#I’m trying not to get too excited before I talk to a doc

[tj-crochets]

Once again no crafts to update, but here’s those fish I drew yesterday!

[gold-dustwomxn]

mystified

part 2

summary: after sudden attacks on women around town, you take a self defense class. ellie, your long standing crush is the instructor

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

each chapter will have their own warnings please read them! eventual smut

cw: mentions of child abuse and implication of attempted sexual assault (does not go into detail for either), panic attack

fluff and angst

light rocking against your shoulder and a distant call of your name pulls you from your deep slumber making you groan, not conscious enough to take in where you are. “hey sleepyhead, wake up.” ellie’s raspy whisper has you cracking one eye open. you’re too tired to even speak or think coherently, making you hum in question.

ellie chuckles and looks at you for a moment before speaking. “sorry to wake you up so early.. I gotta be at the construction site in an hour.” you blink away your remnants of sleep and realize ellie has damp hair, is fully dressed for the day and the sun isn’t even up yet. “it’s okay. sorry I fell asleep here I didn’t even realize.” she smiles softly, “no worries, I don’t mind. you looked pretty comfy..I can drive you home on my way to work.”

the short drive to your house shares a peaceful, comfortable silence between you and ellie. the sky painting a breathtaking winter sunrise of pinks and purple. ellie pulls up to your house way too quickly for your liking, the small disappointment of having to part ways felt in your chest.

“thanks for the ride and letting me crash at your place.. I had fun last night.”

“me too,” she smiles and you feel that warmth settle deep in your stomach again. it’s a rarity to see her full smile “it’s no problem, really.. are you busy tonight?”

“no, I don’t think I have anything going on.” you know you don’t actually have anything going on. you bite the inside of your cheek to try to suppress a smile, but ellie looks between your eyes and down at your mouth and smirks at you. caught.

“well, if you’re not busy later you wanna hang out? I get off at 3, we can go to a cafe or something.” she clears her throat and you can see how physically painful this is for her. she forces herself to keep eye contact though.

you giggle and she narrows her eyes at you playfully, unspoken words and body language received between the both of you. “yeah, I’m down. just text me when you get off.”

“alright cool I can pick you up. see you later, ___.”

me: DINA wake the fuck up!!!!!

dina🤍: bitch its literally 7am why tf are u disturbing me

me: wow. anyway! last night I was walking to ur house and some creepy dude pulls up next to me asking me for directions and shit acting super sketchy. ellie pulls up out of nowhere and goes all psycho ellie mode and pulls out a fucking switchblade. I was like 😦 but it was also so hot. he skids off and she gets pics of his plates and we go back to her place for joel to deal with it. he thinks the cops can keep an eye out for that car and see if that guy has anything to do with the assaults happening. it was lowkey really scary but I’m okay. we ended up smoking and talking for hours and it was literally perfect and then we ended up falling asleep and I woke up in the middle of the night laying ON HER CHEST with her arm around me. we’re hanging out again tonight

dina🤍: wtf that’s so fucking scary! im glad ur okay:( but ommg im so excited for u angel. its ab damn time some moves are made and we can go on double dates tg hehe

me: ok let’s not get ahead of ourselves here we’ll see what happens. that’s all I wanted to tell u. ur allowed to go back to sleep now:)

dina🤍: wow how gracious of u. lmk how everything goes though <33

clothes are strewn all over your bed and floor, while you frantically try to find a cute outfit to wear. it’s fine, it’s just ellie. she’s seen you a million times since you were both 14. you finally settle on a pair of jeans and a black sweater, with your chelsea doc martens. good enough.

ellie🌿🗡️: Hey, I’m outside whenever you’re ready.

me: be right there!

okay, just breathe. everything’s fine!

as you hop into the passenger seat, ellie looks you up and down. “you look good.” you give her a shy smile and observe her; hair tied half up, in a dark green flannel with an oversized black denim jacket, black jeans with her usual pair of converse, multiple rings on her long fingers, and the scent of her woodsy cologne. “thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself.” she smiles and shakes her head, pulling out of your driveway.

“yeah, he almost dropped a whole fucking plank of wood on my head today!”

you start laughing, walking out of the coffee shop together. “maybe the hit would’ve done you good, ellie. you are very hard headed.” ellie’s jaw drops “wow, someone’s feisty today, huh?” you smile and roll your eyes, going to shove her and she catches your wrist, pulling you close to her. your breath hitches and you look down at her lips. something behind you catches ellie’s attention, her smile dropping instantly and face turning ghostly pale.

“ellie? what’s wrong?” she grabs your hand and walks you quickly to the car, opening your door to make sure you get in first before frantically hopping into her seat and speeding out of the parking lot.

“hey, what’s going on?” she shakes her head and doesn’t respond, her chest rising and falling at a rapid rate, eyebrows scrunched together.

the speed of her driving and her concerning behavior is stressing you the fuck out. she pulls up to her house and lets you both in before she runs up the stairs to the bathroom, whipping the door shut with a loud slam.

you slowly walk up the stairs, not knowing whether or not to give her privacy. you suddenly hear her crying and hyperventilating. “ellie, I’m coming in.”

ellie is seated on the floor next to the tub with her head between her legs, forearms laid on her knees. “hey, hey I’m here. can I touch you?” she nods and you gently take her hand, softly rubbing the back of her palm while you place her other hand against your chest. “try to follow my breathing, okay?” you take slow, deep breaths for her to follow until she calms down.

“I’m sorry.” she avoids looking at you. “no, I’m here for you, okay? you don’t have to hide from me.” she wipes the rest of her tears from her eyes and nods. you move to sit next to her and gently rub her back, still holding her hand.

“do you wanna talk about it?” she clears her throat and looks straight ahead. “I uh… saw one of my old foster parents. he was pretty fucked up,” she lets out a dry laugh. “thought I was over it but I didn’t expect to see him.”

“what did he do?” she looks at you in contemplation before looking away with a cold, steely gaze. she sniffs and nods, “he… used to beat the shit out of me all the time for no reason.” she looks down at her scarred tattoo and rubs the skin. “this burn… he tried to-“ she clenches her jaw and shakes her head. “anyway, I managed to get away before he did anything, but I ended up burning my arm on the stove in the midst of it all. tried to press charges but that didn’t work, big shocker,” she scoffs. “I ran away and refused to go back so they placed me with joel and he eventually adopted me.”

she looks back up at you, trying to gauge what you’re thinking. you don’t realize you’re crying until she wipes away a tear from your cheek. “hey, don’t cry it was a long time ago I was just… not prepared for all of that.”

“sorry, I just hate that you had to go through all of that, especially at such a young age.” she lets out a deep breath and nods. “sorry our date got ruined” she gives you a sad smile.

“it wasn’t,” you squeeze her hand “I had a good time and I’m just glad I was able to be here with you.” you look up in thought, “do you have brownie mix?” she looks at you in confusion and lets out a small laugh “uh, I dunno, why?” “whenever I’m sad or going through something, I like to bake because it gives me something to do to take my mind off of everything and brownies are fucking good.” you nod with conviction. ellie laughs, “you are so fucking cute. c’mon let’s go see if I have some brownie mix.”

as you mix the chocolatey batter, and hum to the song playing on the speaker, ellie leans against the counter and watches you. she loves the domesticity and warmth you surround her with, and you were right, doing all of this is making her feel better.

“are you just gonna stand there and stare at me or are you gonna help?” “nah I think I’m good right here” she smirks at you. you nod slowly and look at her with mischief, holding up the spoon. her eyes widen and she points her finger at you, “don’t you fucking dare.”

you chase ellie around the kitchen island, out of breath from laughing and she ends up slipping on her sock, grabbing onto the counter for balance. as you run up to her and try to smear the batter on her face, she grabs your arm. you struggle against her, making you trip over her leg and she catches you, wrapping her arms around your waist. both of your laughters fade into small smiles as both of your eyes trails to each other’s lips. ellie’s face becomes serious as she leans in, lips ghosting yours. the sound of the front door opening has you both abruptly backing away from each other. fucking joel.

“hey kiddo, what are y’all up to?” ellie’s face is beet red and she clears her throat, “just making some brownies. why are you home?” ellie’s voice holds a bit of an edge to it.

“well, damn, I’ll get outta your hair in a minute, just stoppin’ by, forgot to pack my dinner.” she hums in annoyance. your eyes widen at the tension ellie is radiating.

“joel! my parents wanted me to give this to you as a thanks for the free self defense lesson, and for helping me out yesterday.” you open up your bag and take out a bottle of whiskey. ellie’s brows furrow, oops you forgot to tell her.

joel holds the bottle at a downward angle “would’ya look at that.. I’ll be sure to send my thanks to them.” he walks to the fridge and grabs out a container. “alright I’m headin’ out,” he looks at ellie “do me a favor, don’t burn the house down.” she groans and rolls her eyes.

“mm, these brownies are fucking good. you were right after all.” you scoff and smack her arm, “of course I was right. don’t ever doubt me again.” ellie rolls her eyes, “yes ma’am,” she quips sarcastically. “now, pay attention, this is my favorite part of the movie,” you say with feigned sternness. she smiles and nods, finishing off her brownie and leans back into her pillows.

you rest your head on her shoulder and place your hand on her stomach, tracing small patterns. you look up at her and whisper, “ellie?”

“hm?”

“do you really feel okay now?”

she turns her head to the side to look at you, face only inches away, and nods slowly. you feel her breath ghosting your lips and your heart starts racing, chest rising up and down quickly. ellie parts her mouth and licks her lips, leaning in, kissing you softly. she pulls away to look at you, before sitting up and grabbing your face, deepening the kiss.

HA sorry to edge u all. things are gonna get spicy as fuck in the next chapter. interactions are much appreciated 💗

taglist: @me-and-your-husband @fireflyels

[emmasbrain]

Miscommunication (the fun kind) Part 2

This is part 2, trust when I say it makes very little sense without part 1.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Synopsis: You meet him for your date, but it’s cut a little short.

Warnings: None I can think of other than cringe writing.

A/N: This took ages man, I don’t know what happened but I just felt a block so many apologies for taking so long.

As you click the little green button, you feel unnecessarily nervous. “Hello.”

“Hi.” He replies, and the smile that graces your lips can be heard from the other end of the phone.

“Doc. I’m glad you called.” You try to play it cool, but you know he can sense your excitement anyway.

“I’m glad you asked me to. Look, I’m on my way to a case right now, but I was thinking that when I get back we could do something? Go for dinner, maybe?” He sounds as nervous as you feel, and your heart spikes a little.

“Dinner sounds great. Have you thought of a place?” You do a little spin in the living room of your small apartment and you hear chatter in the background of the call.

“There’s this little restaurant that I normally get takeout from. I know them pretty well so they’ll keep me a table on short notice. They’ve got everything so statistically there’s bound to be something you like.” The way he speaks reaches a spot in your brain, fast and passionate, even about the most mundane things.

“I know I’m gonna like it because you do, and I trust your taste.” You bite your lip, wondering if that was too much.

“You should, I’m very particular.” His voice betrays the fact that he’s grinning, and you match his expression.

“I like particular. Particular is good.” Your voice has dropped a little subconsciously, and he’s about to reply when you hear the familiar voice of Agent Hotchner alerting Spencer that they need him.

“I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you when I’m home?” You almost sigh in contentment at just the sound of him, but you snap out of it quickly to reply.

“I’ll be waiting patiently, Doc. I’ll see you.” You hang up, and stand in the middle of your living room for what seems like an hour but truly is only a few minutes. Why are you so attracted to this guy you only met a few nights ago?

But you feel as though you know him, from the way Penelope has talked about him, from the time you spent together. You feel as though you know them all.

—

You just sent in the final draft of your latest article. This one had been an absolute nightmare, being asked to write a piece on climate change. Your editors loved you for your fresh takes, but after so long there was no angle on climate change that hadn’t already been written. They seem fairly happy with it, but you can’t help the nagging feeling of wishing you could have done the proposed piece on how tourism is ruining the economy like you had wanted.

Through the annoyance of knowing you could have done better, you still feel slightly more at ease knowing the article is finished and out of your hands, and that you can relax and drink your fourth mug of coffee for the day. It’s eleven am.

But as you stand to stretch your achy muscles and make some fresh coffee, your phone rings. You know who it is before you even pick up, but make sure to check anyway just in case.

‘Spencer’ flashes on your screen, and you immediately sit down on your sofa, hitting the answer button and taking a readying breath.

“Hey Doc.” Your voice is unintentionally airy, but he doesn’t seem to notice - or he pretends not to - as he replies.

“Hey. I got back from work late last night, but I didn’t wanna call in case you were asleep. I was just wondering what you had planned for tonight?” The grogginess in his voice is evident, and it raises a question before you can even think about answering his.

“Spencer, how long ago did you wake up?” The simple question makes him go quiet for a moment before he speaks.

“I woke up just before I called you.” He sounds nervous to admit it, like he’s embarrassed to be caught thinking of you so soon into his day.

“Must have been thinking about me in your sleep then. And to answer your question, I’m free tonight.” You can’t hide the tinge of satisfaction knowing he thought about you maybe as often as you thought about him.

The small breath he sucks in doesn’t pass by you. You may not be a behavioural analyst but you are a damn good journalist, and you know what that little breath means. It says “you caught me”. Was he really thinking of you in his slumber? You note it down in the back of your head to try and slip out of him later.

“Would you like to go for dinner to that restaurant tonight?” He seems to have composed himself as he asks his question, and you try not to sound too enthusiastic as you eagerly say yes. “Okay, great- that’s great! I’ll pick you up at six… I don’t drive.” The defeat in his voice makes you laugh.

“How about I pick you up?” You suggest, calming his nerves. “You can tell me where to go.” Truthfully, you had already planned to drive him. Penelope told you once how he doesn’t drive, and you called her two days ago to reconfirm. This information, however, is not something you feel the need to tell him, because it seems a little obsessive - but you were just thinking logically of course - and you don’t want to weird him out quite so early.

He seems to be okay with the idea, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t take it as a blow to his ego like most men would. The call ends after a few short pleasantries - that are actually pleasant - and you immediately get to work.

You throw open the doors of your wardrobe and go straight to the dresses, very slowly narrowing it down to two options. A flowy red dress that you almost go with, and a simple black silk dress that ends just below your knees.

This one is for special occasions, and you deemed this a pretty special occasion. As you rummage through your box of shoes and stack of earrings trying desperately to find earrings and heels in the same colour, you come across a pair of purple strapped heels that you know you have drop earrings in a similar shade to. You just can’t find them.

Suddenly you notice that it’s 12:30 and your brain short circuits. Your entire room is thrown upside down and inside out until you find the earrings you’re looking for, and then neatly arranged back to its original state, all within thirty minutes. Now you have your little purple dewdrops and your outfit is complete, but you have four and a half hours until you need to leave and you know you’ll need it, albeit mostly to panic.

Four hours passes and you’ve showered, shaved, styled your hair and put on some light makeup. Your nail polish is just dry and you have your dress on, so you buckle your heels and stand. Twenty five minutes before you can leave. That’s not bad. You just have to wait twenty five minutes… But what if traffic is bad? You should probably leave fifteen minutes early for that, right? And if you think about it, the time between leaving your house and getting to the car wasn’t considered in the time it would take you to get there, and if you drag it out that’s a good five minutes. So really you only need to leave in five minutes. But what’s the point of waiting five minutes really? You should just leave now. Good idea.

As you park at his apartment building you realise you may have been a little over eager. The drive was ten minutes shorter than expected, so you’re around thirty minutes early. Which is embarrassing, so to speak. But you decide to head up early, a gut feeling telling you that it’ll be beneficial.

As you knock, he immediately opens the door and then a sheepish look comes over his face. “I saw you get out of your car.” He nervously rubs his hand on the back of his neck and it makes you smile. Then you take in his attire. He looks similar to when you met him in the bar, although he’s wearing white converse to match a white shirt underneath his brown suit. He’s also sporting a watch, and - most importantly - glasses. Damn those fucking glasses.

You realise you haven’t responded and are now intensely looking at his eyes, and he looks a little uncomfortable.

“Shit- sorry. I was just looking at you- I mean you look good- Great! You look great. You look… pretty. I like your glasses, do you wear them often?” Although you can feel yourself rambling into oblivion, you somehow can’t stop the flood of words that come out of your mouth.

His mouth opens for a moment as though he might speak, and then it shuts again. He stands aside to let you come in. “I never let you in.” He comments, sounding apologetic.

You shake your head in reassurance. “That’s alright, I wasn’t sure if you would even be ready since I’m so early. I never meant to be, I just kind of over thought it and now I’m here.” You wring your fingers together. Spencer noticed that you do it as a nervous habit when you met in the bar.

“I was ready an hour ago, I’ve just been reading while I waited for you. You can sit.” He motions to his sofa, and you sit next to the armrest so that you can turn and lean your back against it to face him sitting a little away from you. “You look beautiful. You remind me of a painting called ‘Madame X’, you probably know it. You could almost be a modernised retelling. Did you know that the painting caused an extreme public discourse as people thought the artist, John Singer Sargent, made the woman look deathly pale and scandalously unclothed.” He says all this with a little grin, and you can’t help but grin along with him.

The decision to tease him comes before you can truly think about it. “You think I look deathly pale and scandalously unclothed, Doc?” As the words come out of your mouth, he pales slightly.

“No, of course not! You remind me more of the principle. The woman was so beautiful she was renowned for her looks. Painters had all but begged her to do a portrait before, but she declined until she found Sargent. But even then, the people of Paris thought the painting didn’t do her beauty justice. Despite this, the painting became famous and beloved for hundreds of years around the world, and to this day is still considered a work of true historical art. A timeless beauty. That’s how I think you look.” His passion for little things shines through again, and your mouth is left slightly agape from his words.

“That was…” You can’t even think.

“A lot, I know. I tend to ramble a lot. I don’t really notice that I’m bothering people until it’s too late.” He rubs the back of his neck again, and the thought of people being bothered by him sends multiple emotions running down your spine.

You reach over and grab his hand with one of yours, the other going to touch his face. “I was going to say, that was awfully considerate of you. Never assume that you’re bothering me. Talk quite literally as much as you please, I want to know what you want to say… If we weren’t on our first date I’d readily teach you exactly how much I enjoy when you talk, but that can be saved for another time, maybe.” Your voice drops nearer the end, and he picks up on it as he sucks in a breath and nods vigorously.

“Definitely- I mean yes, sure. I will keep that in mind.” He’s still nodding as you smile at him, a proper smile.

“You’re pretty when you get flustered. You get all red, from the tops of your cheeks all the way down your neck.” You silently wonder if it goes further. You wish you could check. The hand on his face trails down his neck as you speak, emphasising what you mean.

He gets redder. How can he get redder? “Pretty. You’ve used that word on me twice now.” The comment seems to be more of an observation than a question, but you answer it as though it is one.

“I think you’re pretty. Handsome is a word I dislike. It reminds me of Ken, like Barbie and Ken. You’re not a doll, you’re a man, who just so happens to be pretty. I could call you beautiful instead, I’d say that adjective very accurately describes you too. Gorgeous, if that’s something you prefer.” You relent as the redness gets impossibly worse, and it makes you feel a little guilty. “Sorry, Doc, I just like seeing you flustered. I’ll call you handsome or something more masculine if you’re more comfortable with that.” You give him a little smile and pull your hand from his face.

He wouldn’t say it out loud but he wishes you would keep it there. He grasps your other hand tightly in his, and he shakes his head. “I don’t mind. You can call me whatever you feel like… You’re wearing purple. Purple is my favourite colour.” He looks away for a moment, and it warms your heart.

“Purple suits you, as a favourite colour I mean. Mine is green.” Your voice holds a gentleness in it that comes with caring for someone. It’s baffling. You’ve known him days. A week at most. You shouldn’t feel so… warm around him.

“Green makes sense. I think purple looks best on you though, which is definitely coming from a place of bias.” This makes you laugh, small and breathy, but he smiles at the sound.

You don’t realise how much time has passed until you hear a buzzing noise, and you both realise it’s a phone ringing. It’s coming from the other room so you assume it’s Spencer’s and he quickly gets up to answer. You can’t hear much from the wall between you, but when he comes back through looking thoroughly disappointed, you can tell it’s a work call. “Serial killers don’t stop for first dates sadly.” You remark, and he looks a little surprised.

“How did you know?” He questions, coming closer to you and you stand up to face him.

“I may not be a behavioural analyst, but I can tell what that face means. It means ‘I’m so sorry but I have to go stop murders’.” You smile to try and reassure him, but you can see the cogs whirring in his brain.

He seems to be thinking too many thoughts to process, but suddenly he dips down and kisses you. It’s short, but it’s soft, and you have a look of surprise on your face as he pulls away. “I wish we had gotten to go on our date, but I really wish that this doesn’t stop us from going on another one.” He looks at you in anticipation, and you melt.

“I wouldn’t pass it up for the world, Doc. Why don’t you go get ready and I’ll drive you there. We can plan the next one in the car.” You kiss his cheek and go to sit back down, and he shuffles away to his bedroom with a stupid smile tugging at his lips.

A/N: So… thoughts on part 3 with newly established relationship reid x reader ? Equally, thoughts on me adding smut somewhere along the line?

[shade-e-e-es]

Hours later, Doc is still fuming as he thinks of all the ways he should give it to that stinky mutt. To cool off he decides to go on a walk.

He quickly finds out it does not help. As is his nature as a creeper, he walks silently, ears perked for any sign of sound.

He picks up his pace as he hears the dull thud of someone chopping a tree. It’s either Etho or Beef making a project in the middle of the night.

Or it’s an intruder.

He’s hoping it’s an intruder because then he can attack something, as messed up as that sounds.

And oh the joy he feels (and fury) when he sees the red shirt and brown tail of Ren Dog.

The bushes rustle as Doc moves to step out. He only pauses for a second as Rens ears perk and he starts to growl, his swing stopping as he adjusts his hold on the axe. A battle stance.

Fine. A fight.

… maybe he should try and. Talk a little before he blows this guy up.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, MAN?” Doc hisses.

He expects Ren to rush him. To growl and attack even if it’s just with words. It’s how he acts during the day, after all.

He did not expect the smile, the tail wagging, and the excitement.

“Doc! My dude!! Jeez man you scared me!! I thought you were a freakin skeleton or something!! Sorry, didn’t mean to growl at you like that!!”

Doc stares blankly. What. Why is he.. so excited. And before he can even open his mouth to hiss out something about taxes or his tree, Ren continues.

“I’m really genuinely sorry about the tree. I’d have come and asked if I knew you were awake. I can never tell what your guys’s sleep schedules are! Besides Bdubs. Always know when he’s passed out!!”

“Seriously like that dude will pass out the moment the sun goes over the hills even if we’re trying to talk to him! It’s a bit funny though so it’s fine on our end. Guys gotta sleep! Oh- right. I can pay you back and stuff for the tree. I tried to pick a smaller one far away from your projects so I don’t mess any landscapes up. I’m also going to replant the sapling and all that!!” Ren shifts from foot to foot, a smile on his face, a wag in his tail. His eyes almost sparkle as he stares at Doc.

And it.

This doesn’t make sense to Doc. Why does.. Ren doesn’t act like this! He’s! Quiet. He’s grumpy. He acts like he hates every single member of the nHo and yet here he is raving about Bdubs in a joking way to Doc of all people.

“What.” Doc says.

“Oh. Uh.” Ren chuckles a little. “Sorry. I am. Nervous, NOT ABOUT YOU!! I just don’t want to be away from Iskall for too long. See I’m here to get wood to make a fire over in our camp. Iskall has a fever and we both agreed that staying at the resistance base would be better than going to our houses. Too much movement. But I.. suck at taking care of sick people. So I’m doing what I know best! Chopping trees, making fire, cooking soup!! (If you happen to have any notes on making soup please let me know. I lied about knowing best on it.)” Ren leans in, whispering the last bit.

He’s so animated. He can’t stand still. Doc is.. flabbergasted!!

It doesn’t compute. It just.

“Why are you. Being. Nice???”

“Wha?”

PT 1 | PT 3

[speedingkamori]

hi!! saw in ur rules u write for yandere content👀 if ur down for it, could you write for yandere scout?? lowkey obsessed w ur jealous fic so maybe you could piggy back off that?? just a though?? thank you !!! -🐌

Bandages | Yandere!Scout x reader

Unofficial sequel to: jealousy

Warnings: obviously yandere (possessiveness, extreme jealousy, anger, maybe a little bit of gaslighting… etc), SLIGHT medic x reader if you squint.., not proof read and probably not very good ;-;

I’m glad someone liked it lolol I mentioned before that I haven’t written anything in foreverrr and am very rusty- especially when it comes to things that aren’t fluff @_@ Also SO so sorry for the wait, genuinely did not mean to take this long ugh </3

Scout was ecstatic- over the moon! Now that you we’re finally his, things we’re starting to look up. For the longest time he was being eaten alive by his own unrequited love, sinking deeper into this sickening feeling he had in his gut every time he saw you- but now you belonged to him! He finally had you!

You’d been together for a little while at this point and he expected this awful feeling to go away once he had settled into your new relationship, but to his surprise it was only getting worse.

He felt his stomach drop anytime he saw you talking with any of the other mercs. The way they patted your back when you did good out on the field, the way you’d laugh when they told some stupid joke. God, it was disgusting.

After a particularly tough mission he watched as the medic pulled you into his office, gently tending to your wounds.

“You’re really banged up…” Medic remarked, a small chuckle slipping from his lips. “Not to worry, you’re in good hands!” He had his usual crazed smile as he tended to you.

Scout couldn’t take it anymore and cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“Is all that really necessary, Doc?” He huffed, leaning in the door way.

Medic was a bit taken aback by his questioning, but before he could answer you stepped in, excited to see your boyfriend after such a hard battle.

“Jer!” You smiled excitedly. “You came to check on me? Do you care about me or something?” You teased as he let himself into medics office, wrapping an arm around a bit too tightly.

“Course I did, I was worried sick. Glad to see you’re holding up okay.” He wasn’t lying entirely. He knew you’d be fine, what really worried him was you being alone with Medic. I’m his mind everyone wanted you to themselves the same way he did, he had to make sure they didn’t try and take you away.

“You ready to get outta here?” He asked the question as if you weren’t receiving medical treatment. You turned back to Medic, giving him a nervous, but sympathetic smile.

He rolled his eyes, sighing at your antics. “Young love.” He remarked. “Ja, I suppose you’re good to go- just take it easy for the next couple days.”

“Thanks, doc!” You jumped down from the desk excitedly. “You’re the best.”

That set something off inside Scout, he clenched his fist tightly as he felt this rage bubbling up inside him. You grabbed his hand, temporarily snapping him out of his trance as you lead him out of the office. The door shut behind you and he stopped in his tracks, his hand slipping from yours.

“Aw- sorry doll, there’s somethin’ I need to talk to Medic about…” he pressed a firm kiss to your temple that seemed to linger a bit longer than normal. “Why don’t you head back to my room and relax a little bit, I’ll meat you there soon alright?”

You smiled up at him, nodding your head as you toddled off. It was pretty late and you were tired, you had 0 issue getting all comfortable in bed.

Once you were out of sight his sweet expression fell as he re-entered the medical wing.

“Hey, Doc.” He spat. “I gotta bone to pick with you.”

Medic looked up from the supplies he was cleaning up. He sighed in annoyance, not wanting to deal with Scouts shenanigans.

“Alright, but make it quick.”

“I don’t like the way you keep feelin’ up my girl.” He hissed. “I see the way you look at her, but she’s with me! So back off.”

Medic couldn’t help but laugh. “You can’t be serious…” he looked down at Scout, seeing the anger in his eyes, he sighed again and rested his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Look, I understand, you are jealous and insecure-“

Scout slapped his hand away, grabbing him by the collar.

“This ain’t about me! This is about you.” He snarled. “I’m tellin’ you nicely to back off, this’ll be your only warning. Don’t make me get ugly.”

“Du bist ein verlorener Fall…” Medic pushed Scout off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, fine. I’ll- I’ll back off.” He wasn’t taking Scout very seriously at all but he was honestly too tired to deal with any of this. Despite this, this was a satisfactory answer for Scout and he seemed to let up a bit.

“Glad we have an understanding…” he huffed. Without another word he turned and left quick.

Medic watched him leave, shaking his head disapprovingly. “There’s something wrong with that boy…” he remarked to himself.

Scout walked away with his heart pounding on his chest, still a bit angry from the perceived competition. In his mind it was obvious that everyone wanted a piece of you- I mean how could they not? You were perfect!

He paced back and forth outside his own door- he knew you were in there waiting for him. He was mulling over every detail, trying to figure out exactly what to say to you. He had to keep you no matter what, he couldn’t let anybody else get in the way. He sighed, relenting as he finally entered.

“Hey dollface. Ya miss me?”

You were obviously excited to see him again and quickly pulled him in, placing a kiss to his cheek.

“Course I did.” You smiled.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to take so long I just-“ he stopped himself, thinking for a moment before he let out a small sigh. “I got to talkin’ with Medic and I guess I just got wrapped up in everything…”

“What’d you talk to him about?” You asked it so innocently, not realizing you had taken the bait he set out.

“Just checkin’ up on an injury from awhile back- no biggie.” He shrugged a bit, scrunching up his nose. “But he made a few weird comments about you after you left and- I mean I couldn’t just ignore that.”

You seemed a bit taken aback, your expression immediately falling. Sure, he was a bit eccentric but Medic had never once made you feel uncomfortable.

“What? What kinda stuff did he say?” You laugh nervously, hoping it wasn’t anything bad. Scout say you down on the bed and began to tell you all the uncomfortable remarks the doctor had made. He held your hands tight and said everything so earnestly- you had no reason not to believe him. He had never given you a single reason to doubt him.

“Of course I had to speak up, I mean, I’m not just gonna let this creep disrespect my girl…” he pinched your cheek a little, in an attempt to make you feel better or lighten the mood.

“Thanks, Jeremy.” You let out a heavy sigh, hanging your head. “I-I don’t even know what to say…”

“Hey, you don’t gotta say anything.” He reassured you, pulling you into a tight hug. “I’ve dealt with it. You don’t gotta worry about him no more… if you want next time you get hauled in there, I’ll come with- keep watch and make sure he doesn’t try nothing.”

“You’d really do that for me?” You asked quietly.

“You kiddin’? ‘Course I would!” He held on to you tighter, running his hand up and down your back gently. “I’d do anything to make sure you’re safe…”

You laughed softly. “Thanks Jer. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Apart of him felt guilty, for slandering Medic the way that he did. But it was all for you, right? He had to do whatever it took to keep you safe, even at the expense of the other mercs.

[graceshouldwrite]

4 Ways to Get Back Into Your WIP

You know when you might have taken a long break, worked on other projects, talked to other people about it, and basically did EVERYTHING to get yourself back into it, but it’s not working?

Even though you still want to LIKE your WIP and work on it? 

These tips are based on my own experience dealing with that feeling. I went through something like that for around a year, but now, I’m getting past it and returning to my main WIP more excited than I’ve been for a long time! 

1. List out WHAT you don’t like and fix it

COMMON CORE ISSUES:

Plot + Subplots? 

They might seem too (among other things):

lackluster

complex

unnecessary

confusing

You might not know how to:

develop the plots

make them believable

add the scenes you want without giving the book 800+ pages

choose scenes to cut to fit the word count goal...

Characters?

A BIG ONE: some writers try to force themselves to like X character for whatever reason (e.g. based them on a specific aesthetic, felt forced to add specific rep, etc), but they just DON’T. 

Or, maybe:

you don’t know how to develop your characters

their group dynamic is too difficult to write/doesn’t make a lot of sense

your character voices, personalities, or appearances might not be distinct enough

Prose?

You might:

want to add more humour (prose is too depressing and atmospherically dark)

want to add more gravity (prose is too comedic and romantic)

want to shift from past to present tense, want to tell story from another POV, etc. 

Organization?

OFTEN, the book’s just TOO COMPLEX with all the characters, subplots, etc. and it’s too intimidating to try to sort out all the mess that’s your WIP 

SO…

The lists I gave you are most of the big, common issues. Once they’re sorted into SPECIFIC types of problems, don’t they get less intimidating to look at? 

I know you might think, gee, Grace, these problems will take [insert comically large time frame] to solve. 

Well, if you genuinely want to like your project again and work on it, DO IT.

Slowing down your WIP finish date is worth it if it helps you get back into it. If you never get back into the project, you’ll NEVER FINISH IT. Late > never.

Heck, you might not even be too late—you might find yourself back in the passionate fever you were when you started it, and be in the headspace to write furiously :) 

I think you know how to solve these broken-down problems. Some require more sheer line-editing, while others require big executive decisions (e.g. getting rid of a character or rewriting an entire subplot/the plot). But, it will be worth it when you start to love your project again.

2. Remember why you started it 

Before each project, write a STATEMENT OF PURPOSE at the beginning of your doc to remind you why you’re writing this story in the first place. If you didn’t do this, it’s not too late to start one now! 

It could be something as close to heart as “I want to express how unrequited love feels,” or something as grand as like “I want to write a tragic allegory of the political and economic state of the world that explores human nature” (I am projecting in both of these examples, but you get it). 

Something SPECIFIC is a lot better for this than things like: “I told X this story idea and they liked it,” or “I promised to write this for X,” or “I want to tell this story just cuz.” These latter examples probably won’t fill you with passion. 

3. Listen BEYOND your WIP playlists. Look at images BEYOND your WIP aesthetics 

Many people think revisiting your old playlists / boards help, but that often contributes to the staleness!!!! 

Instead, by purposefully expanding your scope of consumed media, you open yourself up to more inspiration and ideas of where you want to take your project.  New images and new songs will give you new ideas on atmosphere, mood, scenes, and so much more. 

4. Compare your WIP to a similar book you like

You know THAT BOOK that comes to mind whenever someone asks you which book is your favourite/impacted you deeply? Think of how your book will impact readers in the same way. All the emotional turmoil and mental enlightenment That Book gave you is what YOU will give to the readers who resonate with YOUR book one day!

The author of the book you’re thinking about went through drafts, edits, and maybe even wanted to give up at some point, (LIKE YOU!) but pushed through it. Now, their book is on the bestseller list/on a bookshelf/a classic (whatever appeals to you)!  Don’t stop before YOUR book is there, too. 

∘₊✧────── ☾☼☽ ──────✧₊∘

instagram: @ grace_should_write

A LOT of this comes from personal experience; I had this mental tussle with my main WIP a while back, so I hope this helps anyone else dealing with the same problem :)

Hope this was helpful, and let me know if you have any questions by commenting, re-blogging, or DMing me on IG. Any and all engagement is appreciated <3333

Happy writing, and have a great day!

- grace <3

[tearsonmarz]

Scarian Flirting and Fishing pt. 2

(I know I said I wasn’t going to be adding onto the one-shot-- but that was before Grian’s latest episode came out, so here we are. Don’t hold your breath for another part. Also, I decided that it wasn’t going to be a modern setting, but I’m also too lazy to make either of these historically accurate. I wrote these for fun, they weren’t meant to be anything too thought out. Here's part one if you haven't read it yet. I was also too tired to edit it, but I need it out of my docs because it'll consume my thought otherwise.)

“So, why do you want this book so badly?” Scar was curious since he hadn’t seen Grian before. He had never imagined what would stem from a simple encounter with the sandy haired man.

He’d been following Grian for about a month now. They’d go to nearby streams, scrounge around for the book, spend hours getting excited only to be disappointed once again.

After the first two days, Scar bought a fishing rod to help out. But Grian had insisted that he wanted to be the one to find it, nevertheless Scar fished because it bothered Grian.

“I need it for something important that I’m working on. You know you can leave whenever you want.”

“Still trying to get rid of me, don’t you get tired of it?”

“Don’t you get tired of following me?” He shot Scar a look that only caused him to burst out laughing.

“You just aren’t going to give up.”

“I should be the one saying that.”

Why was he staying this long? There was no reason for him to continue bothering Grian. It’s simply something that had integrated into his daily routine. Every day without fail they would link up, take a walk down to the river and start fishing. They’d eat together, talk together, and enjoy each other’s company. It mainly consisted of Scar ranting to his hearts content, while Grian pretended not to listen. Every now again Grian would forget and chime into the conversation to Scar’s surprise.

Through it all they continued to hang around each other. The other’s presence because comforting and routine. Though Grian would never admit it, he was happy that Scar stuck around. Even if he wasn’t ecstatic about Scar in the beginning, each fishing trip felt a little more fulfilling even without a mending book. He hadn’t wanted to spend this month any other way.

“I don’t think this is the spot.” He dejectedly spoke as he reeled in another fish.

“Are you sure? It’s barely been an hour.”

“No, I’m not sure, but I’m just so sick of getting nothing every single day. It’s so infuriating.” A sigh left his lips as he tossed it onto the pile and put down his fishing rod.

“Why don’t we just take a break. Let’s head into town to eat for a change.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Finish up while I start packing up our stuff.”

‘Our.’ Just that simple word stuck in Scar’s head, enough to distract him from the pulling on his line. Snapping out of it, he reeled in is line. Much to his dismay it was a book. He walked over to his pile, but before he could inspect it, Grian called out to him.

“Ready to get going yet?”

He hid the book in the pile of items he had acquired pretending to sift through it. “Yeah, just let me finish putting everything away and I’ll be good to go.”

“Oh… Alright, I’ll just wait for you then.” Without another word Grian started towards the fishery.

Scar brought the book back out. It had a royal purple coloured cover decorated with golden trim, and an ominous aura to it. Besides, he already knew it was what Grian was looking for. Just in case, he was going to allow it to dry. Once he had gathered himself, he made his way to where Grian was.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything as long as it’s delicious and filling.” Grian sulked as they strolled.

Scar just smiled, leading the way to the nearby tavern. They grabbed something quick to eat, not paying much mind to the time. Scar’s priority was to cheer Grian up after all. Well, that was before he had found what they had been searching for. It felt like it was looming over his head. He knew he had to tell Grian eventually.

“So, G. What are you going to do when you do find that book?” That question earned a coughing fit from Grian. “Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to startle you. Here-” He passed Grian his handkerchief, urging him to drink water as he tried to calm down.

“Why… Why do you ask?” Grian replied in between coughs. He cleared his throat, quietly thanking Scar and beckoning him to continue.

“Well, I just got to thinking. We’ve been fishing for a month, and it has to come to an end. I was just wondering what would happen to us when it does… End I mean.”

“Oh. I hadn’t really thought about what we would do. I guess, we’d probably go our separate ways.”

They sat there in silence for a moment. Wondering what the other was thinking. The thought of this coming to end was bittersweet and heartbreaking. Scar didn’t want it to end, but he’d be lying if the thought didn’t cross his mind. What was he to do after this? What was his life lie before hanging around Grian? That thought has only caused him more grief.

Scar never stayed in one place for very long. There was never anything keeping him tied to a single area. He was free to do as he pleased without a care in the world. For the first time, he had something to look forward to. Casual conversation, playful pranks, and a type of warmth he hadn’t experienced before. He liked the sense of security he began to associate with Grian. His home.

The thought of something changing, or Grian leaving him was devastating. And the fear began to set in. If he were to show Grian what he had found there was a large possibility that he’d leave him. He couldn’t take that chance. Maybe, if he held onto it for a little longer, he could find another reason for Grian to stay. Just maybe.

[paradoxlemonade]

Like a Flower in Bloom; chapter 3/3

Fic summary: Doc Monster is a many things: he's a tinkerer, a college graduate, a creeper hybrid, and a husband to his wonderful spouse, Ren. Most importantly, he is a father. And he would do anything to make his trans daughter Scarlet happy. Even if it means becoming a Buttercup Scout troop leader and herding a trio of middle school girls.

Chapter summary: Doc makes contact with the parents and the first troop meeting is held.

This is my @mcytblraufest fic, made in collaboration with my artist @watchmewhirl and beta-read my @raivaughn. You can find the masterpost for the art here.

Warnings: Grian's parents are doing their best but they're not the greatest (brief scene, nothing serious happens)

Ao3: Here!

First ; Previous

---

Scarlet gets Doc the phone numbers for Mumbo and Grian’s parents the next day and he’s able to reach out to them about the new troop. Mumbo’s dad already knows what he’s talking about and is excited that his daughter wants to try new things.

“She’s always been really shy, you know?” Xisuma Void says. “I’m glad your daughter reached out.” Doc can’t help but agree. The running joke among their family is that she collects introverted people like baseball cards, since she decides she likes someone and then doesn’t quit until they agree the two of them are friends. She takes after Ren in that regard, who hasn’t known an ounce of shame in his life.

Xisuma is personable to talk to and the call goes well.

Grian’s parents are another story. 

When they pick up, they don’t have the slightest clue what he’s talking about when he brings up the new Buttercup Scout troop that his daughter was starting and invited Grian to. He’s put on speaker phone so both of them can listen at the same time.

Mr. Vigil Penumbra makes an unsure sound. “And you say that your daughter—Scarlet, was it?—wants Grian to be a part of her troop?” He’s asked for clarification a few times, as if something about what Doc said is hard to believe.

Nevertheless: “Yes, that’s right. They met at school, and Scarlet put the offer out.”

“And how did you get our number?” he asks. 

Doc pinches the bridge of his nose. Never has he been so glad to be having a conversation over the phone instead of face to face. “I asked Scarlet to ask Grian for it, and then Scarlet passed it along to me. I’m still in the process of getting certified, so it’ll be about two weeks before we can start scheduling meetings. I just wanted to reach out to verify your interest and let you know what supplies you’ll need to get beforehand.”

Vigil chuckles, mostly to himself. “Ah, I’ll need to ask if Grian still has all her things, or if she got rid of them after her last troop.” He holds the phone away from himself and clears his throat. “Grian! Can you come downstairs?”

There’s a response of some kind that’s too far away for Doc to make out, and then the quiet knock of footsteps down wooden stairs. “Yeah, what’s up?” a girl, presumably Grian, asks. Her lilting voice is high in her throat, brassy but soft on the edges, and lightly accented. The question comes out stilted.

Vigil clicks his tongue. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Could you say that again?” There’s a dryness to his tone, one that tightens the nerves on the back of Doc’s neck.

“Uh.” Grian coughs. “Yes, father; what do you need?”

“You still have all that Buttercup Scout stuff?”

“I do, yeah. I said I would only burn it if Mumbo told me she’s no longer interested in scouting, remember? She’s planning to join, too.”

Mrs. Iris Penumbra takes the opportunity to join the conversation. “Thank you, dear, but don’t talk back. Why don’t you go get a glass of water from the kitchen, since hydration is—”

“—healthy, and you can’t talk back if you’re drinking a glass of water,” Grian finishes the sentence alongside Iris with all the enthusiasm of a root canal. “Yes, mother.” There’s some more footsteps as she fully descends the stairs.

“Thank you, baby. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Now she sounds further away.

A lightly muffled Iris, a little quieter than before, makes the offhand comment to her husband, “I’m somewhat surprised anyone asked her; she’s not exactly the friendliest girl around.”

Doc winces at the bluntness. There’s a good chance Grian is still within earshot.

Vigil hums in thought, but doesn’t offer any comment on the topic. “It’ll be good for her to socialize with someone other than just Mumbo.”

With that, Doc is finally able to regain their attention and steer the conversation back towards the new scout troop.

In the end, Xisuma, Iris, and Vigil agree that having their daughters join a brand new Buttercup Scout troop run by someone who’s still in the process of getting certified is a grand idea. Tuesdays are unavailable since Scarlet has physical therapy those days, and earlier he learned that Fridays don’t work for Mumbo since that’s the standing date she and Xisuma go to see her Uncle Exiona. The other days of the week seem open, for all three of them, so they pick Thursday as their day for new troop meetings.

***

A few weeks later, the date selected for the first meeting rolls around.

It’s hosted at their house, since they’re hardly a big enough troop to warrant asking the community center, library, or local church to sponsor them (Scarlet was mildly peeved that they weren’t going anywhere to make it feel more “official,” but agreed once Doc pointed out that the couches in the family room were much more comfortable than folding chairs). She’s practically vibrating as she flitters between the button maker Doc is setting up on the coffee table and the front door, already tired of waiting for her new troop members to arrive.

The button maker is an old thing from his and Ren’s college days. It’s practically a relic at this point, but it still works just like it used to. (He’d checked.) Making their buttons during a meeting seemed like a good way to break the ice. No way is he going to have a bunch of middle schoolers trying to make cookies like Symmetry’s troop, not without an idea of how messy the other two are.

He tightens the final bolt as Scarlet gears up to take another trip to the door. Before she can even stand, Ren reaches over and scoops her off the couch, making her shriek in surprise. “I’m starting to wonder if your feet are on fire, since you’re having an awfully hard time sitting still, baby,” he teases.

“Nooooo!” she whines, giggling despite herself. “Put me down, they’re going to be here any minute!”

Doc laughs heartily at the two of them, but his gaze does flicker to the clock hanging on the wall. He and the other parents agreed to start the meeting at seven, and 7:01 just ticked by. It’s nothing he needs to be worried about yet, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t worried anyways.

Ren sways back and forth with Scarlet in his arms. “Hm, tell me why I should set my little princess down?”

“Um… Because you love me?”

He bonks his forehead against hers. “I think that makes me want to hold you just a little bit longer, actually.”

Scarlet scrunches up her face and goes to respond, but the doorbell rings before she can speak. Her eyes widen. “That’s why! They’re here!” She resumes her wiggling with full force until Ren frees her and she rushes over to the door. Her shoulder clips the wall on the way and Doc calls out a “Be careful!”, but she’s hardly paying attention to him.

Doc stands with a stretch, popping his knee joints, and follows after her. He turns the corner into the entryway just as she's opening the door. 

Waiting on the porch are the girls from Scarlet’s phone, Mumbo and Grian, as well as a tall, long-limbed man wearing a vintage band shirt with the sleeves cut off and a chain necklace. Grian and Mumbo have matching uniform sashes, though Grian went the extra mile and also has the beret. (They elected to get Scarlet the vest since they were worried about the sash falling off her shoulders and her struggling to adjust it when she's using her crutches.)

Scarlet is quick to usher them inside with happy words and exchanges of fist bumps. Ren gives Doc a thumbs-up, so he turns back to talk to the parent.

The man smiles and shakes his hand. “Hello! I'm glad to see that we’re in the right place.” Ah, Doc recognizes that voice; this is Xisuma, Mumbo’s father.

“As am I. Scarlet has been really looking forward to this troop meeting. You're welcome to stick around, of course, though I am curious—” His gaze flickers between Xisuma and the empty space behind him where there's only the door. “—Did you carpool? I was expecting to meet Grian's parents as well.”

Xisuma makes a face, but he's quick to smooth it back out. “Yes, well, something came up for them at work. And since I would be driving this direction anyways, they asked if I could help. I couldn't just leave Grian without a way to get herself here or back.”

Doc nods in understanding. “I see. Regardless, I'm glad to have you and your daughter here today, and Grian as well.” He walks back towards the rest of the house, Xisuma following so he can see his daughter’s first Buttercup Scout meeting (“and to keep an eye on Grian,” he added in a hushed voice.) The thought is nice, but it’s hardly a necessity.

Ren has corralled the girls into sitting on the couch together in front of the button machine, where the three of them joke together in unsubtle cacophony. His tail is wagging behind him and he gives Doc another thumbs-up. Xisuma nods and takes a seat on the armchair off to the side.

Doc claps his hands together to capture the room’s attention, and the group conversation slowly peters out. “Welcome,” he says, “to the first official meeting of Buttercup Scout troop M77. Today we’re going to be going over our goals for the troop and making your first official scout buttons.”

Grian unpins the large button on the top of her sash, presumably from her old troop, and limply holds it up. “Don’t most troops go to an official scout store for the button ceremony?” She props up her head on her hand. 

“That’s true, yes, but take a look at the design.” He points at it and she lowers it to get a better look at the screening, which was a simple outline of the flower in black with a yellow fill. Mumbo and Scarlet lean in to look as well. “It’s nice, but the picture is just printed on—lots of other girls have a button identical to that one. If you make your own, then no one else will have one like yours.”

Grian thinks on that for a moment before nodding and shoving the button in her pocket, seemingly mollified for the moment.

Mumbo tilts her head in thought. “Can we—are we drawing these, or…?”

Doc smiles and kneels down next to the coffee table. He slides a tub out from the small shelf attached to the underside and brandishes it for the group. It’s full of markers, colored pencils, and other art supplies from when Scarlet was younger. “Take a circle of paper from the pile next to the machine”—Scarlet reaches over to snag a few and hand them to the other girls—“and draw the design you want for your button!”

They go back to chattering amongst themselves as they draw, and Doc breathes a sigh of relief. So far, so good. Having three parents present for as many girls was definitely overkill, but he knew his Scarlet very well, and apparently Grian had a bit of a reputation. What precisely for, Doc couldn’t be certain, but it was bound to be exciting, a headache, or both.

It's not long before Ren takes the opportunity to walk around the backside of the couch and observe their work. He hums in appreciation as he does. “I like the cat face, Scarlet!” he says to her, and she beams at the praise. Doc should’ve guessed that’s what she’d make; it isn’t as if she’s been obsessed with cats since she was five, or anything like that.

Ren steps to the side to look at Mumbo’s pin, but she curls over it the second his shadow falls over her. “Don’t look at it! It’s not ready, and it’s bad, and!” She shakes her head, eyes scrunched shut. “You can look, but only once it's done.”

Ren softly agrees before she can work herself into a tizzy and leaves her to it. His expression once he gets a look at the button Grian is making has quite the strong resemblance to the face he made when he was shown that blood can be used as a substitute for eggs in baking—mostly off-put, a little confused, and just interested enough not to look away. He blinks a few times. “Er… Are you sure that's what you want to put on your Buttercup button, Grian? It's a little bit. Violent.”

Grian glares at him. “Yes.”

Xisuma murmurs under his breath, “Goodness me, not already,” and goes to stand up, but Doc gestures for him to stay seated with a flick of his wrist.

He instead ambles over with a practiced casualness, looking between his husband and all 4’11” of angry tween girl in his family room. “What seems to be the problem?” By this point, both Mumbo and Scarlet have drifted away from their own projects and keep stealing glances while trying not to look overly nosy.

Grian scoffs and holds up the paper she was working on. “I’m just sketching the design for my button. The handbook says that you can put whatever you want on a Buttercup button, and I want to draw this.”

Ah. Hm.

Really, the amount of detail she's managed to work in with just off-brand colored pencils is impressive. The shape language and clear design on the rabbit’s organs are notable, and the knife’s texture stands out well from the fur.

The handbook’s blithe statement of ‘whatever you want’ is almost certainly meant to be followed up by an unspoken ‘within reason and good sense, of course.’  Bunny viscera isn't exactly a part of the family-friendly Buttercup Scout image.

And Grian is staring him down, eyes daring him to tell her no.

Doc reaches forward and takes the drawing, telegraphing his movement enough for her to snatch the paper back if she desires. She doesn't, and he puts on airs of inspecting it closer.

“Do you draw often?” He asks.

She shifts a bit and crosses her arms. “Sometimes.”

Mumbo snorts and leans over. “Sometimes. Gri, you've filled three entire textbooks since the end of winter break.” Grian hisses and swats at her shoulder, though Mumbo just laughs in response.

Doc clears his throat and Grian snaps back into him. “I can tell you've been practicing; you're very good at this.”

“Mhm.” She doesn't sound impressed. “But…? There's always a but when people talk like that.”  She's still awaiting some specific reaction.

Doc just shrugs and hands the drawing back to her. “I’ll definitely help you make this one, but I'd prefer if you made another to be your official Buttercup button. I'm just worried that I'll get in trouble if you wear that while in uniform, since I'm your troop leader.”

Grian's face twists in confusion, though Scarlet’s eyebrows have shot up—she knows this technique well enough from her own upbringing, and she also knows well enough not to interrupt .

“...You're not telling me I have to throw this one out?” She's tense, like her unconscious mind can't decide whether or not to defensively raise her shoulders, or to completely unwind. Her gaze flickers between what she's been working on and Doc’s steady expression. “I can still make this one?”

“Sure, why not?”

For a moment, Grian doesn't have anything to say to that. 

At once, her off-kilter confusion is packed away into an uncertain, projected nonchalance. She leans forward and selects another sheet as if that has been her plan the entire time. “Whatever. I'm gonna draw my Minecraft skin.”

Mumbo perks up. “Wait, we can do that?” She crumples up her first paper and darts forward for another. “That's a much better idea!”

Scarlet bounces in her seat a little bit. “Let’s all do it! So then our buttons will match!”

Grian waves the two of them off. “I don't care; you guys can do whatever you want.” Despite that, there's a ghost of a smile threatening to break her mask of indifference.

Doc smiles at Ren (who easily returns it) in satisfaction and strolls back over to Xisuma. He raises one eyebrow in inquiry.

Xisuma’s wide eyes dart over to the rambunctious trio and back. He nods.

There's still the button ceremony, passing out number patches for their uniforms, selecting future goal events, and the closing ceremony left until the meeting is over, but in that moment, the controlled chaos is the perfect state for the meeting to be in.

As the meeting closes, Scarlet has made two buttons and two new friends. Doc couldn’t be more proud.

***

A few months later…

Doc claps his hands together and the girls fall silent. Three sets of wide, expectant eyes stare back at him. He smiles at his scouts. “Welcome back to another Buttercup Scout meeting, everyone!” With a finger held up for emphasis, he asks them, “Now scouts, who knows what we will be doing today?”

Grian smirks with self-satisfaction and casually offers, “Violating the Geneva Conventions?”

Mumbo and Scarlet giggle to each other before giving him an innocent look.

“Tax fraud?” Mumbo asks.

“Arson?” Scarlet chimes in.

Doc gasps in mock horror, hand pressed to his chest. “What?! No. No no no no, no!” The fake suggestions are a part of the routine at this point—Grian started it, Scarlet picked it up almost immediately, and Mumbo joined in a little bit later once she felt comfortable. He makes a noise like he’s considering their ideas. “Well, maybe tomorrow, but not now.”

They chorus whines of disappointment (Grian acts like she’s especially offended) and Doc continues, “Today we are going to work hard, earn some badges, and—”

Ren chooses that moment to bound back into the room. He throws his arms around the scouts in a quick hug. “And let’s sell some cookies, dudes!”

The group cheers, even anxious Mumbo, even temperamental Grian, and Scarlet is right in the middle of a group of people that care about her.

She got exactly what she wanted from the Buttercup Scouts.

Doc couldn’t be happier.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Lost and Found (GoodCollins)

The winner of one Yeehawgust Poll was: Rode Hard. Unsurprisingly, this fill is NSFW

There’s never been a more beautiful day, a more beautiful place, than this valley in Saskatchewan in August of 1977. Goodsir cannot believe his luck at being included on this expedition. 

“Fitzjames! I swear, if you add one more bag to that horse-”

“There are two! You can wear the same pair of jeans for three months, some of us prefer to not smell like a horse pen!”

“Gentlemen, please!” Sir John, the leader of this expedition tries to calm the argument that’s been brewing at base-camp all morning between the former head of Terra Tracking and the current second-in-command of Erebus Expeditions. 

Goodsir’s understanding is that the two companies recently merged, though it’s backers of Erebus who are funding this venture. He does hope that Crozier and Fitzjames will come to an understanding soon. 

After all, their bickering might scare off the Sasquatch.

As the captains of the expedition separate, Crozier to confer with the trio of “lieutenants” he’s leaving to man basecamp, Fitzjames passes Goodsir and whisks away his frown, replacing it with a charming smile. 

“Doctor! I’m glad you arrived.” 

“So am I.” Goodsir extends a hand to shake, “I’ve packed all my equipment as instructed, is there somewhere I’m to put it?”

“Go find Mr. Collins. He’ll be with the horses and can help you get everything onto your mount so we can set off as planned.”

Goodsir thanks him and heads in the direction he points. All around him, men pack camping equipment and tracking devices into packs, check paper lists and double-check their count of food. He knows this expedition is the best funded to ever be undertaken, but seeing what all the money has gone to is staggering. 

He finds the horses, along with the two guides–Blanky and Hartnell–and a man standing with his back to him as he checks over a saddle. 

“Excuse me. I’m looking for Mr. Collins?”

“That’d be me.” The third man turns and Goodsir is treated to a sight of masculinity at its finest. Broad-chested, with strong arms revealed by shoved up sleeves. Curly dark hair and sideburns starting to show grey.  He rather reminds Goodsir of a cowboy in the old movies that’d make their way over the atlantic, and the effect is complete when he dusts off a stetson and sets it on his head. 

Were he not coursing with excitement at the expedition, Goodsir might be anxious at the intensity with which his heart flips at Collin’s slight smile. 

“You’re Dr. Goodsir, right? Mr. Crozier told me to keep an eye out for you.”

His delight at Collins knowing him dims, “This is about the horses, I imagine?”

“Yessir, said you’d need a little instruction before we left.”

“I suppose I do.” Goodsir sets his bag down with the others, trying not to feel dejected that his practice ride at Crozier’s ranch had gone poorly enough that he felt the need to foist him onto someone for last minute lessons. 

“No shame in it.” Collins gestures for him to follow, “not everyone grows up around horses, and they can be real intimidating if you’ve never rode.” 

Goodsir waits as Collins brings a large, sand-colored beast forward, “This is Starfish, Star for short. One of the calmest we’ve got.” He smiles reassuringly, “okay doc, lets see you get on her.”

He manages to not make too great a fool of himself getting into the saddle, and stays upright as Collins leads the mare in circles, correcting his form in a soft, friendly voice. If he talks to everything that way, Goodsir is surprised men and animals alike aren’t following him about. 

Once Collins is satisfied that Goodsir will be able to keep his horse on the trail, offers a hand to help him dismount. Goodsir takes it, feeling a tad like a Victorian maiden. 

“I better go finish loading bags. See you on the trail, doc.” 

Goodsir thanks him for his help and returns to the center of base camp, joining Crozier and Franklin when they wave him over to ask his opinion on a photo that may be of the creature’s foot. When Fitzjames joins them, Crozier noticeably stiffens but continues talking. 

“Irving got a look through his binoculars and wanted me to report that the other party is already moving.”

Crozier huffs, but Franklin waves a hand dismissively, “I’m not worried about some little rag-tag group. We have the most sophisticated tracking equipment money can buy.”

“And they have one of the best trackers I’ve ever seen.” Crozier counters, “not to mention they’re a smaller group. They’ll be able to move faster.”

“Which would matter more  if they weren’t on the wrong side of the valley.” Fitzjames adds. 

Crozier mutters something along the lines of “that’s not what Silna says” and Goodsir decides to leave for more pleasant surroundings. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even after three days on the trail, Henry finds it a struggle to pull himself onto the horse in the mornings. 

He promised Crozier, promised Fitzjames, promised fucking everyone that he was fine, really, that he was eager to take on being the horsemaster for this expedition. He thought he would be. He should be. 

As they break camp on the fourth morning, he wills himself to how he used to be. To be cheerful and friendly, even excited, like-

“Good morning, Henry!” Dr. Goodsir guides Star up alongside him.

“Morning, Doc.” Henry feels his smile turn genuine. If you ask him, Goodsir is a marvel; no complaints about the hours of riding and the sore legs, in spite of how he must be feeling them all up and down his body. Instead, he spends their evenings showing Fitzjames plant specimens they both find fascinating, or listening to one of Blanky’s stories about his days as younger guide among the mountain men. During the day, he often rides alongside Silna–their route takes them into tribal land, and their permission to enter depends on the guide’s presence–or, if Henry is lucky, the doctor will bring his horse behind or alongside him to talk. 

Henry had initially worried for him. Most of the men on this expedition know each other, and there’s been eager ribbing of the soft-spoken doctor, his desire to be liked and included by seasoned adventurers more evident than a signal fire. But then Henry had overheard him reply to a snide comment from Dr. Stanley, their medic, with a breezy retort, and worried about him considerably less. 

After all, his last conversation with Stanley left him gun shy of the man, who told him in no uncertain terms that everyone felt as he did, and there was nothing for it but to get a hold of himself and go out for a drink or two, or he would recommend the expedition heads hire someone else. 

Although they’re not that many days removed from civilization, he can’t face the idea of riding back alone. He feels alone enough as it is. 

He’s eating a bologna sandwich, their dinner for the evening, on an overlook by where they’ve made camp, staring at the view without seeing it, when Goodsir sits down beside him. 

“Is it alright if I join you?”

He nods, scoots sideways so the doctor isn’t stuck on the sharper rocks. A kestrel calls in the distance and Goodsir produces one of the many pocket guides shoved into his pack and onto his person to check the call, only to look up delightedly when Henry just tells him. 

“I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that someone who spends so much time out here can easily identify creatures that do the same.”

“Suppose so. You just kind of pick it up.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Henry.” Goodsir pockets the reading glasses he’d pulled from his coat, “to hear Francis tell it, there are men who’ve been out here longer than you who can’t tell a birdcall-”

“From a bear shitting. One of his favorite ways of saying he thinks this whole trip is a mistake.”

“And do you?”

Henry isn’t sure how to answer that, and Goodsir seems to take his hesitation as annoyance.

“I don’t mean to pry” he adds quickly, “only some of the others said you…you actually saw it.”

“I, I think so.” He mumbles, “on the way back from scouting a new trail. Mr. Franklin wanted us to see if there was a way to get cars further up the mountain. Saw it through the trees in the dark. Haven’t really looked at the woods the same since.”

Goodsir clearly wants to ask him more, but doesn’t, nodding and looking back out over the valley with a small smile. 

The horrible, gaping trap door beneath his heart widens at the thought that the doctor might think he doesn’t want to talk to him anymore. 

“Have you seen it? I, Mr. Fitzjames said you were an expert.”

A light laugh, “In anthropology. I’m interested in the creature in terms of what it means for the field, as well as a personal fascination with how much of the world we still have yet to discover. I was initially in school to be a surgeon, but the pull of other aspects of nature was too great.”

“So if Blanky loses another toe, someone might be able to sew it back on?” He jokes, like it’s the most natural thing to do instead of something he has, until this second, been forcing. 

“In an emergency I suppose.” Goodsir sips his enamel mug of water, “but let's keep him away from hatchets all the same.”

Henry smiles and the conversation turns toward the doctor’s change in schooling. By the time he’s telling Henry all about a life changing autopsy on a monkey, Henry is on his back, soaking up the last of the suns heat from the stones and enjoying, for the first time in months, the sight of the stars coming out. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks into their journey, they reach the crossing at the Porcupine River. Henry’s been dreading this, so much that he couldn’t sleep at all last night, or enjoy the way Goodsir looked climbing out his tent this morning, bright-eyed in the sweater Henry leant him (his own had been carried off by some bold raccoons who got into two of the tents).

He hangs back as the first group crosses; the horses wade in, then swim as they reach the deeper portion. It’s late enough in the summer that there’s no snow melt to speed the current, but his chest tightens as more and more of his friends urge their horses across. Goodsir goes in the middle, between Silna and Gore, for which Henry is grateful; both are strong riders on steady mounts. Even if Goodsir–or Star–panics, there won’t be total chaos that prevents someone from hauling the doctor from the river. 

It’s only when Fitzjames whistles to him that he realizes he’s now the only man remaining on that side of the river. 

He can do this. He has to. 

Fagin trots forward, Henry guiding him to the safest crossing point. The water is up to his ankles. Another foot and it drops, and now he’s up to his knees, the rush of water blotting out all other sounds. 

Deeper now, Fagin has to swim and he does, unbothered, the current slow, so why can’t Henry breathe? Why do his fingers feel like they won’t hold the reins, his mind like it’s outside him, above him?

A boulder catches Fagin’s belly and the horse snorts, jolting in surprise and god help him he can hear the screaming again, the yell for help swallowed up by the water and he can’t be here anymore, he can’t hold on, he’s going to be swept away. 

He grabs at Fagin blindly and the horse, skittish from the bruise on it’s stomach, lurches, and his balance goes, sending him sideways into the water. 

Henry flails to right himself, rocks scraping at him through his jeans, drawing blood from his arms, and gasps for air. Everything he knows to do abandons him until only fear is left, and he scrabbles and kicks until, through sheer survival instinct, he makes it to a sandy, shallow patch and pulls himself onto shore. 

People are yelling. He’s too outside himself to hear what. He can see that Crozier has rope in hand, must have been about to throw it to him. Goodsir makes it too him first, alarm clear the instant Henry sees his face, only to be waved out of the way by Doctor Stanley. 

“I’m okay.” Henry chokes out, searching the faces around him for some reassurance, “I’m okay.”

A hand on his lower back as he coughs and shivers. Goodsir. His tether to the world outside that fucking, goddamned river. 

“Yes, Henry. You’re alright.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

Everyone says they’re glad he’s in one piece, and Henry believes them. All the same, he’s relieved when night falls and he’s left alone to keep watch. The last three days, they’ve been hearing strange, heavy steps in the woods, always just beyond the reach of any of  the tracking equipment, and long, wailing calls no one recognizes. 

Tonight, he’s alone save for the crackle of the dying fire and a very persistent owl. 

Or, he thinks he’s alone. Then there’s a soft, “may I sit?”

“You don’t have to ask every time, doc.” He looks up into Goodsir’s face, “I like your company.”

“And you don’t have to call me ‘doctor.’” The smile is chiding, gentle, “I wish you’d call me Harry.”

“Right then. Harry.” He turns his attention back to the fire, turns up the lantern a hair so he can see further beyond the tents. 

Harry holds his hands near the remaining flames; it’s cold enough at night that he wears his fingerless gloves to sleep, and Henry can’t say what about the dark fabric makes him want to catch a palm and kiss each finger in turn. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry glances at him.

“I have. In a way. What I mean is, I tried talking to a few people, including Dr. Stanley. I try and I try and it never…no one really hears.”

“You haven’t tried me.” The doctor is facing him as best as their positions on the log allow. Henry takes a deep breath, tries not to wonder if the urge to speak means Harry really is the man who can help him, or just another sign he’s weak where Harry Goodsir is concerned. 

“Early in the summer, once we knew the Barrows were willing to put up money for this, Mr. Franklin sent me and another guide, Billy, to see if there was a way to cross the Porcupine lower down, closer to town. Shorten the route some, keep us on schedule, that sort of thing. It’d been a late spring, we knew that, but the snowmelt made the river higher than we thought. We thought we had a crossing point and…and we didn’t. The current was faster than it looked, Billy’s horse got pushed into a boulder and panicked, threw him and he…he…he was just gone. I tried to help him, but he was gone. One minute he was yelling, I was trying to get to him, and then I couldn’t hear him and, and I, I-”

The tears are welling up again. He’s such an easy crier these days. 

“I still see it. At night. At riverbanks. I feel like I’m there again. Like my mind doesn’t know past from present and all I’m left with is a swirling great blackness in my chest.” He presses a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob, to stop any more nonsense from spilling out. 

“I’m so sorry, Henry.” Harry puts an arm around his shoulder and maybe he pulls, maybe he doesn’t, all Henry knows is that he presses against him in a hug, hides his face in his shoulder, and Harry doesn’t recoil, doesn’t push him away with a gruff “well then” or a “get a hold of yourself.”

“I just want it to stop.” Henry whispers. 

“I’ve never heard a more reasonable wish.” Harry murmurs, resting his hand on the base of Henry’s neck, petting him like he’s a scared dog in a thunderstorm, “I’m sure we can figure something out. Shell shock isn’t, it’s not new, Henry, our understanding of it is getting better.” He pulls back enough to look him in the face, even as Henry tries to avoid his gaze, too afraid that if he sees affection and understanding there, he’ll insist on sleeping at Harry’s feet for the rest of his life. 

“But when?” He pleads.

“I wish I could say. When we get back, I’ll reach out to some friends at the university who study this sort of thing.” Harry presses his fingers through Henry’s forelocks, “until then, when these moods strike…please come find me. We can talk, we can even touch like we are now if that helps. But you do not need to carry this alone.”

Henry should let go, should nod curtly and say thank you and let Henry go back to bed with a promise to seek him out that he will never follow through on. Instead, he nods pathetically, and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder for as long as he will let him. 

(He falls asleep like that. Luckily, Harry has the watch after him anyway).

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

They’re deep into the backcountry. Meaning that when things go wrong, the chances are high they’ll go wrong in the most extreme way.

This maxim proved true this evening. Just as they were selecting a location to set camp for the night, the unexplained calls burst from the trees all around them, along with a flurry of thrown rocks, sending men, mules, and horses into chaos. Star’s calm demeanor does not extend to attacks from unseen entities, and so she went haring off with Harry still in the saddle. 

He rode harder and faster than he thought possible, surrendering to her whims after his first attempts to soothe and steer her proved futile. 

So here he stands, finally having dismounted his now-exhausted mare, with no earthly idea where he is. 

After a small period of time where he sat on the ground to collect his thoughts and quell his panic, Harry decides to try for a higher vantage point to see if he can locate any kind of landmark.

Footfalls in the tree-line make him jump, and for a moment he braces to see the very creature they’ve trekked over a month to find. The figure that emerges into the dusk is, in this moment, an even better sight. 

“Harry!” Henry lumbers down the hill and embraces him, “thank god, you’re okay. You’re okay, right?”

“A bit bruised from the ride, but that’s the worst of it.” He hugs the larger man back, not interested in letting go, “you?”

“Took a tree branch to the face at one point.” The ghosts of a wild, frightened look linger at the corners of his eyes, “I haven’t found anyone else. Or even heard them. We have an agreed upon meeting spot if anyone got separated, but I, I need to get my bearings, and it’s so dark already I’m not sure I can get us to it safely.”

“We can’t be the only ones coming to that conclusion.” Calming Henry is calming himself in turn, “how about we settle in for the night, and start for the meeting point bright and early in the morning.”

Someone else making the decision seems to relax Henry, who nods and suggests they make camp in a flat patch of grass at the base of the hillside. As he brings Fagin down, Harry realizes a flaw in his plan. 

“I’m afraid I’ll be sleeping under the stars; my tent is with Gore, we moved items around so I could carry one half of the radar device.” He manages an awkward smile at the clouds gathering in the sky, “I hope there’s no rain.”

“Uh.” Henry looks up, “it looks like it might. You could share mine. It’ll be a tight fit, but I’d feel better if you weren’t out in the open with that beast running around. If that’s alright by you?”

A raindrop hits Harry's forehead. 

“That, my dear Mr. Collins, is an excellent plan.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The tent is indeed snug with the two of them, and after a plethora of “it it’s alright”s and “it’ll be more comfortable”s, they agreed to zip their sleeping bags together and that if they ended up atop each other or otherwise entangled by the morning, neither of them would be mad upset. 

A crack awakens Harry, and he lays there, listening to the rain and for footsteps at the edge of the tent. When none come, he nestles back down, as close to Henry's bulk as he dares. At that same moment, Henry rolls from his back onto his side, arm flopping onto Harry’s waist. 

Harry indulges himself. Pretends this is a lovely hotel room somewhere people won’t look too hard at two men together. Rain on the windows, and the most handsome man in the world waiting to be awakened with a kiss. 

A low, soft “nfn” is followed by the hand on his waist tightening, tugging at his shirt. Harry gives in and lets himself be drawn closer. 

The next noise is more insistent, a wordless mumble and now it’s Henry’s turn to cuddle closer. Harry wonders what he’s dreaming of, and hopes it’s pleasant. 

Then Henry’s thigh nudges his own, and the nature of the dream becomes clear. 

He’d heard several of the men snickering to each other about Henry being well-endowed, and while it had fueled some intense imaginings as he fell asleep each night, he hadn’t put much stock in it as a truth. 

It seems they weren’t exaggerating. 

The temptation to let Henry sleep, to simply be manhandled and pawed at the whims of his tentmate is strong. Indeed, if he thinks about it too long, his own cock threatens to join the proceedings. But that was not their agreement, and so he sets a hand on Henry’s cheek, stroking it gently as he murmurs his name. 

This has the opposite of the intended effect. Henry whines, hips rolling lazily, and turns his face to nuzzle at Harry’s palm. 

“Henry, you’re dreaming.” He scritches at the edge of one sideburn and Henry sighs, eyes fluttering open at last. 

“H‘Lo” he says, voice thick, “s’ still dark. Go back t’ sleep.” 

With that, he leans lazily but deliberately forward and kisses Harry once on the lips. He does a poor job of containing his gasp, and of keeping his fingers from slipping from Henry’s cheek to his mussed hair. 

His nails snag on tangles and Henry groans, hips bucking a moment before the pain brings him fully awake. Then his eyes are huge and watery as he backs away, looking perilously close to clawing his way from the tent.

“M’ so sorry Harry, I’d been dreaming, thought I still was. I didn’t mean to, to…”

Harry has always been a curious man, even when it does not serve him. When combined with the affection and hope bubbling in his chest, that impulse knocks down any chance of letting the conversation go. 

“Am I to take that to mean the dream was about someone else?” He says it gently, teasingly, so Henry will not recoil from an anger that isn’t there. 

A long pause as Henry meets his eyes, no longer scrambling away but still staying out of reach. 

“It wasn’t. Hasn’t been for weeks. I don’t mean nothing by it, Harry, honest I don’t.”

“That’s a shame.” Harry shifts an inch closer, “for if you had, I’d have reciprocated.” 

He watches with pleasure as Henry parses his words, the way his gaze shifts from apology to hunger in a blink. 

“You mean it?”

“I do.” Harry crawls the remaining space between them, assuming Henry will sit up. Instead, his tentmate falls onto his back, breath coming quicker when Harry straddles him, “you’re magnificent, Henry. And I haven’t the heart to deny that, not when you look at me this way.”

A laugh, shy but very real, “If we’re talking about looks, doc, think we ought to talk about the one you’re giving me now.”

“Is it too much?”

“No. It makes me feel…small. In a good way.” He licks his lips as Harry shifts down onto his elbows, bringing their faces oh so close, “do you do this a lot, then?”

“A few times. But never like this. Usually it’s something quick and, well, you know how most men see me. They assume my demeanor means I want them to be in control. And it’s not that I don’t enjoy that but…” he runs an appreciative hand up Henry’s chest, “you bring out an entirely different side of me. I want…” He hesitates, unsure of how the next part will sound.

“What do you want, lovely thing?” Henry’s fingers pet over his hair. 

“I want to treat you like a prize stallion. Bought and paid for, to be ridden as hard and as often as I please.”

“Jesus god.” Henry bucks against him, “you gonna ride me, Harry?”

His ambition wars with his common sense and loses, “Not tonight. I don’t have anything to make that easier, and we do have to actually ride tomorrow to find the others. I need to be able to sit down.”

“Please? We can think of something, go slow, I’ll be good so it won’t hurt” Henry continues rolling his hips. Their positions mean that his cock grinds against Harry’s still-clothed ass, and each thrust brings a series of new, delightfully needy sounds from the larger man. 

“No.” Harry shakes his head, keeping his tone light, “even though you’re asking very sweetly. Which is very good of you, Henry.”

A real moan this time, loud enough to make him glad they’re lost and alone in the woods.

“S-sorry” Henry’s blush is clear, even in the darkness.

“No need for such apologies. You are good, Henry. My good boy.” He kisses him once, keeps their lips close as he adds, “how shall I reward you?”

“Anything, I’ll do fucking anything sir, ohjesus” he hides his face, “what a mess I am, talking ridiculous-”

Harry grips his chin, says sweetly yet firmly, “Look at me.”

Henry looks. 

“You’re not being ridiculous. You’re being polite. Which I very much enjoy. But since coming up with an answer to my question is taxing you, I won’t press the matter” he sits back, wriggling awkwardly from his sleep pants, “I’ll simply decide for the both of us. Doesn’t that make things simpler?”

Henry nods excitedly. Harry shoves Henry’s shirt up his chest, repositions himself so his cock is rutting against his belly. What a marvelous world this is, housing the sight of dark hair covering the pale swell of skin and the way Henry moans out little “ohs” as Harry begins moving.

“I, I like that. Didn’t know it was a thing you could like.” He kisses Harry’s shoulder, “like that I can make you feel good with just being how I am.”

“How you are is nothing short of wondrous.” Harry returns the kiss, first to his shoulder and then to his mouth, “my sweet Henry.”

“M’yours alright” comes the mumble against his lips, “be yours anytime of day. You always look so good in the morning, bet you look even better in bed, curled up in the sun, could wake you up with my mouth on your cock, work my fingers into you once you’re eager” his hands are roving now, pressing up Harry’s sides then around his back to pet his skin or grope for his ass, “you must work some place with a desk, could hunt you down come lunch, make a mess of you all over your papers and that.”

Harry nips his collarbone in warning, “and what makes you think you’d be doing any of the fucking, hm?”

A new, wicked grin spreads on Henry’s face, “because I’m letting you be in charge and we both know it.” One hand digs into Harry’s thigh, the other reaches around him to grip Henry’s own cock, “I must outweigh you by what, fifty pounds? And I work outside all day too, make my living with these” the hand on his hip squeezes, “can throw you around like a goddamn doll if I wanted to, doc.”

“God yes.” Harry drops his head to Henry’s shoulder, grinding frantically against his belly. 

“Bet I could hold you up and fuck you, bet your tighten up real sweet when someone’s rough, your ass’ll feel so good, might see if I can get myself off in it more than once, really fill you up, so you gotta go to work or to bed still dripping down your legs”

He muffles a  laugh at how verbose and blue Henry is. He’ll have to experiment to see which he enjoys most; Henry shy and begging, or Henry spilling filth into his ear while they tax the bed frame. 

“God I love how you laugh, you’re always so goddamn excited, s’not fair, someone shouldn’t look so fuckable talking about lichen, but I gotta sit there and watch you smile and not be able to get on my knees and show you all the ways I can make you smile harder.” the sounds coming from behind Harry are obscene, Henry fucking his fist with abandon, “you fucking tease, wandering around in shorts where I can’t slap your ass in them, can’t yank them down and let you ride me over and over,  fuck” he arches beautifully, “fuck, Harry, Harry.”

Harry kisses him, stray ejaculate catching his skin as he does. Henry gasps into the kiss and Harry slips his tongue between his lips, teasing and eager as thrusts forward a half-dozen times before spurting all the way up Henry’s chest. 

They’re boneless now, save for where Henry is using all his strength to keep Harry hugged to his chest. 

“That” Harry manages after a moment, “that was probably not the kind of riding lessons James meant you to give.”

“No.” Henry drags the sleeping bag back up over them, “like them better though, don’t you?”

“Much. Though I predict that when they…intensify” he squeezes Henry’s thigh playfully, “I shall be even more sore than I was those first few days.”

“Promise the ride’ll be worth it.” Henry yawns, kissing him on the brow, “g’night, lovely thing.”

He kisses Henry’s jaw, excited for what the dawn, and the days after, might bring now that they’ve found each other.

[justagalwhowrites]

this isn’t a criticism on you. you’re amazing and i adore you and i think you’re an incredibly talented writer. why is joel so mean all through lavender like he isn’t nice at all even in the beginning??? girl stand up, this man is not nice to you, find someone who treats you well! he’s always like i’m sorry for being a dick :( ok then stop being a dick then

OMG Hi Bestie!

I totally get what you're saying lol Lavender Joel is a tough one! I'm putting the rest below a cut because oh my GOD I wrote a lot, I have a chronic case of cannotshutthefuckupitis and it's incurable.

While I definitely get what you're saying, I do disagree in that I don't think he's an asshole at the beginning, at least not totally. He has his stumbling block of "this is wrong, I never should have done this" after they sleep together and has his dick moment at the bar. He struggles because of Doc's relationship to his daughter and the fact that the last time Joel had any kind of relationship with a woman it was Sarah's mom and I think he kind of sees himself as a potentially life ruining force for someone he adores and respects so much and he desperately doesn't want to be that for her. Before they're together he's looking out for her (saving her from the asshole guy, having her stay with him, doing little things like bringing her the pens when she's low on ink and making sure she drinks water because I think Joel's love language is acts of service) and once he lets himself love her, I think he's a great partner (though I could definitely be biased because I wrote him and we don't see a ton of their relationship together in the fic!) He supports her interests and ambitions, is so excited for and proud of her achievements, understands her struggles and cares for her through them. He just is keenly aware of the fact that he's not a traditionally successful person and he perpetually thinks she can do better than him. Eventually, he falls victim to that line of thinking and tries to do the "right thing" by breaking up with her.

With the breakup, I think Joel always kind of planned it to be a temporary thing - assuming Doc didn't find someone better for her while she was in med school, anyway. His hope was, at the back of his mind, once she went to Harvard or Yale or some other fancy school and she got matched for residency, Sarah would be off at college, Tommy would be more stable and he could be in a position to pick up and move to wherever she was and they could try again. He just couldn't bear to see her dictating her life around him and selling herself short because of his limitations. His greatest hope was for Doc and Sarah both to reach their full potential and do the things he knew they were capable of without him holding them back. If she met someone else and settled down then, well, it would hurt but he'd be happy for her, assuming it was someone who he thought was worthy (a high bar but it wasn't one he cleared.)

And thennnn there's the outbreak lol

Post-outbreak Joel is another matter ENTIRELY and I've talked about my interpretation of Joel's character a lot BUT it boils down to this: Joel is too traumatized to fully, properly love anyone. Not that trauma inherently keeps you from loving someone but Joel has this really horrible storm of circumstances around his trauma that makes it basically impossible. The biggest one is that the person he loved most in the world died in his arms and he couldn't handle that so he tried to die, too. To the basic parts of his brain - the parts that keep him alive, logical or otherwise - the association has been made: love will kill you. Just like someone who may have been in an awful car accident might have a hell of a time getting behind the wheel again, he can't just let himself love someone. Add that to the fact that the QZ is a state of constant retraumatization for Joel - his daughter died at the hands of a military force and he lives in a city controlled by the military, his job often involves him carrying the bodies of dead children - he can't move past the thing that gave him that association to begin with. The problem is, he already loved Doc. That doesn't just go away. So his poor trauma-addled brain sees her as a threat to his survival and is constantly and instinctually trying to push her away. He doesn't want to be doing these things. He clings so hard to her when he first gets to the QZ because what he wants is to be with her. The trauma just doesn't allow it. The reason it works out when it does is that he's removed from the state of retraumatization and put into a situation where he has a lot more control than he had in his daily life in the QZ and he was finally confronted with the fact that losing her would kill him, regardless of how near or far she is.

You are right, though, that Doc really did not have a spine when it comes to Joel (or a lot of things, really) but that was kind of by design. She accepts his treatment because of her own baggage. Being abandoned by her parents in infancy, being treated with a certain level of resentment by her grandmother (who loved her but really didn't want to be the one raising her), her best friend dying by suicide in her teens, she has developed this complex that she is supremely unwanted and unworthy. She feels like everything she does needs to justify her existence because she doesn't inherently have a reason to be there. Her whole life, she's been an inconvenience at best and she's keenly aware of that fact and she spends her whole life trying to make up for it (just look at her career choices - always looking to care for others.) While Joel never thought he was worthy of her, she never thought she was worthy of him, either. But instead of trying to push him away, she did everything she could to endear herself to him, including tolerate his mistreatment because she doesn't realize that she deserves better.

Joel and Doc are very much two sides of the same coin (which was the point of the fic!) in that they have a lot of the same trauma. The feelings of being unworthy from before, the loss after. But when they both lost everything, Doc took the path of "cling to everyone I love as hard as I can" when it came to surviving while Joel took the track of "push everyone away and I won't be at risk." They pick these paths right at the beginning, with Joel choosing suicide when he loses everything and Doc choosing to keep going because she knows Joel would want her to. In the end, when they're in a place where they're safe and their basic needs are being met, they can heal and have a relationship that's far healthier.

ANYWAY lol I'm sure you didn't want an entire dissertation about my interpretation of Joel but here we are! I hope this is some insight into why I wrote him the way I did. It's mainly that trauma is a hell of a drug and Joel got a hell of a dose of it.

Thank you for asking, bestie! Love you!

[campbyler]

okay i need y’all to know that i stretched out reading this fic for as long as i emotionally could and it’s been 3ish weeks since i caught up and i have NOT stopped thinking about it. i feel like i’m reading a new favorite book and someone forced me to stop halfway!! lol so this is an appreciation ask <33 you’re such talented writers!!

also! how is it co-writing a fic? do you try to match writing styles or are you just naturally similar in that regard? i’m impressed that even with the distinctly different perspectives and multiple authors, it all feels so cohesive and seamless.

do you think you’ll continue writing together in the future once you’re done with this fic and its spinoffs?

((ps. i’m wishing i wasn’t a kid who got easily homesick because this story is making me nostalgic for experiences i didn’t really get to have (i tried and failed and sleep-away camps multiple times lol). i wanna live in this wholesome summer camp environment. ))

AHHH YAY i'm glad that you've been enjoying!! we wish more than anything it was done so that everyone could have the full story, but appreciate everyone's patience and kindness while we make sure to take the time to tell the story the right way! so thank YOU for your appreciation ask <3

we've had a really great time co-writing! when it was three of us, we would all go in and edit the current chapter to make sure that tone and vibes were the same, and i'd say we also all adapted our writing styles a bit to make sure that it flowed easily between the three of us! before we even started writing acswy, suni and i have always said that we have very similar writing styles with a few notable identifying quirks, so that's definitely been helpful in terms of having a consistent vibe, and something that makes us excited to work together in the future, too! we actually have written in the same doc before and it all flows really seamlessly which is very cool to see and be a part of :o) also we very recently talked about continuing to work together on collabs outside of acswy, and though it probably won't be for a while, i am excited for it!

if we could make camp whiteman a real place and invite you all we absolutely would so that we could all have the experience together!! tho i fear suni and i would have to live in the isolation cabin locked away from everyone else for our own protection 😗

[lethalchiralium]

Hey if you’re taking requests

NSFW (if you’re comfortable with it) & SFW headcons or one shots with ghost about a reader (afab) who wears overexposing clothing. Has a bit of edgy/grunge style that leaves little to the imagination. The prompt could be how ghost feels about the reader’s clothing and how it affects him. The reader has a nice ass too 🫡

Overexposed | Simon “Ghost” Riley Headcanon (18+)

a/n: GRUNGE STYLE??? W A SIDE OF A NICE ASS??? YOUVE WOUNDED ME.

a/n 2: i’m almost done with the next part of no more and we may actually see the second part of you leave me wounded and bleeding? CRAZY. (i am working on my requests, i promise i’m just trying to clean out my writing notes on my phone)

warnings: 18+!! MINORS DNI. Vague descriptions of sexual activity, body worship, simon is a thigh man. and a boob man. and an ass man.

-He spotted you at a bar. A dinky, old bar where uni students come to get pissed. Pretty face with skin showing almost everywhere, he loved the flame designed stockings when his gaze trailed downwards.

-He kept to himself at the bar, casting few glances to your very revealing outfit, and you.

-When you approached him, he was fully expecting you to spit in his face for even glancing at you, but you did the opposite. You sat on the stool next to him and chatted with him for hours, up until the bar kicked you out. (He was too enraptured by you that he forgot to even ask for your number.)

-The next time he saw you, he immediately recognized you by the clunky platform black boots strapped to your feet, fishnets and black skirt leaving barely an inch of imagination since it rode up your fine-looking ass. You were at the bar, leaning onto it as the bartender made you three fingers of whiskey. (It was like you shot him then. He fell in love when he watched you nurse it.)

-It didn’t take him even twenty minutes before you were in his car, pretty little corset ripped to shreds as he plunged into you, mask up on his nose because he needed to make sure you felt his teeth. He needed to make sure that you felt his tongue on your neck, that you felt only his hands on you.

-It didn’t take long for the relationship to establish. He goes fucking batshit crazy the more skin you show, but good Lord, if you’re in that pair of black joggers and oversized Metallica shirt? You’re done. You’re done for the next 48 hours.

-He is the type of man to stare at someone who even gives you any sort of look, whether appreciation for your fashion or disgust, sexual thoughts or confusion - he will stare at them until they walk out the door.

-Will let you dress him up to match you. Granted, it’s still no skin showing that’s not around his eyes - but damn, does he look good next to you. (He says that you show enough skin for the both of you.)

-He genuinely does not care that you like to wear corsets that show off your breasts or mini skirts that show off your ass. (He loves your ass. Uses it as a pillow 99% of the time.) He is the definition of “Wear what you want, I can fight.”

-Wants you to dress up in front of him so he can sit you in front of the floor length mirror and make you watch as he takes it all off. (Sometimes he’ll cut your clothes off with his knife if he knows you’re not attached to the piece. He would never damage any of your favorite clothing, but damn, he’s cut off too many fishnets for you to count and or care.)

-He loves seeing you excited over new band merch or a new belt, lets you talk about all the outfits you want to complete and that you need a new pair of Docs because your old ones got damaged. (He buys you new Docs and does not realize they have to be broken in, feels bad that you get blisters from them.)

-Ghost shops with you. He holds your bags. No, you can’t help him. He’s got it. Quit asking. Yes, you can get that. You will get anything you want, he’ll buy it with no questions in his mind. He wants you happy - and if that means you get a latex skirt that shows a bit of your ass on the bottom, you’re gonna get the best one.

-He has definitely stared down your breasts because of the very low neckline on your shirt. Purposefully gets up close to look down your boobs, or he’ll make sure he sits on the couch while you’re doing something so he can see that perfect ass that he loves.

-If you have tattoos that aren’t covered by your clothing, he will literally have to clench his jaw from going up to you and dragging you to the bathroom of a raggedy bar to fuck you until you see stars. He loves tattoos.

-Agree with me or not, Ghost is not the type of man to go shopping for lingerie with you. He goes out and browses, taking his time before buying a set he really likes and gifting it to you when you get home. As soon as it’s on, he’ll do one of two things. One, he’ll rip it off immediately and have you against the wall, shaking the bones of his home. Two, he’ll sit in that nice chair in your shared bedroom and jack himself off as you admire yourself in the mirror. (You don’t ever leave much to the imagination, but it gets him off knowing that he is the one who gets to see all of you. That he is the one that dressed you in the pretty bodysuit with black spider web print, looking all pretty just for him. He could fuck his fist for hours if you stayed there, hands running up and down your body and eyes staring at him.)

-If you’re wearing one of your shorter skirts, he’ll come up and squeeze your ass. Just for fun.

-Also known to come up and hold your breasts, not even talk to you. The only thing in his head is ‘Boobs.’

-He is a thigh man. I’ll die on this hill. He loves that you show them off, that you’re confident in your fashion and body. He loves that you purposefully put little thigh chains around them - you know that he loves to drag them down with his teeth.

-In conclusion, man is feral for you. Doesn’t matter if you’re almost showing every little bit or covering up completely, he is smitten.

[guardian-of-fandoms]

Rescue Bots as Ducktales 2017

Kade: I’ve done nothing with my life! I’m a failure!

Dani: Aww, that never bothered you before.

-

Cody: Great party, can’t wait to tell my therapist about it when i’m older, BYEEEEEEEEE

-

Frankie: To the Naos! That’s greek for temple.

Cody: Okay, stop assuming i know things. Like, base line, assume i know nothing. 

-

Graham: Are you saying Kade would rather eat us than hot dogs?

Kade: I do hate hot dogs...

-

Cody: We’re.. okay?

Dani: Oh my gosh, no magic can kill me I’M THE CHOSEN ONE!

-

Graham: Please, not everything is a dark family secret!

Charlie: KIds, i’ve got a dark family secret.

-

Heatwave: Cody’s crashed so many times, i’m convined he may be immortal!

-

Cody: Do you know how many evil robots i have faced?! HAHAHAHAHA too many....

-

Kade: TREASURE!

Dani: ADVENTURE!

Graham: HISTORACAL ACCURACY!

-

Chase, playing detective: Look what the Cat dragged in.

Dani: ... You asked me to come here???

-

Kade: Dad won’t even let me touch the toaster!

-

Dani: His life is like a Haiku!

Kade: Yeah, it’s fake garbage that structurally makes no sense, He’s obviously lying!

-

Graham: You know who my best friend is?

Kade: Me!

Graham: Sleep.

Kade: (offended gasp)

-

Kade: IF I DON’T MAKE IT TELL MY SIBLINGS I WAS THE BEST ONE!

-

Dani: Sure, i’m not the best at cooking, or age appropriate stories, or child endangerment,  BUT NOBODY’S PERFECT!

-

Cody: Talking animals wearing clothes!

Kade: Oh no, did we die? are we in cody heaven?

-

Cody: He tried to kidnap me, so i trapped him in an improvised ball pit snare trap.

Frankie: Alright!

-

Dani: Make our markes on the world!

Kade: Not have to answer to anyone!

Cody: Be horribly alone.

-

Graham: I’m still not counting out a Methane Gas Leak.

Dani: NOT EVERYTHING IS A METHANE GAS LEAK

-

Cody: You... realize there’s a difference between quitting and dying, right?

Dani: Not to me.

-

Kade: Heatwave, who’s side are you on?!

Heatwave: Oh, neither, this is just way more entertaining to me than that movie.

-

Woodrow: Just because it’s a myth dosen’t mean it’s not true!

Graham: Well, actutally....

-

Woodrow: That’s what they want you to think!

Charlie: Who is “they”?

Woodrow: Exactly...

Charlie: ... what?

-

Graham: Are we supposed to examine every rock in this tunnel?! ... actually, that sounds pretty fun- WAIT THAT’S NOT THE POINT

-

Kade: WAIT YOU WERE TRYING TO HELP HIM KILL US?!

Dani: If i’m gonna be sacrifed, i wanna do it right!

-

Heatwave: Most kids wouldn’t get this excited over impending doom. Kade usually just cries.

-

Doc Greene: SHUT UP EVERYONE, I’VE DONE SOMETHING BRILLIANT!

-

Doctor Morocco: STOP LAUGHING! I’ve wasted an entire reel of film, and you’re not even in frame!

-

Frankie: Do you think i put glitter on my top secret notebooks just because it’s pretty?

Cody: (sheepishly nods with glitter covered hands)

Frankie: Well, sure, it’s a perk, but-

-

Charlie: I’ll be in my office if you need me. please don’t need me.

-

Graham: oooooooh, do i spy some Shale?

Dani: how is that better than subway monsters?

-

Kade: I’ll try to listen to you next time, and not, y’know, pull a kade.

Heatwave: Seriously, that’s a thing now?

Kade: It’s all about branding.

-

Blades: It’s a cautionary tale on Mole Monsters! And everyone could use a lesson on chainsaw saftey!

-

Cody: This appears in like all of my dreams. i’m cradeling a moon made of my own tears???? who knows what that’s about.

Frankie: ... i have some theories.

-

Chase: I’m afraid that dosen’t belong to you, Evan and Miles!

Miles: I’m afraid i don’t care!

-

Frankie: Then i shall keep your secret, for i believe in science. but i also belive... IN LOOOOVVVEE!!!

-

Charlie: Where’s kade?

Dani: Sleeping.

Graham: Who’s kade?

Dani: (slowly looks over at graham)

(charlie runs off)

Dani: ... WHO’S KADE?!

-

Graham: Do you need me to get a briefcase?! ‘Cause i can go get one, and become the vice president of being Chill! ‘Cause i’m chill!!! I’m straight chilling!!! LIKE A VILLAIN, EVEN!!!! (manic laughter)

Kade: Oh no graham’s broken...

-

Woodrow: I guess you could say i’m well versed in the custodial sciences, hehe...

Cody: ... WE TRUSTED YOU!!!! CAME ALL THE WAY DOWN HERE, GOT ATTACKED BY A SQUID!!! 

[starliights-shining]

I wrote another thing so why not post it here too. This is cross posted on Ao3(You're Married?)

Paring: Gilles "Montagne" Touré x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NONE. SFW!!!!!!

“You’re married?” 

A surprised look plastered on everyone's face at the table. They were frozen, eyes watching the large French man as they waited for an answer. He thought it was a given, The ring was always there. His eyes glance down to his gloveless left hand, expecting to see the shiny wedding band. It was bare, most likely left in that shell dish you kept your own in. He doesn’t wear it for his morning workout and it must have just slipped his mind. He’d hate to lose the sentimental jewelry, so he doesn’t wear it often. 

“I thought everyone knew.” 

He was trying to not show his own surprise. He’s spoken about you multiple times, but now that he recalls it. He’s only ever brought you up to Doc and a few other workers, but never his teammates. He heard another person into the room, taking a seat at the table after greeting everyone. 

“Olivier! Did you know Gilles’ married?” 

He looked over at Olivier, an evil looking smirk on his face. 

“Yeah, she’s not a big fan of me.” 

They were less shocked with this new finding, knowing a lot of the Ops didn’t get along with Olivier. Still though, Olivier and Gilles are close, like going out drinking close. They kinda thought you’d get along with him. 

“What do you mean?” 

They were now pestering Olivier for answers about you, and you not even his wife. Now Olivier is going to tell them everything he knows about you. How does he explain that the very women they’re all surprised about existing works in the same building as them. Your own feet carrying you down the same halls they walk, that you’ve even read their files and practically know everything about them. 

“She’s seen my history, not a huge fan of it.” 

“She works here!!” 

There was their surprise again. Gilles leans back in his chair, thumb rubbing over the bare spot on his ring finger. He’s interested now, watching how everyone is finally finding out about you. He’s smiling, eyes darting between the group as they speak. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m allowed to say where. She’s here though, probably walking around right now.” 

Gilles knows where you are, you’re on your way to lunch. Probably wrapped up in a thick coat as you make your way out to your car. You like going to get food and then send him a text to come have lunch with you. What he doesn’t know is that you’re not walking out to your car, your three turns down the hall from the meeting room he’s in. You're upset, he hasn’t answered your text, his food is now cold, and the most important thing, he’s not wearing his wedding ring. His eyes land back on the man in yellow, quickly and swiftly answering those random ‘how’d you know but we didn’t’ questions, he’s avoiding the real meaningful ones. The ones he knows Gilles should be answering. 

“Gilles. What does she do? I mean, she’s gotta be pretty good to be working for Rainbow.” 

He smiled slightly, attempting to hide how excited he was to talk about his wonderful and lovely Wife. He moves his legs, fixing the way he’s sitting as he thinks about what to say. Did he want to fuck with his teammates, to tell the truth. He decided it could be good to mess around with them, but he couldn’t think of anything that was good enough. He also was taught not to lie.

“She’s just an office worker for GhostEyes.” 

He’s not wrong, but he is also severely down playing what you do. He’s hoping they don’t ask about how you read Oliviers files, he’s just hoping that maybe it’ll be enough to satisfy their curiosity. It does, they don’t seem to ask too many questions about your work. Instead they ask about your looks and trying to see if they’ve ran into you before. He answers their questions carefully, picking his words purposefully. 

“Oh, so she’s,” 

The person is cut off. You round the corner with a bag in your hand before freezing. Looking at all the people who stared back at you. Gilles notices everyone looking behind him, quietly observing the person standing there. He turns around, arms over the back of the chair as he makes eye contact with you. A smile on his face as goes to greet you, your voice swiftly cutting him off. 

“I don’t wanna hear it, Gilles.” 

Your eyes looking at the other people around him, trying to find someone who you could recognize. You only knew Olivier and that made you roll your eyes. You looked back at your husband, watching as his mouth opened and closed trying to find something. You gave him an angry look, cocking your head forward and to the side. You were waiting for him to say something, especially since he can tell you are upset. He stood up, looking at the group of people. 

“Everyone, this is my wife, (Y/N).” 

He walked over to you, his hand resting on your lower back. He watched as you gave everyone a small wave. You didn’t wanna be rude, but you were absolutely upset with the large man next to you. It only made your blood boil more when you saw the shit eating grin on Oliviers face, he’s done nothing but sat there and it was annoying. You smiled as sweetly as you could, before pushing the bag into his chest and turning and walking away. A small ‘ooh’ coming from Olivier as he watched. Gilles gave him a pointed glare before following after you. 

“Duodou, wait.” 

His voice is soft, a hand reaching out to grab at your arm. You stopped, spinning around at him causing him to abruptly stop. 

“Do you even know what time it is?” 

  You paused, not even giving him a chance to speak. 

“Far past lunch. I sent you two whole texts AND a call, Gilles!” 

You don’t even know why this was upsetting you, but it was. It took to rooting deep in your bones and it was getting to you. Him not answering the text wasn’t even what truth got to you. It was the simple fact that he wasn’t wearing his ring, but then again you can’t even fully be mad at him for that either. He sighed, putting a hand into a pocket to fish out his phone but it wasn’t there, he checked his other pockets but it wasn’t there either. He looked up at you, watching as you stared him down waiting for an answer. 

“Chérie, I do believe, I don’t have my phone.” 

He almost let out a little nervous laugh, trying his hardest to not let your angry face get to him. You gave out a huff. He doesn’t even know, is all you say to yourself. 

“I can make it up to you.” 

You’re now trying to talk yourself down from being angry at him, his almost disappointed sigh broke you. You moved closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Your head laying on his chest, his arms wrapping around your shoulders.  

“You wanna do it now?” 

He hummed in response. Pulling back a bit as he watched you reach into your coat pocket and pulling out a colored snack size ziplock bag. Opening it and presenting the item to him with a bright smile. 

“You can wear this again and all the time, actually.” 

He laughs, fingers coming to pluck the ring from your hands. You watch as he slips it onto his finger. Your hands grab at his large hands and smile at the jewelry. 

“Is it this simple to make you not angry at me?” 

You hummed nodding as you looked up at him. You smiled, almost feeling bad for how you felt earlier. Your thumbs rubbing of his knuckles as you thought of what to say next. 

“I was just overreacting, I’m sorry.” 

His free hand going under your chin and pushing your head up to look at him. That same smile you fell in love with placed oh so perfectly on his face.  

“You were not overreacting, Duodou.” 

He bent down to kiss you, he planned on giving you a small little peck, but that didn’t happen. One peck turned into a kiss and then another. Not stopping until you heard someone clearing their throat. Your eyes looked over to see Olivier, what a mood dampener.

“They're looking for you two.” 

You shook your eyes, giving Gilles a soft oh well smile before interlocking your hands together. 

“Don’t worry. We’re coming back.” 

[i-spaced-sorry]

Coffee and Comfort Summary: Reader works at a coffee shop and one morning is rough enough that she gets sent home not even 2hrs into her shift. Jay comes home and comforts her.

Waking up for your 8am shift at the coffee shop felt more like waking up for a 6:30 am shift at the coffee shop. You were tired and slow in your movements. You sat down in front of your mirror closet doors like you did every morning out of habit. Quickly changing into your work clothes, you gave yourself a quick pep talk while simultaneously trying to both convince yourself to go into work and at the same time convince yourself to call the manager on duty phone and call off. Opting for the route of needing to pick up your tips, so you had date night money for your date with Jay that weekend, you got up off the floor, zipped up your docs and walked out the door. 

To say you should have called out of work, is an understatement, walking onto the floor and taking a tiny glance to the duty roster, you noticed it looked like every employee under the sun was scheduled for the day. Meaning there would be too many employees and not enough positions or tasks. But alas, you tied your apron and asked, “Where do you want me” to your shift manager. 

“Start on register” she replied and you dutifully went over to the register and signed in. Taking a look at the long line forming outside the shop, you sucked in a breath, thought ‘I need the money’ and waited for the door to be unlocked. 

The chaos didn’t take long to become overwhelming. On top of every employee scheduled, all the new fresh out of training employees were also on the floor. 

“We are out of chocolate croissants” your coworker Amari called out from the food section. 

“Hi, can I get a -” started a customer, “ - 86 the sausage breakfast sandwiches” called out Amari. 

“A iced vanilla latte” concluded the customer. 

“For su-” you began, “we have chocolate croissants again”

“For sure, what size”

“Medium” “you have 2 almond left, and 1 classic left” 

“Hey, I’m looking for Kylie, is she still here?” asked the senior manager in charge. 

“I don’t know” called your shift manager Riley. 

“Ooh, what are we going to get?” asked an overly excited customer to her friends while they waited in line. 

Was the music getting louder? Why can I hear every conversation but can’t finish a single conversation? 

“Your total will be 14.99” you choked out while blinking back tears and hopping the customer in front of you doesn’t see you failing to keep tears at bay. 

“Hi can I -” started the next customer who walked up. 

“I’m so sorry, just give me one second” you choked out, before turning to face Riley. 

“Can I go to the back real fast?” you asked. 

After getting the go ahead, you quickly walked into the back and pulled your neckline of your shirt to your eyes and began crying. And before you could stop it you found yourself hyperventilating. “No, No, No” you audibly exclaimed while trying to get your breathing in check while you started shaking. 

After a few minutes you had staved off the dreaded panic attack but you found yourself panicky, shakey, and on the verge of more tears. But alas, you wiped your eyes with your shirt, took a breath and walked back out on the floor. 

“I’m back” you said as you walked back on the floor, “thanks I needed a moment” you added. 

Riley took one look at you and could immediately tell you weren’t doing good. “Are you okay?” she asked. Normally you would lie and say you were fine, but you really didn’t want to be there anymore, so you actually said you weren’t. 

Next thing you knew you were talking to the senior manager and then being told to go home and take care of yourself. You didn’t need to be told twice. 

Walking into your apartment, you sighed, changed your clothes, and lept into bed and under the covers. 

“Y/N?” called out Jay an hour later. 

Noticing your bag on the floor, he walked towards your room. Opening the door, he noticed your shoes discarded to the side and could hear soft snoring. Gently shaking you Jay called your name until you rolled over and looked at him, “What?” you asked groggily. 

“Why are you home? I thought you worked til 4:30”

“Had a rough morning, got sent home” was all you muttered while cuddling close to your boyfriend. 

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked while shuffling himself to make himself more comfortable on your bed and allowing you to get comfortable curled up next to him. 

“I was just overwhelmed and staved off a panic attack and it was too many people talking over one another, I’m good at my job, I’ve been in food service since I was 15, but today I felt like I was a newbie because I could never finish a single sentence without being interrupted and neither could a customer. It was like if I listened to a customer and drowned out the person on food, then I’d hear what the customer wanted but would miss out on important food items we were out of or running low on. And if I drowned out the customer and listened to what was being said on food, then I felt like an ass having to ask the customer to repeat themself or me guessing what they wanted based off of the limited words I heard them say and if I guessed wrong, which happened a lot, then I look like a ditz who can’t do their job! And I can do my job! I’m damn good at my job!” you cried. 

Jay just held you while you let out your frustrations, “I know, I’m sorry it was overwhelming!”

You cried til you couldn’t cry anymore and you looked up at Jay and sighed, “I’m sorry, I know we were going to hang out tonight and this weekend, but I just have so much anxiety and really don’t want to do anything at least tonight, maybe this weekend we can do something” 

Hugging you close to him, he bent down and kissed your head, “never apologize. You are always so quick to help me after a tough case, the least I could do is return the favor. When Kim and Roman responded to a call at your work and they noticed you weren’t there, when they got back to the district they told me and I knew something was wrong, you never willingly leave work early.” 

“That’s why you knew to come here, I was starting to wonder how you knew I was home. Since normally you come over after I get home.” 

He shrugged and smiled, “now, let’s say you get dressed in comfy clothes, then I’ll take you to your favorite coffee spot for some ice tea and then we’ll come back here and watch all the trash tv shows you want. How does that sound?” 

Smiling, you replied, “Can we watch As The World Turns?” referring to the Soap opera that ran from ‘56 to 2010.

“Anything for you” Jay smirked. 

[dandylovesturtles]

Please tell me something about the Shape of Water AU I'm very curious

this is just the doc title for my "100 Feet and a World Away" AU! I have the lore post linked in my pinned.

tldr: the boys get kidnapped young and raised in a lab by humans who aren't aware they have human level intelligence, and they try to escape.

I posted a bit about Donnie (aka Turtle Four) eating french fries awhile ago but here, have the rest of the scene too:

April unwraps something. The smell assaults his nose - greasy meat, cheese, that red vegetable he’s seen sometimes - and he slips into the water and swims over, popping out just shy of the fence.

“I’m sorry, are you eating during our escape planning meeting?”

“Don’t start with me,” she says, holding up a hand. “I had to work through breakfast to catch up on my homework for my morning classes, then work through lunch to catch up on my homework for my afternoon classes, and then I worked through dinner to catch up on everything else.” She takes a bite, chews, swallows. “This is the first chance I’ve had to eat all day.”

“Huff! Fine. But did you have to bring something with so much…” he flails his hands, “smell?”

“It’s just a burger. What, you never had a burger before?”

He stares at her. She catches his eye, and then lowers her gaze.

“Right. Stupid question.”

“Sometimes the humans bring those. The burgers, you said? They eat them around noon.” He thinks of it with distaste. He can remember exactly which of the humans tend to chew with their mouths open, or talk with food in their mouths. It makes him feel slimy when he watches. 

“We call that “lunch”,” April says. She looks at the burger, then back at Four. It’s with an expression he doesn’t understand, but he’s noticed from her more and more. “Do you want to try it?”

He hesitates. He doesn’t know if he wants to or not. The smell is overwhelming, and he isn’t sure how it will taste. How it will feel, in his mouth.

No one ever offers him food, though.

“...I’m perfectly fine with my nutrition blocks,” he finally says.

“Oh come on, Donnie, that’s not food.”

“It is. It gives me all the vitamins and minerals I need. And…” He stumbles over what he wants to say. He hates when he does that, but he doesn’t know the words for what he’s trying to convey. He wishes he had a bigger vocabulary. He wishes he were allowed to read.

Wishes get him nowhere. He has to focus on the task at hand. Only, April doesn’t seem to want to continue with their escape planning unless he makes a decision about the burger.

“...And?” she prompts, startling him.

“...I don’t know… some food… feels weird,” he finally says.

“Feels weird?”

“In my mouth.”

For a moment she just stares at him. He guesses he must have said something weird. Humans must not care about how food feels in their mouth. Maybe that’s just a turtle thing.

Or maybe his brothers don’t think that way either. Maybe it’s just a Four thing.

But then April’s eyes go a little wider, and she says, “Ooooh. You have texture issues, huh?”

“Texture?”

“Yeah. How the food feels. Some people get really bothered by it; guess you do, too.”

Oh. So it’s not just a Four thing. There’s a whole name for it. He learned something new! How exciting!

“Yes!” he declares. He feels more confident about it now. “I have texture issues!”

She laughs at that. It’s not a mean laugh. He’s not sure why what he said was funny, though, but before he can ask she’s tearing off a small piece of the meat on the side of the burger she didn’t bite.

“Here. Just try it.” She slips it through the gaps in the chain-link, where he can get to it. “If it feels bad, you can just spit it out. I won’t be mad.”

She’s always telling him that. That she won’t be mad. He doesn’t know why; he’s never seen her get mad, at least not at him. But she always tells him that anyway.

It makes him feel better, somehow, even though that’s illogical.

He takes the meat gingerly in his fingers and looks at it. It doesn’t look particularly appetizing. The smell is a lot, but not so bad now that he’s getting used to it. He likes meat - not that he’s had it much. Maybe it will be fine.

He puts it in his mouth and immediately knows it isn’t. He doesn’t like the way the meat falls apart. He can’t describe it, he just knows it’s wrong.

He spits it out. April said she wouldn’t be mad.

“No good, huh?” she asks. She doesn’t sound mad.

“No. It was bad, actually.”

“Hmm, alright…” She glances around, then grabs the sack and pulls out something else: a small container of something thin and golden brown. “Wanna try a french fry?”

“A french fry?”

“It’s just a fried potato.” She pulls one of the thin stick-things (french fry) out of the container and pokes it through the fence. “Here!”

He takes it, looking it over suspiciously. It has the same greasy smell as the burger, but it’s not meat, it’s “potato,” so it must have a different texture.

He nibbles the end, and oh.

It’s actually good!

He devours the rest of the fry. She laughs again, and when he looks back at her she’s smiling.

“Alright, so the fries are a winner. Here, have some more!”

She slips a few more through the fence, and then a few more. Four happily eats all the fries she passes him. They taste nothing like the nutrition blocks, they taste better than the nutrition blocks, and they don’t feel bad in his mouth, not even a little.

“When I get out of here,” he says, after downing the last one, “I’ll eat like this every day.”

“Maybe not fries every day. They’re pretty unhealthy.” She shrugs. “But there’s all kinds of other things out there for you to try! We’ll figure out all the foods you like to eat.”