand and leads you back to your tent, saying a warm goodnight before heading to her own bedroll.

Helena

Helena is often shy. As you garner approval with her, she'll let you in on her witty, snarky comments, small stash of pickpocketed goodies, or the little pranks she plays around camp. She's slow to open up, but she becomes even more fun and chaotic when she does. She especially loves it if you're willing to help her cause a little commotion around camp or while out on an adventure.

The moment you know that you've made strong headway with Helena is that one night, while everyone else is asleep, she'll wake you up with a gentle nudge. When you open your eyes, you see Helena is sitting next to you and shaking. She isn't looking at you, but her hand is still lingering on your shoulder. Her eyes look a million miles away. "S-sorry... I just... really didn't want to be alone right now..." She leaves her hand on your shoulder, the touch so subtle you barely feel her fingers. After a few moments of sitting like that, her breath starts to stabilize and she'll ask if you'd like to take a walk with her. When you two get far enough away from camp that she doesn't think anyone will overhear you, she admits that she's embarrassed about the situation and that she even considered waking you. She tells you how she has nightmares sometimes, bad ones, and always hates waking up alone. You were the first person she thought to reach out to in that moment, and she's grateful you sat with her. "Please don't tell anyone about this. I promise I'll be fine by the morning. This just happens sometimes, is all. I get over it and everything goes back to normal when the sun comes up. This can be our little secret, okay?" She holds her finger up to her lips with that last statement and gives you a playful smirk, though she still looks a bit nervous. You agree to keep this to yourself, and she thanks you while giving your hand a small squeeze. You make your way back to camp afterwards, her hand grazing yours as you walk, and say goodnight to each other before returning to your separate bedrolls.

Dahlia

One night, around the campfire, Dahlia will ask if she can share something personal with you after everyone else goes to sleep. She doesn't see the issue with her wording, but the way it comes across, it sounds like it could be a confession of sorts. If you tell her yes, she'll smile and tell you to meet her in her tent later that evening. When you come to see her, she's sat on the floor writing in a book. When she hears you come in, she looks at you and her smile brightens. She scooches across the floor to make space for you to sit, but you're still stuck sitting very close because of how cluttered her tent is with books and random bits of cloth that are covered with her yellow and green thread. Not to mention her large stature that already takes up most of the space.

Dahlia shows you the book she was writing in and confides that as much as she's always loved to read, she's never really tried her hand at writing before. She's always wanted to write a book of her own, but felt that she never had the right inspiration. Now though, with an adventure like the one she's been forced into with you all, she thought that it would be a great time to start. She'll ask you if you'd be willing to read what she has so far and tell her your thoughts. When you go to read it, you notice that the name that comes up the most commonly is yours. She mentions the others and is very detailed about the places and events, but her writing seems to be the most focused on you, your actions, and her thoughts about you, all which are quite flattering. She doesn't seem to realize that though, and so after a few moments, she'll say, "I've never felt capable of voicing my thoughts, but for some reason, I feel like I can with you. I'd love to know what you think. Do you think there's anything I'm missing?" She leans in a bit closer to you, and in this moment, you can either kiss her, take her hand and tell her your thoughts, or simply lean back and excuse yourself.

Let's assume you kiss her since we're going for romance. If you do, she'll be shocked. She doesn't pull away, but it takes her a moment to reciprocate. After a moment, she'll pull away with wide eyes. "I... I didn't think... I never thought..." She has a hard time finding her words, but what it comes down to is that she has never been loved like that and never imagined she could experience a kiss like the ones she's read in countless stories. She's ecstatic and stuck in a moment of shock. "Could I try that again?" she asks after she regains a bit of composure, and if you allow her to, she'll lean in and kiss you once more, this time a bit deeper and with more intent. The screen will fade to black afterwards, leaving the two together in Dahlia's tent in each others' arms.

Vero

One night, after making eyes at you across the fire all evening, Vero will make her way over to you and ask if you'd like to spend some time together that evening. She's very collected and precise in her delivery. If you say yes, she gives you a soft smile and tells you to come by when everyone else has gone to bed. "Don't keep me waiting too long, alright~?" With that, she goes off to her tent with a bit of a sway in her step. When everyone else is asleep, you make your way to her tent. Just as you're about to enter, you hear something from inside. It's Vero's voice, and she sounds distressed. "Dammit! Why'd you have to go and make a mess now? You bloody imbecile! Idiot, idiot!" When you open the tent, you see Vero on the floor, surrounded by instruments. She's holding a drum that has a massive hole where the drum skin should be. The wood seems to be cracked and jagged too, as if someone tried to rip it in half or smash it unsuccessfully. There's a few bloodstains on the wood, and looking at Vero's hand, you see a large gash on her right palm. The rest of the tent is very tidy and organized, but Vero looks frantic. She sees you and her shaking ceases. Her eyes are wide and her cheeks turn red, something you've never seen before, as she yells, "get out!" She waves at you frantically with her bleeding hand to get out of her tent, leaving you out in the cold.

After a few moments, she collects herself and steps outside. She smooths her hair back with her clean hand and looks you in the eye as you two stand out in the evening air. "I'm... Sorry about that." You ask what happened, and she tells you that she was trying to tidy up for you. Light some candles, lay out some blankets, all those sorts of things, very romantic and whatnot, and when sorting through her instrument collection, she doesn't know what happened. Her eyes fall to the side with her next words and her hands start to fidget a bit. "Sometimes... Sometimes I do things without realizing what they are until it's too late. For some reason, I saw my drum and... Well..." She turns to meet your gaze again, her fingers still twiddling. "Let's call it an intrusive thought." After a moment, her fidgeting stops and she takes your hand in her uninjured one. She looks at you with a sheepish smile, and her typically cool, calm demeanor is missing. She seems softer, more unsure of herself. "I'm sorry, I must've spoiled your evening with all this." If you tell her that nothing has been spoiled, she'll chuckle a bit. "You're sweet to say such flattering things, even if you don't mean them. Would you still want to spend the evening with me, even after that unsightly display?"

If you tell her yes, she'll pull you by the hand and lead you back into her tent where you sit together on the soft purple blanket she laid out, surrounded by soft silk pillows. She reaches into a small chest and pulls out some gauze, then holds it out to you. "Would you mind...?" she asks with that soft, nervous voice. If you say yes, she offers you her hand to gently bandage, then when it's done, she leans in close to you and places a gentle kiss on your lips, her bandaged hand resting on your leg and her other hand on your cheek. After a moment, she pulls away, smiles at you, and thanks you for your kindness. The scene fades away to the next morning from there.

Sahed

Sahed approaches you one evening when the others have all moved to their sleeping spots and you're preparing for bed. He pulls you to the side when you're walking to your bedroll and confesses to you that he's been watching you since you've met. He believes you've proven yourself to be a remarkable individual time and time again so far on your journey together. He's not impressed with most people, but he finds you to be a rare specimen. As he's praising you, he steps into your space, closing the distance between you two. His voice lowers and his finger starts to trace the back of your hand as he tells you how he'd like to know more about you and your abilities. He leans in close to your ear as he asks, "won't you let me learn all there is to know about you, little pup?"

If you tell him yes, he'll give you a devilish smile, take your hand with a soft grip, and lead you away from camp. Once he feels he's lured you far enough, he'll release his grip on your hand, take a step away to face you, and command you to remove your clothes. If do as he says, he smirks and will move in close to circle you and examine your exposed form. He does not touch you at all, only looks with an intense, degrading gaze as he moves slowly. After what feels like ages, he steps back to where he was standing before and crosses his arms. "Kneel for me." If you follow his orders and kneel at his feet, he'll reach down and hold your chin with a gentle touch. "Good pet," he says with a silky voice, then kneels down to reward you with a soft, chaste kiss. As he pulls away, he stares deep into your eyes and says, "I want you to be mine. If you serve me and reveal all your secrets to me, you will have all my affection. Is that what you want, little pup? To serve me?" If you tell him yes, then he will kiss you once more, leaning in this time for a much deeper kiss. He leans further into you until he pushes you down to the ground, and from there, the scene fades to black.

Velora

Velora will approach you one night and ask if you'd like to spend a bit of time with her. She has a surprise planned, but needs to wait until everyone else is asleep before she can show you. If you agree, she lights up and tells you to come find her tent when the others have all gone to bed. Later that night in Velora's tent, she has a plethora of flowers scattered about on the floor. She smiles when you enter, waving you to take a seat next to her. "I was hoping to do something nice for everyone and make some flower crowns. Do you think that'd be silly?" If you tell her it wouldn't be, she beams and turns her attention back to her piles. She has them sorted by flower types and colors. "What do you think would work best for everyone? I found a few night orchids, and I know those are Shadowheart's favorite. Maybe these red poppies for Karlach? Though they might burst into flame if she tries to wear it... Maybe I could make her a wreath?" She turns to you and looks in your eyes, pondering what colors would suit you. "What about you?" she asks. "What flowers would you like?" She waits for your answer, and after you point at a flower, she'll pick a few out of the pile she has and begin to weave something together. As she goes, she blushes and tells you about how she used to love making crowns when she was small, but she never had anyone to give them to besides her parents. "I always had so many piled up in a basket in my room. It means a lot to finally have people I can make these for."

She finishes a crown for you and leans in close to place it on top of your head. "Well, what do you think?" You can either simply tell her you like it, or close the gap to kiss her. If you kiss her, she's shocked. She pulls away quickly, falls back on her bottom, and covers her mouth. She is stunned into shock. After a moment of staring at you with wide eyes, she'll stutter and make her way back to the flower crowns, mumbling about what the other party members might like. She avoids eye contact with you and is burning bright red as she tries to weave another crown with shaking hands. You can move closer to her and kiss her on the cheek or ask if she's alright. If you peck her on the cheek, she'll freeze and turn to face you, covering her cheek with her hand and leaning away from your body. You sit like that with her for what feels like a while, and eventually, with a face still burning and eyes wide in disbelief, Velora will slowly and hesitantly lean in to kiss you one more time. Eventually her body relaxes and she leans into the kiss a bit more. After a moment, she'll pull away with a soft, nervous smile on her face. Her eyes, which were wide in panic just a moment ago, are now soft and sparkling. "I've never had a true love's kiss before. What a wonderful experience." If you are willing, she kisses you again, this time without the hesitation that plagued her only a moment ago, and the scene fades out from there.

Gardon

Okay, Gardon is a dragon, BUT HEAR ME OUT. Since he is tadpoled in this scenario, the effects it has on his body limit his powers greatly. He is trapped in his dragonborn form for the time being since that was the form he received the tadpole in, but similarly to Astarion, the effects of his curse are negated. He still is sick and breathes lava instead of fire, but he is not compelled to do evil like before and for the first time in centuries can finally act on a will truly of his own. This leads to him being very hesitant to be rid of the tadpole, since in this state, he can finally be a force of honor rather than chaos.

With that in mind, if you show morals of honor and good, Gardon will approach you one evening. He will sit next to you by the fire and stare into the flames. "It's odd..." he speaks, unprompted. "The only being I've ever admired was someone from so long ago. I haven't seen her in centuries. When I look at you though..." He turns his gaze from the fire to you. "You remind me so much of her. You are a mortal she would've found worthy of her respect." He is hesitant to place his hand on yours, but does so with a clumsy touch. He has only hurt mortals like you for so long and is so afraid to do any damage. He leaves his hand on yours for a while, then eventually stands and turns to face you. "It is late. You should turn in for the evening." You stand up next to him, and as you do, he reaches for your hand one more time. He holds it in both of his and squeezes it gently. "Good night, my friend." With that, Gardon makes his way back to his tent, not to sleep, but to think about these feelings and what he should do.

---

This post is the culmination of hours of thought and editing over multiple days. I really wanted to sit down and think what scenarios would really feel right and intriguing for each character and how they would approach their own vulnerabilities and insecurities (or completely avoid them. Lookin at you Sahed). I think Vero may have been the most difficult to figure out. She's fairly complex, and I wasn't sure if I should approach this with her as a bhaalspawn or not. I did come to a decision, but I'll leave it open to interpretation what you think! We even got Gardon in there for anyone who wants to romance a real dragon, which I totally respect. His scenario is much less detailed for now, but he has a lot of his own character growth to do before being able to romance anyone, especially a mortal.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! Who would you try to romance? Let me know if you'd like to see any of these events in more detail or where they lead to next! I could expand on these stories all day!

[kores-pomegranate]

So, I’m feeling Very Trans™️ tonight, and I realized I have never really written out my gender journey, or tried to put it all together chronologically. I think it would be nice to do that, so here we go.

I was in high school in the early 2000s in very rural Georgia. There weren’t any openly gay kids, let alone any openly trans kids. I can’t recall ever hearing the word nonbinary until after college.

Despite having no frame of reference or language for anything to do with gender, this is how I looked in high school.

I can remember getting tagged in that photo on MySpace and feeling what I can now identify as gender euphoria, but I didn’t have language for that. I just felt like I looked so *good,* but I couldn’t explain why I thought that. Now I’m like, hey bro you look pretty androgynous there, so maybe that was it.

I can remember begging my mom, from about 7th grade on, to let me cut my hair short. I cut out a photo of a very short pixie cut from a magazine that I kept as my inspo photo for like…five years? I had it stashed away in my box of keepsakes (I actually still have it) and I looked at it all the time. I just wanted to look like that model so bad and my mom was so firm on not letting me cut my hair that short. She was worried I would look like a boy, and I couldn’t understand that fear. My brain kept asking itself “who cares if I look like a boy? It doesn’t matter.”

She finally let me cut it the summer before my senior year of high school, and that is the first time I can remember feeling gender euphoria.

I loved how I looked and how it made me feel. My daily outfit of choice was usually “boy pants” and something very…gender neutral on top? I rarely wore dresses or anything hyper femme, but I never went hard in the other direction. It was all vibes, baybee.

I started growing my hair out when I started college. I went to an extremely small, extremely conservative Pentecostal college still located in rural Georgia, and there was a lot of unspoken expectation to be a “cool church girl.” For those unfamiliar, “cool church girls” were “edgy” because they had nose piercings and wore makeup and pants. They had “hippy vibes” while being hyper-religious. For the first time, I felt like I stuck out in a very bad way. Somehow, the gender expectations of my college were way worse than those from high school. So, I went in hard on that vibe, because I lost all sense of self.

These photos suck because it was the early 2000s and THAT’S JUST HOW IT WAS. In that particular picture I was also very much in the clutches of an eating disorder, so obviously there was a lot of self and body hatred happening in that person.

I got married the summer before my senior year of college. I was t w e n t y years old (it’s 9 and a half years later and I’m getting a divorce…soooo 😬). I was still so deeply immersed in this hyper feminine imagine of what a good Christian girl looked like. I was miserable for a lot of reasons, not just related to gender, but not unrelated either.

(That’s a candid of me like an hour before I was supposed to get married. Staring into the middle distance and dissociating a little 😅)

So, I got married, and then I thought, “okay, I did the thing, now I can go back to being this more comfortable and less feminine version of myself, because I successfully got the Ring Before Spring. No need to pretend any longer. So I chopped my hair off and instead of paying attention in class I fucker around with Snapchat filters and edited beards onto my face.

I remember my husband at the time messaging me after I posted that selfie on Facebook asking me to take it down because it “made him feel uneasy and uncomfortable” to see me looking like that, even if it was supposed to be “funny.”

That same year, for my big senior paper for my capstone class, I chose to write about why gender affirming medical care was the most compassionate and moral thing a Christian physician could ever offer to a patient. I was starting to wake up to issues of gender and sexuality insofar as how they related to larger society. As I learned about trans folks, I felt a deep yet confusing sense of empathy for how miserable it must feel to be in a body that doesn’t feel right, but to essentially have no medical options (especially at the time), to feel more affirmed in their gender.

I wrote that it is the responsibility of every physician to heal, and traced it back to the disciple Luke, who was often referred to in my school as “the first doctor.” I pulled out scripture references about the unrestricted love of god along with how preposterous it would be to deny care to someone who had a “more acceptable condition.” I think at the time I used cleft palate as an example. I wrote that it would be monstrous to deny reconstructive facial surgery to someone with cleft palate (if it was something they wanted), but if a trans woman wants facial reconstructive surgery in order to look more feminine, suddenly everyone has a huge problem.

At the time I still firmly identified as a cis woman, but it was while writing that paper that I remember having my first conscious thought about my gender. I thought to myself, “this…really all makes sense to me. Uh oh.” Then I shoved those thoughts and feelings into a box that I didn’t touch for almost a decade after that.

The next three pictures represent the “my egg is about to crack but it hasn’t yet” period of my journey. I went back to being hyper femme for a long time, and ended up with really long hair. I got pretty obsessed with makeup and makeup culture, and usually didn’t leave to do anything significant without a full beat. Eventually that waned, and I started to get this restless feeling that I sometimes got. I felt that I needed a change, because I wanted to look…more like myself? I just knew I wasn’t happy with the current state of things and something had to change. So I dyed my hair…a lot.

That felt good for a long time. But the restlessness returned in full force.

By that time, I had fully deconstructed Christianity and had been out of church and Christian culture for years. I had accepted my queerness and come out to most people, and was also practicing polyamory. I realized that so much about me had changed in a way that finally felt authentic, and yet. Something still felt like it wasn’t right yet.

I had gained a lot of language for gender expansiveness by then, and had a lot of experiences with being around trans folks, really for the first time in my life. Existing closely with people who threw all concept of gender out the window and reformed it into something that felt good to them made something click in me. Finally, f i n a l l y, it made sense to me. I wasn’t a girl, and I never had been. I wasn’t a boy either, and I didn’t want to be one, at least not in the stereotypical binary type of way.

I slowly started talking about maybe being non-binary to the people I was closest to, and while the first reaction was a solid dose of surprise, when they actually processed it 100% of the people I talked to said something to the effect of “oh that makes a lot of sense, actually.”

So here I am now, Very Nonbinary and very very very rarely femme. A lot of times I lean toward a trans-masc-ish identity or way of presenting, but it changes so much that a more specific label feels pointless.

I’m happy, finally. I don’t know where my gender journey will take me, but what I do know is that I fully have the freedom to go where I want and continue finding who I am, and that feels goddamn good.

Bonus for those who got to the end: me in the seventh grade dressed as Henry David Thoreau for, and I cannot emphasize this enough, *literally no reason.* there was not a school project or presentation, there was no assignment. I just wanted to do it, so I did it. The fact that I didn’t question my gender earlier frankly just confirms that I have always been the biggest thembo of them all.

[theladyofdeath]

Tempting the Fates {Chapter 4}

Summary: It’s the final semester of Aelin Galathynius’ collegiate career and she is so beyond ready to be done. Her schedule is packed full of nursing classes and labs designed to test her knowledge and hone her skills for the real world and her “big girl” job. However, she needs one last elective to graduate, so she decides to study a subject she’s always been fascinated by: Mythology. Who would have thought that a class about gods and goddesses living complicated lives would end up complicating her own in such an unexpected way?

Word Count: 2550

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday.

Tempting the Fates Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Apollo

– God of light, prophecy, inspiration, poetry, the sun, music and arts, medicine and healing

Aelin tried to convince herself that she got up and got ready two hours early for class because of her busy schedule. She kept telling herself it was for the meeting she had with her advisor, about a possible internship at the end of the semester.

She knew that both reasons, while extremely important, were full of shit. She knew she’d showered, blow dried and curled her hair for Rowan. It wasn’t that she was trying to impress him. She’d already done that and the chance she had to be with him had come and gone.

No, now it was about proving to him that even though this class may be a gen ed, she was taking it seriously.

Dropping the class had crossed her mind. She really didn’t need to take it, she could still find a different one to pick up. But she didn’t want to think about the sort of impression it would leave about her.

If there was anything to know about Aelin Galathynius, it was that she was not a quitter, nor did she run from her problems.

Or heartaches.

With one last look in the mirror, and a whistle from Lysandra, Aelin was out the door and hurrying across campus. She grabbed a coffee on the way, but avoided her usual place, knowing full well that Rowan enjoyed the same famous cafe that she did.

He wasn’t there yet when she got to the hall, but she took the same seat she had the class before.

She wondered if Rowan would be looking for her this time.

She quickly shook the thought away.

With her hot coffee on the corner of her fold up desk, she was pulling out her notebook and a pen, waiting anxiously for class to begin.

For him to walk through the door.

Apparently he liked to be right on the dot, though, because students continued to wander in, but he did not.

She was tapping her pen against her notebook, doing her best not to stare at the clock. She was just anxious for her day to start. It wasn’t that she wanted to see Rowan.

Professor Whitethorn, she amended in her head. She had to quit thinking of him as Rowan. She couldn’t think of him like that anymore, his body pressing into hers, lips on her neck, as he—

Shaking her head, Aelin sighed and suddenly realized that the rest of the class had hushed. She was so focused on reprimanding herself for her highly inappropriate thoughts that she hadn’t noticed him come through the door and begin setting up for class. When she dared to glance towards the front, she found his eyes on her. He quickly looked away, going back to his laptop and setting up the PowerPoint on screen.

Maybe he hadn’t been looking at her.

Maybe it had all been in her mind.

But she didn’t think it had been.

He had been watching her.

“Happy Thursday, class,” he began, as the title page of his presentation flashed onto the board. “Glad to see you all showed up again. Must mean my first class didn’t suck.” Quiet laughter thrummed through the room. Aelin couldn’t muster a laugh, though. “On Tuesday, we covered the basics. So, today… Sorry, we’re doing that again.”

More laughter, especially from the pretty, flirty girls up front.

Aelin couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Which, when she settled her eyes back on Rowan, he definitely saw.

Come on, get your shit together, she chastised herself. With her back straightened, she gave him her full attention.

She took dutiful notes, but his slides didn’t hold much in the way of information. They were mostly headers, with a few bullet points. Most of the important information, information she knew would be critical for homework or exams, came straight from Rowan’s mouth.

It was clear that he loved mythology, that it wasn’t just a class his aunt had tossed his way and told him to figure it out. He was a trove of knowledge and she noticed he had a habit of going on slight tangents when he got going on a topic he was clearly interested in.

After a student asked him to clarify what he meant about Hercules not being Zeus’ only son, he ended up talking for nearly twenty minutes about what the beloved Disney movie had gotten wrong. Aelin had stopped taking notes and was watching him go on and on about how Hades, while god of the underworld, was not necessarily a villain. He just had a job to do. A job that had rules that must be followed, or the consequences could damn not only him, but others involved. His eyes found hers again and the amused smile on her face fell as she made the correlation between their own situation and the story.

They held each other’s gazes for far longer than was appropriate, and Rowan cleared his throat, going back to the PowerPoint, and the  predetermined lesson plans he’d made, which didn’t include children’s movie breakdowns.

She watched him.

She listened.

And she found it all fascinating. 

Rowan peeked at the clock after going on and on, and stilled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I guess I’ll end there. There is an assignment due by tomorrow evening. You can find and submit it online. It’s an opinion piece. I want a little insight as to why you were so interested to take this class, or what you’ve found fascinating so far.” He sat on his desk, his legs hanging over the side, his feet nearly touching the ground as he leaned back on his palms. Aelin found it charming. “You’re going to write a short essay telling me of your favorite deity. It could be one I’ve talked about so far, or one I haven’t. It’s your choice. But, tell me why they are your favorite. Give me a little depth. And, remember, this is a college course. Grammar counts.”

The clock struck nine-thirty and everyone began packing up. Aelin had been so captivated by his voice that she had to snap herself back to reality.

She quickly packed up her bag, alongside the other students around her. She noticed then how young they all were, and she was willing to bet that she may be the only senior on the roster. As she was descending the stairs, she found Rowan’s eyes on her again, but he looked away as his attention was taken, thanks to the group of girls who’d been sitting in the front row. She heard vague questions of whether they could all write about Aphrodite, since they all related to her.

The scoff Aelin thought she’d kept to herself had apparently been out loud, since not only Rowan looked at her as she passed, but so did the three girls. With his attention on her again, she decided to give him a little wave.

“See you later, Professor Whitethorn.”

If there was some extra sway to her hips, it wasn’t on purpose.

At least that’s what she told herself.

Two and a half hours later, Aelin was starving. She’d just gotten out of an extremely complicated lab and she could barely focus over the growling of her stomach. Twice, the instructor had looked over at her, half expecting to find a dog stashed under the table she was working at.

So when the class let out, she was hurrying toward the cafeteria ready to get a salad from the salad bar and a big ass slice of pizza.

It was all about balance. 

As she was waiting in line to fill her plate with salad, she heard a voice behind her.

“Are you actually getting lettuce or just filling your plate with ham, cheese, and croutons?” 

Aelin looked over her shoulder to find Chaol, her ex, suppressing a smile.

Aelin chuckled. “If it’s the same price, you may as well pile up on the good stuff.” 

Chaol gave her a small smile. “Fair enough. It’s good to see you, Aelin. You look good.”

Things hadn’t ended the best between her and Chaol, but that had been just after freshman year. At least now when they ran into one another, they could have nice little conversations like this one.

No hard feelings.

“You too,” she said, and he did. He’d been in an accident the year before. They weren’t sure he was going to walk again. In all honesty, it was just good to see him on his feet.

“How long until your class?” He asked, sliding his tray along behind hers.

She glanced down at her watch. “About forty five minutes. You?”

“This is my long break,” he sighed. “I’ve got an hour and a half, but didn’t feel like leaving campus. Want to have lunch with me?”

“Sure.” Her smile wasn’t forced, it was easy and she was glad they could even do this, when three years again, they could barely be in the same room.

“I assume you’re getting a piece of pizza after this,” Chaol said with a smirk, nodding towards her plate. “So I’ll grab us a table while you get the rest of your lunch.”

She scoffed but nodded, and went off to get a slice of pizza. When she ordered her pizza, she also got a slice of cheesecake. It was his favorite, something she hadn’t forgotten, but it didn’t hurt that she liked it, too.

Finding him in the cafeteria, she sat down at the table across from him. “How’s Yrene doing?”

He blushed, and Aelin had to admit it was adorable. After his accident, he’d fallen for his physical therapist, and she was just as smitten with him. It must have been all the one-on-one sessions, because Chaol had never been one to let someone in. Aelin had met Yrene early in her med classes, but Yrene had specialized in PT and graduated in less than three years, taking as many classes as she could manage and even studying through the summers as well.

“It’s going good,” he said, at last. “We, uh, just moved in together, actually.”

Aelin lifted a brow. “That was fast.”

Chaol shot her a look.

Aelin laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, good for you. I like Yrene. A lot. You two are good together.”

Chaol cleared his throat before taking a bite of his salad. “Thanks.” 

Aelin chuckled, taking a bite of her pizza.

Chaol blinked. “What?”

“You get so uncomfortable when it comes to feelings,” she said. “Always have.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “That’s not true.”

Aelin stopped mid-chew and raised a brow.

Even Chaol couldn’t help but chuckle at the expression. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. What about you? Seeing anyone?”

Aelin hesitated, then said, “No.”

A slow grin appeared on Chaol’s mouth. “Didn’t sound so sure about what one.”

Aelin shrugged. “Better be nice or I’m not sharing this magnificent cheesecake with you.”

Holding up his hands in placation, Chaol went back to his salad. Rowan was a dangerous topic, one she wouldn’t share with anyone but Lysandra, so she summed it up quickly. “Met someone I thought I hit it off with. Turns out we didn’t work.”

He slowly nodded. Aelin knew he’d had a couple failed relationships between her and Yrene. “I get it, I’m sorry. Still sucks.”

Shrugging again, she turned to her salad. “It happens. Not a big deal. So if you’re living with Yrene, does that mean you and Dorian broke up? Or is he playing house with you, too?”

Chaol leveled her with a look. Chaol and Dorian had been best friends long before they came to the University of Orynth. They were both from Adarlan, both trying to get away from overbearing fathers, and decided college across the country was the way to do it. They’d been roommates every year and Aelin couldn’t even imagine Chaol living with anyone except Dorian. But now he was. “He moved into an apartment with Manon this semester when I moved in with Yrene.”

Aelin blinked. “Blackbeak? He moved in with Manon Blackbeak?”

Nodding, Chaol went on. “Apparently, they’ve been dating for about a year, without anyone noticing.”

Something in the way he said it told Aelin that he had noticed, but when Dorian had his mind set on something, there was no stopping him. And apparently, he’d decided to date one of the most terrifying women on campus.

Aelin’s response was eloquent. “Wow.”

Chaol grinned. “I like it when you’re caught off guard. It’s satisfying.”

With a scoffed she nudged his leg with the toe of her sneaker. “Well, I don’t. Dorian will be getting a very angry phone call this afternoon.”

“I’ll be sure to give him a warning,” Chaol promised.

Aelin chuckled, taking the last bite of her pizza. “It’s good to see you all happy, though. Really.”

Chaol’s eyes softened. “Thanks, Aelin.”

She nodded. “Even if I am terrified that Dorian will get eaten alive.”

Chaol laughed, and she had forgotten how nice Chaol’s rare, hearty laugh was.

She meant it. She was so happy for them, both of them. It was interesting how things changed over the course of a few short years.

Their conversation continued, as did the laughs, and before she knew it, Aelin glanced down at her watch. She had less than fifteen minutes to haul ass back to the nursing building for her next class. Chaol, who had much longer to sit with nothing to do, assured her that he could handle her trash and told her to get to class. With a hug, and a promise that they’d have dinner soon, all of them, even Manon, Aelin was hurrying out of the cafeteria building.

Somehow, the entire time she’d been having lunch with Chaol, she hadn’t noticed the set of pine green eyes watching her.

Rowan’s own break had been at the same time as hers, but the gen ed building was much closer than wherever she was having to run off to, so he had longer to sit and— there was no denying it— brood. They were halfway across the room, so he couldn’t hear any of their conversation. He had no clue who the tall man was she smiled at so often, but clearly they were very familiar with each other with how easily they talked. And he made her laugh. A lot.

Rowan wasn’t sure why that was what grated on his nerves the most, but it unsettled him.

Seeing Aelin with someone else, someone clearly her own age, it all unsettled him. He didn’t like it. Almost as much as her parting words in class had.

See you later, Professor Whitethorn.

It’s like she was mocking him, yet at the same time, she clearly wasn’t. She was doing exactly as he’d asked of her, seeing him as her professor, not as her boyfriend.

No, he reprimanded himself. Not boyfriend. Hookup.

They’d had sex one time, that didn’t give either of them any claim over the other. It was a hookup and nothing more. And she was his gods-damned student.

She was off limits, in every way possible.

Yet he couldn’t figure out why seeing her with someone else, someone she should clearly be interested in instead of him, had him seeing red.

[norarigby]

Oikawa Tooru - The Last Time

The Little Black Box Masterlist

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x reader

Warnings: this is kinda shitty writing ngl so sorry :D

Word Count: ~1.2k

A/n: the initial idea was cute? The actual execution was terrible. Please forgive me. Hopefully Atsumu’s will be better tomorrow! Enjoy!

Oikawa Tooru has proposed to you exactly three times already. And honestly? You shouldn’t have been surprised. Oikawa has a habit of being over dramatic at times and, as such, has lead to these extreme professions of love.

The first proposal came a little while after graduation. It was the night before Oikawa was to leave to Argentina. He’d talked about moving for a while now, so it wasn’t the shock that caused the silent tears to roll down your cheeks. No, it was the reality finally crashing down like the waves of the ocean. You had been laying on Oikawa’s chest and were sure he fell asleep well over an hour ago, waiting for him to slip into dreamland before letting your true emotions go. You felt guilty for crying. You were happy for him, excited even. But long-distance would be hard and you weren’t ready to let go quite yet.

Soft lips pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. The kiss startled you a bit. Little did you know, he’d been awake the whole time, too anxious for what tomorrow held.

Oikawa gently tilted your tear stricken face up to look at him. It took you a minute to look into his eyes, too embarrassed that you had woken him up. When you did, you noticed his eyes were wide awake and had gone glassy too.

“‘m sorry I woke you, Tooru. Go back to sleep, you’ve got a big day tomorrow.” It came out barely as a whisper, not trusting your voice with anything louder. But even as you said it, a part of you wanted him to stay awake with you, just so you could have more time with him.

He rubbed your cheeks and tried to smile, but it was a bit wobbly, “I couldn’t sleep tonight even if I tried.” Oikawa pulled you in for a kiss. It wasn’t long before he pulled back to mumble against your lips, “If you marry me, then you’d have to come with me.”

You chuckled and laid back on his chest, “Tooru, don’t say things like that. We’ve barely been together for a year.”

“I’m serious-“ He whined and tried to pull you up again but you wouldn’t budge. 

“You’re just saying things because you’re leaving tomorrow. Go to bed.”

And that was that.

The second proposal happened a couple months later. Oikawa had settled in, somewhat, to his new Argentinian lifestyle. And it had been just long enough that you had forgotten about his first proposal.

Long distance was hard and you both knew it would be even before he left. It took a while to sync up schedules, but you finally did. FaceTime became your saving grace as you called each other every night. Well, for you it was night, for him it was morning. Luckily the time difference wasn’t too awful. You could call at eight at night and it would be eight in the morning for him. Twelve hour time differences worked pretty well in your favor.

But when you got a random FaceTime call at two in the afternoon, you were concerned to say the least.

“Tooru, why are you calling this early? Isn’t it 2AM for you?”

He rubbed his eyes and smiled, “Yeah, but I was thinking about you and so I thought I’d just call to hear your voice.”

This man never failed to give you butterflies. You were a sucker for his sleepy smile and ever the charmer, he knew exactly what to say to get your heart beating just a little faster. But now was not the time to be cute! He was messing with his sleep schedule and you refused to be held responsible for that.

“Oikawa Tooru. You know I love you and I love talking to you, but you cannot call me at two in the morning! You have early practice in a couple hours.”

He groaned, “I know, I know. But I have something really really important to ask you.”

His face got really close to the camera in faux seriousness as you rolled your eyes, “Whatever you have to ask me can wait until later. Goodbye Tooru. Get some sleep.”

“Waaaaait! I want to ask you to marry me! I miss you and if we’re married, I won’t have to miss you because you’ll be here! With me!”

Your finger hovered over the end call button. This was the second time in only a couple months. What did that mean? Was he really that serious? Or was he being dramatic because you just weren’t always there any more? And how did you feel about it?

“Tooru, go to bed. You’re just talking because it’s late and you miss me. Besides I’m coming down when you’re playing in Brazil, remember? You’ll see me soon.”

Oikawa’s pout turned into a yawn, “I know, but I just want to see you now.”

You internally cooed at your sleepy boyfriend. Oikawa was always the most fun right before he fell asleep. Delirious and tired, you had a stash of treasured memories stored on your phone—you had never told him about the videos, of course, they were just for your enjoyment.

“I’ll be there before you know it. Good night, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Before you hung up, Tooru muttered something else into the phone, “I mean it. ‘m gonna marry you one day.”

You quickly hung up the phone, crossing your fingers that he didn’t see the blush creeping up your neck at his words. Needless to say, that conversation played on repeat in your head for the next couple of weeks. The second proposal took a while to forget about.

The last time he proposed. You almost said yes.

Truly.

How could you not? When your Tooru was standing in front of you at the airport terminal with a smile that had seemed to get wider since he’d been gone; like the world had been kinder to him since you last saw him. Not to mention he looked like a god. Sun-kissed and deeper defined muscles, he looked heavenly.

You figured that maybe it was because you’d gotten caught up in the magic of being so close to him again after so long. Especially when he wrapped you in one of his famous hugs that felt like home.

So when he blurted out the question again for the third time while walking along a Brazilian beach, you almost said yes. But something held you back. You loved him, sure. You’d even go so far as to say that you wouldn’t mind having him by your side for the rest of your life.

But he was still finding himself in Argentina and you didn’t want to interrupt a second of that. You’d seen the beautiful pieces start to come together and you’d decided that you could wait a little longer until you were sure he was ready.

A few years later, you two again were walking along a beach just before sunset, with your pinkies linked and shoes held in the other hand. You reveled in the picturesque sight, trying to push away intrusive thoughts that were trying to remind you that he’d be gone again by the weekend and you’d have to dive back into long-distance.

Oikawa was thinking the same things. With him being back in Japan for a few weeks felt like a weight was lifted. He could see you whenever he had free time, and in person at that! He could fall asleep with you every night and wake up with you every morning—even if it was really only him getting up in the morning. It all felt....right.

So tonight was his breaking point. Oikawa had been patient all up until this point. Truly, he was ready to marry you every time he had asked you. In fact, the current ring carefully tucked away in his pocket was bought the morning before he had left for Argentina.

He had been patient, waiting for when you were ready. But after these last few weeks, Oikawa couldn’t keep waiting any more. He was going to ask you a fourth and final time tonight.

And he wasn’t going to take no for an answer this time.

(Posted March 1, 2021 4:37AM MST)

[willow-salix]

TAG MiniBang 2021

Because the combined bad influences of Flyboy and Sonata were at work here we also decided to bend the rules a little and post early...

I was privileged to work with one of my best friends on this project,  @misssquidtracy​ . We went a little rogue (seems to be a theme for us) and shared both parts of the challenge with both of us contributing to the art and the writing. Squiddy provided a beautifully done pallet knife piece as the background for my foreground art and we plotted the story together to ensure that it worked for both of us. We had been looking forward to sharing the writing but unfortunately, due to life constraints on her part she was only able to write a little of the fic but what she did add perfectly compliments the tone and style of my writing. 

Big thanks to @tagminibang ) @godsliltippy​ ) for organising this event.

So, here it is, our offering to the TAG Mini Bang. We hope you enjoy it. 

Ting ting ting

“Not again,” Virgil groaned, hauling himself up the stairs from the kitchen to the lounge. He regretted ever giving Gordon that bell, he really did. Yes his brother had gone through a tough time, yes he had scared the hell out of them when the Chaos Crew had left him at the bottom of the ocean in his mangled craft, yes they were incredibly grateful that he was alive and mostly whole, but if they had to hear that dinging one more time they might possibly murder him themselves. 

“Yes, Gordy, what do you need?” 

“I’m lonely, and I’m hungry, come and sit with me for a bit?”

“Sure-”

“But maybe make me a sandwich first?”

“A sandwich?” 

“Yeah, with extra cheese and a pickle on the side, not too large a pickle but not too small that it’s gone in one bite. I want to taste it, you know, but not be overwhelmed.”

“Sure-”

“And can you get me a drink too? One of my special milkyshakes, you know, with the ice cream and frozen banana in it?”

“Coming right up,” Virgil sighed, heading back down to the kitchen again.

“Gordon still demanding everything and anything?” Scott asked as he jogged in from the poolside. His T-shirt was sticking to his chest and his hair was damp with sweat but he still looked like he could do it all again. Not that they would have time, they were lucky if they got to do any planned exercise at all, usually they were forced to skip it and work out on the job when a call came in.

“Of course he is,” Virgil growled, slapping a slice of cheese on a piece of bread with far more force than necessary.

“What did the cheese do to you?”

“It’s guilty by association.”

“Ah,” Scott said, like that explained things perfectly. 

A few slices of chicken received the same treatment and Scott wondered if the meat had actually been dead when it arrived on the island or if Virgil had simply smacked it into submission so well that the chicken had flown clear into next week and arrived as sandwich filling.

“Can you fix his drink?” Virgil asked.

“Can’t gotta shower this off before Grandma accuses me of stinking up the place again.”

“Any excuse,” Virgil scowled. “It would only take you a second.”

“A second too long, bro, I’m escaping while I can and you’d be wise to do the same,” Scott said, heading for the stairs and freedom.

“How can I escape when Gordon needs help?”

“You’re forgetting one important thing,” Scott told him wisely. 

“I am? And that would be…”

“John’s home.”

Virgil snorted out a laugh. “He’s less likely to do it than you are.”

“No, you're misunderstanding me. If John’s home that means…” Scott let his sentence trail off into silence heavily filled with insinuation.

“Sel’s here,” Virgil finished triumphantly, catching on perfectly.

“Give that Tracy a prize,” Scott grinned, shooting triumphant finger guns his brother’s way as he headed up the stairs. 

And they said that John was the genius in the family, they hadn’t seen Scott at his most devious. Virgil wasted no time in yanking out his phone and texting the witch to come and take over.

“Here’s your sammich, Squidward,” Selene cooed, plonking the plate down on Gordon’s lap while smacking a kiss to his forehead. “Virgil started it but I finished it for you, Brains called him down to his lab with some kind of air filter emergency so I took over. I brought you some of those crisps you like from my private stash too.”

“The cheesy curl ones?” Gordon asked hopefully.

“Yep,” she grinned, waggling a family sized bag of Quavers in his general direction.

“Did you bring my drink?” Gordon asked around a mouthful of chickeny goodness. Say what you wanted about Virgil but he made a damn good sandwich, even if Gordon could taste that this was made with a little less love and a little more impatience than usual.

“No, sorry, did you want one? Virgil didn’t say that. I’ll go get you something, just wait right there.”

"Not like I can leave if the mood takes me," Gordon grumbled as he opened the chip bag. 

She was already gone, only to race back in a few moments later with a can of coke.

“What? What’s wrong, boo?” Selene asked when she saw the pouting look of disappointment on Gordon’s face.

“It was supposed to be one of my special milkyshakes,” he whined.

“Right, got it, my bad!”

She was gone again, taking off to the kitchen where, upon closer inspections, she did indeed find the beginnings of a milkshake. There were two scoops of ice cream already in the blender, melting in the warmth of the room. A half peeled banana sat abandoned on the counter next to a carton of milk. 

“Typical,” she groused as she set about breaking up the banana, pouring the milk and setting it to blend as she tidied the mess away. Once done she poured it into a tall glass, added a straw and a few slices of fresh banana to decorate the edges, just as he liked it, and delivered it to the waiting aquanaut.

“Great, thanks, Sel,” he grinned, handing her his now empty plate and swapping it for the glass. She put the plate on the coffee table and sat on the couch opposite him.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

 “Sit with me and keep me company?” he begged, looking so miserable and pathetic that she couldn’t say no.

“Of course I will.” 

Gordon swung his injured leg up and she moved to sit next to him on the couch, placing a cushion on her lap for him to rest his cast covered foot on.

Gordon settled down with a contented sigh, sucking happily on his straw, the milkshake level in the glass steadily dropping.

“I’m bored,” Gordon bitched five minutes later.

“That peace lasted a long time,” Selene laughed, putting her phone down on the side table to give him her full attention. “What can I do to help? Do you want to watch something or play a game?”

Gordon made a face. “You’re crap at games, Sel.”

One eyebrow rose in disbelief. “I wouldn’t exactly say crap…”

“You tried to play with Alan and died three times in two minutes, lost all your lives and were forced to float along behind him as a ghost for the rest of his turn.”

“Anything is crap when you say it like that,” Selene huffed. 

“Only when it’s true.”

“Tell me then, oh great games master, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then don’t moan you’re bored,” she pointed out.

“I mean there’s nothing to do. No one is around.”

Selene gestured to her chest. “Am I suddenly invisible?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffed. “That would be far too cool, why don’t you have witch powers like that?”

“Because I live in the real world, not a movie?”

“Lame,” he declared, dismissing it.

“Back to the original point that I am, in fact, right here. Therefore your comment that no one is around is redundant.”

“I meant no one I can do anything with.”

“Thin ice, bub, thin ice.”

“I meant like my brothers or someone. Alan is busy revising for his final exams, Virgil’s with Brains and I’ve no idea where Scott is but I think he’s avoiding me, which is just mean if you ask me. I’m a delight.”

“Yeah, you sure are,” she drawled, not sounding too convinced. “You’re also forgetting a brother.”

“Who?”

“John? You know, gorgeous ginger love of my life that’s chilling in his room right this minute? That brother?”

“John? No way.”

“What’s wrong with John?” she squawked indignantly. Her man was the most perfect of people, amazing and fabulous, just all round awesome. Although she might be a tad biased.

Gordon shrugged, scrunching his nose up in a ‘meh’ kinda way that said everything and nothing.

“No, come on, tell me what you meant,” she demanded.

“No offence, Sel, but John’s a bit…”

“A bit what?” she asked, her tone warning him that he was in very dangerous territory.

Gordon, with the grace of an elephant and confidence of a man that knew he was injured and therefore wouldn’t get slapped, plowed on.

“A bit boring.”

“Boring?!” she hollered, her voice travelling to the four corners of the island so effectively that Alan lifted his head, wondering if some distant God was echoing his thoughts as he slogged through his history homework.

“How very dare you!” Selene continued, working up a good glare that Gordon was completely immune to. He simply sipped the last of his milkshake, smacked his lips and raised an eyebrow, daring her to do something about it.

“He is not boring.”

“Matter of opinion,” Gordon shrugged, handing her the glass to put down on the table. 

“Right, that’s it, you can besmirch my fun factor but I will not allow you to do so to my man. That’s a step too far.” She gently, for which he was thankful, shoved his leg off her lap and dragged his hover chair over from its spot beside Virgil’s piano.

“Get the hell in, hoppy, we’re going for a ride.”

-x-

"You deal with him, he's driving me nuts and pissing me off at the same time."

"Me? I'm the very picture of perfection, I could never drive anyone nuts."

John declined to comment on that one for fear of never stopping, he had twenty-four years worth of stories after all. 

“The pissing you off is subjective too,” Gordon finished triumphantly. 

"He's your problem now," Selene announced, shoving Gordon's hover chair further into the room before making her escape, slamming the door shut behind her. 

John closed his eyes, praying for patience. His fiancée was well known for her legendary patience when it came to pampering and mothering his family whenever any of them were sick or injured. She'd spent almost every day with Gordon since his run in with the Chaos Crew and had done so with relentless cheer, for her to have given up now was not a good sign. 

"What did you do?" 

"Nothing!" Gordon protested hotly.

"Are you sure?" 

Gordon averted his gaze, suddenly taking great interest in a dust particle dancing across the shaft of sunlight filtering in through the window, "Yes, I'm sure. I wasn't doing anything. That was part of the problem."

"Ah," there it was. "Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"I'm so bored," Gordon wailed. "And your girlfriend is being mean to me."

"Fiancée," John corrected him, not looking up from his work. 

"It's not my fault I hate sitting around doing nothing all day. I’ve gone from a physically and mentally intensive, fifty plus hour a week job, to sitting on my ass from dawn until dusk. Can you blame a guy for getting twitchy?"

"Unfortunately, you don't have much of a choice at the moment," John reminded him, quite needlessly he thought. 

"Gee, thanks for the reminder," Gordon huffed, trying to cross his arms although the cast and sling he was sporting prevented it. That just seemed to annoy him even more. 

"I can't do anything right now! How do you do it?" 

"Do what?" John asked, squinting through his magnifier at the small window frame he was carving from a piece of polymer clay. 

"Just sit around all day."

John raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I don't sit around all day."

"OK, float around then. It's not like you're actively running around like the rest of us are."

"I'll pretend I never heard you say that," John scowled, wishing Selene had dumped his brother into the sea instead of into his quiet, peaceful room. 

"You're sitting around right now," Gordon pointed out, gesturing to the desk John was  sitting at, which was currently doing double duty as a work table for his latest project. 

"One day you'll learn to appreciate the benefits of a quiet, occupied mind and a still body," John told him. 

Gordon sighed, propping his good elbow on the desktop, his chin resting in his upturned palm as he watched his brother fiddling with tiny things that seemed utterly useless to him. 

"What are you even doing?" 

"Working on a series of book nooks for Sel's side of the bookcase," John answered, sounding slightly distracted as he measured the finished window against its place in an intricately carved brick wall. 

"Why?" 

"Because she likes them."

"I mean why are you making it? Can't you just buy her one? It's not like you can't afford it."

"Where's the challenge in that? Besides, things are always more special when you make them yourself."

Gordon yawned and leant forward to rest his head on the tabletop. 

"Do you want to help?" John offered, although honestly Gordon's version of helping was always patchy at best. 

Gordon scooted closer to look over John's shoulder, eyes darting over the rectangular box that he was building the nook inside. About the size of two thick books sandwiched together, the nook already had a little cobbled street and two shop fronts in place. The tabletop was scattered with a selection of impossibly tiny screwdrivers, picks, scalpels and other instruments of possible torture that he couldn't hope to name. 

"Pass," he announced decisively, flicking the control of his hoverchair so he spun in a wide circle, pointing to the door. "I'm out."

"Peace at last," John sighed, flicking his magnifier back into place over his right eye as he set aside the window to be baked later and reached for a fresh blob of clay. 

-x-

"What ya dooooooing?" Gordon yodelled, slamming the bedroom door open so hard that it smacked into the wall and shook several picture frames. He scooted his way into the room without even waiting for an invite. 

"Gordon!" John huffed, clutching his heart where it was trying to leap out of his chest from the shock of his brother’s sudden, and very noisy, entrance. 

"Hi, I got bored, thought I'd drop in on my favourite big brother," Gordon grinned as he glided his hoverchair closer. 

"Are Scott and Virgil busy?" John asked, that would be the only reason Gordon would have promoted him to his favourite. 

"Yes," Gordon admitted, "but that's not the reason why I'm here."

John turned his head to shoot him a raised eyebrow of doom, clearly communicating without words that he didn't believe him in the slightest. 

"So, what are you doing?" 

"Working on this book nook," John replied patiently, holding up the small cauldron he was crafting. 

"The same one?" 

"Yes."

Gordon’s eyes nearly fell out of his head, "Still? It’s been four days!"

"Yes," John hissed out, starting to get frustrated by the constant questions. 

"Why?" 

"Because it takes a long time. If you're going to do a project you should do it right."

"At the speed you're going it's gonna take forever," Gordon snorted, casting an assessing eye over the work John had already done. 

"That doesn't matter," John assured him. "It's not really about the time it takes or the end result, it's about the process, the journey to get there."

"Sounds lame to me," Gordon yawned. 

"Obviously," John drawled, rolling his eyes. 

"What do you mean by that?" Gordon demanded to know, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

"Because it's you."

"Hey! Rude."

"Accurate," John said, placing the little cauldron down and selecting another piece of clay which he placed on a ceramic tile. 

"Why?"

"Because it requires a calm mind. It's good to slow down sometimes and just be still."

"Says the console jockey." 

Console Jockey? He did not just say that!

"So you don't think my job is stressful? Or as tiring and important as yours?" John snapped, wondering if it was bad form to smack your injured brother around the head with a partially constructed book nook. He glanced at the nook, he had put a lot of work into it… It would be a shame to waste it. That thought alone saved Gordon. 

“Well, yeah I get that it might be a bit stressful, but it’s not like you have to do much that puts you in danger, not like us,” Gordon continued, digging his hole even deeper, a hole that John was looking forward to shoving him into.

“We all have our specialities, you couldn’t do your job without me doing mine,” John retorted, trying very hard not to let Gordon’s comments get to him. Gordon would never understand what it was like for him to be stuck so far away from the action, away from his brothers when things were going wrong. 

Gordon, thankfully for him, had been unconscious from the moment he had activated his emergency code. He hadn’t heard the frantic calls going out over the comms as the family mobilized to help him.  He hadn’t heard the desperate scramble as Thunderbirds took off, racing to the scene. But John had heard it all. 

John had been the one to stay on the line with Gordon, talking to him the entire time, knowing that he probably wouldn’t hear it but feeling that he needed to say it all the same. He wanted to know that if his little brother regained consciousness for even a second he would hear a familiar voice, that he would know that they were coming, that they would rescue him. He would know that he wasn’t alone.

 He knew what it was like for people that were in danger, knew the comfort they got from someone talking to them, listening to their stories, being there for them verbally if not physically. John was often the one that spent the most amount of time with those they rescued, keeping their spirits up as much as possible until his brothers got there. 

His brothers were seen by their rescuees as the real heroes, the ones that leapt in and plucked them out of danger, but John was the one that got them that help, the one that made sure the rescue played out as best it could, liaising and coordinating until the job was done. But Virgil, Scott, Gordon and Alan were the ones that got the thanks , the ones that got the hugs after they dropped their charges off, not John. 

Not that he minded too much, he knew that his job was just as important as theirs, maybe even more so because, when someone put out that call for help, when they sent their desperate plea out into the world, they deserved to know that someone would always be listening out for it, that someone would hear and that help would come.

He knew all of this, and he knew that Gordon did too, it was just the frustration of inactivity that was making him say the things that he was. John just wished that that knowledge made it easier to listen to. 

“I might not be doing the physical rescuing,” John continued, feeling the need to push his point home. “But I work just as hard, when you’re home you’re off duty until a call comes in, you can relax, swim, watch movies and laze around until you’re needed. When I’m up there I’m on duty 24/7 and even when I do manage to catch some sleep it’s not deep or particularly restful. Any little noise, any call that triggers the system's keyword algorithm gets transferred automatically, I have to go from asleep to awake in seconds to take it.”

Gordon was quiet for once, watching him closely. John didn’t like it, it made him feel like an exhibit in a zoo. And here we have the little seen Tracy, see how he stays inside his hide and hardly ever ventures out… he knew how they saw him, why they likely thought he had the easy job. 

“These help, they give me something else to focus on. I need to keep my mind active and challenged while still trying to relax.” John paused, trying to think of a way to explain his thinking that Gordon might understand. 

“These are almost like a meditation,” he started. Gordon understood meditation and finding your zone. “Creating something out of almost nothing. It keeps my mind focused, helps with finger dexterity and hand eye coordination with the added bonus of it relaxing me. It’s good to slow down and take some time to do something creative, you should try it some time.” 

Gordon listened to his brother and he tried to take in all his words, he tried to understand the meaning behind them, he really did, but it just didn’t make any sense to him. He understood about wanting to be lazy, to sit around and do nothing sometimes. He loved to laze on the couch with his snackies and an Into the Unknown marathon playing out on the holoscreen, but that was watching something exciting, interesting, to him that was relaxing. This...whatever it was that John was actually doing, made no sense whatsoever to him. The idea of trying to relax by actually thinking...that was the most alien concept of all. 

Gordon knew, probably better than his family gave him credit for, what it was like to be mislabelled. Within every sibling pool, there were the mandatory roles: the serious one, the caring one, the smart one, the funny one, the calm one, the angry one, the one who sang in the shower, et cetera. He’d proudly embraced the role of ‘the funny one’, and had diligently flown the flag for the humour camp for as long as he could remember. If a brother came home from a rescue in a slump and needed a cheery pick-me-up, it was Gordon who stepped up to the task, irrespective of his own mood. His smile and laugh were infectious, and he had yet to encounter a frown he couldn’t (eventually) turn upside down.

But with every ‘role’ came misconceptions. Scott was serious, therefore people were quick to automatically assume that he was a killjoy.  Similarly, John’s intellect and preference for solitude often went hand in hand with him being branded antisocial, since there was apparently no possible way someone could enjoy their own company so much, yet still pursue and maintain meaningful relationships with actual people.

Gordon was no stranger to this treatment. He liked to laugh and be spontaneous, and consequently, was often regarded as the Tracy who didn’t take his work seriously, the Tracy who had the attention span of a gnat (albeit a very handsome one), and the Tracy who couldn’t be trusted with anything that required delicacy, be it physical or emotional. His affinity for making people laugh, though an exceptional quality, frequently acted as a double-edged sword. On the one hand, his relentless optimism made him the most effective of the bunch when it came to emergencies involving children and young adults. On the other hand, it sentenced him to a fate where the bad jokes he cracked would always be two steps ahead of the secret deep thinker that lay within.

“Let me see it again,” Gordon sighed, trying his best to be a supportive and understanding brother, since he did feel a little bad about the things he had just said. He hadn’t meant to say them, they had just come out. That was the trouble with being laid up from an injury, not only were you out of action but you were in pain, and pain made you grumpy and less likely to monitor the things that came out of your mouth the way you should.

He knew that John worked hard, hell he knew that what his brother had said was right, John was never truly off duty. They were all aware that he didn’t get enough sleep, enough down time, enough time to relax and just be. They knew that if John was on Five he would consider himself on duty, at work, and therefore he’d never allow himself to take time out. Things had changed since Selene had blundered her way into his life, now he spent a lot more time on the Island, which meant that he was finally taking some time out for himself. If one of the ways he chose to do that was by crafting ridiculously tiny things out of clay to stick in a hollowed out box that was his business. Gordon wasn’t there to judge, he was there to spend time with his brother.

John moved aside a little so Gordon could get a closer look, trying to resist the urge to smack his hand away every time Gordon reached for a tiny piece that had taken him hours to perfect. 

“These are really small,” Gordon mused, poking at a window that John had just finished painting, leaving behind a smudged fingerprint. “Woops, sorry, Bro.”

“Maybe you should try making something of your own,“ John suggested, carefully removing the window from his brother's possession and picking up a brush in order to attempt a fix.

Gordon nodded and John passed him a ceramic tile and a miniature rolling pin. 

“How about you try cutting me out a few shop sign bases?” John suggested.

“Do I get one of those scalpel things?” Gordon asked, a little too eagerly for John’s liking.

“Maybe we can work up to that,” John hedged, subtly moving the scalpel out of his brother’s reach and passing him a square cookie cutter. “Use this cutter for now.”

Gordon shrugged and spent a few minutes rolling and squishing the clay trying to get the thickness to the exact measurement that John insisted on. It wasn’t easy or fun.

“Nope!” Gordon announced, giving up and pushing the tile away. “It’s still boring. Pass.”

He swung his hoverchair around and headed in the direction of the door. “Later, Bro.”

“Oh...OK...later, I guess,” John stuttered, wondering just what he had done to deserve such a chaotic family as his.

“Oh, hey, boo, where are you go- WAHH!”

John’s head shot up as Selene’s yelp rang out from the hallway.

“Sorry!” 

“So you should be, you little shit,” she grumbled to his retreating back as she thumped into the room.

“What happened, love?”

“Let’s just say that if his chair had wheels I’d have lost a few toes,” she said, wincing in imagined pain. 

John scooted his desk chair back and patted his lap in offer, one that she happily accepted.

“So, why was Gordy doing his boy racer bit? What did you say to him?”

“Me? What makes you think I said anything to him?”

“Because I know you two?” 

“Fair,” he sighed, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to do to help him.”

Selene turned her head to look at him, not liking the helpless look on his face.

“Babe, you are helping him, you’re there to keep him company or talk to him if he needs it, that’s more important than anything. What happened to make you think that you weren’t helping?”

“He was asking me about these again,” John nodded towards his work area on the desktop. “But he didn’t seem to understand, that or he just didn’t want to.”

“He’s Gordon,” she sighed. “You know what he’s like, he’s full on, he’s in your face and he’s not at all subtle. Taking his time with things just doesn’t compute with him.”

“It would do him good though, if he doesn’t learn to embrace it he’ll be exactly the same as he was last time.”

“Was he really that bad?” she asked, concern lacing her voice. 

John nodded. “He doesn’t do inactivity well. When he had his hydrofoil accident his therapist talked him into signing up for a virtual college degree in Environmental Management of Rivers and Wetlands. It was supposed to take him at least a year as a part time course with ANU in Canberra, but he blew through it in the first semester and earned himself a distinction for his insights on the impact of Anthropogenic Noise on Wetland Habitats. His professor was so impressed he offered him a fully funded PhD, citing his time with WASP and the time he spent in the bathyscaphe as practical experience that would make up for his lack of degree. Obviously he turned it down, but he still likes to rub our faces in it now and then.”

“Wow,” Selene breathed. “Forget his professor being impressed, I’m impressed.”

“He has a phenomenal brain,” John said, a small but very proud smile on his face. “When he actually decides to use it to its full potential, that is. There is nothing he can't do when he chooses to focus on something, he’s all in. It really helped him to feel like he was gaining something and moving forward even though he was sitting still.”

Selene nodded, understanding completely. She knew that all of her boys were wicked smart, but Gordon always presented himself as the least academic. He was more of a doer, wanting to be out in the field, learning as he went, diving in head first to every situation. 

But as Selene and John both knew, appearances could be deceiving.

“If that’s what helped him last time, then we need to find a way to convince him to try something new,” Selene insisted. 

“I tried, he’s not interested.”

“That was with your things, babe. We need to find something that’s a little more him, and I think I know just the thing.”

-x-

“I have arrived!” Gordon yodelled, announcing his entrance in his own unique way. He slid his hover chair in through the open door like the boss that he was, bringing his shining presence in to brighten up his middle brother's obviously dull existence. “Didja miss me?”

“Like a hole in the head,” John grumbled, turning to look at the grinning face of his brother. His eyes immediately began to water as they were assaulted by the far too bright colours of the shirt Gordon was wearing, a tie dyed monstrosity that Selene had made for him for his birthday. 

“A little more gratitude, if you please," Gordon huffed. 

“Grandma finally released you?”

“Yep,” Gordon stretched out his injured leg and patted the air cast on his now slingless arm. “Got time off for good behaviour.”

“I find that hard to believe,” John teased, then nodded to Gordon’s arm. “How’s it feeling?”

“Not too bad, my grip still isn't great but Grandma promised me that once the bone has finished knitting I’ll just need to exercise it and build the muscle strength up, then it’ll be as good as new.”

“That’s great, it won't be long before you're able to go back out with Virgil and stop, how did Sel put it, 'haunting the house like the ghost of Christmas future'?"

"Can't come soon enough," Gordon sighed, butting his chair right up close to John's, knocking his arm in the process. "What you do- you're still doing that? Still? It's been a week!" 

"It's not like I get a huge amount of down time," John pointed out. "I'm only here now because Sel said she'd dump me if I didn't make an effort to come down earlier in the evenings so I could actually eat a meal with you all."

"You actually believed that threat?" Gordon laughed. 

"Of course not, she'd never dump me, but I thought I had better humour her and let her feel like she at least had a little sway," John shrugged, pushing aside the little piece of doorstep he had been painting. "Honestly, it's nice to come down for a meal and family time, I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it until it was happening again."

"I guess we all got a bit too caught up in International Rescue after we lost Dad," Gordon admitted. 

"Like we had nothing else in our lives," John nodded, completely understanding. 

"Yep."

Gordon fell silent and John let him, concentrating on mixing the perfect colour acrylic to add a few highlights to his stones. 

"Can I have a go at making something? I bet I could do it quicker than you," Gordon asked, reaching towards what Selene called the sharps tub. John smacked the lid down on it just in time. 

"Actually, we got you a present."

"You did?" Instantly distracted, Gordon sat up straighter, excited by the prospect of a gift. "What did you get me?" 

This," John answered, opening his desk drawer and extracting an interestingly shaped bottle, upright with a thicker, rounded bottom and a thinner neck, ending a cork stopper. 

"Wow, is that an original?" Gordon asked, taking the bottle carefully and turning it to  study it from all angles. He knew exactly what this shaped bottle was, there had been a collection of them in Commander Shore’s office that he would stare at every time he got called in for some reprimand or another.

"19th century," John nodded. "Sel found it in a little shop in Mayfair. They assured her it was a genuine, used on a ship, captain's decanter from around the time of the civil war. They hadn’t fully traced it when Sel bought it but they think it came from one of the ships that fought in one of the smaller skirmishes around 1861.”

“This is really cool, thanks,” Gordon smiled, still turning the bottle over and over.

“It’s to hold this,” John continued, drawing Gordon’s attention back to him.

Grinning, John delved back into his desk drawer and pulled out a rather faded and quite dusty box. He brushed the dirt off the top and slid it over to Gordon. 

"A ship?" Gordon frowned. 

"Yep, Selene and I thought that you needed a little project of your own, so she had the idea to get you a ship in a bottle. You don’t see them a lot these days, but apparently her Grandfather had a couple and they always fascinated her.”

“So you put the ship in the bottle?”

“Yep, instructions are inside, go nuts.”

“Pfft, instructions,” Gordon snorted. “No one needs instructions, they’re a waste of time.”

-x-

“Ouch,” John hissed, hopping in place on one foot as he bent down to pick up what looked to be a tiny piece of mast that had attacked the sole of his foot. “Gordon, why are there bits of ship all over my floor?”

“Because I dropped them,” Gordon replied, his voice muffled due to the tongue of concentration that was peeking out from between his teeth.

Huffing, John gathered all the pieces off the floor, both pieces of ship and bits that they had been cut out of, and deposited them on the desk next to Gordon.

“How’s it coming along?” John asked, settling in his own chair. He’d only been gone a day but Gordon had managed to take over the entire bedroom, spreading his belongings, bottles, snack wrappers, his phone and a discarded hoodie, all over the place, as well as half the contents of the vintage ship box.

“It’s ridiculous. I think it’s missing pieces or something, it’s broken.”

“Well it was an old kit, but we were assured that it was complete,” John frowned, sliding the tray over that Gordon was supposed to be storing all the pieces in. “Have you checked the contents list and matched each piece to make sure they’re all there?”

Gordon looked at him blankly, like he was talking a foreign language.

“Did you check that everything was there before you started?" John elaborated.

“Of course I did,” Gordon promised, crossing his fingers and hoping his brother didn’t see. 

“Against the list?” John clarified.

“I eyeballed it, OK?”

“Not good enough,” John insisted. “That’s not how you go about doing things like this, you can’t just slap them together and hope for the best.”

“Why not?” Gordon whined. It worked for him in almost everything else he did in life. 

“Because this happens," John gestured to the mess surrounding them.

“Fine, I’ll read the damn instructions.”

Leaving Gordon to it John slid his almost completed book nook over and picked up his paintbrush to start adding some finishing touches before he started on the wiring for the lights. He’d barely done more than five minutes when Gordon started huffing.

John waited a little longer, trying his hardest to ignore the ever increasing sounds of frustration and impatience from his brother. In the end he couldn't stand it a moment longer, he had to ask the most loaded question ever.

“What’s the problem?” John asked, pushing his own work aside.

“These instructions don’t make sense,” Gordon bitched, flapping the paper in John’s face. “Look at the little picture here, you have to stick this little pole into that hole in the deck but the deck doesn’t want to stay together and that piece there keeps sliding and the pictures make no sense.”

“That’s because you missed around eight steps in between,” John told him, praying for patience. 

“No I didn't, I followed the pictures exactly,” Gordon insisted. 

“The steps aren’t in the pictures,” John explained. “See right there?” he pointed to the words above the pictures. “The pictures are a diagram of each finished stage, not how to get there. They are for reference only, not instructions.”

“Urghhh, this is going to take forever,” Gordon pouted, crossing his arms. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that by the end of it you’ll have something unique that no one else does, something you can be proud of and know that you built with your own two hands.”

“I’m not sure it’s worth the effort,” Gordon muttered.

“It is,” John promised. “I’ll help. How about I read out the instructions and you follow along? We’ll get through it quicker that way.”

Gordon wasn’t convinced, but John looked so hopeful that he didn’t have the heart to refuse him, especially since he and Selene had gone to so much trouble to get the things for him in the first place. He might be a miserable little sod, but he wasn’t that ungrateful. He knew that they had gone out of their way to get something they thought he’d like, the least he could do was make the thing, even if he knew he wouldn’t enjoy it. Maybe John was right, working together they could get through it quicker, and that could only be a good thing.

“Alright,” Gordon agreed, “let’s give it a go.”

Slowly, methodically, John read out each piece that was needed and Gordon located them, storing them neatly in a wooden box that Selene provided when she popped in to bring them drinks an hour or so later. She stayed just long enough to steal a kiss from John and drop one on the top of Gordon’s head before she beat a hasty retreat, not wanting to get roped into helping. She wasn’t the best at following instructions and didn’t want to get grumped at.

By the time they had all the pieces checked and catalogued they had discovered there were indeed two pieces missing, but thankfully they were easy fixes, just a small , round piece of wood to represent a porthole, which they could easily make a replacement for and a piece of mast. One snipped toothpick later and that was sorted too.

John started with the first set of instructions, reading them out patiently as Gordon found and fitted them together. 

“So, how’s work been?” Gordon asked, like a chatty hairstylist, as he carefully dipped the end of a thin dowel into a small pot of wood glue. 

“Same as ever,” John deadpanned, “a bunch of idiots that got themselves into trouble and needed help, and only half of them related to us.”

Gordon sniggered, glancing at John, seeing the sly smile on his brother’s face. He’d forgotten just how amusing John could be when he delivered something sarcastically witty with such a serious tone. Gordon hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it, wondering just what his more serious brother would come out with next. John was always like that, he seemed so quiet and reserved but, when he was relaxed and in company he was comfortable with he’d take you by surprise by letting loose a zinger that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Let’s not talk about work,” Gordon suggested, “we haven’t hung out properly in ages, you’re either up in Five or there are other people around.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ve missed me?” John teased.

“Maybe,” Gordon allowed, “but if you ever tell anyone I said that I’ll deny it and tell Grandma you want her to make your birthday cake this year.”

John held his hands up in surrender, although he couldn’t hold in the laugh that bubbled up as he reached for the instructions again.

“OK, let’s get this done before we stop enjoying each other’s company.”

They worked slowly but steadily over the next few hours, putting together the structure for the first mast. Once it was done they called it quits and abandoned it for another day, the smell of something tasty coming from the kitchen proving to be too much to ignore.

-x-

 “Gordon, that’s my finger.”

“Oh, sorry, can you just like… I don’t know, yank it off?”

“If I wish to leave half my identifying fingerprints behind, yes.”

“Do you really need them?”

John didn’t dignify that with an answer, the look he threw at his brother communicated his thoughts perfectly. 

“OK, OK, I’ll get some dissolver from Virgil’s studio, wait right there,” Gordon instructed him, grabbing his crutches and hobbling his way out of the room. 

John sighed, keeping his hand perfectly still, the hull of the boat dangling from his fingertip. He was still there five minutes later when Gordon clumped his way back in, Selene hot on his heels. She had the glue dissolver under one arm, a large bag of chips under the other and a plate of sandwiches in each hand. 

She dumped the plates on the desk, then the chips, before turning to see the state her fiancé was in.

“Do I even want to know?” 

“Probably not,” Gordon winced, dropping down into his abandoned desk chair and reaching for a plate.

“Can you at least help me before you start stuffing your face?” John asked, waggling his hand, which made the boat sway violently from side to side.

“Can’t, eating,” Gordon mumbled around the massive mouthful he had just taken.

“What did I say?” she demanded to know. “No hurting the hands, you know how I feel about that.” 

John wiggled his fingers again, drawing her attention to his plight. He looked so pathetic with the half built little ship swinging from his hand that Selene took pity on him, intervening when he looked like he was about to grab the thing and yank it off himself, fingerprints be damned.

“Oh for the love of the Gods, let me do it!” Taking his hand she used a paintbrush to smear glue dissolver around the area of skin it was stuck to. She took her time, rewetting and using the brush bristles to push the dissolver under the boat, trying to  ease it free from his skin with minimal pulling.

“Thank you,” he sighed, sitting patiently while she worked. Thankfully it didn’t take her too long, although it took a lot of cursing under her breath and the odd ouch from him to get there. 

“One boat,” she announced, placing it triumphantly on the desk. 

“Fanks,” Gordon said, spraying chip crumbs as he did so.

“Welcome,” she said, brushing at her leg which had unfortunately been in splatter range. Still holding John’s hand she bestowed a kiss to each of his abused digits before releasing him. 

“Right, I’m out of here. Play nicely, you two, I don’t want to have to send Grandma in to babysit you both.”

“It won’t come to that,” John assured her, reaching for his own sandwich. “We’ve not got much left to do now. We just have to attach the rigging to the masts, check that they fold properly then insert th-”

“I’m out, I don’t need to hear anything about insertion, not after you just glued a boat to your hand,” Selene declared, her exit swift and to the point, the door shutting firmly behind her.

“She has a point,” Gordon admitted, swallowing his last bite. He pushed the chip bag in John’s direction, although there was barely more than a handful and a few crumbs left in it. 

“But we’ll never admit it to her face,” John insisted, steadily munching through the large sub she had brought for him. 

“Never,” Gordon agreed. 

-x- 

Gordon sighed dramatically as he crutched his way down the hall from his bedroom. John’s bedroom door was open but his brother wasn’t inside. The ship, now fully rigged, sat beside the bottle on the desk, just waiting to be placed inside once some sand had been poured in as a base. Gordon had chosen all different shades of blue to represent the sea and had even watched a few videos on how to do sand pouring art, something he’d never expected to find even remotely interesting, yet he couldn’t bring himself to go in and make a start on it.

John had barely been home the past week and when he had it had only been for food and enforced sleep. Even then he had been known to sneak out of bed the second Selene was asleep, being discovered on numerous occasions sitting at their father’s desk until the small hours working on this, that or the other. 

Emergencies, and therefore the need for their services, had seemed to increase three fold, something Selene was blaming on the moon phase and mercury going retrograde and, for want of a better explanation, they were all inclined to agree. There was no rhyme or reason for the surge in idiots that were calling in at all hours of the day and night with trucks caught under a too low bridge causing a pile up, hands stuck down toilets, drunks climbing to the top of electricity pylons and repair men getting trapped inside ATM machines they had been fixing.

His brothers had been on the go near constantly, whether it was from rescue call outs or working on their plan to find their father,  but none more so than John. While Selene had always been good at what she liked to call Tracy Wrangling, none more so that when she was dealing with a stressed out Scott, even she had admitted defeat and left them to their own devices. Self preservation was key after all. 

John had been dealing with not only rescue calls and Chaos Crew sightings, but signal tracking, GDF liaising and general hoop jumping, all of which had kept him far too busy.

It had been over a week since they had done anything to their project and Gordon was feeling the loss. Not so much of the project, although that really had helped with his frustrations at his lack of physical ability, not that he would ever admit that to John, but in spending time with his brother.

Much to his surprise he’d found that he was reluctant to work on it alone, it had become their thing to do together. It was a time where they would hang out, shoot the shit, reminisce about childhood memories, times that they had spent together talking about their hope for the future where they would find their father alive and bring him home.

Both of them knew that it wouldn’t be easy, that if they did manage to find him there would be no telling what physical or mental state he would be in. Gordon knew from experience just how tough physical injury, limitations, and recovery could be on the mind and the body,  especially in someone who had been as active and viril as Jeff Tracy. 

They all knew, although no one seemed to want to talk about it, that as hard as it was going to be to actually locate him and hopefully bring him home, that would only be the beginning of what could potentially be an incredibly long and difficult journey of rehabilitation and reintegration into the family and the world as a whole. 

John had been right, taking some time to be quiet, to slow down and think while keeping your mind and hands busy really was a productive way to spend your rest hours and, stupid as it sounded, Gordon didn’t really want that to end. 

He was only a week or two away from potential cast removal and a return to physical activities like his beloved swimming and strength training in their home gym and, while he couldn’t wait to get back to it, he knew he’d feel the loss of his enforced quiet time. 

He glanced again at the abandoned ship on the desk and turned away, clumping down the hall towards the stairs. So it would take them a little longer to get it finished, Gordon was fine with that because for once he wasn’t feeling the need to rush.

-x-

“Remember to pour it slowly,” Gordon instructed as he held the funnel in place, its long pipe reaching right down into the bottom of the jar. “Start with the darkest one, that’s going to be our base colour.”

“I’ve got it,” John assured him, selecting the tub of midnight blue sand and scooping some out into a smaller pot to make things easier. At Gordon’s nod he began to slowly and steadily pour the sand into the open neck of the funnel. As he watched Gordon expertly directed the tube, allowing the sand to pour out to pool in the bottom of the bottle.

At Gordon’s signal John stopped pouring and waited while Gordon carefully removed the tube and used a long metal skewer to poke and prod the sand into something that looked vaguely like waves.

“The next colour up,” Gordon requested and John did as he was asked. They repeated the process four more times with different shades of blue, John pouring in a little at a time, Gordon directing the tube to deposit  more in one place than others, mimicking the movement of sea waves as best they could. In between each layer Gordon used the skewer to poke and mix the colours here and there, blending the layers into a smoother transition.

“That’ll do,” Gordon said confidently, twisting the bottle so John could see the full effect. 

John had to admit that he had been pleasantly surprised when Gordon had announced that he had ordered some coloured sand and looked up how to do sand art on the internet. He hadn’t really known what to expect, although he would admit, if only to himself, that he had thought that Gordon would be a little heavy handed and impatient, but once again he had proved him wrong. He really had done his research and the result was a beautiful mix of colours that really did give a perfect impression of a gently moving sea.

“That’s looking great.”

“I know,” Gordon grinned, modest as always. “Where’s that resin gone?”

“Here,” John answered, pushing it across the desk towards his brother. “Make sure you read the instructions and measure the amounts accurately or it won’t set and you’ll ruin the sand and the bottle.”

“Yeah, yeah I got this,” Gordon assured him as he did indeed read the instructions through properly. Once he had familiarised himself with the ratio of resin to hardener, he measured carefully and poured them into a mixing jug. Once it was fully mixed he slowly, gently, poured the mixture a little at a time into the bottle on top of the sand. With each little pour he waited for the resin to trickle down between the grains, slowly adding to it until all the sand was covered. 

“And now we wait,” John said, carefully placing the bottle in the patch of bright sunlight coming in through the window. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Gordon offered casually, not really expecting his brother to agree. John hardly ever watched anything with just him, they had vastly different tastes in movies and John usually made some polite excuse to escape.

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Really?” Gordon goggled, his eyes almost falling out of his head. “You don’t have anything more important to do?”

“More important than watching a movie with my little brother? I don’t think so,” John grinned, retrieving Gordon’s crutches from where they were leaning against his bookshelf and tossing them to him one by one. “Come on, last one to the lounge picks the movie.”

“Hey, no fair!” Gordon yelled, scrambling to his feet as he fumbled with his crutches. “You’ve got legs like a giraffe and neither of them are broken!”

“Sucks to be you,” John tossed over his shoulder as he took off down the hall to victory.

-x-

“Careful,” John warned.

“I am being careful,” Gordon snapped. “I got this.”

“Your hand’s shaking.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.” He steadied his, only slightly shaky, hand by propping his elbow on the desk for stability. “OK, let’s do this.”

They both held their breath as Gordon maneuvered the body of the boat through the opening in the bottle, making sure each sail stayed carefully folded down and the strings remained untangled before he fed it down the neck and into the bottle.

“Phase one, complete,” John intoned in such a serious voice that Gordon couldn’t help the laugh that he snorted out.

“Pass me those long nosed tweezers?” Gordon asked, holding out a hand.

John slapped the requested instrument into his brother's hand like a nurse in an operating theater, provoking another burst of laughter.

“Thanks.” 

“Welcome.”

Making sure the strings of the sails were still dangling outside of the bottle, Gordon carefully moved the body of the boat further down into the bottle with the metal skewer until the stern touched the top of the resin and sand layer. 

“Now the sails,” Gordon whispered, hardly daring to breathe as John moved in to help, taking over the holding of the strings while Gordon reached in with the tweezers.

Gently, working together, they started the delicate process of tugging gently on each string, unfolding the paper sails and locking them in place.

“String one.”

“Got it. Watch number four sail.”

“Yep, thanks...OK… can you just give string five a little pull? Perfect.”

“Sail three is flopping!”

“Gah, hang on, just got to tighten that...yep that’s got it.”

“Maybe if I gather…”

“Yep, that’s good, do that again.”

“This next bit is going to require a delicate touch, maybe I should-”

“Hey! I can be delicate!”

“It’s not coming up...back sail two is stuck, release it...careful!”

“There, saved it.”

John gently pulled the strings a little more and there it was, their ship, sails proudly upright and everything. He kept hold of the strings, while Gordon held on to the boat with the tweezers as they carefully lifted the bottle from its side to its proper upright position.

Using the skewer John maneuvered around Gordon’s hand and nudged the boat into a better position before he carefully released the strings. They both held their breath, hoping and praying that the sails wouldn't collapse the second the strings fell. 

The boat, with its sails, stayed strong.

“Yes!” Gordon cheered, holding up his free hand for a high five, grinning when his brother’s palm smacked against his own.

“Scalpel,” Gordon joked as John handed it to him so they could lop off a little of the trailing strings. Then, using the skewer, they arranged the strings around the edges of the boat. 

With the boat finally upright and in place, they added another layer of light blue coloured sand with a sprinkling of white to mimic the tips of the waves. They finished it off by pouring in a little more resin, both to set the sand and hold the boat in place, using the tweezers to make sure it was correctly positioned.

“Phew,” Gordon breathed, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his cast covered leg. “We did it. Go team.”

“We did,” John smiled. “And it looks damn good.”

“It really does,” Gordon agreed, shifting his head to look at the bottle from all angles. 

“Nothing left to do but let it dry and put the stopper in,” John said. “How do you feel now it’s done? Was it worth the time?”

“I still think we could have done it a lot faster if you’d just let me skip a few steps in the instructions and do it my way, but it wasn’t that bad,” Gordon admitted. “I’m oddly proud of it.”

“You should be, you did good,” John leant back in his chair, crossing his arms as he relaxed. “Are you going to stop teasing me about my book nooks now?”

“Pssh, no,” Gordon snorted. “Ships are cool, yours will always be boring.”

He didn’t see the bottle of water coming until it was too late.

-x-

Gordon walked straight to John’s room from the infirmary,  feeling oddly free without his crutches and casts. Six weeks was a long time, after all.

The bottle with its little ship sat exactly where they had left it in the center of John’s desk next to the abandoned book nook that was still not finished. It took him very little time to insert the cork stopper and pour a little of Selene’s spell bottle sealing wax around the top, a bright, cheery yellow wax that matched his beloved Thunderbird Four.

He smiled as he thought of his little craft, waiting down in her dock for him, ready to be taken out when the next call came in. It had been a long and frustrating time but finally, blessedly, that time was over.

He poked an experimental finger into the wax seal, checking that it had set properly. It had, and he couldn’t help feeling a little sad about it. It had been a project that at first he’d had very little interest in, but slowly it had turned into so much more. Not just something to wile away a few hours but a chance for him to reconnect with the brother he spent the least amount of time with. 

Years ago, back when he had been small, John had been his everything. When Alan had been too tiny to be of any use and Scott and Virgil had been too old to be bothered with him hanging around, it had been John that had been there for him. It was John that had patiently listened as he read aloud from his sealife books, who had watched movies with him, played with him, and spent the most amount of time with him. Back then, their three year age difference had seemed like so little but so much at the same time, an older brother that made him feel wanted and included when the other two saw him as an annoyance.

Gordon couldn’t quite put his finger on when things had changed, when they had slowly drifted apart. John had seemed to grow up so much faster than he had, Alan had welded himself to his side, looking up to Gordon as he had to John  and things had never been the same again. 

It had been too long since they had been able to just hang out, to laugh, to tease each other without things going too far and one of them getting annoyed. It had been nice and Gordon had realised that he didn’t want to go back to nothing but hollocalls to Five when an emergency came in or the odd family dinner and movie night where he had to share with the rest of the family. John was the only brother that Gordon didn’t spend one on one time with as standard and he realised that, no matter how much he might blame it on John being so far away, in reality it was as much his fault as John’s.

Gordon picked up the bottle, leaving a box in its place. The model kit of the Mercury Project space capsule and its launch pad had been hard to find even with his junker contacts. In fact, he had almost given up and  admitted defeat before he'd thought to look at the label on his ship box and sent the shop owner an email.

Smiling to himself, knowing that there was no way John would be able to resist that challenge, he took the finished bottle, with its little ship, to his room where it would take pride of place on his bookshelf, a constant reminder that even in the worst of times, positivity could still be found.

“Thanks, Bro.”

[hatake-no-sharingan]

A Well Loved Copy (PART 1: Magical Places) 

Kakashi x Reader

Story Summary: Your cozy life as a bookseller is disturbed when a box of the worst books you could ever imagine arrives at your store, and with them a certain silver haired ninja to whom you are definitely not attracted.  

Relationship: Kakashi x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: I wrote this first part a few days ago, but it still had a few things missing and I finally finished it today. I’m thinking it’s going to be at least 3 parts long (depending on how much my brain allows me to write) and that it’s going to be mostly fluff and romance, but I also want to add some angst. Hopefully you’ll all like it <3 Be kind and enjoy.

Magical Places

“God who even reads this crap” you tell yourself as you arrange the 20th copy of the latest Icha Icha Special Holiday Edition on the hot new arrivals shelf in the bookstore. “It’s unbelievable how they keep making new editions of the same trash and people actually buy them”

Last night, your boss had explicitly told you that he wanted the books in the most visible part of the store, because they were always a massive hit, unlike the beautiful short story books you had been forced to stash in a less noticeable shelf almost at the back of the store.

You spent hours admiring the graceful prose and the magical places they took you to, wishing your own writing was half as good. You knew most of those books by heart, and every time one of your favorite authors published one, you read it so many times until you could almost recite it word by word. That’s why your personal collection of books was small, but very well loved. Whenever you got the chance, you recommended them to customers, though almost none listened to you. However, those who did, always came back to thank you for it.

“It’s better to know one book intimately, than a thousand superficially” your mother told you when you were little, and to this day, the phrase stuck with you.

When your boss, the shop owner, told you to remove your favorite stories, the ones you knew intimately, from the best shelves to make space for what was basically porn disguised as a romantic thriller, it felt personal.

“I’m sorry, I know they’re good, but we need to give up the space for the best selling authors” your boss had told you yesterday night when he saw your frown as you removed them from sight. You ignored him for the rest of the time you were there while going through the new inventory together, and left the new arrivals unopened

“I’ll arrange them in the morning. If you don’t need anything else I’m leaving” you slipped your very worn book in your pocket, grabbed your keys and left.

That’s why people don’t read real literature, because it keeps getting hidden from sight and replaced with trash, you sigh.

Now you look towards the remaining boxes, the publisher sent way too many for your judgement, and decide to put them away in storage until more copies are needed, so you can still keep a few other not so crappy books on the star shelf.

When you’re returning from the storage room, you hear the door chime, signaling that a new customer is here. You check the time, barely 8:00am.

God, who’s here this early?

“IT’S HERE!” A silver haired man acting like a 6 year old in a candy store rushes in, and grabs 3, no, 4 copies of Icha Icha Special Holiday Edition without noticing he’s messing up your perfectly arranged shelf. “I literally waited a month for it! I need to read it now, it’s gonna be so good”

Is he talking to himself? Or to me?

The guy is bubbling with excitement, running his long fingers across the cover of the book on top. You don’t know why, but seeing the motion sends shivers down your very tired spine. You shrug, and start the computer to enter the day log into the system.

He walks to the counter, feeling giddy with the books and you get tense at the realization of who the guy you’ve been gaping at is.

The signature mask, the covered left eye and the nonchalant but confident walk give it all away.

He’s kinda hot in person, but his awful taste in books ruins it, you think.

“Would you like me to wrap those for you?” you manage to ask, pointing to the four copies he dropped on the counter. “Or would you rather do it yourself at home?” If I were his friend I’d kill him if he gave me that as a gift.

“Huh?”

“We offer a gift wrapping service.”

“Oh no, thank you, they’re not gifts. All four of them are mine”

“All four?” You ask, confused.

“Yeah, one’s my mission copy, another is my house copy, then the back up one, and the last goes on my shelves untouched”

“You must really like the series.” You say sarcastically, emphasizing on the word really.

“They are really good, contrary to popular belief. I know a lot of people judge them, but I swear if they actually read the series, they’d know it’s not just porn” he says with a chuckle, clearly aware you’re judging him.

“Ummm I don’t know” you say scratching the back of your head “I’d rather stick to real literature”

“Wait, you’ve never read them?”

“Nope”

“Not even one?”

“No no, wouldn’t want to waste my time”

“No wonder you’re staring at me like that” he says under his breath, and you pretend not to hear him. “What do you read, then? If you’re only into real literature”

You nod towards the last shelves in the room and then gesture to your own battered copy of The Cursed Beauties and Other Stories.

“They made me hide them away so I could make space for your special edition.”

“I’m sorry about that, maybe they can share a shelf next time.” Did he just smirk? Is he hitting on me? No, it must be me reading too much into things. “I’m Kakashi, anyway”

“I know, you’re kinda notorious amongst us booksellers, as the guy who buys too many copies of Icha Icha”

“Really?”

“No”

“Oh”

“You’re an important ninja okay?” He’s barely aware of it apparently “I have a few modern leaf history books here that mention you. And I think there might be a biography on you too, you’re definitely in the Yondaime’s. I had to read it for school, though I’m not very sure of how much truth is in it. Non ninja writers tend to exaggerate things huh? Not because I’m a ninja myself, becau-well, ummm I’m not, but I have read a lot, on ninjas I mean.” You get flustered when you catch yourself speaking a lot. He makes you nervous, alright? Even though he has bad taste in books and is a bit of an asshole, you can’t help but feel attracted overwhelmed by him.

You get an embarrassed smile from him too.

“I can’t imagine what in my life would be interesting enough to write about” he says, gently tapping his fingers to his temple “but I’ll tell you something, Icha Icha is interesting, way more fun to read than my life. I’d leave one of these copies here for you, but this isn’t the first book in the series, so you really wouldn’t understand it. But you should give the first one a shot, if you don’t like it, you’re allowed to hate me forever and judge my poor taste in books.” He heads for the door and makes his departure, but not before turning around and flashing you a big smile that you swore his whole face was glowing beneath all those coverings.

Something about him lingers with you for the rest of the day, as if he’d never really left the store.

The next morning when you come in, you notice there’s something inside the mailbox which catches your attention, only for the simple fact that you never get mailed anything small enough to fit in the mailbox. It’s always boxes upon boxes of books and gadgets related to literature.

You open it and take out a well worn copy that has definitely seen better days, of Icha Icha Paradise. There’s a small post it note stuck on the back cover scribbled with messy handwriting

Give it a shot, I promise you’ll like it. 

-K

P.S. Take care of it, it’s my favorite copy. Hopefully by entrusting you with it, you’ll decide to entrust me later with your own book ;)

Despite all your judgements and aversions to the series and the author, you make yourself a strong cup of coffee, sit back on your familiar spot, and open the book to the first page.

[coochiequeens]

This man preyed on a woman who just lost her husband and had two young children.

On Tuesday, a 7-year-old girl arrived at her Las Vegas elementary school with a stash of sticky notes in her hand, which she gave to her teacher. The notes, from her mother, were a cry for help.

The woman wrote that she was being held captive by her boyfriend and feared that her 4-year-old son, who she had not seen for weeks, was dead, according to her attorney. After the teacher notified authorities, police went to the home of Brandon Toseland, where they found the body of Mason Dominguez in Toseland’s freezer.

Toseland, 35, has since also been charged with murder and two counts of kidnapping.

The woman told her lawyer, Stephen Stubbs, that Toseland sexually, physically and emotionally abused her for months. Toseland isolated her from her family, took away her phone and car keys, controlled her social media accounts and quit her job on her behalf, Stubbs told the Washington Post.

He also allegedly installed locks, video surveillance and monitor sensors to track the woman’s movements, Stubbs told the Post. “It just got worse to the point where, finally, in December, there was one day she tried to exit a room and it was locked …and from then on she was held captive.”

A statement released by Las Vegas metropolitan police department on Wednesday said the woman was “not allowed to leave the house alone or enter the garage”. In addition, “she also confirmed she had not seen her toddler since December 2021, and she believed he was deceased”.

Homicide detectives assumed the investigation and discovered the child’s remains inside a freezer in the garage, the statement said.

According to Stubbs, the woman met Toseland through her late husband. After her husband died in January last year, Toseland started to comfort her and the pair began dating two months later.

She and her kids went on to move in with Toseland, which “started out fantastic”, Stubbs told Insider. However, from the time that she was locked up to when she was rescued, the woman never had a chance in which she could run away with her daughter.

Toseland, who sent the 7-year-old girl to school every morning, would bring along the woman and leave her handcuffed in his car, concealed behind a sun shield.

Every day, the woman searched for something to help her escape. She eventually found a stash of sticky notes and a pen.

“It was a game of him leaving and her knowing that she has less than a minute to take the sticky notes and the pen from their hiding spot, write whatever she could and then hide it before he could come back … and keep in mind, she can’t even see through the front windshield to know when he’s going to be back,” Stubbs said.

Eventually, the woman completed the note and a few days prior to her rescue, Toseland allowed her to sleep in the same room with her daughter. That night, the woman repeatedly coached her daughter on how to deliver the note to her teacher and what to say, according to Stubbs.

Police were able to track down Toseland after they set up surveillance around his house and saw him exit the car with the woman. Since her rescue, the woman and her daughter have been staying with relatives and are receiving “all the help they need”, said Stubbs.

Scott Coffee, Toseland’s attorney, told the Washington Post that he plans on seeking a mental health evaluation for Toseland and said that it is “too early in the case to know what happened”.

“His criminal history is minimal,” Coffee said, referring to the two counts of domestic battery that Toseland has been charged with after being arrested in 2018, to which he pleaded no contest.

Toseland is detained in county jail and will appear in court next Monday.

[bqstqnbruin]

4 times he wanted to come over + one time he did

Ok, we’re going to ignore several things here, like the fact that this was an 8 page Google Doc that I put together in a few hours, the fact that said document had been blank since June, t y p o s, and the fact that it’s nearly three am and I have my first day of classes technically today (aka at 2 pm).

But here I am, with my second fic of the day? IDK but since classes are starting, my posts are going to be a lot less frequent, so hopefully you guys like this! -------------------

one

Your apartment was finally put together just the way you liked it; all your stuff had its place, it was decorated just the way you liked it, you even had a pantry full of food, a rare feat when you were in college even with living with three other girls. Your first morning in your new, fully set up place was going to be celebrated by yourself. You had planned to make yourself breakfast that would probably last into lunch, order Chinese food later that night, drink coffee and watch Seinfeld on Hulu until you felt like going to sleep. There was no better way to break in a new place than by just relaxing in it. 

You turn on your TV, setting your coffee and plate down on the table in front of your couch, and walk over to the huge windows you were lucky enough to have in the apartment. It was a picture-perfect day, and the sun shined right into your apartment, not a single cloud in the blue sky. You felt like you were in a movie like someone had curated the scene and that with the touch of a button, the green screen would be gone and so would the magic. 

Sitting down, putting your feet up on the table, you dig in. This was actually perfect for you. Your new job was going to be stressful and you knew it. The more you could find ways to relax in your home, the better the job would be. 

After three episodes and nearly spilling your coffee all over you twice, you decide to get up and move around. You were drawn back to your windows, still in awe at the scene on the other side of them. Across the street, it looks like someone was doing the same in their apartment. He was tall, handsome, shirtless, and covered with tattoos that you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of. 

He waves at you smiling in a way that made you melt. It took everything in you to wave back and not do something stupid, mentally thanking yourself that the pajamas you had been wearing were athletic shorts and a tshirt from your sorority, and not something more embarrassing. 

You go back to your couch, knowing that he could still see you and probably what you were watching. You couldn’t focus on the episode, feeling as if he were still there watching you. You tried to force yourself not to steal glances at him but failed, every so often seeing him mirroring your actions, watching TV on his couch. You didn’t know that the entire time, he was also stealing glances at you. He couldn’t help it; never before had he seen someone look so naturally beautiful, so in their element and carefree while just sitting and watching TV. 

“Fuck it,” you say to yourself, pausing mid-episode and getting up to find the paper, markers, and tape you know you had stashed somewhere.

Messily scrawling ‘I just moved in, nice to meet you,’ on a piece of paper, you tape it up on the window, praying that you wrote it big and dark enough that he could see it.  Sighing when he wasn’t still on the couch, you get back on your own and press play on the TV again. 

Where could he have gone? And why were you more invested in the handsome stranger on the other side of the street than you were in the show about nothing that you had grown up watching? 

Your stomach growls, not quite late enough to order dinner, you wander into your kitchen to get a snack, looking over to the window of handsome man to see that he had left a note, presumably for you. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Pierre-Luc’ was written in print messier than that of a doctor’s. Thank god your best friend growing up had the world’s worst writing, having to ask him to rewrite it would have been demeaning and embarrassing. 

And so it began: you would write a note, watch an episode, then check to see if he left you anything back. He always did, 

His name was Pierre-Luc and he played hockey. After a quick google search, unbeknownst to him since you were assuming he couldn’t see what was on your phone, you found that he was a professional hockey player, player for the Blue Jackets. Great, as if he weren’t already being sweet, asking you questions, leaving you charmingly flirty messages on his window for you, now he was an athlete? Quite possibly one of the sexiest types of men in your opinion? Great. Amazing. 

‘What’s for dinner?’ he leaves on his window, disappearing somewhere into his apartment. 

‘Ideally Chinese food, where do you suggest?’ is what you leave for him, scrolling through Uber eats to see what was cheapest and nearby. You look up, seeing him writing on a notepad his answer, taping it to his window before sending you what you could swear was a wink. 

‘Best place to eat out is here at my place,” you read, bursting out laughing. Confident, this one. 

You roll your eyes, leaving a cheeky message about sticking to Chinese food and just ordering it from the first place that came up. 

The night went on, you not realizing you had spent the whole day flirting with a window stranger. He had liked talking to you, too, but it was pretty bad for the environment to be wasting all this paper when he could clearly see the phone that was in your hand or on your table. Writing his number on what he hoped would be his final piece of paper, maybe you would invite him over. Or he could invite you over. There was something about you that he wanted to spend time with you, not flirt with you while a city street separates you. Taping the paper up, he can see you, fast asleep on the couch, your TV screen asking you if you were still there. 

Closing his curtains, he hoped that you would use the number soon so you could actually spend time with him. 

 Two

You had been feeding that cat every morning for over a month. You loved that stray cat; there was a weird sense of satisfaction in feeding her even though you knew your apartment building wouldn’t allow you to take her in as a pet. But of course, the day you had your friends coming over for dinner was the day you had to run to the store to buy more cat food because you ran out the day before and forgot to get some yesterday. You didn’t know who put food out for the cat at night, or even if anyone did. 

You go to the bowl sitting in the alley way, seeing that it was empty, confirming your suspicion that no one else fed the poor cat. You would have to start feeding it at night, too. 

“Sorry, you don’t have to do this,” you hear someone say behind you. You get up to see him, the man from the window. 

“Pierre-Luc? Why don’t I have to do this?” 

“Because I’ve been doing it.” 

“No, I have,” you argue, knowing that this would lead to a never-ending circle of ‘me, no me.’ You had been texting each other for a few weeks, constantly trying to figure out when you could spend time together, but much like you and your best friend during senior year of college, your schedules never matched up, going a year before finally seeing each other. 

“When?” he asks, a cocky smile dancing across his face. 

“Every morning before work, what about you,” you ask, getting closer to him. You text relationship was flirty, you were sure of it. Every time you passed by your window when he was home, he made a point to check you out, he winked at you, he smiled. He exuded a welcome confidence that you weren’t used to.

“Every day when I get back from practice.”

“What about the days that you’re away for games?”

“I figured someone would feed him for me.”

“The cat’s a girl,” you say, the little feline coming up to you. “You would know that if you didn’t just assume other people were doing what you set out to do in the first place.”

“Well, my assumption was correct, wasn’t it?” he says, a devilish twinkle in his eye as his tongue runs along his bottom lip. 

“You know what they say about assuming,” you tell him, breaking your eye contact to put out some food for the purring animal.

“What’s that?”

“It makes an ass outta you and me,” you tell him, looking up at him towering over you as a laugh leaving his lips. Given his demeanor, you wouldn’t expect him to look as, what’s the right word, jolly? As he did. 

“How come you’re feeding her now if you usually do it in the morning?” he asks, bending down to help you.

Feeling your phone buzzing in your pocket that signaled your friends were already there waiting for you, you tell him, “I ran out of food yesterday and didn’t have the chance to get more until after work. Plus, I needed to pick some stuff up for tonight, anyway.”

“Tonight?” he asks, his head snapping up. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, ran through his head.

“Yeah, my friends are coming over for dinner. It’s the first time they’ll be seeing my new place.” You pause for a minute. He was here, obviously with some free time, but did you want his first time over your place to be surrounded by your nosy friends? They knew you were talking to an attractive neighbor, but you knew they would say things to him that would mortify you and send you running before he got the chance. 

But like the night you first moved in, fuck it. “Are you free tonight? I would love for you to come over,” you tell him, the smile on his face disappearing as soon as you asked.

“I have a game tonight, I can’t. I was actually about to change and then leave,” he says, looking sad. He wanted to come over, and as soon as you said you were having friends over, he knew that you were going to ask him. 

“Oh, that’s fine. Now I have a reason to watch a game, though,” you tell him, smiling. You had to admit, you were a little bit upset, but again, it was probably for the best that he didn’t meet your friends just yet. 

“If the game ends early enough, I’ll stop by, yeah?” he suggests, running his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, sure. I’d like that.” 

Three

“Babe, you’ve lived here for like, what? Almost six months? You have a hot as fuck neighbor who you actually talk to, and he hasn’t come over yet? Why haven’t you asked him to come over?” Amy says with food in her mouth. Your friends were over, again, this time to hang out before they went out to the bars. You were originally going to go, but you were too exhausted, and having already promised to host the pregame, you weren’t going to back out now. 

“You call me babe more than any guy I’ve met, you realize that right?” you ask her, getting up to go over to your window. You knew he wasn’t home; you had the Columbus game against the Flyers playing on your TV, Pierre-Luc was on the ice as you absentmindedly went over to the window to see if he was there. “Plus, our schedules never work. Look, Aimes, he’s literally on our TV, meanwhile as soon as all you hooligans leave, I’m going to bed. 

“Come on, stay up for the man,” Jeff said. The only male in your group of friends, he always entered the girl talk, encouraging you to get with a guy just as much as the others. 

“I’m going out to breakfast with you guys in the morning, how cranky do you want me to be, Jeffy? You know I will not hesitate to throw a potato at you,” you say, the rest of the group laughing even though they know you’re serious. You have thrown stuff at him and only him during breakfast before, him never thinking you’d have the guts to cause a scene in public, but doing it anyway. 

“We all know you’d be less cranky if you got laid,” he says through a mouthful of food. Why did everyone talk with their mouths open?

“Tomorrow I’m ordering two breakfasts; one to eat and one to throw at you.” 

You tune out your friends for the rest of the night. You only paid attention to the hockey game, your eyes trying to stay focused on Pierre-Luc every time he was on the ice. You did really want him to come over, but again, the first time couldn’t be with your friends, not when they were full psychopaths when it came to any boy that you were talking to. What would you have done if Pierre-Luc was there when Jeff commented about you being cranky and needed to get laid? 

Why did the cute guy have to have such a complicated schedule? Every time you were free, he was to jet off somewhere in the country for a few days for games, then he would come back, sleep, go to practice, and then go to a game. From what you could tell, he never stayed up past maybe 10 pm on the nights he didn’t have games, he napped nearly every day after practices, and he really was only home to eat.

Not that you were stalking him. Or memorizing his schedule. You two talked all the time, having evolved from notes in the windows to texting, from texting to calling, from calling to him falling asleep before you while on Facetime. He was one of your best friends, and you had never actually hung out with him at your or his apartment. 

“So how long will it take for him to get home now that the game is over?” Amy asks, snapping you out of the trance that you didn’t know you were in.

You didn’t even know that the game was over; the Jackets beat the Flyers 2-1, the game apparently ending about five minutes ago. You never timed how long it took between the game being over and him getting home since it was different pretty much every night. You think. Again, it’s not like you were stalking the boy. “Uh, I don’t know, half an hour?” you guess, giving them what you hoped was enough information for them to not ask you more.

“So has he sent you any like sexy pics?” Tanaka pips in, you nearly choking on the water you were drinking. 

“What the ever living fuck?” you nearly scream, all your friends laughing at your reaction. “There is no way I would ever tell you. Guys, we’re friends. Yes, he’s cute, hell, he’s fucking hot, but we’ve never physically spent time together, so can we just drop it?” 

They change the subject, going back to the conversation from this afternoon that involved them trying to get you to go out. You loved your friends, they were your found family, but dammit they wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“Wait, sorry, which apartment is his again?” Jeff asks in the middle of you telling them yet again why you weren’t going out with them. 

You all snap your heads to the other building, the one directly across from you now with lights on. “That one,” you say, Pierre-Luc appearing in the window, all of your friends running up to go wave to him. This was mortifying. Your phone started buzzing on the table, and with Pierre-Luc having his phone out for his friends to see, they knew it was from him.

“What did he say!” Tanaka yells, trying to grab your phone from you. 

“He said get your creepy friends away from the window,” you lie. If you told them he was asking to come over, they would steal your phone and make him come. “Guys, shouldn’t you be going by now? It’s almost 11, the deal at the bar ends at midnight and all of you are still sober,” you point out, praying that it would work.

“Let’s get drunk!” Amy says, grabbing her bag and marching out the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” 

“Yep, I’m going to sleep. Text me when you’re all alive!” you say, pushing them out the door.

Your phone buzzes again, Pierre-Luc asking again if he could come now that your friends were gone. You wanted to say yes, but you knew that as soon as he came over, you would be asleep. Plus he just came from a game, there was no way he wasn’t also exhausted. ‘I’m about to pass out, I’m sorry. We’ll hang out eventually, I promise’

Four

You should be back in your apartment by now. You had told Pierre-Luc that you would be home by 11 pm. You had an early day the next day and staying out late wasn’t something you wanted to do, no matter how good your date went or how attractive you thought the guy was. 

Much to Pierre-Luc’s dismay, you had told him that your friend Amy had set you up with someone she knew from school. You were going out with him tonight, you Facetiming Pierre-Luc while getting ready. He should have just been over there, watching you get ready. No actually, he should have been the one taking you out, but at this point in whatever the hell relationship you had, the first thing that you were going to do in person with each other, besides that one time you fed the alley cat, was hang out in each other’s apartment. 

He was pacing, checking his phone to see if you had sent him anything about your whereabouts. You should have been home by now, why weren’t you home? If you weren’t home in ten minutes, he was going to call the police. No, they wouldn’t do anything. He would figure out how to hack your phone, try to find Amy on social media, something so that he would know you were safe. 

Sitting down on his couch, he positioned himself so he had a direct view of your apartment. As soon as you walked in the door and turn on the light to your living room, he would know. He needed that light to go on right now. 

‘Maybe I should go over and wait outside her door? Would that be creepy?’ he thought to himself, ‘I could say that I was just checking on you, which would technically be true. It’s not like you were going to bring the guy home, right? But what if you did and then I was there sitting outside your door. I can’t ruin things for you.’ 

Why has it taken him so long to even get over to your place? Or for you to come over to his? He hated that your schedules were just different enough that you couldn’t meet up. You were always running out the door when he was just getting home and vice versa. He couldn’t even fathom what he would do the first time he saw you in person.

He should have just kissed you when you were feeding the cat. He knows that he wants to date you, how could he not someone who was sweet enough to do something like that for a random cat but also unafraid to chirp him like his teammates? 

Your light goes on, him doing everything in his power to not jump up and go to his window, but that doesn’t stop him from watching what was happening.

Your date went well; you and David had really hit it off, leading to making out in the elevator ride up, stumbling into your apartment with your lips practically glued to his. You look across to Pierre-Luc’s apartment, him sitting there. You make eye contact with him, smiling because of David. David comes up behind you, starting to kiss you down your neck. You send a thumbs up to Pierre-Luc, closing the curtain as you let David do as he pleases.

Pierre-Luc sits on his couch, dumbfounded by what he just saw. That should have been him. He should have been the one in your apartment with you right now. 

+one

Saturday morning, sitting on your couch, watching Seinfeld. A cup of coffee, your phone, and a plate with some fruit on it, much like the first full day when you moved in. The sky was cloudless and blue, but you weren’t admiring it in the same way as you were that day. You were out with David last night, one month after your first date. You thought everything was going great, until he told you that he wanted to see other people. You shouldn’t have been surprised, he had been saying that he wasn’t sure he was ready for a relationship, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt when he officially broke it off with you. 

‘You’re crying,’ a message from Pierre-Luc pops up on your screen. For a moment, you forgot your curtains were open, giving him a full view into your apartment. 

‘Yep,’ you reply back, not sure what else to say. He could see you, it’s not like you could lie to him. 

‘Need to talk about it?’ 

‘I don’t want to Facetime right now.’

‘Got it,’ was all he said. You look over at his apartment, just in time to see him shutting the door behind him. What the hell was he doing that he could ask you to Facetime and then leave right after? You let out a sigh, deciding to focus on the TV and try to force yourself to eat the fruit. You weren’t going to feel any better if your hunger turned into hanger, so you might as well eat the food that was in front of you. 

You didn’t know where your phone ended up; somewhere in the couch cushions maybe? On the floor? You didn’t even care, you just wanted to wallow and be dramatic for the day. What you weren’t expecting was the knock on your door, interrupting your favorite episode of the show. Getting up, not expecting anyone, you debated even opening the door when you hear his voice on the other side.

“Y/N, it’s me, open up.” You see Pierre-Luc standing there, a bag from the donut shop down the street in hand, a bunch of take out menus in the other.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, him pushing past you and plopping down on the couch, obviously already knowing the way around. 

“You were upset so I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he says, taking out the donuts, putting them on the plate with your fruit, popping a piece in his mouth. “You don’t have to talk about it, but at least this way we’re finally hanging out in person.”

There was something about seeing him sitting on your couch that just felt right. He looked so at home, his feet already up on your table in the way you sat pretty much all the time. He had already started up the episode, replaying it from the beginning so he could see it when you sit down beside him, tucking your feet underneath you. 

“Come here,” he says, reaching his arm out. You cuddle up next to him, your head on his shoulder as he plants a kiss on the top of your head. It felt so right. So much better than with David, so much better than with any of the other guys you had been with. 

“He dumped me,” you tell him, even though you were sure that you had already texted him that last night when you were on your way home. 

“He didn’t deserve you,” you hear him say. He mumbled something else, something you couldn’t quite make out. If he wanted you to hear it, he would have said it louder, you figured.

“He said I play hard to get?” you ask, unsure if that was true or not. Were you hard to get? You slept with the guy on the first night, Pierre-Luc had seen the beginning of it through the window. 

“No, you’re not hard to get, you’re hard to earn. Any guy would be lucky to have you. If I had you, I’d,” he stops himself, mentally kicking himself for opening that can of worms that he really didn’t want to dive into yet. You hadn’t even been out on a first date. If anything, maybe, this was your first date. 

“You’d what?” you say, sitting up, hoping he would continue. This was his first time in your apartment. Something you had both thought about a lot. You wanted to hear what he would do if you were together, hoping whatever he said would actually happen. 

“I’d feed the cat with you in the morning and then do it by myself in the afternoon if I didn’t have a game or something,” he starts, laughing, “I’d go out to breakfast with your friends even if we didn’t go out with them the night before. I’d even hang out with them whenever you did, even though they are a little crazy. You love the people around you, the animals that aren’t even your own pets. You deserve someone who will love you back the way you love everyone and everything.” 

You sit there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “I should have been the one that night in here with you, not him,” he says, finally admitting it out loud. 

“Do something about it now, then,” you tell him.

“What?” he asks, stunned. 

“Forget that night you saw me with David, and do something now,” you insist. You had wanted this just as bad as he did, so why were either of you waiting?

He starts slow, sweet, his hand on your cheek as he presses his lips to yours. His lips move with yours, his tongue swiping your bottom lip as his other hand snakes it’s way around you back, picking you up from the seat next to you and placing you in his lap. Your hands go through his hair, your mind blank. This was what you had been waiting for since you first saw him.

He pulls away, his cheeks now red, a smile on his face, “I really hope I’m the only one who ever looked through your window.”

“If anyone else is looking then at least they get a little bit of a show,” you say, kissing him again. 

[engagemachine]

How would J react if Taylor swore infront/at him?

May 22nd: New update

Anon, I’ve been thinking about this ask for daaaaays. Had to write a fic. This is just part one (turned out a lot longer than I thought it would be--wrote it in one sitting) and I’ll post part two as soon as it’s done!

FYI: This takes place early on in Burn, probably sometime around chapter two, so Taylor is back in high school. 

---

It’s still snowing outside when Taylor slides into her seat for third period English. She loves the overlarge windows in here, stretching along almost the entire wall of the left-hand side of the classroom. Black windowpanes showcase the little fountain in the courtyard, the stone benches seated around it, and the long, winding sidewalk where each senior from the class of 2002 got to lay down a single handprint in the cement to commemorate their pending graduation. Taylor thinks she would’ve liked that, to immortalize a piece of herself in that way, inscribing her name inside her handprint. Taylor B. It intrigued her, the thought of someone walking over her handprint years later, wondering who Taylor B was, what she was like, where she was now.

The fountain is frozen over, and the courtyard is blanketed in a thick layer of snow, still untouched. She wonders what it says about her that she often fantasizes about being the first one to run out and ruin it, leave her footprints behind, crunch through snow that is knee-deep, that no one else has sullied yet. There’s something about being the first person to disrupt the beauty of nature. Like stepping on a fallen dead leaf, the satisfaction of hearing it crackle beneath your feet. Or jumping into a still lake, watching the ripples that fan out across the water as you break through to the surface. Like leaving footprints in the sand at the beach, only to have them rinsed away by the incoming tide moments later. It’s a temporary disruption—and perhaps that’s the appeal.

Taylor settles into her seat and takes out her books. The classroom is unusually bright, the sky outside milky and pale as the snow piles up, falling softly in great big clumps. Mrs. Herndan leaves the lights off because they don’t need them.  

Everyone is a little more animated than usual. If it keeps snowing like this, they might call it a half day and get to go home early. Taylor hopes that happens, that way she can order take-out and hang out with Mr. J. Maybe they can watch a movie together—something scary, so she has an excuse to cuddle up next to him, if he’ll let her. She’s been testing the boundaries of affection he’s willing to allow her to bestow, and recently she’s been surprised by how much she’s been able to get away with. Just last week she fell asleep next to him on the couch with her head on his shoulder—totally by accident—and he didn’t even move her. Just let her sleep there like that until she woke up, his hand heavy on her thigh, right above her knee, at which point she jumped up, all groggy and still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She swore up and down that she was sorry, she’d never do it again. She was so afraid he’d be mad, but he just looked at her kind of funny, like he was trying not to laugh, and she blushed furiously and hurried off to her room.

Class is kind of boring, and it’s hard to focus when everyone seems just as distracted as she is. Mrs. Herndan has to stop her lesson twice just to tell everyone to be quiet and put their phones away. Taylor is snapped to attention each time she does. She didn’t even realize she had been staring at the window.

When the bell rings, Mrs. Herndan shouts out their homework assignment for the weekend, but it’s mostly lost to the din of jostling bodies and excited chatter of weekend plans as everyone fights to get through the door at once. Whatever. She’ll just have check the syllabus when she gets home. They’re reading Romeo and Juliet and it’s really hard to understand. Maybe she can find a way to rent a movie of it from the library—there’s supposed to be a version with Leonardo DiCaprio, she thinks. Maybe that’ll help. Sometimes she wants to ask Mr. J for help—and in the past she has, like when she had to make that volcano for science class, and he knew exactly what to do—but Romeo and Juliet is way too embarrassing. All those thees and thous, the declarations of love. Like she could ever ask Mr. J to interpret that for her, not without dying from embarrassment first.

She gets twenty minutes into her next class before they finally call it on the overhead speakers—school is closed. She smiles to herself as she packs up her books, already imagining herself curled up on the couch with her sketchbook and a cup of hot cocoa. She should still have some marshmallows left over—as long as Mr. J hasn’t eaten them all. He’s always eating her snacks. Sometimes, in a moment of pure frustration upon stumbling onto an empty bag or box of secret snacks she had stashed away specifically for herself, she tells him to buy his own snacks, but he always counters with, I did buy these, giving her a pointed look, and, yeah, he kinda did. It’s his money, after all. Not like she could buy any of this stuff without him.

She’s pulling the rest of her books from her locker and shoving them into her backpack when she feels a tap on her shoulder from behind. She turns around to face Jennifer Bartlett—from her geometry class—who is holds out a pink envelope decked in glitter and little metallic hearts.

“You’re inviiiiited,” she sings, thrusting the card into Taylor’s hands. Taylor blinks at her.

“Me?” she asks. Clearly this is some kind of mistake. Maybe a joke.

“It’s a sleepover, so bring a sleeping bag, okay? And like, don’t tell your mom or whatever, but my parents won’t be there, so make sure you just get dropped off in the driveway and none of your parents try to come inside.”

“Oh,” she says, her mind still swirling from the invite. A sleepover. “Okay.” She forces her gaping mouth shut, quickly nods, tries not to look too overeager. “Okay,” she says again, a little cooler, smiling a little. “I’ll totally be there.”

“Great!”

Jennifer bounds off down the hallway, joining a group of giggling girls waiting for her at the end, and Taylor looks down at the envelope in her hand, her name on it and everything. Taylor B.

She bites her lip and smiles.  

--

Taylor can’t get home fast enough.

The bus takes forever, and they have to divert into South Side because of an accident near Paramount Park.

When she finally hops off the school bus and bounds for home, perhaps she takes off a little faster than she should. One moment her backpack is bouncing behind her as she races down the sidewalk, and the next, she’s spread-eagled and lying flat on her back, staring up at the gray sky as snow drifts down in soft little clumps around her. Oof. That hurt. She didn’t hit her head—thankfully—but she managed to scrape her cheek on the icy pile of snow packed into a miniature wall along the edges of the sidewalk. She thinks her cheek might be bleeding.

She doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing: the fact that she fell, or that the bus driver didn’t stop to help.

She winces as she gets up, wipes the blood from her cheek, brushes the ice and snow from her hands, wipes her palms on her jeans. The bus hisses as it pulls away, and Taylor’s cheeks burn. Maybe no one saw?

Her right leg kind of hurts, and she hobbles the rest of the way home, her excitement not dampened as she crashes through the front door, making it halfway through the kitchen before she remembers to shimmy out of her wet boots. Her socks are wet—there was a lot of slush on the sidewalks the closer she got to home—and her feet leave little wet prints on the kitchen floor before she gets to the carpet. 

“Mr. J!”

He’s not in the living room, and he’s not in his bedroom, either, when she throws open the door and scans the bed, his empty desk. She frowns, pokes her head around the doorframe to her own bedroom. Not there, either.

“Mr. J?” She goes back to the beginning of the hallway, knocks eagerly on the closed bathroom door. She can see yellow light bleeding out from the crack beneath the door, doesn’t know how she missed that before. “Mr. J, you’ll never guess what happened at school today!” She waits a beat for him to say something—a grunt, even, some form of acknowledgement that he hears her, she’d take anything—but when she’s met with silence, she barrels on. “I got invited to a slumber party!” she gushes. She has both palms pressed flat against the door, is bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I ran all the way home to tell you, I can’t believe it!” she squeals. “It’s this Friday so we have to go to the store A-S-A-P so I can get a sleeping bag, okay? I mean—if it’s okay with you that I can go. But I’m sure it will be because I really want to go and I’ve never been to a sleepover before.” She sighs, taking a breath. He still hasn’t said anything, so she turns her back to the door and leans against it. He has to come out eventually. “And you won’t even have to worry about dropping me off because I can just take the bus, okay? I looked up Jennifer’s address at the library at school and I already wrote down how to get there, so I won’t get lost! Oh, and maybe I should get new PJs, too? And do you think that—”

The door is jerked open so suddenly she doesn’t have time to react, and she’s falling backwards before she can catch herself, straight into Mr. J’s chest.

He’s holding her underneath her arms, and she tilts her head back to look up at him—upside down—as he looks down at her. His greasepaint’s bright. Fresh-applied. She can smell its gummy texture.

She smiles up at him, a little unsure. A little frightened. His eyes are so dark. “Jeeze,” she says, lightly, trying to dissolve the tension. “You have to give me a warning, Mr. J.” She tries to laugh a little, but it comes out stilted, and the look he pins her with makes the smile slip right off her face.

“Maybe I would if I could get a word in,” he replies. He gets his arms behind her and pushes her off him. Taylor’s cheeks burn as she stumbles a few feet into the kitchen. She knows she talks a lot when she’s excited. She’s like a faucet that won’t turn off.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. She keeps her head low, a little afraid to meet his eyes. He’s in a bad mood—but she’s determined to go to this party either way, and she won’t stop prodding until he says yes. She glances up for just a second to catch the narrowing of his eyes, and then his hand is reaching out, closing around her jaw in a way that makes her flinch, pulling her towards him.

“What’s this?” he says. His eyes on her skin burn, and it makes the cut on her cheek throb in memory.

“It’s nothing,” she says, annoyed, maybe a little embarrassed. She doesn’t want to have to tell him that she slipped and fell. Also, can they please get back to talking about her slumber party? She impatiently reaches up and pries his hand off her—he lets her. She ventures a few steps back, watching him, and her back hits the counter with a thud. “But about the party—it’s okay if I go, right?”

He ignores her question in favor of taking a few lumbering steps closer—towering over her—and his fingers around her jaw are much softer this time when he takes it in his hand, tilts her head to the side so the cut on her cheek winks at him in the light that streaks out from the bathroom.

He sounds almost curious when he asks, “Did someone hit you?”

His question feels like a gut-punch. She looks up at him, eyes widening in surprise for a moment, and then her gaze narrows, and she’s a little more forceful this time when she pries his hand off her jaw.

“No,” she snaps. She can’t believe he thinks she got bullied. “I’m not a loser. I know how to fight back if I have to,” she scowls.  

He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes hard and calculating, but she makes a point to meet his stare head on. She’s not going to flinch away. After a beat, he grins a little—some secret smile, like he’s in on some joke she’s not privy to.

“Of course you do,” he says.

“So can I go to the slumber party or not?”

Mr. J raises his eyebrows as he thinks about it. “Dunno,” he says, “I seem to recall your last little, uh, party, didn’t end so hot. Maybe you remember,” he muses, leaning down low, so their faces are level, “—or maybe you don’t, since you were high as a fucking kite.”

Taylor balks at him—he never curses, at least not around her—and she can’t help the way her mouth parts in shock. She can feel the threads of hope she’d been clinging to rapidly slipping out of her hands.

Truthfully, there’s not a lot she remembers from that night. Just a bonfire and a stranger’s half-remembered bedroom. The weight of a body she hadn’t wanted, a frisson of fear, electric as it sizzled down her spine, and then fumbling down the stairs, out the front door. Nobody had even cared. And then the frigid moon, the icy bite of wind on her cheeks. She remembers Mr. J, at some point, and waking up in that old airplane hangar, where she’d promptly puked her guts out over the side of the couch. The rest of that night is a blur. It’s probably better that way.

“It’s not—” she stops. Tries to find her footing around the right set of words. She just wants this so badly. It’s her one opportunity to fit in. To make friends. To be somebody. She wants so desperately to try and explain it to him, make him understand how badly she needs this—but somehow she knows he won’t get it. He doesn’t care about fitting in, or being liked—he’s the most unliked person in all of Gotham. Maybe even the whole world.

“It won’t be like that this time,” she assures. “There won’t be any boys there. I promise. It’s just a girl party. And I promise I’ll be really, really good and come straight home after.”

Mr. J’s eyes are dark as he watches her plead her case, and she takes the opportunity to stick out her bottom lip and put on an exaggerated pout. “Pretty please?” she says. “With lots of sugar on top?”

The corner of his mouth curls into a grin. “Okay, baby doll. Since you asked so nicely.”

“Eeep!” She squeals in excitement, immediately perking up, diving forward to throw her arms around his waist. She gives him a squeeze and he surprises her by patting her back. Once. Twice. His display of affection makes her cheeks warm, and she squeezes him a little tighter, happy to bask in the moment. “Thank you, Mr. J.”

--

Taylor buys a new set of jammies and a sleeping bag. She even spends the whole day prior reading about sleepovers, Googling at the library, getting more and more excited. She wonders if they’ll do face masks, or have a pillow fight, or watch a romantic movie, or paint each other’s nails? 

She goes to Mr. J to model her new PJs for him, a yellow top with tiny blue flowers, with little matching shorts and a scalloped hem. She is bouncing around his bedroom—she had a Red Bull earlier for the first time ever, and whoa—and she does a cartwheel on the bed once she has his attention, collapsing into a heap on the floor because she misjudged the distance. She giggles, and then uses the bed to pull herself up while she prances around the room and chatters about her slumber party. She has a little notepad she found in a drawer in the kitchen, and after a few minutes, she flops back on his bed, holding the notepad above her face. She’s making a list of all the stuff she might need to bring. She read online that sometimes you should bring snacks. 

“Hey Mr. J, cookies or chips?” she asks.

She turns to lay on her side, facing him, where he’s seated in his desk chair and has spun around to watch her, his fingers drumming against the armrests. His eyes are dark—but he doesn’t give her an answer. 

She scowls at his lack of participation, and redirects her attention back to her list, tapping her pencil against her lips.

“Hmm… sometimes cookies have peanut butter, even if they say don’t, and I know lots of people have peanut allergies, sooooo… I’ll go with chips,” she decides, resolute. Her tongue pokes out when she makes a careful, neat checkmark next to the word chips.

She crawls off the bed and skips around the room for a little while longer, clutching her notepad, chattering to herself, mostly. She plays with the books on the bookshelf, all the little knickknacks left behind by the previous owner, rearranging them while she talks, musing about how cool this party’s gonna be, how many friends she’s gonna make. It’s gonna be great.

She lays down on the floor to make some snow-angels on the carpet, flapping her arms and legs slowly, staring up at the ceiling, feeling her energy start to wane. She asks Mr. J if he thinks she should wear her regular clothes to the party, or if she should come dressed in her PJs? And doesn’t he think they’re really pretty? And her sleeping bag comes with a built-in pillow, and isn’t that super cool?

She jolts awake when a pair of arms slip underneath her, hoisting her up, off the floor. She must have fallen asleep.

She frantically blinks the sleep back from her eyes. It’s dark, and she can’t see. “What day is it?” she asks, panicked, her voice cracking. “Is it tomorrow yet? Did I miss the party?”

“Shhh.” Mr. J carries her the short distance to his bed, lowers her to the mattress even as she wraps her arms around his neck, refusing to be put down. She doesn’t even have the forethought to marvel over the fact that he’s just put her in his bed, that she’s lying down on his pillow, or that the covers smell like him. 

“But did I miss it? Is it over?”

She thinks she can hear a smirk in his voice when he says, “No, baby doll, you didn’t miss it. Time to sleep.”

He peels her arms away from his neck, and this time she lets him. She sinks into the mattress, and sinks quickly back into sleep. 

[vintagedolan]

nine months (gbd)

having grayson’s baby is a dream come true for both of you, and he does everything he can to make it the absolute best experience that he can for you

word count: 11k (hahahaha fuck)

warnings/tags: the fluffiest fluff that has ever fluffed okay, seriously I don’t think I could have made this any softer, pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy things (morning sickness, weight gain, etc.)

feel free to send in requests! i’ll write most things! hope you enjoy :)

january

8 days late. You were 8 days late. A few days here or there would have you a bit edgy, but it had never been this long before. And you just had an instinct that this time, it wasn’t a scare. You were almost positive that you were pregnant. You weren’t opposed to having kids - you knew that you and Grayson wanted to be parents together, and that you were going to spend the rest of your lives together. You decided to let things run naturally, and if something happened then it happened. But something about the reality of having to go out and actually buy a pregnancy test had your mouth dry. Were you actually ready for this?

But as soon as that thought came, there was another. Grayson was going to be over the moon about this whole thing. All he ever wanted was to be a father, and you knew he was going to be amazing. He would make up for any of your shortcomings and then some. With that newfound confidence, you grabbed your purse and decided to head out to the store.

“Where yah goin’?” Grayson’s voice came from the dining room table where he was working as you tried to scurry past him. You hadn’t thought of an alibi. Were you supposed to tell him? No. You didn’t want to get his hopes up if your instincts were wrong.  

“Just running to the store. Cause I need some stuff. From the store.”

Fuck. Nice one. 

“Okay....” he trailed off, obviously suspicious. “You alright?”

“Yep, perfectly fine. I’ll be back soon, love you bye!” You blew him a kiss and escaped out the door before you said anything else damning. 

This was going to be interesting.

Your fingers were tapping away on your steering wheel the whole drive to the local drug store, trying to think of what the hell you were going to do. Should you surprise him? Plan out a big elaborate thing? Or maybe you should just tell him? Should you have told him you were going to get a test? But what if it was negative? He’d be so sad.

With your head spinning, it was a miracle you even made it to the store. But you pulled in and headed to the aisle you never needed to go to, grabbing a few tests and going to pay for them, trying to convince yourself that no one was staring at you. The cashier offered you a soft smile and it actually calmed you down slightly as you headed back to the car. 

In order to make it a little less suspicious, you decided to get some coffee and bring it home for the both of you. You didn’t have to pee yet, and you knew you’d go crazy at home if you had to wait, so you went to your favorite local shop and got your usual along with Gray’s and Ethan’s. 

The drive home was quick, but you chugged it as fast as you could, wanting it to hit you before you got back. You stashed the tests under your shirt so that Gray wouldn’t see, and tried to walk as casually as you could back into the house. 

“I brought coffee!” You called out. If you directed the conversation, then maybe you wouldn’t get blindsided and give something away.

“I thought you were going to the store?” Gray asked. He was still in the same spot at the kitchen counter, and when you looked at his screen he was working on some new promotional posts for Wakeheart. Good. That would keep him busy.

“They didn’t have what I needed, figured I’d get some while I was out,” you smiled, passing him his cup. He leaned up towards you, asking for a kiss. You gave him a quick one before going to throw your cup away.

“You already drank yours? You’re gonna be bouncing off the walls in about 20 minutes,” Grayson teased. He knew how you got with too much caffeine. 

“I already feel jittery,” you laughed. It wasn’t a lie, but it definitely wasn’t from the coffee - you’d actually gotten decaf, remembering somewhere that caffeine wasn’t good for babies. You walked back to the room you and Grayson shared, not realizing until you got there that you still had Ethan’s coffee in your hand. 

It didn’t matter, if you didn’t take the test right then you were pretty sure you were going to explode. So you sat the drink down on the desk, locked yourself in the bathroom and pulled the two tests out from their hiding places. 

Peeing on a stick was just as awkward as you thought it would be, but you were proud that you got it on the first try. 

And now, you just had to wait. Three minutes had never taken longer in your entire life, you were sure. But, you’d made sure to buy the tests that would clearly say one way or the other so there was no guess work. You tried to keep yourself calm, foot tapping as you watched the seconds click by on the timer you set. In just a few minutes, you were going to know if your instincts were right.

By the thirty second mark, you were hovering over the tests, watching the electronic bar load, flashing on the final stage. And then, the first one turned, revealing one word.

Pregnant. 

“Holy fuck.” 

You’d known. But now you knew. And holy shit. You were actually pregnant. The second test turned then, yielding the same result. There was no denying it.

The butterflies in your gut were overwhelming and you sunk to the floor, a hand going over your tummy. There was baby in there. And it was Grayson’s baby. You felt like you could scream, or cry, or explode. 

“I’ve gotta tell Gray,” you mumbled to yourself. You wanted to do something special, but you also knew that there was no way you were going to plan an entire elaborate reveal - you’d break and tell him early. Something simple, something quick, but still something Grayson...

It clicked. Building. You immediately started searching on your phone for what you needed, deciding that you’d use his projector to put it on the wall. But should you film it? You didn’t want it to be a production deal, but a larger part of you wanted to have the footage of such a special moment. And you wanted it to be good quality, but you didn’t know how to work a camera for shit. 

You needed Ethan. You quickly stashed the tests in a bathroom drawer and reached for your phone, pulling up your texts with Ethan.

Come to Grayson’s room, don’t be suspicious, bring a camera, don’t ask questions

You knew he would be confused, but you also knew that he would do it. You got excited all over again when you thought about telling Ethan the news. He was your best friend - hell, he was your brother, and you knew he was going to be over the moon for you. 

It wasn’t five minutes later when he snuck in, closing the door and looking at you in confusion.

“What the hell is going on? Are you pranking him? Because if you are I so want in,” Ethan grinned. He was already filming - you wondered if you looked as wild on camera as you felt.

“Oh jesus please don’t make him think this is a prank. E, I need you to set up that camera so that you can see this wall with the projector. And then I need you to leave and not ask me any questions.” 

If he started prying, you knew you’d tell him, and you’d feel terrible that Grayson wouldn’t be the first one to know.

“Okay... are you alright? You’re acting weird, you’ve got me a little worried.” Ethan frowned a bit, concern on his face.

“I promise I’m fine. And I’ll tell you what’s going on as soon as I can. I swear,” you said, offering him the most reassuring smile that you could muster.

“I’m holding you to that,” he muttered, setting up the camera in a good place and making sure it was recording before heading back to his room. Once he was cleared out of the room, you pulled up the picture you wanted onto the projector.

It was a wooden crib, simple but cute. And it would serve its purpose, which was all that mattered. Once you had it as you wanted, you turned the projector back off so you could pull it up at the right time. Then, you grabbed one of the positive tests and hid it in the waistband of your shorts. 

Trying to keep it together, you poked your head out of the door, willing yourself to do your best acting.

“Hey Gray?” You called out.

“Yeah baby?” From the sound of it he was still in the kitchen.

“Can you c’mere for a sec?” 

“Comin’,” he responded. You felt like your legs were going to give out. Your whole lives were about to change in the next few minutes. He came in casually, rubbing at his hair. “What’s up?”

“Well. I wanted to ask you if you’d do something for me,” you said. He quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms. He was suspicious, but that was bound to happen.

“Okay....” 

“It’s nothing bad, it’s just that I don’t know how to build it, but I think that you’d do it really well,” you explained. He relaxed a bit at that, leaning into you a bit more before wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

“Well now I’m excited. Show me,” he grinned - you were glad you’d picked this as the way you’d tell him, he got so excited about building.

With a deep breath, you turned on the projector, the picture of the crib popping up. You looked up to watch his face. As you expected, he was immediately confused. 

“What even is that? Is that a bed?” He let go of you, moving to the wall and looking at it even closer. “It looks like a crib, with all the bars on the sides and stuff.”

“Yeah, I know it’s complicated. But you’ve got about nine months to get it done, so no rush or anything.” You were beaming, just waiting for the moment it would click. 

“9 months? Why would I need 9 mo-”

You watched the realization come across his face, his mouth opening slightly into a little ‘o’, and then his expression turned to disbelief. Any of your nerves faded away as you realized this was all you ever wanted - having a kid with the man that you loved more than anything. You relaxed fully, trying to take it all in. 

“No. No fucking way. No way.”

“Yes way,” you laughed.

“You are not. Is this a prank? Are you pranking me?” He was frozen to the spot he had turned at.

“I wouldn’t prank about something like this.”

“You’re pregnant? You’re actually pregnant?!” 

“We’re having a baby,” you exclaimed, reaching for the test and pulling it out where he could see. That got his feet moving, and he only had to look at it for a second before he had his arms around you and you were both spinning around. You weren’t sure you could remember a time where you were happier. 

It was good that you knew Grayson would never drop you because suddenly the two of you were sinking, and you realized he was sitting down on the floor, squeezing you to him in the tightest of hugs. It took a minute for you to register the wetness on your shoulder, and when you pulled back slightly, you realized that Grayson was crying.

“Oh baby, don’t cry, you’re gonna make me cry!” It was too late - you were already tearing up, but both of you had the biggest smiles across your faces. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just so fucking happy right now. This is all I’ve ever wanted,” he said, voice cracking a little bit. You pulled him back to you, and the two of you rocked back and forth together, bodies close. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours; neither of you knew, or cared. 

Grayson was the first to speak up, and the questions started flowing.

“Have you told anyone else? When did you even find out?! Do we need to go to a doctor? Oh we definitely need to take you to the doctor.” 

“Relax baby, I just found out like 5 minutes before I told you, I went to the store to get tests cause my period was late. We’ll get an appointment made, I already have a gyno. And no, I haven’t told anybody.”

“Holy shit. So just you and me know? I gotta tell Ethan! I gotta tell my mom!” He was already shifting, starting to stand up. You let him lift you, but you caught his hand. 

“We should probably wait until we go to the doctor and get everything checked out before we tell everyone,” you cautioned. 

He looked a bit puzzled. You hated to damper his mood even a little bit, but you weren’t ready for the whole world to know about a pregnancy that seemed so fragile to you. It clicked for him, and he immediately put a hand to your stomach, fingers splaying out over soft skin.

“You’re right.” He nodded his head, still looking down at your stomach in awe. There was an unspoken question that you knew he was biting his tongue on.

“We’re definitely telling Ethan though, for sure. Like right now,” you smiled. Grayson looked up, beaming.

“Oh thank god, there was no way I could keep this from him.”

“I have an idea,” you grinned, explaining it to him quickly. He agreed that it was perfect, and went to get the camera that had been recording the two of you so that he could capture this too.

You went over to the long forgotten coffee that you’d brought home for Ethan. It was cold now, but you could microwave it. You grabbed a sharpie from the desk, scribbling what you wanted on the cup before taking Grayson’s hand and leading him to the kitchen. You popped it in the microwave - it wouldn’t be great, but that wasn’t really the point - and Grayson set up the camera. Once everything was done, you and Grayson exchanged a giddy glance before setting it into motion.

“Ethan! C’mere!” You called out.

“What do you want!?” He yelled back in his typical I-don’t-wanna-get-up tone.

“Just c’mere real quick, I forgot to give you something!” 

Grayson was giggling next to you, trying to keep it together.

“Alright, I’m comin’,” he called out, and a few moments later he was in the kitchen. “What’s up?”

“I forgot to give you your coffee earlier, here,” you smiled, handing him the cup. He took it gratefully, though he was giving you the when the hell are you going to explain earlier look as subtlety as he could with Grayson still in the room. 

“Dude, what does your cup even say? They totally spelled your name wrong,” Grayson said, unable to wait any longer for his brother to notice. Ethan held the cup up a bit so he could read the writing on the side.

Uncle Eteeweetee 

“Haha very funny, eteeweetee, you got me.” He rolled his eyes, taking a sip. 

“Wait, what exactly does it say?” You asked. Grayson was giggling beside you.

“It says ‘uncle eteeweetee’, which is just fucking stupid.” He looked a bit peeved, knowing he was missing the joke. “What? What’s so funny about Uncle?” 

“What if I told you that the big news I couldn’t tell you earlier was that you actually are an uncle? Or at least, you will be in about nine months.” Now you were beaming. Ethan figured it out immediately, sitting the coffee cup down.

“You’re joking. No fuckin way, are you joking? You’re pregnant?!” 

You nodded, and before you knew it he had you wrapped up in a hug. You squeezed him back and then let him go to his brother. They held each other tight for a minute, and though their words were a bit muffled you caught the end of it.

“I’m so fuckin’ happy for you bro. You deserve this,” was what Ethan said, and you couldn’t have agreed more. 

february

Oh you were definitely pregnant. Even without the tests, or the doctor’s visit or the missed period, you would have been 100% sure by now. This had become your morning routine, and you hated every minute of it. 

Right around 6am on the dot you’d wake up, a thin sheen of cold sweat on you and a churning in your stomach. You threw yourself onto your feet, running towards the bathroom and immediately hurling up anything you had left in you. Usually it wasn’t much, and that somehow made it worse. Your throat was sore from the bile morning after morning. It usually took you a good twenty minutes to get everything up, and another five after that for your stomach to settle. 

Each morning, at the feeling of you leaving the bed, Grayson was right behind you. He’d hold your hair back with one hand, other hand gentle and soft as they rubbed over your back. You knew how much he hated being around people throwing up, but he never even flinched. 

When your stomach would finally empty, you’d come down off your knees onto your butt, leaning your weight back against him. 

“This shit sucks,” you said one particular morning, fully exhausted.

“I’m sorry baby, I wish I could fix it,” Grayson murmured, kissing your temple. 

“I feel disgusting,” you grumbled, turning a bit and nuzzling into his neck. 

“You wanna shower?” 

Usually, you weren’t a morning shower type of person, but between the vomit and the sweat, it had become normal as well.

“Too tired,” you said, curling up into him. The fatigue was real these days, and you occasionally felt bad for being so lazy. Grayson would have none of it, reminding you that not only were you growing body parts with your body, but you were also still doing more than Ethan was on the daily. 

“I’ll do the work. C’mon pretty girl, let’s get you cleaned up.”

And he really did all the work, from stripping you down to washing your hair and body, then drying you off and handing you a toothbrush. 

“I’ll get some clothes while you brush,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he disappeared. You were grateful for the minty taste in your mouth as he came back with a pair of his sweats and a t shirt. You let him pull the shirt over your head before you spoke. 

“I don’t understand how I can be this fucking tired,” you muttered as you put your hands on his shoulders, steadying yourself as you stepped into the legs of the pants that Gray was holding out for you.

“Fatigue is really common during the second month, it’s supposed to get better by the third though, so hopefully it won’t last too long,” he offered in reassurance. You smiled at that - he’d been listening to any podcast he could get his hands on related to pregnancy and parenting. It was the cutest thing, and every time you thought about it you started to tear up.

“Hey, hey, why we cryin’? What’s wrong?” His thumbs were wiping at your cheeks - it was like an instinct now since he had to do it at least once a day.

“You’re gonna be such a good dad,” you blubbered, leaning into his shoulder. You felt him chuckle a bit and you crumpled. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to. You’re just cute.”

You groaned. “Cute. Right. I’m grumpy, lazy and gross. Not cute.” 

“You’re none of those things. Well, you’re kinda grumpy with Ethan, but so is everyone.”

It was true - you’d been very grouchy lately, especially with Ethan for some reason. The cute things he usually did to make you laugh got under your skin like no other, and you’d snap at him, which would in turn make him sad, which then made you feel guilty and ended in tears every time without fail. Ethan was a great sport about it, always accepting your teary apologies and teasing you nicely about the hormones, but you still hated not feeling in control of your emotions and yourself.

Knowing it would only be worse if you didn’t get any sleep, you stumbled your way to bed and climbed back under the covers. Grayson climbed in next to you, opening his arms so you could lay on his chest, his fingers tracing patterns on your back as you drifted back into exhausted sleep. 

march

You stood in front of the mirror, hand rubbing gently across your belly. There was definitely a bump there starting to form, and it mesmerized you every time you thought about what was within it. It was tiny. Anyone else looking at you wouldn’t notice, or would think it was just a big breakfast. But you knew that it was your baby, growing away. 

And you loved your bump, but Grayson was even more obsessed - any time you were sitting within reach of him his hand was across your stomach. Though he wouldn’t admit it, you knew part of it was protective. He’d become very cautious since you’d found out about your pregnancy, always making sure you were safe, not letting you do anything too ‘strenuous’. You’d had to get him to back off a few times, assuring him that stirring pasta wasn’t going to cause the baby any stress. 

He’d been even more worried when you and the boys took a flight home to Jersey so you could tell Lisa and Cameron the good news. All through the airport he was right next to you, hand around your waist guiding you through the terminals. 

“Grayson, flying is only dangerous if you’re like... super pregnant. Like might-deliver-on-the-plane pregnant. We’re fine.” You reassured him. 

“We?” His face softened at that. It was the first time you’d really referred to the baby and yourself as a unit. It was a nice feeling - you were finally starting to get back to normal, and feeling like yourself. The morning sickness had let up, only about once a week now. Ethan didn’t piss you off any more than normal. You were still a bit weepy, but that was to be expected in some ways. 

The biggest issue now was your cravings. They were so intense, way more captivating than you thought even possible. When one hit, you couldn’t think about anything else. And the worst possible place to get one? A plane.

“Gray. Grayson,” you whispered to him over the hum of the airplane engines.

“Hmm?”

“I want a soft pretzel. Like I need one.”

“Like you want one or you’re craving one?” He’d learned to differentiate between the two with all your wild food preferences these days.

“Craving. Craving so hard.” 

“Well that’s a new one. I brought some of your other cravings just in case, but not gonna lie, didn’t bring a soft pretzel with my snacks. Do you want any of these?” He gave you a sympathetic smile and showed you the stash of snacks he’d brought for the 5 hour flight - lots of the candies you’d been craving, peanut butter, chocolate. 

“Thank you, but for some reason thinking about eating any of that is making me nauseous,” you scrunched up your nose. 

“What!? You ate like 20 twizzlers yesterday alone!” He looked a bit exasperated, but you just laughed and rested your head on his shoulder.

“It’s okay baby, not your fault. Guess we’ve got a picky kid. Oops.” 

The rest of the flight went without event, and when you went to go pee after you got off, Grayson found an Auntie Anne’s in the terminal and brought you back the biggest soft pretzel they had. You hummed as you ate it, wiggling a bit in excitement considering you were pretty sure it was the best thing you had ever tasted in your entire life. 

“You’re so fuckin’ cute,” Grayson teased, taking your bag from you so you could fully enjoy your snack as you walked through the airport. 

The drive to the Dolan household was about an hour, and you napped through most of it, head on Grayson’s lap in the backseat - the fatigue was fading, but it wasn’t fully gone. He woke you up gently as Ethan turned into the driveway, and you felt the excitement mounting. Not only were you getting to see Cameron and Lisa, but you were getting to tell them the news. You were finally comfortable with more and more people knowing, though you didn’t want it out on any social media. 

When you came in it was three straight hours of hugs, smiles and stories, and there wasn’t even a lull in the conversation where you could have said something. Besides, this was Grayson’s family, so you wanted him to be able to make the big reveal anyhow. 

He’d decided on a scavenger hunt that Ethan helped him set up; you stayed with the girls and feigned your innocence, which almost backfired completely. 

“You seem different Y/N. Did you get new makeup or something?” Lisa asked, giving you the same suspicious look that Grayson often did.

“Um, yeah, yeah I got a new bronzer that I’m trying out.” You went along with it, hoping that if you somehow looked different she would attribute it to that.

“I thought so. Your skin is glowing!”

“Awe thank you!” You smiled, trying not to seem nervous. You’d heard of mother’s intuition, but damn. Luckily the boys returned then, sending their sister and mom on the hunt around the house. It took about 15 minutes, but finally they ended up with the card that had your most recent ultrasound photo in it. 

Lisa blubbered for a good thirty minutes, all the mixtures of emotions about becoming a grandparent coming out. She held her youngest son close for so long, and you gave them their moment by explaining all your pregnancy woes to Cameron, who was beyond excited to finally become an aunt. 

The trip only lasted a few days, but you enjoyed spending the time with Grayson’s family and watching him relax and recharge. When it was time to go and the boys were loading the rental car, Lisa pulled you aside.

“I know pregnancy can be really hard, so you just call me if you need anything, okay? Any questions, anything you need. I’ll fly out any time you need me.”

“Awe thank you Lisa,” you smiled, giving her another hug.

“No, thank you honey. You’ve made my whole family so happy, I can’t thank you enough.”

april

“I give up. I literally give up, I’m never leaving the house ever again.” You threw the shirt across the room, plopping down on the bed in defeat. Grayson spun his chair around, one ear of his headphones already off. He’d been editing, but heard you grumbling.

“What’s the matter love?”

“None of my clothes fit! I’m huge!” 

“Well first off, you’re not huge. Second, you’re growing a fricking human, so yeah your tummy is gonna get bigger. Do you want me to find you a shirt of mine?” He offered, trying his hardest to console you. You’d been pretty good at avoiding the meltdowns lately, and he wanted to keep that trend going. 

“No. I don’t wanna wear your stuff.”

“Baby. You ask me for my clothes like, every day,” he reminded you.

“Yeah. But I like having the option of wearing my clothes,” you pouted, looking at your discarded top on the ground. 

“Okay, well then why don’t we go shopping tomorrow and get you some new clothes. Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agreed. You didn’t love the idea of having to buy new clothes in bigger sizes, but you knew you’d have to do it eventually. 

“Hey, c’mere,” Gray smiled, patting his thigh. You obliged, climbing onto his lap. His hand went to your bare thighs, rubbing circles. “You’re beautiful, you know that right? Even when you don’t feel like it, I promise you that you are.” 

You blushed at that, knowing better than to argue with him. Instead, you just kissed him, fingers gentle on his cheek. 

“I love you,” you smiled against his lips. 

“I love you more. Why don’t you go take a swim, I’ll come out as soon as I finish this edit.” His suggestion was a very good one - the fourth month of pregnancy was mostly nice, but you were starting to get sore, especially your back and hips. The best relief you could find was in the pool, and you’d never been more thankful to live in California. 

You kissed him one more time before getting up and pulling out a bathing suit. He cheekily watched you change with a few side glances, making you blush even harder. 

The pool water was inviting, and you swam around for a while trying to loosen up your muscles. Then, you climbed onto a float and drifted off into a nap. A nap that was ended quite abruptly by cold water being splashed at you. 

You peeked an eye open and all you saw were red shorts. 

“Rule number one Ethan. Never wake the pregnant lady,” you grumbled.  

“I know I know, but I got you something! Look!” Ethan was beaming when your eyes finally adjusted to the sun. You had to look closely to realize that it was a pool float in his hands. Specifically, it was an avocado pool float.

“Awe, thanks E!” Even if you didn’t really understand the gesture (you had plenty of floats), you still appreciated it. 

“It’s a pregnancy one, see!?” He exclaimed, pointing out the picture on the box. Sure enough, it had a hole in the design. “So once your bump gets like, huge, you can still lay on your tummy and then your bump is like the pit!” 

He had such childish excitement that it was contagious, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You could feel the baby fluttering around in your tummy a bit as you giggled - you’d been feeling them move around some lately, though it wasn’t enough for Grayson to feel externally yet. 

“Well, if I try to blow it up I think I’ll pass out, but I wanna see what it looks like!” You grinned. He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks, sitting on the edge of the pool and putting his feet in while he unboxed the plastic, finding the plug and beginning to blow it up. 

You watched the process, which took a good while, but it was worth the excitement on his face when he stood up and held the giant avocado up. 

“That thing is huge! How much did it even cost!?” 

Ethan was known to spend too much money on things that no one really needed.

“Doesn’t matter, happy momma happy baby, and since I did it, happy baby means I’m the favorite uncle.” 

“I think you already win favorite uncle E, but I’m sure the baby also loves the float,” you smiled as he blushed. Though he wouldn’t admit it, you could tell he was a bit nervous at the idea of becoming an uncle. Grayson was always the brother who took over when it came to kids, and Ethan felt a bit behind in that department, but you knew he was going to be great.

“Here, come try it out!” 

You waded over to the edge of the pool by Ethan, who was holding the float steady at the edge. You took his other hand and he helped pull you up. And when you laid on your stomach, you realized just how uncomfortable the other float had been.

“Holy shit, this is nice E. Thank you. You should come hang out for a while, I feel like I haven’t seen you in like a week.” 

“Lemme get changed,” Ethan smiled, letting go of the float and heading inside. It wasn’t often that you got to hang out with just Ethan anymore. He was your best friend, and you were grateful for such a strong friendship that had eventually led you to being friends (and then more) with Grayson. It was like having the best brother-sister relationship that you could imagine, with the teasing and the caring perfectly balanced. You were so excited to see him be an uncle to your kid that it wasn’t even funny. 

When he came back in his swim trunks, he had a bottle in his hands. You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Sunscreen, you’re getting pink on your back,” he explained, walking into the water from the stairs and coming over to you. He put some in his hands and starting rubbing it on your back. The groan you let out wasn’t voluntary.

“Ew gross, wrong twin,” he teased. You flipped him off.

“Shut up, my back’s just sore, it feels nice,” you explained, relaxing. 

“Still sore huh? That sucks dude.”

“Yep, you know just trying to make room for a human in here and shit,” you chuckled. He finished putting it all on and stowed the sunscreen on the edge of the pool. The two of you talked for a while, about work and Wakeheart, new video ideas and Ethan begging for the fiftieth time for you to let him buy the baby clothes already. 

But as he was pleading his case for the baby needing a matching outfit to his, he realized that you had drifted off back to sleep. So he pulled the float over to the side of the pool, using one hand to scroll his phone and the other to push and pull it back and forth to create a sort of rocking motion that would keep you asleep. 

When Grayson came out ten minutes later, he was a bit confused at the sight. Ethan immediately turned and put a finger to his lips.

“She’s out,” he explained. Grayson smiled at that - as much shit as he could give his brother sometimes, he really did have the biggest heart.

“Thanks for taking care of her man, I’m done with the edit I can take over,” he offered. Ethan brushed him off.

“Go take a nap or something, I’ve got this.”

Though he would never admit it, he really did like taking care of you. So Grayson let him, going to catch up on some sleep on the couch with a smile on his face.

may

“You okay baby?” 

You frowned, wondering why he’d asked. Then you noticed that your knuckles were white where you were clinging to his hand. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous - it was just another ultrasound scan. Maybe it’s because of what you were finding out.

“I’m alright, just nervous. I can’t believe we’re finally finding out if it’s a boy or a girl.” You brought your other hand to your bump, rubbing gently over it. You already felt connected to the little human inside you, but the thought of knowing something else about them made you feel even closer.

“Then we can finally start shopping,” he smiled, bringing your hand up to his mouth and kissing the back of it. 

Your OB came in then, ready to begin your scan. You watched in awe as she moved the ultrasound head around, searching until a perfectly clear picture of your baby popped up. You watched their little heart flutter while Grayson watched in awe.

“Everything looks perfect, they’re growing great, got a good amount of fluid in there to swim around in. And if we can get them to turn just a little bit, I should be able to let you know if it’s a little mrs. or mr. in there. Are you all wanting to find out the sex today?” The doctor wasn’t looking at either of you, eyes focused on the screen as she spoke.

“Yeah, we wanna know, if you’re able to see.”

“Alright, well they seem pretty active so we should be able to get a good view here in a minute. Some babies start to wiggle when mama does something, is there anything you do that makes them move around more?”

“They move when I laugh, or when Grayson talks to them.”

Grayson blushed a bit at that. You’d told him over and over that when he talked to your baby, they moved around. He would talk to them every night, hands splayed across your belly, just waiting for some type of kick. And though you could feel them inside, he had yet to feel anything. 

“Why don’t you give that a try Grayson, see if they’ll move,” the doctor encouraged. 

Grayson was obviously nervous to be put on the spot - he was only used to doing this in the comfort of your room at home. He cleared his throat, leaned in close to your belly, and started to speak.

“Hey baby, it’s daddy. I know you’re probably really comfortable just chilling in there right now, but we need you to move just a little bit. Not too much, but maybe just towards me a little bit. I know, I know, it’s a lot of work, but you’re tough, you can do it.” 

You loved the way he talked to your baby, so sweet and adorable. You were enthralled with his words, almost forgetting where you were.

“Well, it looks like you two have a got a major daddy’s girl on your hands,” were the words that pulled you out of your trance. You hadn’t even felt the baby turn. 

“Girl? We’re having a girl?!” Grayson’s eyes were wide, and he had the biggest smile on his face as he looked at you.

“Looks like it. Congratulations guys! I’ll give you guys a minute and go get some of these stills printed, then you all are set to go!” The OB wiped the gel off of your tummy and gave you a warm smile.

As soon as the doctor left, Grayson pumped his fist in the air in excitement.

“I was gonna be happy either way, but I was totally pulling for a girl,” he admitted. He was beaming - you’d always known he wanted a daughter so badly. 

“And apparently she’s already a daddy’s girl. I’m in trouble,” you teased. You held your bump with both hands, looking at it in a whole new light. “Hi baby girl. Momma loves you.” 

june

You knew that this day would be hard; even harder than it had been for Grayson the last few years. So you weren’t all too surprised when you woke up to an empty bed. 

Your back was stiff as you crawled out from under the covers, and you gave yourself some time to stretch and put some sweats on before heading out to the living room. You saw the silhouette of him through the glass doors.

Grayson was in the backyard, sitting on the patio couch, staring out at the view of LA. You decided to give him a few more minutes alone, going to make the both of you a cup of coffee (yours unfortunately decaf). 

You made sure to make a little bit of noise when you opened the door, not wanting to startle him. He turned, relaxing when he realized that it was you. His eyes were puffy and red, and you knew it wasn’t from allergies. 

“Hey,” he said, throat obviously tight. “How’re my girls?”

“We’re alright. Just wanted to come check on you, see if you needed anything.” 

There wasn’t much you could say to make him feel better. Father’s day would always be very bittersweet for him. 

You’d thought about getting him a card, or a small gift that was ‘from the baby’, but you knew that the day would be so laden with emotions that you’d rather not potentially make it worse. 

You passed him the coffee as a comforting gesture, and he gratefully took it.

“I can give you some more alone time if you need, I just wanted to see if you were alright,” you offered, giving him a soft smile. Sometimes he preferred to let his emotions out by himself, and you respected that. 

“Stay please. And thank you, for the coffee.” He patted the seat next to him and you sat down, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He leaned into you, and it wasn’t long until the shaking started. It was like the sobs were being ripped out of him, and it physically pained you to see him hurting. You did all that you could, pressing kisses to his skin and holding him as close as your bump would let you until the tears finally started to let up.

You wiped away what was left on his cheeks when he sat up to get some air, and he laid the weight of his head in your palm, obviously exhausted.

“I just miss my dad,” were his only words, and you swore you felt your heart crack right down the middle.

“I know baby. I’m so sorry.” 

“I have so many questions for him, about being a dad, and raising a daughter. And I know he would have been so excited to be a grandpa. I wonder if he would have wanted her to call him grandpa, or poppy. And now she won’t even have one,” he said, a fresh batch of tears coming to the surface. 

“He’s still her grandpa baby. I know he’s not here, and god I wish he was. But she’s gonna know about her poppy Sean, and what an amazing person he was. We’re gonna tell her stories, and show her pictures, and she’s gonna see all of his best qualities in you. You’re going to be an amazing dad, because you had an amazing example.” The words came spilling out of you, just like the tears came spilling down for both of you. 

Coffee cups discarded somewhere close by, he took your hips in his hands and pulled you onto his lap. He buried his face in your neck and you held him tightly, running your fingers through his hair. When he moved up to your shoulder, you felt him press a few kisses to your skin - a silent thank you. 

“You really think I’m gonna be a good dad? You’re not just saying that?” His voice was muffled against your skin. 

“I honestly think that you’re going to be the best. And I’m not just saying that, I swear.”

“But why? Why do you have so much faith in me? I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Neither do I. I’ve got motherly instinct to go on, and some babysitting, and that’s it. And I know you think you have no idea how to take care of a kid, but I know that you’re going to love her, and you’re going to protect her, and those are the most important things you can do. You already love her so much,” you explained.

There was an odd sensation in your tummy just then, and you gasped at it. It was new, a slow dramatic motion, and as you looked down you could actually see your skin moving. The movement tracked down the top of your bump and towards your belly button, which was pressed against Grayson. You didn’t have to ask - you knew he had felt it.

“Was that...”

“That was all her,” you assured him. You recognized the feeling as her stretching, but you realized quickly that it was the first time he’d actually felt her move. His hands moved to spread across your bump, the sadness that had been on his face now replaced with awe.

You both watched closely, waiting to see if she would do it again. You felt it first.

“She’s moving, she’s moving again, right here.” You took his hand and moved it to the right place, just in time for him to feel her kick. He looked up to you with wide eyes.

“Holy shit! I actually felt that! Does she do that all the time?” 

“She’s been doing it a lot more lately. Guess she’s trying to make more room. I swear, she really does move around a lot more when you’re talking to her.”

Something about his voice made her decide to do flips all the time. Most the time it was fine, though sometimes it would be a bit sharp if her little feet or elbows found a rib. You’d never tell him that though - watching his face light up was worth any kick.

“Hey baby girl. Whatcha doin’ in there, huh? You showin’ off?” His voice softened every time he spoke to her, and your heart softened with it. On cue, she kicked again, right into his hand. 

“No way! That’s so cool! Does it hurt?”

“Not unless she catches an organ or a bone,” you teased, loving how excited he was, and grateful that he was finally getting to experience this. It went on for another hour, both of you enthralled to see how she moved. 

“I think she’s saying happy father’s day,” you said at one point, not thinking it through. But to your relief Grayson was beaming proudly at your words. 

july

You spotted the glitter from across the store, and immediately started shaking your head. 

“No. Absolutely not,” you protested as the boys approached you. Whatever it was in their hands, you weren’t going to let them buy it.

“But baby, look. It has ruffles on the butt,” Grayson explained, holding it up. It was a bright pink glittery onesie, that did indeed have ruffles on the butt of it. 

“I am not putting my daughter in that.”

“I mean, Gray and I both want it. So technically you’re outnumbered,” Ethan countered, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well I’m growing her butt with my own body, so technically I get to decide that I’m not putting ruffles on it,” you mocked, eyes narrowing. He backed off, knowing better than to mess with you. 

“What if we got one that wasn’t so bright? They have non-glittery ones,” Grayson offered. You always softened up when he suggested things, and looking at how small the newborn clothes looked in his hands had you in a puddle. 

“Non glitter would be... better.” You said, still a bit suspicious. 

It wasn’t that you were totally against girly clothes - you just thought all the baby boy clothes were so much cuter. Who wanted unicorn onesies when you could get some with jungle animals, or sea creatures? You’d found yourself wandering over to the boys section more and more, picking out little hoodies and things with simple patterns. 

Grayson took you to the ruffle butt section, and you had to admit the ones in more neutral colors were quite cute. You picked out a few with him, and then it was like his eyes glazed over. 

“Oh my god,” he said, head falling back a bit before coming back up to a pout he only got when he saw something too adorable. You followed him over to the sundress section where Ethan was already holding up a tiny little dress with sunflowers on it. Even you had to admit, it was adorable.

“I love it, but she’s due in September. I don’t want her to be cold,” you sighed, hand going to your tummy. You’d started to feel more and more protective of her recently. 

“We’ll buy her a little jacket or something.” 

You weren’t surprised that the next 30 minutes (and $300 most likely) were spent in the dress section. You decided to let the boys have their fun - you knew you’d be the one dressing her more often than not, so you could put her in whatever you wanted. 

When you got back home, you headed to the nursery, which was really starting to come together. The boys were putting in so much work to make it perfect, and it made you so happy. There was a crib that Grayson had built, and tested about twenty times as well. You’d assured him that it didn’t need to hold 200 pounds, but he was very proud that it passed the test of him laying in it.

“What if she gets scared and needs me to sleep in there with her!?” was his main argument for that one, and you couldn’t fault him. 

They’d painted the walls a dark gray with a few pops of light purple. There was a changing table and dresser built by Grayson as well, though right now you were focused on the closet as you put her clothes away. 

“I can’t believe she’s gonna be here in like, two months,” Grayson mumbled as he hung a tiny dress up on a hanger. He was moving the delicate straps by pinching them with his fingers, which was somehow more adorable than the dress itself. 

“I know, it’s crazy. Not gonna lie though, this bump is getting a little heavy. I wouldn’t mind her getting here a little sooner,” you sighed, leaning slightly to try to relieve some pressure on your back. Standing all day in the stores had your ankles swollen and your back screaming. 

“Hey, I got this. Why don’t you go lay down, I’ll give you a massage when I’m done okay?” 

You balked a bit at that. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him - he was perfectly capable of unpacking baby clothes. But your nesting instincts were coming in hard these days, and you were very particular about anything nursery or baby related. 

“I...”

“Color order, and separate it by type of clothes and sizes, I know. Onesies in the drawer, plain on the left and cute on the right. Plus, you’re probably going to rearrange it all next week anyways.” Grayson reassured you, checking all the boxes you didn’t even have to say.

“You’re the best,” you smiled, standing on your tip toes to kiss him - the bump was getting in the way these days. 

“I know,” he joked. “Now go lay down.”

You did as he said, and he was unsurprised to find you asleep in bed when he got back a mere twenty minutes later. The sight of you curled up on your side, cradling your bump, made him smile. 

He helped get you changed into pajamas - you grumbled a bit as he moved your limbs, but you didn’t wake all the way up. 

Then, he moved to your ankles, rubbing at the puffiness to try and get it to reabsorb - he’d looked up the best massages for pregnant women months ago, but they were really starting to come in handy now. By the time he got to your back, you were humming at the sensation, somewhere between dreams and bliss. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled. Grayson wasn’t sure if you even knew you said it.

He smiled, leaning down to kiss your forehead, then your bump. “Anything for my girls.”

august

You’d resorted to pool noodle violence, seeing that you were quite slow even in the water. You brought it down as hard as you could on Ethan first, then on Grayson. 

“Enough!” you yelled, exasperated. The boys stopped in their tracks - they’d been wrestling and bickering about something for a while now, and you were annoyed. Not because they were arguing, but because the baby was doing all sorts of flips and kicks to the sounds of their voices. She had always responded to Grayson’s voice the most, but apparently Ethan’s was similar enough that he got the same response. Which meant them arguing was actually quite painful.

“If this baby kicks me in the ribs one more time because of you two, I swear,” you grumbled, rubbing over your sore stomach. 

“Sorry, I keep forgetting,” Ethan apologized, giving you a look of sympathy. 

“Sorry baby,” Grayson sighed, coming over to the edge of the pool where you were. It didn’t matter what you did these days - you were just uncomfortable. Your bump was huge, and you felt like a whale day in and day out. It was making you grumpy, and you hated it.

“No, I’m sorry. She just won’t stop kicking. Like girlfriend, you’ve gotta chill out,” you gestured to your bump, making both of them chuckle.

“You be nice to your momma, so that she’ll be nice to your uncle E,” Ethan said to your bump. “Oh my god, I wonder if she’s gonna get us confused.”

“No. She’s gonna know exactly who I am,” Grayson argued, a bit peeved. 

“What if she likes me better?” Ethan prodded, trying to get more of a reaction as he often did. 

“Hey. She’s still trying out for the world cup over here, whisper if you’re gonna talk,” you grumbled, pressing on the side of your bump to try and soothe the pain. Grayson’s hand replaced yours, rubbing soft soothing circles. 

“I bet she’s kicking cause she thinks you’re annoying, like her dad does,” Grayson retorted, smirking a bit. It would have been a good comeback if he didn’t have to whisper it.

“I’m gonna be her favorite, cause I get to be the fun uncle,” Ethan countered quietly with a wicked smile. 

“You both have useless nipples, therefore I’m pretty sure I’m going to be the favorite for a good 6 months at least,” you chimed in, defeating both of their arguments. “Now then, I’m getting pruny, I’m going in.”

Before you could protest, Grayson had already pushed himself up and out at the edge of the pool, coming to help you up. He wasn’t letting you out of his sight for even a second these days. He was afraid you were going to go into labor and he wasn’t going to be there. 

The closer your due date got, the less worried you were. It confused Gray - he figured you’d be anxious about the delivery, the labor, all of it. But you were just excited to meet your little girl. You both hadn’t picked out a name yet - all you knew was that you wanted it to be strong, and have meaning. You were going to wait until you saw her face to fully decide.

Caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t even realize that you’d made the turn into the nursery instead of into your room. It was a bit hard to believe that you were going to have a baby of your own living in here in just a few short weeks. 

“Do you wanna go back through your hospital bag and make sure we have everything?” Grayson’s voice came from behind you. 

You shook your head with a soft smile. 

“Oh. Do you wanna rearrange again?” You could tell he was a bit more hesitant on that one - you’d asked him to move the furniture around at least twice already this week. You couldn’t help the hormones, but you did feel bad for him. 

“No, I think it’s perfect. Just picturing her in here,” you explained, taking his hands in yours. 

“How are you not freaking out? Are you not nervous at all?” 

“A little I guess. But I’m more excited,” you smiled.

“I’m terrified,” Grayson admitted a bit sheepishly. 

“What’s got you so worried?” You wanted him to talk about it, mainly so you could try to figure out a way to help.

“I just want everything to go smoothly. My delivery didn’t go well, and I don’t want anything to go wrong with ours. Plus, I really, really, don’t wanna see you in pain. That’s gonna be really hard.” 

“I’m pretty tough,” you teased, trying to address the only thing that you could actually comfort him about. 

“Hell of a lot tougher than me, I know that for sure. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For carrying our kid. I haven’t thanked you enough for the sacrifice of it. You’ve given your body up for so long, so thank you.” He was looking down at your bump now, hands rubbing over the skin. 

“Best thing we’ve ever done,” you smiled, pulling him closer to kiss him, though you both had to lean a bit. “Though I’m not gonna lie, it’ll be nice when I can actually kiss you normally again,” you teased.

“I’m pretty sure the baby will be stealing most of the kisses from me,” Gray said. 

“Not all of them,” you assured him, leaning to kiss him again.

september 3rd, 3am

Grayson had passed behind you at least ten times. You watched him in the mirror with a bit of a smirk. You were brushing your teeth, breathing deeply through your nose as a contraction started. 

“Are they close together? Oh god, I’m supposed to be timing them, shit, okay, hold on,” he mumbled, heading back towards the room again. You caught his hand, holding him there while you spit out your toothpaste and rinsed your mouth.

“Baby. Relax.”

“Relax? How are you so calm right now!? Aren’t you like, contracting?” His eyes were wide, panicked. You knew the only way to get him calm was to stay calm yourself.

“I mean yeah,” you shrugged. Right now, it was no worse than bad period cramps. You weren’t going to freak out - waking up to your water breaking wasn’t exactly your plan, but you were more excited than anything. 

Grayson packed the car while you brushed your hair, and he came back in to walk you to the car. He held your hand for the whole drive, bringing your intertwined digits up to kiss the back of your hand any time you tensed up with a contraction. There was luckily no traffic at 3am, and the drive to the hospital was easy enough. 

Ethan was at home, in charge of letting everyone know that it was time, and getting Lisa and Cameron when they made it into town. So it was just you and Grayson, and you loved it, even though he was freaking out. 

You got checked in and taken up to your room. Grayson was at your bedside, hand in yours from the moment you got settled with your IV. The nurse was sweet as she came in to give you your first exam. It wasn’t comfortable, but you hadn’t expected it to be.

“Well momma, look at you! Already 4 centimeters dilated! If you keep up this pace, you’re gonna be holding that baby girl in no time! Around what time did you say that your water broke?”

“Around 2:45 this morning,” you said.

“Wow. You really are moving along quickly, especially for a first time momma. I’ll come check you again in about a half hour, and we’ll see how you’re feeling okay?” 

“Sounds good, thank you,” you offered her a smile as she headed out. 

When you looked back over, Grayson’s eyes were on your face. 

“Looks like things are gonna go pretty smooth,” you wiggled your eyebrows at him, just trying to make him laugh. He smiled, shaking his head. 

“You’re insane,” was all he could say.

“Hey, I told you I was tough! And I’m sure it’s going to get a lot worse from here,” you reminded him. 

“I was fully prepared for you to be screaming in pain. And you’re just here, hanging out like nothing’s happening!” He was exasperated. 

“Screaming isn’t really my style. Well, I guess it is sometimes,” you winked at him. 

“You are not making sex jokes right now.” He had the biggest smile now, which was all you wanted. Another contraction hit then, low in your back. You sucked in a deep breath, squeezing on Grayson’s hand as it came through. You breathed your way through it, trying to get a rhythm down that you knew you could keep going. They’ll pass. They come and then they pass was going to be your mindset for the rest of the time. 

And it worked. Each time a contraction came you closed your eyes and breathed deep, focusing on the sensation of the air coming in your nose and out over your lips. The only other sensation you were willing to acknowledge was Grayson’s hand in yours, his lips on your forehead, the sweet encouragements he was whispering in your ear. 

And they got worse. Much worse. The nurse came and checked you often, reassuring you that things were moving well. It was a few hours later and you were already at 8 centimeters. 

“I haven’t seen a first time mom move this quickly through labor in a long, long time. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” the doctor said when she checked you. 

“But that’s okay right? It’s not bad that it’s going fast right?” Grayson was immediately concerned.

“No, no problems at all. Less time in labor means less stress on mom and baby, so better all around. You’re a natural Y/N, I’ll give you that,” she smiled. “I’d say we’re gonna be pushing in the next hour or so.”

“Sounds great.” You gave her a soft smile, trying with all your might to be pleasant. Your hips were on fire, like you’d been holding a wide squat for the last 3 hours. You knew it was just everything widening, but damn did it hurt. 

“You’re doing amazing baby, you’re so strong.” Grayson’s words came at the right time. 

“I think I’m ready to be done now,” you laughed a bit, and it was the first time you’d felt any self pity the whole time. But you were tired, and you knew that pushing was supposed to be the worst part of the whole thing. You weren’t sure you were as ready for that as you thought you were. 

“I know baby, I wish I could make it better. But you’re gonna have your daughter in your arms so soon, and it’s all gonna be worth it,” he reminded you. His face was laced with sympathy as he leaned in to kiss you. 

It was enough encouragement to help you through, though you weren’t as quiet as you had been. Each contraction was longer, and closer together now. You were groaning a bit at the pain, trying to keep it under control as you had before, but it was getting harder. 

The time crawled by, and you shed a few happy tears when the doctor came back in and told you that it was time for you to push. 

It was a bit of a blur from there, all guttural instinct and people counting and breathing. The only anchor you had was Grayson, who kept himself in your view the whole time, encouraging you and letting you know you were close, that it was almost over. 

And then you heard it. A loud cry, a bit of a gurgle at first, and then clear as day.

Your baby girl was here. 

The nurses were wiping her off just a tiny bit, and then she was there in your arms, on your chest. 

“Hi baby girl, hi sweetheart,” you cooed, wrapping her up in your arms. The tears were streaming now, and you looked up at Grayson. He was crying too, a look of pride and happiness that you’d never seen on his face before. 

“Congratulations, she’s beautiful! Dad, you wanna cut the cord?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Grayson’s voice was rough as he moved to help, cutting the cord where the doctor’s clamped it off. You were mesmerized by your little angel’s face - she had Grayson’s nose and lips, you could tell already. 

“Hi pretty girl, it’s momma. Welcome to the world,” you said, running a finger over her tiny nose. 

“Alright momma, you catch your breath, we’re gonna get her cleaned up and swaddled okay?” The nurse gave you the warning before going to take her off your chest. You let her, and then you looked at Grayson. He was obviously torn, looking between you and your daughter. 

“Go, go with her,” you encouraged him. You relaxed back into the bed, body spent entirely, but eyes wide open as you watched what was unfolding, trying to ignore everything that was happening with you, from delivering the placenta to the clean up. 

They weighed her first - 6 pounds and 2 ounces - and then you watched as they wrapped her up and put a tiny hat on her head. The nurse turned and placed her in Grayson’s arms. His eyes went wide for a moment in nervous panic, and then he settled as she fit perfectly in his arms. His tears flowed freely as he looked down at her in awe.

“Hi precious. It’s daddy, yeah, it’s daddy,” he cooed, and you swore you’d never been more in love with him in your whole life. He walked slowly back over to you, leaning down and lowering her back into your arms. You scooted over as best you could, and Grayson got the hint, helping you move over with his free arm and climbing into the bed next to you. 

You took her in your arms like you’d done it a thousand times before. She was peaceful there on your skin, content and happy. Her eyes opened a bit as you held her close, Grayson’s hand behind her head. 

“She’s perfect. You did so good,” Grayson praised, running a thumb over her soft hair.

Gazing at her face, you knew that the name you’d secretly been considering was perfect. 

“Bailey. I wanna name her Bailey. After you. And I want her middle name to be Shawn, after her poppy. We can spell it s-h-a-w-n, or s-e-a-n, either way,” you said, looking up at Grayson.

His tears were enough of an answer. 

“Bailey Shawn Dolan. I love it. It’s perfect,” he smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. You weren’t sure how long you sat there with them. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that there was much to come. Ethan, and Lisa and Cameron would be there soon. There would be more nurses, a lactation specialist, doctors. But right now, all you could do was watch little Bailey breathe, and be grateful for the perfect little family that you had. 

[gumnut-logic]

The world was blurry as he let his head slide on one hand and stared out through the kitchen window. Gordon was in the pool, swimming his morning laps. The sun had yet to rise and Virgil had broken several laws of physics rising himself. This time of day should not exist. But then it didn’t, because it wasn’t day yet because there was no sun!

But no, supersonic big brother wanted to do some special training today. Training that for some reason had been scheduled at sunrise.

It was possibly important, likely scheduled just to get his ass out of bed at this godawful hour. Occasionally there were some issues with having your brother in command. Brotherly love only went so far, brotherly snark had more mileage, and Scott did have that twist of his lips when he announced the schedule.

Four pairs of eyes had immediately turned to him and his return glare had been insufficient to deflect the amusement that followed.

But it was okay. It was fine. He had his own skill drills up his sleeve. Two am would be convenient for him next time, definitely. After all, they all had to keep their skill sets up, didn’t they?

In the meantime, it was black coffee and repeated attempts to focus on Mateo. Mateo was distinctly blurry, and dark and...

“Hey, Virg!” Alan whacked him on the back.

His face nearly ended up in his coffee. “Alan? What the hell?”

“And good morning to you, too, big bro. Ready for this morning’s run?”

He stared at his bright and peppy, yes, peppy, youngest brother. Augh. “Go away.”

“Aww, did the big bear have to get out of bed a little early?”

“Alan...”

“C’mon, Virg, it’s gonna be fun. A race around the island, wind in your hair, blood pumping...it’s gonna be awesome.”

Virgil stared at him, his brain slowly picking up that something wasn’t quite right. “Alan, why aren’t you comatose?”

“What do you mean, big bro?”

A slow blink. “You hate mornings almost as much as I do. Who are you and what have you done with my little brother?” His eyelids drooped all of their own volition.

“It’s called prepared, bro. I’m in it to win it.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “Are you on something? Because if you are, Scott’s going to kill you, and once I’m awake, I’ll resuscitate you so I can kill you again.”

“That’s violence, bro. It’s cool, I promise.”

An arched eyebrow that almost hurt. “What did you do, Alan?”

“Nothing. Well, nothing you aren’t already doing.”

“You drank coffee.”

“Noooooooo.”

“What did you do?”

“A little caffeine is all.”

The arched eyebrow flipped into a frown. “How much?”

“Enough.”

Virgil’s back straightened. “Alan.”

“I’m fine, bro, I promise. I know what I’m doing. I’m not stupid.” A blond frown. “Besides, it’s not like you don’t do the same with your coffee after coffee after coffee technique.”

Virgil’s lips thinned, but to be honest, the kid was right, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. But... “You’re not yet an adult, Alan.”

“Yet, I take the responsibilities of an adult, Virgil.”

“Your body isn’t fully mature!”

“Well, thanks for that, Doctor Virgil!”

“You have to look after yourself!”

“Hard to do anything else when I have four brothers mother-henning me all the time!”

“We worry about you!”

“Well, don’t! I can look after myself.”

“Alan!”

“Virgil!”

“Hey! What the hell is going on here?!”

Virgil found himself looming over his little brother, one brain cell after another slowly catching up with what the hell was going on. Bright blue eyes were staring up at him defiantly, his little brother’s shoulders tight and fists clenched at his sides.

Virgil forced his own fists to uncurl. There was a reason why he preferred not to see this time of day. Disturbed sleep disturbed his calm, his control, and things like this happened.

Scott loomed over the both of them and Virgil took a step back, slumping back onto his seat and hulking over his coffee almost in a pout. “Better ask Alan, he’s the one being stupid.”

“Speak for yourself, Virgil.”

“Both of you, shut it.” Scott could glare with the best of them, but Virgil had exhausted what little energy he had and ignored him. “Alan, dosed himself with caffeine.”

“Virgil!”

He could feel the laserbeams shooting out of Scott’s eyes switching targets and landing on Alan. There was no satisfaction, just blergh. Here we go.

And sure enough, Scott started in on his little brother. There was, of course, shouting. Virgil idly wondered how come Scott got to yell and he didn’t. But then Virgil didn’t really like yelling anyway.

Coffee. Its warmth drifted down his throat and spread into his bones. Oh god, he needed it. Maybe a second one after this? But then the word ‘caffeine’ came up amongst the explosions beside him and he reconsidered. No need to become a target himself.

He let his foggy mind drift a little. It was all his fault really. He could have gone to bed early, but he had made the mistake of getting into a discussion online with an engineering idiot. The topic had become heated, chemical formulas launched like bombs and laced with reactive equations enough to take out half the engineering community. In the end, he’d thrown a hissy fit and sat up to three am writing up his argument. He’d chucked it onto his blog with a great deal of satisfaction and was looking forward to rubbing it in the man’s face.

Just as soon as he could boot his brain.

Coffee, give me strength.

Gordon wandered in at some point, a damp towel around his neck. Being Gordon, he prodded the conflagration in progress and got burnt. The argument became three sided.

Virgil considered snoozing on the counter.

Then he hit on the idea that he could possibly sneak back to bed. He stood up slowly.

Brains bounded into the room, tablet in hand. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Brilliant, so b-brilliant!”

The argument came to a sudden halt, four pairs of eyes turning towards the engineer.

The engineer didn’t notice, eyes glued to his tablet. Max bounded in behind him, whirring excitedly. It was the robot who prevented the distracted Brains from walking into the kitchen counter.

“Oh, thank you, M-Max.” His eyes didn’t leave the tablet. “Did you see the p-polymer ratio? Amazing! Such elegance. You know, I am quite d-disap-pointed that I didn’t think of this myself. The applications are going to b-be in-numerable.”

The distraction was enough to break the fuel lines of the argument and Scott settled for a final threat, Alan a final glare and Gordon, a snort of derision. The moment to escape was lost and Virgil slumped where he sat.

Damn.

“Virgil, you going to eat before we run?”

Alan was right, Scott mother-henned.

“Maybe.” Ugh, c’mon coffee kick in. He needed operational braincells.

Scott was peering closely at him. “Earth to Virgil.”

“Shut up, Scott. You got me up at the ass end of the day, I’m here. Don’t expect much more.”

His brother grinned, and Virgil had the odd urge to thump him. Just because this was his element, didn’t mean he had to be a smart ass about it. “Your next physical is going to be hell.”

The grin faltered. Aah, that’s better. Hmm, perhaps his brain was slowly booting. Go, coffee.

“Virgil! You h-have to see these equations. They are brilliant!”

What? Brains’ tablet shifted the remains of his coffee to one side and Virgil found himself staring at a series of numbers that made little sense at this time of the morning. “Brains, looks great. Can I review them later? I’m not all here yet.”

The engineer didn’t appear to hear him. “Look at the polymer decay to reaction ratio! This is a self-healing polymer!”

Huh? He frowned and forced himself to focus. The appropriate neurons clicked into place in his brain and suddenly what he was seeing made sense.

Shit.

He grabbed the tablet, eyeing the equations and spinning calculations in his head. Brains was right. This was perfect. The polymer would be able to self-heal with the application of a mild electrical current. Give it a pattern to follow and it would populate and keep it populated, even after disturbance.

“Did you discover this, Brains?” He frowned. There was something familiar about this. Maybe they had discussed it recently.

“Oh, no, this is V. T. Green. The man is brilliant.” There was that word again. Brilliant.

But it still took a second for it all to click into place.

V. T. Green was his blog. V. T. Green was his pseudonym online, used for obvious reasons to keep his identity hidden. The blog had been for amusement originally. A place to stash his favourite music and art, but at some point, he had found himself venturing into engineering circles and getting into discussion with the online community. It made for interesting discourse and he was able to keep up to date with some of the latest innovations. Not that he could share his own much and IR was well ahead of the majority of the world thanks to one Hiram Hackenbacker, but on occasion he would fiddle with ideas and make suggestions. It was also a great place to postulate out-there concepts.

The equations on Brains’ tablet were Virgil’s.

“Where did you get these?”

Brains was full of far too much energy for this time of the morning. “Green p-posted them during the night and they have h-hit the world by s-storm.”

“What?”

Brains frowned at him. “Haven’t you heard of V. T. Green, Virgil? He is o-one of the leading engineers on this p-planet. I have been f-following his b-blog for over a year n-now. You r-really m-must check it out.”

“Um, must have missed that one.”

“H-how could you m-miss such an important s-site? I know you k-keep up to date. The man is at the centre of a massive discussion about polymer cohesion and decay. Last night, Coloncous in Spain had the nerve to challenge him in the most ridiculous manner. I was so close to cutting him off myself, he was embarrassing us all, but Green replied with this. As expected, it is a brilliant explanation and Coloncous had no choice but to concede and crawl back into the hole he should never have come out of in the first place. He was a fool to think he could go up against Green. But this solution has so many possibilities. Do you realise this could be integrated into Two’s cahelium hull and she would be able to heal damage midflight? Four would be able seal herself in an underwater emergency. So brilliant.”

Virgil stared at the engineer. He didn’t think he had ever heard Brains say so many words in a row. And his stutter had disappeared two sentences in.

“What did you say about sealing Four, Brains?” Gordon’s ears had obviously pricked up at the mention of his ‘bird.

Brains’ attention was immediately drawn to the aquanaut, his verbal diarrhoea spilling all over Gordon and freeing Virgil.

Taking the opportunity, he pulled out his phone and brought up the website.

Shit!

He had notifications enough to clog his inbox. Due to the early hour, his phone was still on silent and he hadn’t heard any of them. A quick glance identified several prominent names and universities.

Shit. His eyes widened.

He glanced up at his family who were now eagerly discussing safety seals for Thunderbird Four. Even Scott’s eyes were wide and enthusiastic.

Shit.

Um.

Yeah.

He needed more coffee.

-o-o-o-

V.T. Green (one of my absolute favourites :D)

[poetrusicperry]

some writing

basically, these posts are just a lot of ideas and things i had in my head after reading all the details people gave me about themselves. they might seem pretty hectic and a bit long, but i hope i did ok and i hope you like them !! there is a ship, there are hcs, and a little blurb about the ship at the end. 

for the lovely @spchxy– thank you for the inspiration, ally !! <3

ship:

first of all, i feel super inclined to say that i think i’d ship you w todd. i’m not really sure why, but i can’t get that thought out of my head when reading all the details you shared about yourself (: you guys just seem like you’d be one of those cute, quiet couples that never needed to try hard to express how much you both cared for each other; you both just sort of knew and thoroughly enjoyed the other’s company.

hc:

somehow i feel you’d be able to bond with neil over cats ? like both of you would just adore them, and you’d even find a stray around campus that you would take turns feeding every night, sneaking something out of the dining hall.

charlie is either a complete morning person or he sleeps in til 12 (usually on weekends), but when he gets up at the crack of dawn just because, he’ll come bother you to come hang out with him on the grounds or something, which you’d only allow because he’d somehow sneak a mug of coffee for you from the kitchen.

you and charlie both had a habit of drinking way too much coffee during night study groups, which led to you two staying up into all hours of the night just talking or sneaking out and exploring the town around campus.

during your time at welton, you had successfully stolen at least one sweater from each of the boys, and they all noticed, but the only ones who ever mentioned it to you were knox and neil. todd noticed, too, but with his painfully obvious soft spot for you, he never minded.

you pretty much did charlie’s hw for him the entirety of senior year, as his senioritis had reached a level that not even meeks could pull him out of LOL

lots of movies w the poets and pitts had a huge stash of popcorn that you guys quickly depleted throughout the year (even warranting a trip to the grocery store to buy more halfway through the year lol).

if you were ever feeling bad, todd would want to be there for you, but he never really knew why, so he would just hang around you and lay with you (after asking you if that was okay, and confirming multiple times that it was ok [we love a gentleman]). you found that just fine, too. somehow just being in todd’s presence was enough to ease whatever mental or physical discomfort you were in.

on graduation day, neil gifted you his green sweater™ stating, “it has served its purpose for me for the past four years, and i know how much you love it” when you asked him if he was sure you could have it.

todd gifted you a handful of various russian books (that he had read and annotated previously just to have things to talk about with you (‘: ), and were very obviously wrapped by todd himself in newspaper. also got you a stationery set so you would write to him when you both were away at college (what’s funny is that you got him one, too, for the exact same reason, but you both were going to write anyway).

charlie made you both matching keychains that included a flashlight and compass (claiming that you’d need both when you decided to go on late night adventures in college). he also stole you one of the mugs from the kitchen to take with you to college (:

knox would give you the rest of his welton sweaters, as he decided he needed more room in his closet for his college merch, and he knew just how much you loved to take them anyway.

blurb:

as nice as the days around campus were, night was even better, and early mornings exceeded both. there was something about being the first one awake, or being able to take in the dawn’s silence fully; no bustling cars, no shouting students, just a pleasant lack of life’s general soundtrack. often, you would find yourself sitting up on the roof of welton before the clock even read 5:30a.m. with your copy of dr. zhivago (or whichever russian author whose book you had chosen to invest yourself in that week) and a plain mug of hot coffee from the cafeteria in tow, you would make your way up to the roof, always completely unsurprised upon finding todd up there as well.

it was your first year at welton after transferring from a different private school in vermont, but in your short time there so far, you had somehow been introduced to a painfully shy boy, todd anderson, who sat next to her in chemistry. on the first day of classes, todd had accidentally knocked your notebook off the desk by bumping into it on his way to sit down, which he almost immediately apologized for, stuttering the entire way through his sentiment. since then, however, after you'd sworn up and down that it wasn’t a big deal, they became pretty comfortable being seat buddies. as the weeks went on, and the air cooled slightly, you found todd talking to you more (or at least making an effort– sometimes he would just get too nervous or shy). apparently, as you had found out later, neil had been goading todd to talk to you for a really long time, and giving him tips. nothing was ever labeled or officially set that you two were dating, but it was pretty evident to everyone around you that you two shared a way more special bond than just chemistry deskmates. you two spent a lot of time together, filled with lots of literary talk, or just enjoying each other’s company while working on other things or, pretty often, you would also just sit in silence leaning into each other while hanging out with the other poets.

on this particular morning, though, todd just wanted your company, so he sat with you while you read (after a sleepy sounding “good morning, ally. y-you look cute in that sweater” [which was his bc you stole it]), admiring the way your eyes scanned the pages and how every once in a while you’d re-read a section a couple of times, marking it for future analysis (let’s be honest, he’d be completely enamored with you no matter the time of day or activity). when it got closer to 7a.m., he’d nudge you a little and you two would descend back to the dorms talking about the previous night, get ready for the day, and have breakfast together with the poets.

overall, you and todd would just be such a cute, pure couple enjoying the small things, drinking copious amounts of coffee and tea, sharing sweatshirts, discussing books, telling todd all about your love for cats, and creating a really nice communicative atmosphere in your relationship (:

[hellitwasyoufirstsergeant]

Hi everyone! I’m not really sure why I’m posting this here, I suppose because I’m not ready for people I know ‘irl’ to see this, and this is the only account I have anywhere where none of my irl friends follow it. As to why I’m posting this at all, I’m not so sure either. I suppose largely for myself, in the hope that it will exorcise some demons, and partly for other people, because eating disorders just are not discussed enough and perhaps by posting this I can show someone else that they’re not alone. 

There may be mistakes in this and it may not all be 100% coherent, I found it hard to write and I didn’t wish to read it back over.

WARNING: The following post contains discussions of eating disorders and mental health issues. Please do not read if this is a trigger for you, and please not not read if you’re only here to pass judgement 

Looking back now, it’s so easy to realise why I felt the way I did, and to see my descent into mental illness. At the time, it was confusing as hell. I wasn’t diagnosed with generalised anxiety disorder and clinical depression until I was 17, although I had been suffering from both for six years already, I just didn’t realise it, because I just didn’t know they existed. I didn’t know there were medical conditions to describe how I felt, perhaps if I did I wouldn’t have felt so alone and so alienated. It wasn’t until last year that I realised I’d suffered from an eating disorder. Before that, I didn’t know that binge eating was an eating disorder. 

The words ‘eating disorder’ to me conjured up images of skeletal bodies, of people making themselves sick. I wish that preteen and teen me knew that I was suffering from an actual condition, that other people suffered from too. 

I don’t recall specifically the first time I binged on food, but over autumn (fall) of 2011 it became a regular occurrence, a habit. It was my way of coping with the changes in my life - starting a new school, my mum being diagnosed with a clinical illness and an increasingly fractured relationship with my dad - and my feelings of loneliness. I was also self conscious about my body, I was in a more advanced stage of puberty than most of my peers and I was aware of the fact that I was a little overweight. Bingeing became an outlet for feelings that I couldn’t understand, and therefore that I couldn’t process. 

It was a process that I repeated regularly for six years. It was like a paradox, the more I looked at myself in the mirror and hated what I saw, the more I binged, the very thing that made me carry on putting on weight. I was overweight, I still am today, but I wish that I could have seen myself the way others saw me - slightly chubby but not the ugly monster I thought myself at the time. I ate my feelings away, it was the only coping mechanism I knew. Even when in some ways my life improved - when I was 14 I finally fell in with a group of friends who were kind and who made me feel accepted - my mental state continued to decline and I continued to eat to cope. I was also feeling confused about my sexuality, something that increased my sense of alienation and otherness. It was often the only thing that got me through the day, the only thing that made life bearable to me. 

I never confided the way I felt or my problem with food to anyone during this period. My mum knew that I had issues with food, twice she found hidden stashes in my bedroom. She has been a good parent to me, but I so wish she’d handled it differently. She made me feel ashamed, something that made me more determined to hide my problem and therefore to not confront it. I think perhaps that she would’ve been a lot more understanding had she known the feelings behind the problem, but I didn’t know how to go about telling her. 

I can’t remember how old I was exactly when I shoplifted food for the first time, I think around 14. The £10 a week pocket money was no longer enough to fund my problem, even though I always chose the cheapest food so that I could buy as much as possible. I shoplifted semi regularly from the local supermarkets for around 18 months, I still don’t know how I was never caught. 

In September 2016, I started sixth form college. It was a fresh start that I so badly needed, my five years at secondary school having been so unhappy. It was hard to begin with, only my oldest friend went to the same college as me and old feelings of loneliness resurfaced. A part of me had hoped that the change of school would allow me to leave my bingeing habit behind, but it wasn’t to be. Even when I settled in and began making friends, I continued bingeing. 

New friends at college told me of their mental health issues, and I finally felt understood - there were other people who felt the way I did, other people who wanted to die. These feelings may not be normal, but I’m not alone anymore. Despite feeling accepted properly for the first time in my life, I continued to eat. Perhaps it was the stress of A levels (my fellow Brits know how fucking hard these are), or my mum’s decline in health, or my increasingly worsening relationship with my dad. 

In May/June time of 2017, my oldest friend, Imogen, who was one of a few friends now aware of my poor mental state, told me that I should go to the doctor. After a little persuading, I agreed. She came with me, but the appointment achieved nothing. I tried a few more GPs at my local surgery and eventually found one who made me feel listened to, and who was kind and sympathetic. I don’t recall the exact time I was diagnosed (to be honest this period in my life is a bit of a blur), but after some months I was finally diagnosed with GAD and clinical depression. I still continued to stay silent about my problem with food. 

Ironically, it was actually the further decline of my mental state that allowed me to break my old habit. My mental health had declined fairly slowly over the past few years, but the decline accelerated over autumn and winter of 2017. I don’t know if there was a trigger behind that, I guess mental health doesn’t need a reason. I didn’t know how to deal with the way I felt, I lashed out and fell out with Imogen, which hit me hard. We didn’t talk at all for three months. Before this period, I had often thought that things would be so much easier if I was dead, but my thoughts had never progressed beyond that. Now, it became more active. I actually wanted to die. I stopped looking when I crossed the road, I stopped looking after my physical health at all. Fears about hurting my mum were the only thing stopping me from taking it further. But, I finally stopped binge eating, so disinterested in life that even the that no longer made me feel better. 

My mental state didn’t take a turn for the better, but I grew used to these new feelings and started to process them properly. I got better at pushing them out, but I did eventually decide to tell my parents about my diagnoses. My mum was very supportive, she still is, my dad not so (although I probably should’ve expected that). I made up with Imogen, my behaviour started to normalise. I felt so free from my old bingeing habit, it had only been a few months but it felt like a lifetime ago. 

In February 2018, my mum told me that she’d be moving to Yorkshire. She’d been forced by her job to take early retirement due to ill health, she was only 50 at the time, and wanted to live somewhere cheaper so she could save on living costs and pay off her mortgage. I was scared, and considered for a time moving in with my grandparents so that I could stay in a place where I knew people, but eventually decided that I’d move with my mum. Still, despite the biggest change ever to happen in my life, I managed to avoid a return to my binge eating habit. I’m still not sure how. Perhaps now that the habit was broken it no longer had the hold over me that it once did. 

And then, around March 2018, my dad gave me £500. To this day I still have no idea why, I guess guilt. But it was so much more money than I’d ever had. The temptation not to spend any of it on food was too great. I decided to treat myself, I’d spend £100 on food and put the rest in my savings. 

By the time I finished college at the beginning of June, the entire £500 was gone, at least £450 of it spent on food. I still remember the binge I had the day after me and mum moved out of our old home and in with my grandparents, who we lived with for seven weeks before going to Yorkshire. My mental state declined still further, and I wasted most of those weeks in bed, not having the energy to do anything. I kicked myself later for not using it to spend time with the friends I was leaving behind. 

After we moved to Yorkshire in August, I spent two of the worst months of my life. My old feelings of loneliness resurfaced, not helped by the fact that one of my closest friends just stopped talking to me. I seemed to alternate between binge eating, my binges even bigger than they ever had been, and hardly eating at all. 

But, eventually, I managed to settle in. I got a job, I made new friends. I didn’t make a conscious decision to stop binge eating again, it just happened. I wasn’t lonely anymore, but my mental state didn’t seem to get any better. But, I had healthier ways of coping and I didn’t need to binge as an outlet for my feelings anymore. In September 2019, I started uni, and I finally felt like my life had a purpose. 

Now, I have more and better friends than I ever had. I’m glad I made the move to Yorkshire, where I live now is much nicer where I grew up and if I hadn’t made the move there are so many amazing people I wouldn’t have met. Most of my friends are aware of my mental health issues, although I rarely discuss them in detail. 

However, only one of my friends is aware of my eating disorder. I didn’t realise until last year that binge eating was classified as an eating disorder. I’m not quite sure why, but this discovery prompted me to finally confide in my oldest friend, Imogen. She was very supportive and understanding, and I know my other friends would be, but it’s still something where I look back and I’m like ‘woah that actually happened’. Putting it out of my mind as much as possible has been my way of coping with the fact that it did happen. I have been slightly more open online that I have irl about the fact that I had an eating disorder, but this is the first time I have discussed it this in depth with anyone. 

I’m going to say now what I wish preteen and teen me had known: you are not alone. Whether you’re suffering from an eating disorder, from mental health issues, or from something else, you are not alone. I can’t say truthfully that I have never regretted confiding in someone, but the majority of the time it has helped me, even in a small way. Please talk to someone if you have an eating disorder, be it a friend, a family member, a GP, a teacher, even me. It is nothing to be ashamed of. 

I stopped binge eating as a regular habit at the start of winter 2018. Although I relapsed a couple times last year, it’s been twelve months and counting since my last binge. 

[aleksandermorozovaa]

Over cookies?

Charlie Barber x Reader

Summary: Charlie comes home after a long day of work and is greeted by his two favourite people. But a nice night is apparently the last thing the universe has in store for him. 

Warnings: Angst? over the top drama? 

A/N - My first time writing for Charlie, and I love this man more than anything. I’m posting this since I’ve been sitting on it for a while now and I’m hoping ya’ll can encourage me to continue? We shall see.

AO3 link: XX

Part 2: XX

Tags: @commanderbensolo​

The sound of laughter echoed throughout the house, bringing a smile to Charlie’s face as he closed the door behind him and hung his keys on the little hook on the wall. A hook that you’d insisted on putting there after he’d forgotten his key three times last month, causing you to leave work early to let him into the house. At the time he’d argued that it was a one-time mistake, a lapse of memory as he rushed out of the house to get to rehearsal or a meeting. But he’d not forgotten them since the hook had been installed, a fact he could tell you’d been dying to point out. 

Charlie shrugged off his coat and hung it between yours and Henry’s new favourite bright green coat that he’d insisted on getting because it reminded him of some cartoon character that he couldn’t name. Nicole would know, you probably would too, not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things, but he felt guilty that the name kept escaping him.

“Dad!” Henry called running towards him with a look of glee on his face. Henry paused to quickly hug him but before Charlie could move his hand to ruffle his hair as he usually did Henry pulled away and bounded towards the kitchen. “No time! Gotta move!” He called.

“You’re home early.” You said as you came down the stairs, folding your cardigan over body. It was getting colder out, not terribly so but enough that you couldn’t leave the house without a coat.

Call it his director’s brain, but he couldn’t help but think you looked angelic standing there, as if you were descending from the heavens to bless humanity. If he was in the theatre, if this was one of his plays, he’d make sure to have the lights dimed and have one singular spotlight on you, lighting you up so that everyone’s attention was forced to be on you, so they couldn’t look away. It was what someone as amazing as you deserved, not that you’d like that. You shied away from the spotlight. Something he failed to understand.

“Finished rehearsal early. Everyone’s in a foul mood, no point continuing so I called it.” Charlie explained as he toed off his shoes and pushed them against the wall. It wasn’t their proper place, and he’d rectify that later but right now he wanted you in his arms.

“Everyone seemed in a fine enough mood at lunch when we visited.” You said with a small frown as you made your way down the last few steps, pausing on the bottom one, leaving you almost eye level with him. A habit you had, stepping on anything you could to make the height difference between the two of you smaller. “I just think you missed me.” You said reaching out to him, your fingers hooking around his belt loops, tugging forward. Not forcefully, but enough for him to get the picture, enough for him to get excited.

He let out a hum as he moved towards her wrapping his arms around her pulling her tight, breathing her in. She smelt of coffee and something sweet that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“There might be some truth to that.” Charlie said pressing a kiss onto the top of her hair. In reality, he had been the one in a foul mood, after the two of them left at lunch to go to the park he’d been disappointed he had to stay behind. She of course had to keep sending him photos of Henry having a great time causing him to be completely unfocused and instead constantly checking his phone for more. One photo of him climbing a tree which at first had his parental instincts going wild but then he saw how close he was to the ground and he calmed down. There had been one with Henry holding a rabbit at some pop-up petting zoo and finally a selfie of the two of them, Henry covered in cream from the hot chocolate in his hands. He’d saved that one as his lock screen.

In the end Wallace had suggested they call it a day, which Charlie didn’t try to argue against. Instead he’d nodded and packed his things up in record time to get home to his favourite people.

“Y/N!” Henry called running back towards them, he held something in his hands, an egg timer Charlie noticed. Y/N turned her head which had been buried in Charlie’s shirt. “Stop being gross and come help me! They’re going to burn!” Henry’s bouncing up and down trying to express the urgency of the situation.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at the pair as he allowed Y/N to disentangle herself from him. Henry promptly took her hand in his as he dragged her towards the kitchen.  He followed of course; his curiosity peeked.

Charlie settled against the kitchen counter folding his arms. He watched the pair of them crowding around the oven. Y/n gestured to Henry to move back so she could open the oven. Charlie took the chance to grab him by the shoulders and pull him back against him. “What have you two been up to.” He asked his son, ruffling his hair as he had attempted to do just minutes before.

“We made cookies.” Henry said looking up at his father with a grin. “I wanted to add gummy bears but Y/N said that it might be a disaster and you’d be upset that we wasted your secret stash.”

It was true he always made sure to have a packet of Haribo’s in the house and in his desk at the theatre, it was a guilty pleasure for him. When he was writing or planning or working on something practically tricky. The chewy texture and sugar rush did wonders to help his creative juices flow. He wasn’t sure why he hid them, other than Nicole had always given him hell for having them. Claiming it was encouraging Henry to have unhealthy habits, and he suppose it had stuck.

“You know about-“

“We know about your stash, honestly honey just because you’re built like a fridge and the only one able to see the top of it but that doesn’t mean you should hide things there.” Y/n said as she placed the tray filled with possibly the worst cookies he’d ever seen. They looked slightly over cooked and had melted into wonky uneven shapes, but he knew he’d still eat as many as he could get away with stealing.

“They’re burnt!” Henry whines looking at the cookies disappointed.

“Only a little!” Y/n said quickly in response. “Besides we have the other half of the dough ready to go in, and we know not to put them in for as long.” She added taking her oven gloves off and draping them over her shoulder.

“Maybe if you and dad didn’t spend so much time being gross we’d have two batches of good cookies!” Henry pouted and stepped out of Charlies arms. Clearly in a huff. Charlie looked up catching Y/N’s eye, she seemed hurt by Henry’s outburst.

“Hey now kid, don’t be like that.” Charlie said pulling Henry back into his reach, he gripped his waist and lifted him so he was sitting on the counter. Charlie’s arms on either side to stop him wriggling out as he predicted he would try to do.

“It’s the truth!” Henry protests, but it sounded more like tooth than truth, he’d lost his front teeth a week ago and his new ones were still growing in.

“Henry, sweetie it’s okay, we can make some more.” You say taking a step closer.

“Mom wouldn’t have burnt them. I wish mom was here.” Henry snaps and Charlie’s breath hitches. Giving Henry a chance to break from Charlie’s body prison and run. He didn’t even try to catch his son as he bounded away and up the stairs to his room. “I hate you!” Henry shouts before slamming his bedroom door.

Instead he turns his attention to you. You’d never experienced one of Henry’s outbursts, or at least not one aimed at you. You’d been there for him whenever Henry had screamed at him, it had hurt at the time fresh after the divorce. It had taken Henry a good year to get over his “mommy phase” as Nicole called it. Meaning he seemed to hate every second he spent with Charlie, and had no problem being vocal about it.

You’d held as he wept one night in bed after a particularly bad day. He’d clutched your waist and pressed his head into your chest, your shirt was soaked with his tears but you didn’t care. You’d ran you’d fingers through his hair and told him Henry didn’t mean it, that he was still processing the separation.

He wanted to do that for you now. To be that solid rock. 

“Sweetheart.” He starts seeing the hurt on your face. He wanted to reach out to you. 

“No, it’s okay Charlie.” You force a smile and move to go past him and he stops you, instead taking you into his arms.

“you know he didn’t mean it, don’t you?” he presses a kiss to your hairline, his lips hovering just above your skin.

“I do. You should go check on him. I’m going to go for a walk.” You pull away pausing to cup his cheek allowing him to press a soft kiss to your palm.

“Stay. Please.” He all but begs, it was getting late and he didn’t want you walking the streets when you were clearly upset.

“I just need a break, honey. I won’t be long. I promise.”

“Okay.” He knew better than to try and stop you when your mind was set on something.Instead he watched as you slipped on your shoes and coat before leaving. You didn’t let the door slam behind you like he normally did, everything you did seemed gentle like that. 

He waited until you’d made it to the bottom of the garden before turning away. Then he turned to the stairs and took them two at a time. 

“Henry.” he called as he stopped outside his door, he raised his hand to knock twice. 

“Go away.” Henry shouts back, Charlie knows by the wave in his voice that he’s crying. He’s torn between wanting to let Henry have his tantrum and wanting to deal with it now. He tried the door handle but Henry had clearly locked the door. Nicole’s voice plagued him then, berating him for letting Henry be able to lock his door. 

What if there was a fire? What if he hurt himself and was trapped. You’re so irresponsible. 

Fuck Nicole for being right, even if it was his made up version that did nothing but critisise his parenting. He took a step back, his back hitting against the wall with a thump. How had it all gone wrong so quickly? 

He’d been looking forward to coming home all day, to your smiling face and Henry’s excited chatter about dinosaurs or space or whatever else took his fancy that day. He’d spent all day recounting the ingredients in the fridge thinking about what him and Henry could make for dinner while you folded laundry or hoovered or just sat and relaxed. But here he was, you’d left and Henry was seemingly distraught. 

All this, over cookies.

[forestwater87]

Listen, just because this fandom is temporarily dead doesn’t mean my love for Gwenvid is.

Mega thanks to @gwenvidweek​ for making this happen! We love you, mods!

Gwenvid Week, Day 1: Before Camp/After Camp 

David’s always had a soft spot for rituals. They remind him of his mom, of camp -- of all the things that feel like home. They center him, clear his mind, get him ready for the challenges ahead.

He carefully dots the exclamation mark in the sand and takes a step back, tossing his writing stick to the side and putting his hands on his hips. The words written on the shore are a little crooked, the D a little crooked from when a sudden bird call startled him, but as he kicks off his boots (carefully rolling up his socks and smushing them into the toes to keep them from getting sandy) his chest is warm and light.

And lucky for him, because the lake is so cold he nearly jumps out of his skin. Clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, he forces himself to wade out to his waist, and turns back to survey his handiwork. With the frigid water of Lake Lilac leaving his legs numb, the cool breeze making the trees rustle and the air smell like pine needles, and the sun already scorching everything it touches as it climbs into the sky, he reads back the words in the sand, letting his gaze move slow and deliberately over each swoop and wobbly line and tracing their mirror in the calm surface of the lake like sacred runes.

Campe diem. The words that make the summer begin. 

Or . . . not quite.

“David!”

The voice makes him jump, but a second later he smiles. “Good morning, Gwen!” he calls, splashing back to shore and subtly kicking away the letters. “It’s nice to see you up so early on such an important day!”

His co-counselor doesn’t look like it’s nice to be up, but aside from a baleful glare she shoots at the sunrise she doesn’t respond. She’s still groggy, dressed in her pajamas with her hair a messy tangle of knots that blend the two tones into a single warm burgundy. The sun makes her glow where it hits her face, warm and lit from the inside like a jack-o-lantern . . . only that sounds a lot less pretty than he intended, so he’s relieved that’s one of the thoughts he didn’t share out loud.

David wonders if people enjoy looking at their best friends this much, or if it means something potentially dangerous. The way he always does when this question occurs, he quickly banishes it from his mind. “How are you settling in?” he asks, fully aware of the answer. They share a cabin, after all, and Gwen’s spent enough years at Camp Campbell to have the routine down to a science; within minutes of hopping off the bus QM rented for the summer, she’s mostly unpacked, changed into her counselors’ uniform, and begun a critical sweep of the camp’s supplies and paperwork.

She makes a noncommittal noise, rubbing the sleep from one eye with the heel of her hand and trying to shield herself from the sun with the other. “Are you ready? The stores are gonna be full of families getting shit for the summer -- it’ll be like Black Friday, so we’ve gotta be in and out as soon as the Tradin’ Post opens unless you’re prepared to deck some soccer moms.”

He resists the urge to smile; she might not believe in the power of the beginning-of-summer rituals, but this optimistic plan for their camping supply trip is as much a staple of every summer as David’s sand writing. “Sounds like a swell plan, Gwen.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she mutters, but he catches a half-smile before she turns her back on the lake. “Come on, get dressed and meet me in the Mess Hall. I’ll start inventory.” As he falls into step beside her, she glances over at him, raising her eyebrows. “Morning swim?”

He shrugs, turning to survey the empty campground. “Basically!”

“Sure. Seems like something you’d do.” She dismisses him with a wave of her hand, already fixated on the task at hand. “Just hurry up so we can get out of here. If you think you’re gonna make me do all the hard jobs by myself, I’ve got a guitar with your face written all over it.”

David laughs before he can stop himself. “There it is,” he murmurs, causing her to glance over curiously.

“Huh?”

“Nothing! I’ll meet you in the kitchen. Might as well start by seeing what food we have, right?” As he ducks into the counselor’s cabin, he catches a glimpse of her hair, glinting like copper in the early-morning light, and his heart lifts.

There it is.

Writing the camp’s motto in the sand and water is important to him, a silly little consecration ritual that marks the line between his life outside of Camp Campbell and the endless, magical months of summer. He’s done it ever since he was a junior counselor; it feels like staking a claim on the only perfect place that’s ever existed, like writing his name on the heart of the earth. Even if he technically owns the camp now -- something that felt too bizarre and wonderful to make sense last summer and if anything is only more strange after an entire year -- no amount of signatures or invoices capture the simple power of the words “campe diem” on Lake Lilac.

But for David, the summer doesn’t really begin until Gwen tells him she needs him. Never in those exact words, of course . . . but he’s gotten pretty good at reading between her lines, and she’s never exactly been subtle.

He tightens his bandanna around his neck, smiling at his reflection. Get out there and help your CBFL, David. Campe diem.

The wheels that help spring become summer begin turning.

---

“Okay.” Gwen groans, rolling her shoulders; there are some ominous pops and cracks, but she doesn’t look like she’s dislocated anything so David assumes everything’s fine. “I’ll “Okay. This is okay.” Gwen runs a hand through her hair, grimacing as her fingers get caught in tangles. She’s still in her pajamas, a smear of dirt along her thigh from crawling around the supply shed, but she’s so single-minded David isn’t sure she’s even aware of what she’s wearing. (He makes a quick mental note to remind her to change before they leave, because when she gets hyperfocused like this, it’s easy to see her blasting down the shelves of the Sleepy Peak Tradin’ Post in bare feet and oversized paisley boxer shorts.) “We can’t afford literally anything we need. Just like every summer. This is gonna be a disaster, but that’s okay.”

He puts his hand on her shoulder, figuring now isn’t a good time for a hug. “It’ll be fine,” he tries. He scans over their shopping list and tries to imagine a way they can stretch their budget to cover it all; then he remembers that he doesn’t know what their budget is, because Gwen takes care of that, and feels a faint spike of panic jam itself between his ribs. “Let’s ask Mr. Campbell if --”

“Don’t even think about it, kiddo. The government already cleaned me out.” Mr. Campbell slouches into the room, tugging at the trapdoor in the Mess Hall ceiling that leads to the attic. “Those brothers found every last hiding place I had. Apparently it’s being used to repay my ‘debts to society,’ if you can believe it.”

“I can,” Gwen mutters, gaze darting around the Mess Hall as though hoping a sign saying “Free Money Here” will appear out of the blue. She hurries into the back room, where they’ve managed to convert a closet into something resembling an office.

David’s distracted by something else, though. “Brothers?” he repeats, hurrying to help Mr. Campbell lower the spring-down ladder from the ceiling.

“Yeah, those suits from Washington. You’ve met them a hundred times -- sunglasses, terrible fashion sense. The secret agent guys.”

“Um, sir --” he’s not supposed to call Mr. Campbell “sir” anymore, since he’s technically the boss now, but it’s a surprisingly tough habit to kick, “-- if you mean Agent and Agent Miller . . . they’re not brothers.”

He frowns down at David, frozen halfway up to the attic like he’s scaling a mountain. “Of course they are! Or are you going to tell me it’s a coincidence that they have the same last name?”

David shrugs awkwardly, kind of wishing he hadn’t said anything. “They’re married, sir.”

“Really?” His brows furrow. “And that’s legal here now?” David nods. “Go figure. Well, good for them.”

Gwen bursts back into the Mess Hall with a scrap of paper, snatching her phone off one of the tables. “Agent Miller?” she says after a moment, and her tone abruptly melts into honey. “It’s Gwen Santos! You know, from Camp Campbell? Yeah, it’s great to hear from you, too! How’s the weather over there?”

The rattling sound of the ladder being drawn back up into the attic startles David, making him jump and glance away from the conversation. He frowns up at the closed trapdoor -- he’s pretty sure Mr. Campbell is telling the truth about his stashes of money, but it’d be nice if he at least tried to help -- then crosses over to the safe in the corner. (It’s empty, of course, but he wants to feel like he’s doing something useful.)

Meanwhile, Gwen’s voice still sounds like it’s made of spun sugar: “Things are wonderful over here! We’re taking good care of everything. Actually, that’s part of why I was calling . . . I noticed Ered’s coming back this summer?” A moment of silence, then a bubbly laugh. “Well, we’re certainly excited to have her here! The thing is . . .”

A few minutes later she ends the call, immediately jumping into the air and spiking her phone into the couch. “That’s how it’s done!” she crows, dancing in a circle. “I -- am -- the -- best!” Each word is punctuated by punching the air, and then she twirls around again.

Her eyes land on David as she finishes spinning. It’s like a bucket of water was dumped on her head -- her shoulders slump, her arms fall to her sides, and it even seems like the brilliant violet of her eyes turns duller. 

“Oh. Hey, David.”

He forces a smile, rising to his feet and wincing as his knees crack. “That sounds like good news!” he says, wondering if there’s a way to tell her he doesn’t mind seeing her happy without it making everything awkward and weird.

She brightens a bit, rescuing her phone from where it lodged itself between the couch cushions. “Yeah. Turns out the Millers are really happy with you for taking care of Campbell all year. They’re Venmo-ing the camp some cash. Probably not enough for most of the stuff we need, but we can cut it down to the essentials.”

“That’s amazing!” He doesn’t entirely know what she accomplished, but it sounds encouraging. “Gwen, you’re incredible!”

She shrugs, her cheeks flushing pink. “Whatever,” she mumbles, then raises her voice almost to a shout. “It’s crazy what great things can happen when you’re not breaking the law all the time!”

Mr. Campbell’s voice is muffled by the closed door: “Give it a rest, Gina!”

Gwen rolls her eyes, but her attempt to look annoyed is dampened slightly by the smile that keeps tugging at the corner of her mouth. “What a dick. Come on, David, let’s get out of here.”

When she emerges from the cabin, dressed like a Camp Campbell counselor for the first time this summer, he looks up from his phone with a smile. “Campe diem, Gwen!” he says, giving her the Camp Campbell salute. Her response is just to shake her head, which is about all he expected. “You look great!”

She gives him a strange look as she slides into the driver’s side of the campmobile. “I look like this all the time, David.”

And she looks great all the time, but he knows better than to say that out loud. “Camp Campbell has a Venmo?” he asks instead (he looked it up while she was getting changed).

“Yes, Brother David. It’s one of those boring grown-up things I did while you were playing in the dirt last summer. No need to thank me.”

Well, she said he doesn’t need to thank her, so he chooses not to. That’s just the kind of thing Gwen does, after all, and once again he wonders how they’d get by if she was able to find a better job.

We’d figure it out, he tells himself, looking out the window as the camp falls behind them. But not this summer.

He has one more year of grace, anyway. 

She’s here, and he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

---

Even though Gwen says she doesn’t have any rituals, there are a few things that they have to do every summer, the day before all the campers arrive. Inventory coupled with a panicked last-minute shopping trip is one of them. Listening to strange music at earth-shaking volumes on the drive to and from town is another.

“Yeah, girl, it's true, I'm into you, but these benzos, they got me feeling loose --”

David’s tempted to cover his ears -- it cannot be good for his eardrums; he didn’t even know the volume knob went this high! -- but if he does that, he might block out Gwen’s voice. There are very few situations where she’s willing to sing with an audience, and the car ride into town is one of those rare occasions.

He sits back, watching her shimmy her shoulders in time to the music, painting the air with the hand not on the steering wheel in strange gestures that are half conducting and half gang signs --

“Why don't you come through, before I Goku -- fuck this white pill and go super xan!”

-- and decides, like he does every year, that this is worth the risk of moderate hearing loss.

As they pull up in front of the store (despite Gwen’s dire warnings, the street is as empty always), she switches the music off. David tries to convince himself the ringing in his ears is all in his head, and that he isn’t going to suddenly wake up deaf. He mostly succeeds.

“Okay, David.” Gwen stops directly in front of him, putting her hands on his shoulders. It suddenly feels like there’s a snake constricting around his chest, and his next breath stutters and doesn’t seem to pull in enough air. She doesn’t notice, narrowing her eyes at him as though he was one of their poorly-behaved campers. “We have a list.” She waves it between their faces for emphasis.

He swallows, nodding. “We do.”

“We’re sticking to the list.” 

David nods, resisting the urge to laugh. “Of course we are,” he says; he hadn’t intended for his remark to sound sarcastic but can’t be entirely disappointed that it does.

“We’re not buying anything unless it’s on this list, got it?”

“Got it, Gwen!”

“Good.” She takes a step back and punches his arm lightly. “Let’s go, CBFL.”

As he follows her into the store, he couldn’t keep from smiling if he tried.

---

“Wasn’t that fun?”

Gwen groans, shoving the last of the bags into the car (David reminds himself yet again to put his reusable shopping bags in the campmobile so they don’t spend another summer gathering dust under his bed) and slamming the door shut. “Swear to god I’m gonna get a leash for you,” she grumbles, putting her forehead on the steering wheel for a moment before starting the car. “I’ll order one from a kink website or something and you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

He doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a close thing. “I don’t think that’s necessary . . .”

“Oh, yeah?” She lifts her head to give him a sideways glare. “How many knives did we buy?”

“Two.”

“And how many knives were on the list?”

Okay, she’s made her point. “But Gwen, one of them is specially engineered for whittling!” He digs through the bags until he recovers it, holding it up to her. “I’ve always wanted to try whittling!”

“‘Specially engineered’ is a bullshit term used to sell stuff to idiots, David. And the other one . . .”

“Is . . . well . . .” Okay, so he doesn’t have an exact use for it yet. But he likes being prepared, and it’s important to have tools on-hand. “The box says you could shave with it! Isn’t that cool?”

She taps on the steering wheel impatiently. “Are you planning on shaving with it?” she asks, deadpan.

“No.” But he could.

Gwen snorts, starting the car. “Well, you’re gonna have to explain to the campers why we’re using the same old watered-down paint as last year.” She pulls an imitation of him that’s disturbingly accurate. “‘Golly gee, sorry about that, kids! But look at this cool knife I got instead!’”

That hardly seems fair, but he doesn’t have a good comeback. Knives aren’t cheap, it’s true, and he hates the thought that the camp will suffer because of him. “I mean, when you put it like that . . .” he mutters, looking out the window to avoid her accusing gaze.

There’s a moment of silence. Then her arm lands heavily around his shoulders, pulling him into a sudden half-hug. By the time he’s registered what’s happening, she’s taken her arm back and gently shoved him back to his side of the car. “It’s fine, David,” she says with a sigh, her face slightly pink. “I didn’t have to buy Nights with the Wolf Queen, either.”

He doesn’t point out that a grocery-store paperback is hardly as much of an expense as two wilderness knives, mostly because he doesn’t want her to realize it herself. So he takes the olive branch and smiles at her before reaching to the dashboard and turning the music back on.

Noise explodes through the car, making both of them jump even though they knew it was going to happen. Gwen’s surprise immediately dissolves into delight, and even though she doesn’t thank him outright, she bobs her head and drums on the steering wheel to the beat, and that feels like thanks enough.

“Robbing banks, knock it off! Not saying thanks, knock it off!”

David perks up, tilting his head to hear better (not that he needs to, since the music is currently drilling its way into his skull). “Hey, I like this one!” he says. Why didn’t they start with this song?

Gwen glances at him for a second before returning her eyes to the road, clearly trying not to smile. “Would it even matter if I tell you this is sarcastic?”

It wouldn’t, and they both know it.

---

David takes a step back, holding up his phone and fiddling with the zoom. This is another important part of beginning the season; the supply room will never be this full or tidy for the rest of the summer, and their hard work deserves to be documented before it all gets undone. “Looks perfect!” 

So perfect, in fact, that it needs to be uploaded to Instagram. Right now!

“Yeah?” Gwen huffs, slumping against a pile of unmade tents nearly as tall as they are. She must’ve dragged it out of the shed while he was sharing his photo. “I’m so glad you’re doing the important stuff while I slack off.”

If that’s sarcasm, he chooses to ignore it. “Don’t say that! You’ve done a great job today!” She groans loudly -- so it was sarcasm, good to know -- but takes the other end of the tarp holding all the tents and helps him drag it out to the field. The sun hovers just above the trees, golden-yellow and almost thick enough to touch, and his stomach grumbles as they survey the campgrounds. “Do you want to have dinner first, or . . .”

“Fuck that.” She grabs a tent and slings it over her shoulder. Her face and neck glisten with sweat, and she impatiently brushes the strands of hair that’ve escaped her ponytail out of her face. She looks unkempt and beautiful, like a lumberjack, or a viking. “If I sit down, I won’t be able to get back up. Let’s just finish this shit.”

Her language leaves a little to be desired, but her logic is sound. The tents are meant to be put up by and for children, so they aren’t too difficult to set up, but most of them have taken damage between the last summer and storage, so the process keeps stalling to fix broken rods and quick-sew patches over holes in the fabric (David’s job, mostly; Gwen isn’t much of a seamstress). The air is a gloomy indigo by the time they finish, cooling down just enough to make their sweat-damp clothes miserable. “Why don’t you take the first shower?” he offers as they walk back. “I’ll start dinner.”

“My hero,” she quips, veering off toward the counselors’ cabin. David shrugs off his discomfort and exhaustion, forcing a skip into his step as he heads into the Mess Hall.

This is their final ritual before the campers arrive tomorrow, and he wants everything to be perfect.

---

“Okay.” Gwen groans, rolling her shoulders; there are some ominous pops and cracks, but she doesn’t look like she’s dislocated anything so David assumes everything’s fine. “I’ll admit, this is exactly what I needed.”

“Hmm?” He cups his free hand around his ear, gently twirling his stick over the fire. As much as he wants to look over at Gwen, he has to keep his attention on roasting his hot dog. The last thing he wants is to deal with another exploded dinner. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

She snorts and throws a marshmallow at his head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“No, I’m just not sure I heard you correctly! Because it sounded like maybe you were saying you were wrong about something --”

“Very cute,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

“-- and that, consequently, I was right!” He grins at her, removing his (cooked to perfection) hot dog from the fire and transferring it to a bun.

“Sounds like you’re saying you wanna be hit in the face with a flaming hot dog, Greenwood.”

He leans forward and gently takes the stick from her hand, saving her food from its fiery doom. “I just think it’s swell that you’re willing to admit when you’re wrong, Gwen.”

“Give that back! It’s not done cooking.”

“It’s overcooking!”

“And that’s how I like it!” She snatches back her stick and holds it to the center of the flames, shooting him a defiant glare. A moment later there’s a loud pop; they throw themselves to the ground to avoid the burning shrapnel of the exploded hot dog, which light up the air like fireworks before sizzling harmlessly out in the dirt.

They both sit up, brushing themselves off, and take their seats around the campfire again. David waits a minute before saying, “This might be another good opportunity to practice owning up to your mistakes.”

She shoves his shoulder, laughing. “Let’s see you do it better.”

He does, knowing and not caring that she’s gotten him to do all the work for her. The fire is a lovely contrast to the chilly night, and he feels warm and glowing all over.

After dinner they crowd themselves into one of the campers’ tents, rolling out sleeping bags on the floor next to the child-sized cots. Gwen sprawls out across hers, stretching like a cat. “Hell of a last supper.”

He knows what she means, but he isn’t comfortable sharing her dread over three months of meals cooked by the Quartermaster. At least, not out loud. Instead he crawls back outside, recovering the two steaming mugs he pilfered from the Mess Hall and bringing them into the tent. “Here you go!”

She sits up and takes the hot chocolate, curling both hands around it despite the heat. “Well, since I’m apparently on a roll here,” she says, taking a sip and sighing happily, “I guess I have to admit that this is a really good way to start the summer.”

David quickly takes a drink as well, hiding his smile behind the mug. “So I was right about that as well?”

“Okay, don’t milk it,” she snaps, but there’s no real malice in her voice. She leans back against one of the cots, wincing at the screech of metal shifting, and tilts her head up to the ceiling, as though she can see through the fabric to the stars beyond. “I had a lot of fun today,” she says after a moment. Setting her drink to the side, she tugs the elastic out of her ponytail; in the white light of their lantern, with her hair falling in loose, fluffy waves down to her shoulders, she looks soft and almost ethereal, like a princess in a fairy tale. “Thanks, David.”

She meets his eyes, the light turning them a silvery lavender, and looking at her is suddenly too much so he turns his attention to his drink. “No problem, CBFL,” he says, taking a deep breath and wishing his heart wasn’t beating so fast. He opens his mouth to say something else but it turns out there’s nothing else he has to say so he shuts it again, feeling stupid.

For a few minutes they’re quiet, drinking their hot chocolate in companionable silence. At least, David hopes it’s companionable -- he’s not exactly sure how to measure companionableness, but it seems friendly enough so he’s going to do his best not to overthink it. That’s what Gwen would tell him, he knows, and she has a degree in psychology so she definitely knows what she’s talking about more than he does.

Thank goodness he’s not talking out loud; it’s embarrassing enough that he’s babbling in his own mind . . . oh no, what if he has been talking out loud this entire time? What has he said?!

“David?” His gaze snaps up to her, but she doesn’t look annoyed or creeped out so he probably hasn’t been saying anything too weird, at least, and probably hasn’t been talking out loud at all so that’s good but her expression is alarmingly serious and she hasn’t said anything else and it’s been at least ten seconds that they’ve just been looking at each other but he’s not sure what she wants so -- “Let me know if I’m reading this wrong.”

“Reading?” he manages weakly. He feels strangely disconnected from his body as he watches her set her mug aside and cross the small space to kneel in front of him. Her hand alights on his shoulder, fluttery and weightless as a hummingbird, and she seems a little close and a lot beautiful and if he’s not extremely careful she’s going to figure out all the things he’s put so much work into not letting her figure out -- try not to feel at all, but it’s hard to keep his composure and not look at her mouth when it’s so close and there’s no camp activities or pre-camp activities or post-camp activities to distract them both with, just quiet and breathing and soft white lantern light and her hand on his shoulder, and he’s always considered himself able to multitask pretty well but this feels like too much so he squeezes his eyes shut . . .

The kiss takes him entirely by surprise. One moment he’s bracing himself for a confrontation, questions he doesn’t know how to answer, and the next moment is filled with Gwen -- her lips soft and slightly chapped against his and her fingers tightening on his shoulder and the coconutty smell of her shampoo all around him and he’s a little worried that he’s having a heart attack but gosh, jeez, fuck it, he kisses her back.

And she doesn’t shove him away or demand to know what in the name of fun he thinks he’s doing; she lets out a weak little huff of air that lands somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, her mouth opens just slightly, and she shifts forward, her arms twining over his shoulders. One hand slides into his hair, the gentle scrape of her fingernails shivering from his scalp down his spine, and it occurs to him that he can touch her as well, that he’s not only apparently allowed but actually probably should. Slowly, both so she has plenty of him to stop him and in a futile attempt to stop his fingers from shaking, he lifts his hand to her neck, gingerly cupping around the base of her head and running his thumb along the space behind her ear. She gasps against his lips, but she doesn’t pull away so he assumes it’s a good gasp and repeats the motion, and when her tongue flicks against his bottom lip like a question he opens his mouth, because he’s never been very good at saying no to her for anything and he sure as sugar has no intention of starting now.

David’s not sure how much time passes before she pulls back, but even though he feels cold and bereft everywhere they’re no longer touching it’s probably for the best, because he doesn’t realize how lightheaded he is until he opens his eyes and has to wait for the world to shudder into place. She sits on her heels, biting her lower lip; he lets his hand fall away from her, and in a second they’re disconnected, apart.

“Well.” She chuckles weakly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “That was . . .”

A mistake, his brain finishes, and his stomach drops in miserable anticipation.

In fact, he’s so prepared for those devastating words that he almost misses what she actually says: “unexpected, huh?”

It takes him a moment to register that, to recalibrate, so his response is a bit too late, just a little bit awkward: “I -- definitely didn’t see it coming.”

“That’s because your eyes were closed,” she says with a grimace, like she regrets the lame joke even before she’s finished saying it; but it melts so seamlessly into a smile, small and self-conscious and unexpected and perfect, that he forgets what words are, let alone that he’s supposed to say some to continue the conversation.

With a nervous glance at him, Gwen scuttles back to her side of the tent, picking up her mug of hot chocolate. 

“Sorry, was that totally inappropriate?” she asks, responding before he can. “I mean, of course it was, you’re technically my boss, I don’t know what -- I just thought I was -- there were some signals -- weren’t there? Was that . . . okay?”

The enormous stupidity of the question finally surprises him into speaking. “Okay? That was . . .” the best thing that’s ever happened in my life. “Very. Okay -- it was completely okay. Better than okay, it was . . . you know, good. Nice. I’m going to stop talking now.”

Her smile widens, visible even as she covers her mouth with one hand. “Really?” she says, suddenly like she’s blurting it out. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He’s so sure that he shuffles forward on his knees, most likely looking like a total idiot, until he’s in front of her again. He doesn’t have the courage to kiss her so he takes one of her hands, turning it over and examining how beautiful it is, how lovely it looks contrasted with his pale fingers. He strokes the backs of her knuckles, marveling at how soft her skin is even after a day of hard work, and tries to remember how to breathe.

Gwen puts her other hand under his chin, forcing him to look up, and kisses him again.

It’s a bit less gentle than the first time, both her mouth and her fingers hot and insistent as they press against him, and he loses his balance, falling onto his back with a small yelp of surprise. She follows him down without breaking the kiss, lowering herself to her elbows and covering his body with hers. He’s distantly aware of a dull ceramic clunk, but he doesn’t really take notice of what it means until a few moments later, when something lukewarm and wet seeps into the hem of his pajama pants.

“Shit!” She rolls off of him, righting the mug of no-longer-hot chocolate and scrambling for the napkins left over from dinner. “Fuck, it’s everywhere.”

He tugs her sleeping bag away from the spill, but it’s already soaked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to knock it over!”

She shakes her head, sitting back and surveying the damage. “No, I think I did it. It’s fine, the dirt’ll soak it up. But it’s gonna bring ants, so we’re going to have to give this tent to the campers we hate the most. I vote Max.”

“Gwen!” He can’t quite make that sound as disapproving as he should. He scoops up the wet napkins and drags her wet sleeping bag outside. “I’ll go put this in the wash right now.”

She glances at her watch, then back up at him. “It’s almost midnight, David. I’m not staying up until that’s clean, it’ll take all night.”

He knows she’s right -- the machine they rely on for the camp’s laundry is the same one they’ve had since he was a junior counselor, and runs extremely slowly -- and disappointment makes his shoulders slump. “We can sleep in the cabin, then. That’s no problem.”

When he returns from the laundry, yawning, Gwen isn’t in the counselors’ cabin like he expected. She’s not by the dying embers of the campfire, or in the tent. The sleeping bag, it turns out, isn’t in there either, nor are the lantern and the mugs of hot chocolate. He opens his mouth to whisper-call her name (it’s spooky with the fire out) --

“David!”

He jumps, covering his mouth to muffle a noise that was definitely not a scream, and turns to see Gwen leaning out of one of the other campers’ tents, half-hidden by shadows. She gestures him over and disappears back into the tent.

Shaking off his alarm, he ducks inside to see Gwen bundled up in the sleeping bag on the ground, with the other supplies well out of reach. “Oh,” he says, not sure exactly what he’s looking at. “Um, should I . . . sleep on one of the cots?” It’d be uncomfortable, but he’d rather shiver through a night curled up on a too-small bed than go back to the cabin alone.

She rolls her eyes at him and wriggles to the side, unzipping the bag halfway. “Get in before you let all the warm out.”

Oh. His face flushes hot and he has to look down at his feet for a moment to compose himself.

Well, he’s hardly going to refuse, is he?

It’s a bit of a close fit, but he manages to slide in alongside her. She turns onto her side, slinging one arm over his waist and resting her cheek on his shoulder. “Is this okay?” she mumbles, already sounding like she’s halfway to falling asleep.

He has to swallow twice before he can answer. “Y-yes. This is fine.” He can already tell that it’ll get unbearably warm soon -- Gwen’s pressed against his side and radiating heat like a furnace -- but her weight on his chest is solid and comforting and he knows he won’t be moving an inch until the sun rises, not unless she tells him to.

She’s quiet for long enough that he thinks she’s fallen asleep.

“Sorry.”

It’s so soft he freezes in the darkness, trying to figure out if that was his imagination or not. When she lifts her head, nothing more than a black vaguely-Gwen-shaped blob, he recovers and says, “Why?”

“I know this whole pre-summer hot chocolate thing is really important to you. It kinda sucks that I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything!” He sits up on his elbows, tentatively reaching out to stroke her hair. His fingertips brush against her forehead and she ducks slightly, letting him pet her hair without poking an eye out. “I know it hasn’t exactly started yet,” he says, flopping back down so she can rest her head on his shoulder again, “but I think this might be the best summer ever.”

“You say that every summer.”

He smiles up at nothing. “And I mean it every summer.”

There’s silence for a moment, then he feels her press a light kiss against his neck. “Call me optimistic, but you might be onto something this year, anyway.”

“Wow,” he says, blowing out a huff of air. “Admitting I’m right three times in one day. I hope it doesn’t keep up like this or I’ll get a swelled head!”

He doesn’t have to see her face to know she’s glaring at him, and that small knowledge makes him indescribably happy. “No danger of that happening.”

“I know.” It’s one of his favorite things about her.

Her breathing evens out as she falls asleep, soft and slightly nasal. It’s another sound he associates with his time spent at Camp Campbell, although never so close, never with her hair tickling his cheek and her hand splayed over his heart like she’s protecting it. He’s used to letting her breathing lull him to sleep from across the room -- but he thinks he could get used to this, if he has the chance.

(He’d like the chance to get used to this.)

David closes his eyes and enjoys the last moments of peace they have, before the kids arrive and the camp explodes into a delightful frenzy of sound and chaos.

Let the summer begin.