#terry preferred to wear his hoodie while playing

[variksel]

PICTURED: A polaroid image found in the desk drawer of someone belived to be named Lark Oak-Garcia at the D.A.D.D.I.E.S headquarters. The image depicts the 2019 Westrock Elementary soccer team "The Doodlers". Photographed by Henry Oak.

[amydancepants-peralta]

one love, one house (no shirt, no blouse)

Oh hi again, @kamekamelea!  Being the glutton for punishment that I am, I bring you a 2nd fic for the B99 2019 Fall Fic Exchange, by @b99fandomevents.  

This is one is rated E, and is NSFW.  🙊

(It’s also a little long ... you could say I got carried away.  It’s on AO3 if you prefer) 😅

one love, one house (no shirt, no blouse)

From the safety of her bed, a fourteen weeks pregnant Amy Santiago listens to the rustle of fallen leaves on the street below as the wind outside begins to pick up.  The sound mingles with hints of laughter as a group of women vacate the Thai restaurant across the road; twisting with their neighbour two floors up as they adhered to their nightly violin practice schedule.  There is a crossword puzzle in her hands, clutched mainly in aid of distraction, but she hasn’t been able to concentrate on the words for close to an hour now.

She listens as their front door opens, the familiar jingle of her husband’s keys dropping into the bowl by the door, landing on top of her own.  He calls out her name as he passes through the living room, and when she calls back Amy can hear the hesitation in her voice, cringing at the sound.  

Jake smiles when he sees her, because he always does and it makes her love him all the more, leaning in for a quick kiss while she stays laying on the bed.  She can taste a familiar trace of a bottle of Heisler, remnants of after work drinks with Boyle, and she smiles at him when he pulls away, hand resting briefly against his chest before dropping back to the comforter with a thud.  Today had been her day off, and she had played the growing a tiny human card earlier this morning when Jake had gotten up for work, smiling and burrowing further into their ridiculously warm comforter when he had kissed her on the forehead before leaving.  Even with the texts they’d sent each other throughout the day, and all the swirling thoughts in her head, Amy could feel herself resetting now that he was back in front of her.  

He’s moved to the shower now, a tuneless rendition of a Taylor Swift song carrying through the walls of their apartment, and distractedly she hums along to the melody. 

The wind outside builds, curtains dancing against the force of the breeze as the streetlights leak into their bedroom, causing Jake’s badge to glint from where it sits in its usual place on their dresser.  He’d noticed her melancholic silence as he’d prepared for his shower, and she knew that he was giving her the space she needed.  But now the taps in their bathroom were being shut off, and Amy was very conscious that it wouldn’t be long before he’d be back, prepped and ready to listen.  If only she could figure out what to say.

Her eyes fall on the polaroid of the two of them that had been sitting on their dresser for years now: a candid of the two of them one year in, at a party thrown by Mike, Jake’s old buddy from his days at the academy.  He’d captured them mid-laugh, Amy’s arm resting comfortably around Jake’s neck as she grins; Jake’s already snaked around her waist, scarcely any space between them.  They were drunk, happy, and completely in love, and Mike had grabbed a marker and written ‘this is for good’ along the bottom of the photograph before handing it over to them with a wink.  The smile Jake had given her that evening, as he tucked the photo safely away into his jacket, had pushed her heart into double time.  He’d placed it carefully up against the mirror that very evening, before returning to her side to peel off the dress the way he’d been whispering the whole night, and Amy knew that Mike was absolutely correct.  This was for good.  For better, for worse.  No matter what.

To think that it had been over four years since that evening, and that they still looked at each other  the way they did in that photograph, filled her with such happiness that for a moment Amy felt ridiculous for feeling the way she did.  But pregnancy, she was learning, came with a whole typhoon’s worth of emotions, and some were harder to ignore than others.

She gives Jake a sympathetic wrinkle of her nose as he walks back into their bedroom, the fatigue of the day obvious in the drop of his shoulders.  His face is partially hidden behind a towel as he rubs it through his wet hair one last time, and once free he glances over at her with a pensive gaze.  Without thinking, Amy grabs the edges of the sweater she was wearing and tugs it downwards.  He notices, brows furrowing as he tosses the towel into the laundry hamper in the corner, and she feels a pang of guilt run through her.  

Changing the topic, Amy puts on her best smile.  “Long day at work?”

He rolls his eyes as the memory flashes back.  “You could say that.  Remember that collar I was telling you about a few weeks ago - the serial car thief?”

She nods, eyes turning curious.

“He’d made bail, and his court session was today.”

“Okay?”

“Terry and I were waiting out front for our coffees, and he rolled up to the courthouse while we were there.  In another stolen car.”

“ ….  wow.  You really can’t fix stupid.”

Jake sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose - an old habit she knew he used to remind himself to breathe through his frustrations.  “So not only did I have to sit through his hearing, I then had to take him back down to the precinct so that I could book him for additional acts of crime he’d committed while on bail.  Only to then escort him back to the watch house, because he was most definitely found guilty of his previous charges.”

Amy pouts her lower lip in sympathy, using the restless energy in her hands to twirl her hair around her index finger.  “Did he even have an excuse for the second stolen car?”

He smiles, shaking his head in disbelief as he repeats the sentence he’d heard earlier that day.  “Apparently his ‘real’ car had broken down, and he knew it super important to make it to court if he didn’t want to get into more trouble.”  He raises his fingers for air quotations.  “So, he had ‘borrowed’ another car, a block from his house.  He was, and I quote - ‘Totes gonna give it back, bro.’  An honest thief, if you will.”

“Ha.  That’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one.”

“Yeah, an oxymaroon for sure,” he mispronounces the word, and Amy finds it too endearing to correct.  Choosing instead to fall silent, hair twisting tighter around several of her fingers now, it only takes another moment before Jake has stopped at the end of their bed.  

“What’s going on, Ames?”

Amy wriggles her body on the mattress, resisting the urge to pull on the edge of the sweater again as she looks up at Jake.  She can feel her cheeks heat up under his gaze, and she gives a helpless shrug.  Using the nickname she and her husband had named their baby, she mumbles - “Peanut kinda popped a little today.”

His eyebrows jump at her answer, face brightening at the mention of their growing family.  The excitement that crosses his face every time they speak about their baby is incredibly endearing, and makes Amy feel all the more ridiculous for what she’s about to say.

“She popped?” Jake repeats, mattress dipping slightly as he sits along the edge of her side of the bed.

“He or she popped,” she corrects with a smile.  They didn’t know the sex of their baby, and were keeping it a surprise, but they’d only been seven weeks in when her husband had declared with Absolute Certainty that they were having a girl.  The countdown on her phone told her that today made fourteen weeks, and with that came a bump on her previously (relatively) flat stomach.

Amy had stood in front of their floor length mirror earlier that evening, the sweater she had long since stolen from her husband’s drawer rucked up around chest, eyes narrowing as they roamed the expanse of her body, pausing again and again on the swell of her abdomen.  There was a definite curve to her stomach, a swelling similar to when Jake had won a pizza eating contest at their favourite local restaurant, gripping his prized red hoodie against his bloated belly with one hand and her hand in his other as they’d walked home, moaning as she reminded him of the need to walk off the overload of carbs he’d just consumed.

None of it should have come at any surprise - the Week Fourteen tab in the Second Trimester Binder had warned her several days ago, in fact, that protrusions would start to become obvious as her inner muscles began to stretch to accommodate her and Jake’s baby.   But it turned out that all the preparation in the world couldn’t account for seeing it all happen in real time - and if she was being completely honest with herself, Amy was having a little difficultly in accepting the change.

All rules of science aside, it truly was a little miracle that her body was capable of doing this - of creating life - and part of her is torn between the idea of pressing fast forward so that she and Jake can meet their child sooner rather than later, or pressing pause and having the chance to really treasure these moments.  But the memory of Gina at her baby shower, resplendent in her position of front and centre, her stomach stretched beyond watermelon size as Milton dutifully rubbed her back, keeps flashing into Amy’s mind.  It seems almost impossible, but she supposes it is actually inevitable, that her body will change just as much.  

Jake’s hand falls to the other side of her on the bed, the stretch of his arm highlighting the subtle curve of his bicep as it peeked out from his grey bed-shirt.  His concern at her silence was obvious, and Amy gives him a tiny smile, running a quick debate in her mind over whether she should tell him what was really on her mind.  It’s over in a flash, because if there’s anything she’s sure of, it’s that there is nothing that she can’t tell him, and there was a good chance he already knew.  He had grown incredibly intuitive to her thoughts over their years together, a skill that both frustrated her and made her love him all the more.  She raises her left hand, running her fingers along the arm that stayed relaxed against his side, smile growing larger as he shifts until their fingers link together.

 “It’s just …”  his brown eyes take on that doe-eyed look that never fails to weaken all her defences, and just like that, Amy says how she really feels.  “My body is changing, and I don’t feel like myself.”  

He blinks.  “I mean, I know I’m the least science-y one in this relationship, but I feel like we kinda knew that was going to happen?”

Amy begins to chew on her bottom lip slightly.  “Yeah.  It’s all tracking perfectly with the timeline I put together.  I’m a little ahead of things, actually.”

“Santiago style.” He responds with a wink before turning serious.  “But … you’re not enjoying it?”

She shakes her head.  “It’s not that.  I love that I’m carrying our baby, Jake.  Honestly, I’m so, so excited to meet our little one.  I just …” her hand releases his, resting against her bump instead.   “I wasn’t expecting to feel this way.  Like I’m changing, and there’s nothing I can do about it.  For the first time ever, I can’t control what my body is doing.”  Her voice drops to a mumble, eyes squeezing shut.  “And maybe you’re not going to find me attractive as everything keeps growing.”

Her confession is met with silence, and reluctantly Amy opens one eye, looking up at Jake.  He meets her eyes with a confused blink, bending his elbow as he leans in closer.

“Here’s the thing, Ames - and I will tell you this as many times as you need to hear it, for however long you need to hear it, and I’m so sorry that you’ve ever had to doubt this.  But I fell in love with you for who you are, and not the body you’re in.”  

Amy releases a breath that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, eyes turning misty as she listens to Jake talk.  

“You are the love of my life, Amy Santiago, and it is entirely because of the beautiful soul you have.  And let me tell you - I am always, always going to find you amazing.  No matter what.  And you are literally the sexiest person I’ve ever met.  Your incredible mind, and ever-growing heart, make you this unstoppable force that never fails to make my brain short-circuit.  And the fact that you are now carrying my child?”  He pauses, shifting until his left hand is resting on top of hers, covering her bump.  “Oh my god.  Just … your body is magic, you are magic, and I’m still stunned, after all this time, that you chose me.”

She blinks, the tears beginning to fall, their path shortened by Jake’s gentle hand wiping them away.  Resting her hand along the curve of his neck, Amy pulls her husband closer, meeting his lips with her own as she tries to pour all the gratitude she has for him into one kiss.  It’s not enough, because one kiss could never be enough to show it all, and he leans closer again as they meet for another, lips parting for more.  

The fading taste of the Heisler, mixed with the usual scent of his shower gel, was proving to be strangely intoxicating and Amy moves her hand up towards his hairline, carding through while her grip tightens, pulling Jake closer.  He lets out a contented sigh into her mouth, moving closer until his arms are underneath and he’s holding her close. 

His eyes are cloudy when they finally pull apart, blinking in a daze, and Amy smiles in satisfaction.  Even after thousands of kisses, she still managed to send him crazy, and she knows that what he said earlier was true.  Jake as going to love her, no matter what - just as she would love him, through the darkest of skies.  What they had was a forever kind of love.  

Hooking her finger into the neckline of his shirt, Amy tugs until he shifts, mattress sinking as his legs end up on either side of hers, muscles flexing as his lowers to his knees. 

Jake dips, shoulder blades raising as he tucks his head underneath her sweater; a move that he has done a thousand times and still doesn’t fail to make Amy giggle, and she drops her right hand to the bump that his head has created.  His warm breath tickles her skin as he drops kisses to her ribs, the muffled sound of an approving sigh breaking through as he realises she is not wearing a bra.  His hands grip the edge of the sweater as he pulls his head back upwards, Amy’s hand tracing the edge of his jawline as his grinning face becomes visible, so full of affection that her heart just might combust.   

“I love you so much, Jake Peralta.”  Her voice is shaky, the hormones still heavy if not a little quieter, and he blinks slowly before pulling her in for another kiss.  When he finally pulls way, he shifts the bottom of her sweater, pushing it upwards until it rests around her ribcage, her skin shivering slightly from the exposure to the cool night air.  He shuffles down the bed, resting his body weight on his hands as his legs rest against Amy’s, and her hand resets itself to his hairline, the familiar feeling of his curls agains her fingers making her sigh with comfort.

His lips travel up her torso, ever so gentle over the subtle bump, and when he reaches the peak he pauses, looking up at Amy with an indescribable look in his eyes. 

The hand in his hair stops, holding still within the coils as she looks back at him, holding his gaze before breaking the silence.  “Babe?” 

He smiles, a sign of reassurance she holds more valuable than most peoples words, and shakes his head slightly.  “Nothing. Just ...” he drops another kiss to her belly.  “Wow.”

Wow. 

Amy smiles back, the pride and elation obvious as her hand moves through his locks again.  Wow indeed.  This incredible man, with messy hair and earnest eyes and the biggest heart she’s ever known, is the father of her child.  Suddenly, all of her concerns didn’t seem so big.  “Look what we made, Jake.  You and I, our love ... we did that.” 

He winks.  “I remember.”

She can feel her face heat up as the blush reaches the tip of her ears, but still she laughs, tipping her head up to meet Jake as he pushes himself towards her, lips meeting hers for a kiss.  It was incredible, the way he threw away all of her fears so easily.  One touch from him, and all of her self-consciousness faded away.  Jake adored her, more than she had ever known to be, and as his hands drop to her waist and reach for the hem of the sweater she lifts her arms up, helping him pull the material away, doing the same with his until there’s nothing in between them.  The swell of her abdomen is more obvious now that there isn’t fabric covering it, but there is enough love shining in his eyes to banish all other thoughts.  

She’s reminded of a night not so long ago when all the schedules and planners and binders had begun to consume Amy, and Jake’s initiation of cuddling on the couch had been met with a distracted point of her fingers towards her meticulously printed out ovulation schedule.  

He’d let out a sigh, nuzzling into her neck and whispering that sometimes sex was just about pleasure, and not procreation (and damn it, he knew that using the proper term was going to send her crazy), before grabbing her notepad and casting it to the side, picking her up and carrying her willingly and giggly into their bedroom.

That night he went down on her for the better part of an hour, pushing her so close to the edge over and over that by the time she finally came undone, her fingers had clawed their bedsheets clear from the mattress.  He absorbed her moans with a kiss that was so full of passion that she felt weak in the knees, the taste of her and him mixing together into the most intoxicating blend.

She had been too exhausted to repay the favour that evening; spaghetti legs stuck to the mattress, but if the sound of her name echoing off the tiles is anything to go by, the blow job she gave him in the shower the next morning well and truly made up for it.  

He had been so insistent on keeping things romantic as they tried to conceive - all the while knowing that the sweetest things were what he was already doing - ie., following her perfectly planned timetable.  Still, he stocked up on candles and body oil, curating SexyTime playlists on his already busy workdays and giving her sympathetic smiles when she would dejectedly add tampons to their shopping list.  And then, one afternoon on the cool tiles of their bathroom floor with nine differently branded pregnancy tests surrounding them, Jake and Amy found out they were having a baby.  And everything since then had been surrounded by excitement, anticipation and curiosity.  

And perhaps, a little trepidation.  He could tell now, before anything had to be said, and he stared into her eyes (into her soul, it felt) before trailing a line of feather-light kisses down her neck, the tip of his nose skirting along the swollen curves of her breasts before heading down towards her edge of her yoga pants.  Dropping gentle kisses to the curve of her abdomen, Jake looked up at her, those chocolate eyes sending her heart into overdrive as she lifted her hips in silent permission, smiling as he peeled away her final layers of clothing.  

Amy had read in various books, and on the occasional website support group, that sex in the second trimester was nothing short of amazing.  

She had been dubious, to say the least.  For the first three months, she had felt anything but sexy.  While a bizarre cocktail of emotions and hormones and thoughts were running through her body, if Amy wasn’t running to the bathroom to throw up, she was thinking about when she could take her next nap.  It had been an interesting beginning to her pregnancy, and while she and Jake hadn’t been celibate the entire trimester, their times together had definitely become less frequent.

Fellow pregnant women, all in various stages of gestation, had raved about how good sex was once you got over the first hump (so to speak).  That everything was working double time down there, that the nerves were on full alert 24/7, and that multiple orgasms were not uncommon.  

This all sounded incredibly appealing to Amy, but if you’d asked her earlier that evening, she probably would have given you a firm shake of her head.  But as she lay on their bed, exposed and yet feeling so protected all the same, Amy realised just how much she had missed these moments.  And perhaps it was the comfort of her husband’s words, or the familiarity of his touch that had flicked her inner switch from normal to horny in 2.5 seconds - whatever it was, she was here for it, and when Jake began a line of kisses along her inner thighs, she could feel it all over her body.  

His caresses move to her centre as her hand travels down, rubbing herself briefly before moving into Jake’s hair and he takes her lead, stroking his tongue against her clit in an achingly slow circle.  Amy moans, bucking her hips towards his mouth, tightening her grip around his strands in reprimand.  He pulls away slightly to look up at Amy, lips tainted with her arousal, and smiles as he slides two fingers deep inside.  

Her head tips back, hair splaying around the pillow as she lets out a satisfied sigh.  Jake knew how to use his fingers so effectively on her, bending knuckles and twisting wrists at just the right moment, that sometimes she finds it insane that they worked together for so many years without her ever knowing just how well he would be able to make her scream.  Whether it was skill, or a mixture of knowing that it’s him and how he makes her feel didn’t matter.  This wasn’t going to take her long, and Amy wanted more, and now.

She moves her hand from his hairline, trailing the pad of her thumb along his profile until her hand is free, crooking her finger towards him in a silent request he is only incredibly willing to honour.  Elbows digging into the mattress as he leans forward, Amy pulls Jake in for a kiss before reaching her left hand for his right, tugging until his fingers are in her mouth.  Her tongue wraps itself around his digits, sucking gently, smiling around his hand as she tastes herself on Jake’s fingers.

He looks at her with such fire in his eyes that Amy can feel the burning within, head dipping down to leave a kiss against her wedding band before pulling his hand free from her mouth and kissing her, hot and deep.  Goosebumps rise onto her skin when he wraps his arms around her, twisting on the mattress until Amy is on top, her hair falling down over their faces as their tongues continue to explore each other’s mouths.      

They’re both breathless when she pulls away, kissing the tip of Jake’s nose with a wink as she shuffles down his body, holding herself deliberately close to his chest until she reaches his boxers.  Fingers toying with the waistband Amy looks up at her husband, his neck craning off the pillow, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and she smiles as she shifts to the side, pulling the shorts down until his erection springs free.  His legs kick slightly underneath her, shimmying the fabric off completely and her hand moves to grip him, pumping her wrist once or twice before he’s reaching for her waist.

Jake’s fingers dig into her lower back as she allows herself to be pulled forward, and he mumbles “I need to taste more of you,” before encouraging Amy to lower herself completely over his face.  

And OH.

Mother of ALL THAT IS HOLY.

The books were not wrong.  

Amy had already been turned on from Jake’s actions a couple of minutes earlier, but with a single flick of his tongue against her clit her head is thrown back, hair tickling her spine as she lets out a satisfied moan.  She could feel her blood rushing downwards, nerves dialling up to a thousand as he begins tracing patterns against her, alternating between gentle and dominant, and her hips swivel as she leans her hands onto the mattress behind them.  

It wasn’t going to be long - she could feel everything inside her beginning to tingle - and with a heady mind Amy reaches her left hand further back until she’s gripping Jake’s dick in her hand, starting a slow pump from this unfamiliar angle, and the responding moan that comes from his mouth vibrates directly into her.  

His hands hold her thighs steady as Amy begins to gyrate against Jake’s mouth, verbalising her satisfaction in a garbled series of nonsensical words and gasps, her grip tightening before letting go completely as she climaxes.  She stays put for a moment, ribs expanding with each desperate gasp of air, and as she pulls herself back up into a sitting position against Jake’s chest she lets out one final gratified sigh.  

“My god you’re hot,” Jake whispers, hands trailing up and down her waist, and Amy smiles back.

Leaning forwards, she rests one hand along his neck before closing the gap with a kiss.  “I love you so much, Jake Peralta.”  His hand mirrors hers, thumb caressing her jawline as he kisses her back, humming happily against her lips.  

Her legs are beginning to feel weak as the rush of blood slows, and Amy rests her body against the comforter, pulling Jake towards her as she moves.  The weight of him on top of her is comfortable, a welcome warmth from the breeze still blowing through the open window to their right, and he pulls away from another kiss to whisper her name as his legs slide against hers.

It was becoming obvious to Amy how insane she had been to ever doubt the pregnancy books (honestly, why did she ever doubt books?), because the simple act of laying underneath Jake was turning her on all over again.  His cock is hard, pressing up against her aroused clit as he holds her close, trailing kisses up and down her neck the way he likes to in the lead up to the fun stuff, and the subtle movement of Jake’s body against hers was rubbing her in all the right ways.  All she needed was the tiniest of adjustments on her end, tilting her hips just so, and -

She lets out a strangled moan into Jake’s ear, fingers gripping his strands of hair as her body trembles beneath him with orgasm number two.  His breath is hot on her neck as he pulls away slightly, looking down at his wife with an incredulous look on his face.

“Did you just …?”

Her heart is racing and her brow may just be a little sweaty, but Amy nods quickly.  

Jake glances down at where there bodies aren’t yet joined before returning to her face, hips flexing above her as his erection brushes along the tip of her clit again.  Amy’s body jerks in reaction, and he grins.  “But we haven’t even … I mean, I wasn’t trying to - ”

Letting out a quick huff of air, Amy moves her hand to the back of Jake’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss he’s not soon to forget.  “Don’t even think about stopping now, Peralta.”

He smiles, and it’s so sexy it hurts, and already she can feel herself gearing up for another O.  This is amazing.  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Santiago.” he growls into her ear, dropping slightly to gather her wetness around his erection before sliding in, the feeling of him inside her so hot and hard and it’s only been a week or so but oh, how she has missed this.

There’s a persistent tap of water against their window as the rain starts to pour down, the cool air from the still open frame washing over their bodies as Jake and Amy work to create their own heat.  A tiny shiver runs along Amy’s arms and Jake pulls her closer, her legs wrapping around his waist as he begins to move.  He’d been so attentive throughout it all, giving extra focus to the chapters of each book that spoke on sex during pregnancy and checking with her whenever things started to get heated.   Each time had been just that little bit different, her body changing on a weekly basis, and the feeling of him inside of her now, his stomach brushing up against her slightly swollen belly, the life they created together between them was new and exciting and sexy.  

His thrusts are slow to begin, pushing himself in and out of her in even strokes that he replicates with his kiss.  He’s giving her a chance to come down from her climax, she realises, his eyes watching her carefully as he raises himself above her ever so slightly.  And she loves him for it, that he’s still so considerate of her needs despite her orgasm count being two against his zero, but she wants him to feel as incredible as she does, so her legs tighten their grip around him, a non-verbal sign that she knew he would take as a plead for more.

She remembers the very first night they spent together, kisses tasting like kamikaze as Jake’s sheets tangled around their feet.  It had felt so right - like two puzzle pieces who had finally found their other halves - and even though part of her hadn’t been ready to admit it yet, Amy knew that night.  That her and Jake had something, a pull towards each other that was stronger than anything she had ever known.  It’s never faded, and tonight in their bedroom as he rolls their still connected bodies until Amy is on top, she knows that it never will.  

Her hands rest against his chest as she sinks down lower still, taking him in completely as they each let out a soft moan.  Jake moves his hands from her upper thighs to her waist, thumbs rubbing against her skin as they travel up towards her breasts, toying with her nipples as Amy lets out an appreciative groan.  They had become so sensitive in the last couple of weeks, almost to the point where she couldn’t stand the thought of anyone or anything touching them, but it turned out she had just been needing Jake’s hands against her.  Her clit, already throbbing with sensitivity from her previous orgasms, rubbed against Jake’s cock as she began to lift her hips, picking up a rhythm both could enjoy.

The two of them had always fit together so well, but tonight Amy felt so full - so complete, with their baby safely tucked away in her womb - and as she looked down at Jake’s face she knew he was feeling it too.  

His hips thrust upwards to meet hers with every movement and Amy rotates hers from side to side in response, biting her lip with a poorly contained grin when Jake’s responding moan echoes through their bedroom.  Her fingertips dig into his skin when she begins to bear down, already feeling another climax isn’t far away, scraping along his chest while Jake whispers her name repeatedly.  

The reverence in his tone, combined with the heated gaze he was giving her, is enough to send Amy over the edge again, leaning down to place her forehead against his as the sensations became too much.  He cranes his neck upwards to dot her face with kisses, so quick but so tender, and as she comes down from the high Amy pulls back again, draping her hair over one shoulder as she looks down at her husband.  

Later, when they’re catching their breath, Jake will tell Amy that the sight of her riding him, the swell of her growing abdomen glistening with their combined sweat, was one of the sexiest things he’d seen in a long time.  One for the memory bank, he’ll say.  But for now, all Amy can go on is the feeling of Jake’s hard cock inside her, how complete she feels, and how she’s climaxed three times and is ready to feel Jake let go as well.  

Her knees draw closer to his waist as she tightens her thighs around Jake’s pelvis, drawing on all her reserved energy as she increases her pace.  “Come for me, Jake.  I wanna feel you, babe.”

His hands dig into her thighs on either side, a mixed-up version of words and moans the only thing falling from his mouth as Amy pushes harder, slamming down on his cock as her body flutters around him.  One hand snakes around to rest against her clit, thumb rubbing in meaningless circles and - here comes number four - she clenches her muscles around him, pulling him under as he comes with a shout, Amy only a short second behind him as his thumb finally gives her reprieve.

Sheer exhaustion forces Amy to collapse against her husband’s chest, unfocused eyes staring dazedly at the still billowing curtains as her entire body begins to throb.  That had been next level kind of stuff, and if this was what pregnant sex was going to be like, she was absolutely going to have to do that again.  And soon.    

Jake’s voice vibrates through his chest, one hand coming to rest in her hair.  “Holy …” 

Amy’s cheek slides against his pectoral muscles as she smiles, breath still coming out in slow pants as her body twitches further down.  “You said it.”

He chuckles underneath her, other hand resting against her bare butt and squeezing.  “Just when I thought that life with you couldn’t get any more amazing.”

Her responding laugh is breathy and warm against his chest, body shivering slightly as the cool breeze outside picks up now that the rain has subsided.  Without hesitation Jake reaches for the edge of the comforter, lifting as much as he can without disturbing their still joined bodies, throwing the blanket over Amy.  Her head tucks back into his chest, dropping tiny kisses of gratitude against his skin, lips picking up the still racing thump thump thump of his heart.  

They’re silent for the moment, both of them basking in their combined state of bliss, until Jake clears his throat.

“I promise you, Ames.  If you ever start to worry about losing control over how your body looks, or you think that maybe I won’t find you attractive, you can talk to me.  I am here for you, no matter what.  And I am so excited for this future we’ve built for ourselves.  Our family is going to be the best in the neighbourhood - and our kids are going to beat every other kid’s butts.”

Moving her arm until it’s resting underneath her chin, Amy props her head up slightly to meet Jake’s gaze.  That all sounded kind of amazing … but more than one child hadn’t really been discussed any more than the occasional passing comment.  “Kids plural, huh?”

He shrugs slightly, face turning slightly red as a sheepish smile crosses his face.  “I mean, maybe?”

The smile that has yet to leave her face grows wider, and she cocks her head to the side.  “How about we get through this one first, and then talk about the others?��

His responding nod is enthusiastic, drawing a laugh deep from Amy’s chest, and he sweeps a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.  “Absolutely.  But I should warn you, I do have one fairly convincing argument up my sleeve.”

The competitive edge in her sparks at the words, and she raises one eyebrow in response.  “Is that so?”

He winks, pulling her impossibly closer before replying.  “More than one pregnancy means more chances for us to have more of this crazy, mind-blowing kind of sex.”

Her laughter is captured up in his kiss when Jake pulls her closer, hands moving to rest against her waist to keep her warm and sheltered from the cooling breeze.  She leans back slightly to look over him when they finally break away, head shaking incredulously.  “I may live to regret this, but I’ve gotta say, I’m pretty sure you just convinced me on baby number 2.”

Jake’s face breaks out into a grin, raising his eyebrows when Amy continues.

“But also, I’m going to need more members on my team.  So that we can really kick your ass when it comes to heist time, Peralta.”

The last thing Amy hears is Jake mumbling “Game on, Santiago” before he’s pulling her in for a toe-curling kind of kiss, the embers of her arousal beginning to spark all over again.

Whether they ended up with five children or just the one, their home would be one filled with love, because that was what she and Jake had in spades.  And in all honesty, Amy couldn’t wait to see what their future held.  

[aconitemare]

[jaydick fic] Before That, And Colder

Chapter One

Summary:  It's been over a year since Dick left Spyral. He's finally settling back into his old life, but his time undercover has unsettled the dust that once collected over the past. Now Dick has a barrage of untouched memories to sort through and yet another Batman case summoning him away from the 'Haven. And while Dick is catching up to his past, Jason's is catching up to him.

AO3

Next Chapter 

The Batcave has a myriad of underground tunnels leading to it from miles around, but Dick as usual enters through the same trapdoor in the study he used as a kid. This library is more modest than the others Bruce keeps, with tenfold the ambiance. The books flaunt their withered spines and yellowed pages, elders of an erudite community, and intrigue emanates from the very dust collecting atop shelves and between pages. This is not a room Alfred obligates himself to maintain quite so keenly. His neglect may be strategic, some emergency deterrent to wandering guests with sensitive allergies. Not that a guest has ever, at least to Dick’s knowledge, made it this deep into the Manor. 

This particular room also features in a long-standing, recurring dream Dick has had since he was ten years old. The dream has aged with him; the details are softer, more nebulous — his subconscious could once recall the exact titles on each book’s spine, the precise pattern of the red and gold rug on the floor — but the dream’s accuracy eventually faded with the real-life furniture. The quiet terror that possessed him, however, intensified. The worsening fear is probably not specific to the dream though; the world itself is scarier to Dick than it was fifteen years ago.

The dream begins with Dick in this study, the burning sconces casting shadows and providing dim light. In the real world, the sconces are electronic; man-made, ordinary, and only on if he flicks the switch. But in his head, they are made of real fire. They burn regardless of him, entirely independent of his actions, ignited long before he arrives. As the scene progresses, Dick opens the trapdoor by pulling out the correct books in the correct order; putting them back in a different, correct order; waiting for the middle shelf to retract into the wall behind it; staring unblinking into the retinal scanner until he was cleared. 

This process quickened as Dick got older until the door would open without him lifting a finger. The door immediately reveals a steep, stone staircase that plunges into infinite darkness. The wordless terror, the fear that calls distantly as if from the other end of a tunnel, grips him here. He must descend the stairs; that is the dream’s one imperative. Sometimes he takes the first step himself, allowing the unknown to swallow him by increments. Sometimes he falls, a blameless mistake, and slips innocently into the open mouth of night. Sometimes he is pushed, a comforting hand on his back turned treacherous. Dick never does look behind his shoulder or acknowledge the betrayal; he doesn’t need to. He knows who the man is and trusts him even as he plummets. 

 But that is all a dream. The trapdoor doesn’t really open unto a staircase — not right away, at any rate. Dick has to make the trek through a dimly lit corridor first, which is murder on the legs after just patrolling Bludhaven. He hasn’t had time to relax the muscle, having coming straight here after a text from Bruce. The door makes a loud sound when it finally shuts, which Dick remembers used to freak the bejeezus out of him when he was ten. The temperature also drops rapidly, although this doesn’t unsettle him anymore. Robins fear neither dark nor enclosed spaces. They revel in the creepy-crawly. Flourish, even, once training has been completed. 

Dick takes the stairs two at a time. The elevator, accessible through a strangely grandiose walk-in storage closet, wasn’t added until much later in Dick’s adolescence. He still prefers the stairs; they feel quicker. Cement gives way to rock. The air dramatically cools halfway down the stairs. Moisture clings to the walls, the ceiling, the floor. A few feet from where he stands, the Batcave is bathed in blue light. Dick spots Bruce down below, ant-like from here, bowed before a colony of busy monitors. Dick leaps over the last ten steps or so, flitting towards the hunched exoskeleton of the Batman. 

“You summoned?” Dick greets and thinks about how ants communicate through pheromones and stridulation. An ant can disclose its role within the group by injecting pheromones into food, which they then directly feed another ant. Dick pictures Bruce rapidly rubbing his legs together, finds this funny, and then imagines Damian spitting chewed-up falafel into Tim’s open mouth. This is no less funny for its grossness. 

Bruce glances at him, a miraculous feat that nearly sends Dick stumbling backward in shock. “What’s that face for?” Bruce asks in the same second he quickly returns his focus to his research. Dick consciously relaxes his wrinkled nose, courtesy of Ant-Damian. 

“No reason,” answers Dick breezily. “How’s Gotham hanging?”

Bruce’s chosen screen, a small tablet-sized rectangle built into the desk, mirrors the information on the much larger main screen on the wall. Dick cranes his neck to look at it, but not before catching the upward tug of Bruce’s lips. “From the belfry, as usual,” he quips. 

“Ha!” Dick exclaims and pokes Bruce’s shoulder once. “That was funny. I knew you had it in you, B.”

“Thank you.”

Dick continues, “Everyone told me, ‘that man is as dry as a raisin,’ but I insisted that you’d make a joke pun-day.”

“I already said thank you, Dick,” Bruce reminds. Across the giant screen is a slowed-down video reel of a man — a boy, really, judging by the way he holds himself despite his grown height — being tied to a streetlamp. 

“Who’s that?” Dick asks. 

Bruce zooms in on the victim’s face. “Terry Weind. Sixteen years old. Badly beaten, but stable. General Hospital released him this morning. There are two other young men — both aged sixteen, both from low-income households — discovered in the same fashion in downtown Gotham the past month.”

“So I’ve heard,” admits Dick. No pictures of the victims have been released, either through mainstream news channels or the bat-vine. Dick recognizes the background instantly as Park Row where Bruce had taken the liberty of installing his high-tech spycams. Bruce keeps Crime Alley well-monitored even as a memorial. For good reason, as it turns out, because it’s suddenly become volatile again after years of dormancy. 

Bruce switches to the next tape. “Devin White, fifteen years old. He’s the third victim and was admitted last night. According to Oracle, hospital records list him with internal bleeding, a cracked skull, two shattered kneecaps, a fractured scapula, and a broken arm.”

Devin looks up on the screen and Dick automatically pauses the tape, hand darting across the keyboard, to take in the boy’s fear-blown brown eyes. He resumes the video. 

“I can’t identify the assailant,” Bruce informs, keying into Dick’s intent. “He wears a red hood and keeps his head down at all times. According to Gordon, the victims are all certain it was a man but none can remember his face.”

That surprises Dick. “They would’ve been looking right at him. And there’s street lamps,” he says.

Bruce grunts his assent, eyes glued on his screen. Devin struggles futilely on the screen as the man steps back and raises his arm above his head. Moonlight glints on metal.

“Wait,” says Dick, throat tightening, “is that —”

Before he can finish his sentence, the gleaming crowbar cracks against the boy’s skull. And then his face. His left shoulder. His right. His kneecaps then. Face again, other side. Dick’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t look away. At the end, the man removes his phone from his pocket and holds it over the boy — either taking a picture or sending a text, or both, from the angle and the time it takes before he��s pocketing the object again. 

“One of the Joker’s goons,” Dick decides, punch-to-the-gut quick, when the attacker finally walks away, crowbar tucked into a duffle bag and the boy a crumpled piece of paper beneath a weakly flickering light. Dick changes his mind. “But no, he wouldn’t care anymore. It’s been, god, six years.” Out loud, six doesn’t sound very long at all. Dick sees Jason’s death like a black-and-white photograph, forever ago and therefore impossible today. But the pictures of Jason back then are in color, his visage spread out on the front pages of newspapers dating within the decade. “The joke’s been played out,” Dick declares anyway because it would be for the Joker. 

“Maybe not. He’s unpredictable and historically not above recycling old material. That’s why the hoodie bothers me,” Bruce confesses. He pauses the video and faces Dick. The glow from the monitor limns the severe cut of his cheekbone as it casts his face into extremity: the heavy brow pulls farther down, the wide lips weld into one shut line, and his austere eyes sink towards a deeper, darker blue. Dick sees himself in the pupils, a distant figure peering out from a dark well. 

Bruce pushes his chair away from the desk so he remains seated yet notably detached from Devin White. Dick can feel the heat emanating from the computers, warming one side of his body, as Bruce rests his chin atop his palm. Aloud, Bruce contemplates the question, “Is the color coincidental, or a nod at the Red Hood?”

Dick barely even registered the color, but once he does, his heart drops into the pit of his stomach. His stomach drops to his feet. His whole body has capsized, the world itself hurrying to reorient itself to his new right-side-up. “That would mean the Joker knows Red Hood was a Robin.”

“It would, wouldn’t it,” Bruce says flatly. 

Dick follows the train of thought. “Then — what? He knows you watch the Park Row Memorial? He’s — baiting you? What does he want with this stunt?” Dick looks, frustrated, away from the broken kid on the screen towards the sturdy man in front of him. Bruce is quiet for a few moments, moments where Dick can feel his own heartbeat in his chest, his ears, his fingertips. He waits Bruce out, a red gash of a smile widening behind his eyes meanwhile. Then, finally:

“I met Jason on Park Row.” The statement is more utterance than response, spoken to the floor in a low tone. Dick’s mind immediately presses against whatever anxiety Bruce is brewing for himself. 

“A lot of events have happened on Park Row,” says Dick. “If you think this person — the Joker, or whoever — knows that much, ah, they’d have to be psychic.” Internally, Dick’s profile of Jason and Bruce makes room for another detail. Twenty-five years old, out of the house for seven years, and still Dick collects his mentor’s unnecessary, painful secrets. Dick is a recordkeeper of other people’s wounds. 

Bruce leans back. Dick knows he means to reset himself; change the angle of his thoughts with the angle of his body. “Maybe so,” Bruce grants, “but I’m willing to bet they know that street hits close to home.”

Dick purses his lips and thinks of scattered pearls. “Everything that happened on Park Row happened to Bruce Wayne, not Batman,” he reasons. “If the Joker knew who you were, and what this memorial meant to you, he wouldn’t lead with a Robin. Even one he,” here, Dick falters. “Even Jason,” he neatly amends. “His obsession is wholely with you.”

Bruce considers this. “Then either it’s not the Joker at all, or the Joker only knows that Red Hood was Robin, without knowledge of Jason Todd, or —”

“Or the ski-mask is purely coincidence,” Dick finishes. “For that matter, Bruce, it could all be coincidental — the victimology, the weapon —”

“Except that Jason contacted Tim the other day,” Bruce interrupts. His tired eyes seize Dick, seem to shake him by his very arms. “The day following Weind’s attack, photographs of the victim were left on his patrol bike. Photographs of Leland’s attack were delivered to the Red Hood through a series of messengers switching hands until the envelope got to him. The latest victim, as of two nights ago, had photographs attached to his bike again.”

Dick’s eyebrows have raised by this point. “Jason told Tim all this?” 

“More or less. Not enough to satisfy, but Jason is hardly cooperative as a general character trait. Tim compiled his notes for me; I’ll forward them to you.”

Dick bites the further questions that taste like metal on his tongue, demanding to know why Jason would go to Tim first. It’s not essential. It’s reached Dick, at any rate, as all family matters do.

“Whomever our perp is, we can safely assume they know the details of Robin’s death and know that he came back as Hood.” Dick waits for Bruce to contribute more information, some other detail Tim afforded him, and continues when Bruce gives the slightest nod. Bruce is already on his computer, retrieving Tim’s file on the case and mailing it to Dick. “That’s a lot of baseline knowledge on their part,” Dick muses. “And a lot of patience. This is a long-con, no question.” 

Dick rambles about Jason’s enemies — mostly ordinary gangbangers who likely wouldn’t have the connections or patience to sleuth Hood’s previous alias — as well as Batman’s historic opponents, who have never exhibited an equivalent fixation with any of the Robins before. Bruce rubs his chin, eyes on his computer, while Dick consolidates their shared thoughts. 

“Not to get technical here, but we have a whole boatload of equally implausible possibilities here, Bruce,” Dick concludes.

“No more so than we usually start off with on a case,” Bruce replies immediately.

Dick laughs, low and tired. He can feel exhaustion creeping into his bones at the same steady pace all his needs do. Hunger, fatigue, thirst, rest — these sensations rarely overwhelm him, but instead stalk him with restraint like prowling predators. 

When Dick laughs, Bruce glances up at him with a small smile. For a moment, Dick thinks of spending the night in his old bedroom. But he has a life in Bludhaven. His life. 

Dick’s work phone buzzes. He slides it out, unlocks it, to skim over Tim’s notes. “So, should I put in a request for time off at the station?” he checks, half-joking. The BPD had been graciously flexible during his first year as a beat cop, but his stint in Spyral has reset any seniority he might have accumulated. Plus, he’s reluctant to coast on the “aren’t you jazzed I’m not actually dead” card. Half his coworkers entered after Dick’s time in Bludhaven, and only a quarter of the ones who remember him appreciated the cleaning-out he did on the dirty cops. 

Bruce quirks an eyebrow. “Can you afford to?” he asks. 

Dick translates the question in his head: Would you let me help with your bills in the meantime? “Probably not. I don’t need time off. I’m used to not sleeping — seriously, I think if I had a full eight hours, it would actually shock my system and land me in a hospital,” Dick answers. He looks around the cave in the overpowering light that somehow manages to always feel dim. Is there a comfortable chair he can settle into? He’s getting too big to perch on the computer desk without pressing fifty buttons, some of them possibly red and ominously labeled things like “EJECT” and “DO NOT TOUCH.” 

“Are you equating sleep deprivation with drug addiction?” Bruce asks, amusement lightening his voice, draining some of the dark from the room. 

Dick locates an ultra-cozy office chair shoved near a map table. He sets his sights on the coffee-stained throw pillow atop heavy black leather. “I’m just saying, that would be a strange ER story: man jittery from insomnia withdrawals. Why risk the news headlines?” he muses, wheeling the office chair towards Bruce. 

Bruce does not agree. Instead, he points out, “You assume in a city hounded by masked villains and mini apocalypses that ‘son of billionaire sleeps pretty okay at night’ would catch people’s attention?”

Dick quietly blooms when Bruce says son . It’s a warm word like sun . How badly he always wants to hear that word; he stretches towards it, leafy limbs unfurling. He tries not to preen and instead seats himself, beginning the process of getting comfortable. This position, and then that position, around and around. 

“You look like a dog circling its tail when you do that,” remarks Bruce. 

Dick scrolls to the top of the file on his phone, having figured out how to spend the next few hours. “Dogs have the right idea. How else can you know for sure you’re using the cushion to its greatest potential unless you sample seating arrangements?” The file is far from lengthy, he’s gathered while skimming, but there are details Bruce hasn’t covered in their conversation. For example, all the victims were attacked downtown, but Trey Leland lives in Bludhaven and was only passing through. Opportunistic, Dick characterizes the attacker. 

“Are you comfortable?” Bruce asks. Dick grunts affirmatively, trying to focus. He hears Bruce say something about how Dick never stays in one spot anyway, but the words are more like ideas, like something transmitted through playscape talk tubes. 

There’s a zone Dick wants to reach where details of a case will absorb him so fully he doesn’t register hunger, exhaustion, or his bladder for that matter. Everyone in the masked business knows the zone, but it’s harder to access when he’s tired, which he is — a bad start for this mission, so he will try to sleep after tomorrow’s shift if he can. It occurs to him that he might not be able to, considering he doesn’t have a gauge on how long until this criminal will strike again, or escalate from teenagers to their actual target. 

He looks up from his phone and, from where his head spills out over the chair’s arm — noticeably hard and plastic beneath the cushion, already chafing the back of his neck — scrutinizes Bruce. Bruce must be tired, too, because he actually breaks away from his computer to return Dick’s stare.

“Yes?” prods Bruce after a moment. 

Dick answers immediately. “We’re going to have to work with Jason.”

Bruce’s expression reveals no challenge with this. “Yes,” he replies, neutral.

“Like, close-up. Face-to-face. We might have to — guard him,” he finishes, lamely, hoping he’s getting his point across. 

Luckily, Bruce does seem to understand finally the monumental undertaking of convincing Jason to accept their full help. “He’ll insist he has his own safehouse,” Bruce says. 

“Or that he has his own team,” Dick adds. 

“That team is haphazard at best with little in the way of deductive skills,” Bruce argues.

“It’s none of our business, he’ll say,” Dick counters.

“Then he should not have contacted Red Robin,” Bruce dismisses easily. 

 Dick is reevaluating his decision to remain on duty at the BPD. He’s almost not even tired anymore with this new, shiny, family-resistant case. “His safehouse is still functional,” Dick tosses into the ring. 

Bruce’s voice turns grave, eyes suddenly weighing onto Dick like stones on his chest. “No house is safe,” Bruce criticizes, “and the only people he can trust are the people whose identities may be equally compromised by this situation.”

Dick purses his lips and thinks. “He won’t like that,” he warns.

Bruce’s voice regains that darkness Dick tries so hard to lighten. It’s no use, though, not during cases like these, not when Jason is present. And he is always present, in the style of phantoms, but particularly now. Bruce flexes his jaw. “But he will heed it,” he states. 

Dick knows, if his and Jason’s situations were reversed, if Jason was the one putting barriers on whom Dick could trust, Dick would not listen. Dick would push back and then pull away from Jason, from Bruce and his untrusting brood. He has before. 

Dick watches Bruce who has fixed his attention concretely on the screen. He’s excruciatingly tense and it fills up the cave, tightening the muscles in Dick’s shoulder. The tendons in Bruce’s jaw flex and Dick can feel Bruce’s teeth grinding in his own head. He wants Bruce to turn around and meet his gaze. He wants to know if he’ll see himself in Bruce’s eyes again. But it’s no use; Bruce isn’t looking at him. He’s been dismissed without a word. 

Next Chapter

[thelighthousemp3]

in my head, i play a supercut of us (all the magic we gave off)

prompt from @lady-shipper:  Hiii! I don't know if u're still accepting prompts,but can u write something about Gina and Rosa having to share a bed in one of those cop cons? 

read on ao3 

           “All right!” Jake calls, sauntering through the bullpen with a duffel bag over his shoulder. “Cop con!” He pumps a fist into the air and grins. Amy follows close behind him, wearing an oversized red hoodie that presumably belongs to Jake. She smiles sleepily as they walk into the bullpen.

           “Great,” Gina says from her own desk. “A place where all of you get together and brag about what you can do, which is someone anyone can do. O-M-G, ‘NYPD, you’re under arrest’ like even my baby can say that.” She scrolls through her phone, not sparing the detectives another look.

           “Loosen up, Gina. You know you’re gonna have fun,” Terry says.

           Rosa yawns. “Why are we here so early,” she mutters as Captain Holt steps out of his office in full uniform.

           “Hello, squad. As you all know, today is cop con, and we will be taking a bus to arrive to our destination shortly. However, there is something that I need to tell you,” Captain Holt says. “I was unable to book hotel rooms for each of you individually, so we will be pairing up.”

           “Well, that’s not a problem,” Terry says.

           “All right, then,” Captain Holt says. He pulls out a small slip of paper and holds it up to read. “Jake and Amy, naturally, will be sharing a room. Your room is the only one that has a single bed,” he says, looking up at them.

           “Not a problem! We’re married!” Jake says, popping open the top of an energy drink.

           “The rest of the rooms have two beds, so none of you will be inclined to share, unless you would like to,” Captain Holt says.

           “I think we’re good,” Rosa says with an untasteful expression on her face.

           “Jeffords, you are with Boyle. Diaz, you are with Gina.”

           “Dope,” Gina calls from her desk. Rosa shrugs, examining a nail with a nonchalant expression.

           “I mean, it could’ve been worse, so whatever,” she says, lifting the shoulder strap of her bag slightly. She takes a sip of her coffee and yawns slightly.

 “What do you mean, Rosa? We would’ve been great room buddies! I could show you all of the healthiest sleeping positions—” Charles starts saying. Rosa holds up her hand to stop him from talking.

          “The bus is leaving in a few minutes.” Captain Holt tucks the room assignments back into his pocket. “We should start heading out now,” he instructs, and the Nine-Nine follows him out of the building.

          “Cop con!” Jake shout excitedly once they are outside. He jumps slightly into the air. “Come on, guys! Why aren’t you all super excited?” he asks, looking around the weary group.

          “It’s too early in the morning for this, babe,” Amy says, squeezing his arm. “I’m going to sleep on the bus.”

          “But what about all of the sing-along songs?” Jake protests, climbing up the steps of the bus and hopping on. Rosa rolls her eyes and follows him. Gina trails close behind her with a plush neck cushion hanging on one shoulder. She adjusts her sunglasses and doesn’t take her eyes off of her phone as she slides into a seat next to Rosa.

          “I’ll sing-along with you, Jake!” Charles quickly volunteers. Jake high-fives Charles and they start conversing about the songs that Jake had chosen.

          Rosa leans her head against the window, staring outside. Next to her, Gina starts playing a game on her phone.

          The first hour of their drive passes quickly. Amy and Terry are both asleep, and Jake and Charles have thankfully stopped singing. Captain Holt is looking at a map near the front of the bus. Rosa lifts her head. She hadn’t really been sleeping as much as staring out of the window with apathy. She can’t tell if Gina is asleep or not. Her phone is in her lap. The screen is still on, but Gina’s sunglasses hide her eyes, therefore hiding whether she is sleeping or not.

          Rosa stretches her arms up. She isn’t claustrophobic, but there is something about being trapped in the window seat of a bus for two hours that really irks her.

          A little while later, they stop for a bathroom break per a request from Charles. Rosa gets off of the bus to stretch her legs. When she gets back on the bus, she discovers that Gina has taken the window seat. Rosa sits down next to her, not minding this at all.

          As the bus starts to move, Gina whips out her phone. “3… 2… 1!” she counts down, and then presses something on her phone. From the speakers of the bus, some Beyoncé song starts playing. Rosa hides a smile as Gina sings along to it.

          They finally arrive at the cop convention. “The 7-5 is throwing a great party,” Jake says. “And we’re invited!! You now, as the coolest cops in New York!”

          “Neat,” Rosa says appreciatively.

          “So, uh, Captain,” Amy starts, “Are you coming to the party tonight?”

          “I may come in for a little bit,” Captain Holt informs her. “Afterwards, I will be retiring to my own room for some rest.”

          Gina looks around. “Look at all of these cool gadgets!” she says ecstatically, reaching for an electric remote. “Look; I’m flying a drone!” She pushes a few buttons on the remote, and a white drone flies inches above Amy’s head. Amy frowns and ducks.

          “Give me that, Gina,” Terry says, grabbing the remote from Gina. “Look at this, guys! Terry’s got a drone!”

          “Nerds,” Rosa says, rolling her eyes. “C’mon, Jake, let’s go look at the robots.”

          “I’m coming too!” Charles yelps, following Jake. “You’re not gonna replace me with some robot that doesn’t even have emotions!” They head over to another side of the convention, leaving Gina, Terry, Amy, and Holt.

          “Soo… uh, Captain! You wanna go check out the… stuff over there?” Amy asks hopefully. Captain Holt shrugs.

          “I do not see why not,” he says. “Perhaps so.”

          “So, Terry, you wanna ditch these losers and go lift weights or something? Preferably with your shirt off?” Gina cajoles. She crosses her arms and looks up at him.

          “No!” Terry frowns. “Come on, Gina.”

          Gina shrugs. “I gave it a shot,” she says, turning over to a different table and looking at some other… police gadgets. She examines something for a few moments before sighing loudly. “I’m gonna go get a drink.”

          “Gina, it’s like 11 AM,” Terry says.

          “You think I don’t know that? Bye, Ter-Bear. See ya at the party,” Gina says, sauntering away. And indeed, she disappears for a few hours. No one knows where Gina is when they have lunch, or when they play truth or dare with the 8-6.

          Before long, it is time for paintball. Paintball is Rosa’s favorite part of cop-con. She absolutely loves being able to shoot at dumb officers from other precincts without any repercussions. Rosa has been looking forward to this for exactly 306 days (yes, she counted,) and she’s ready to kick some ass.

          What she isn’t expecting is for a pellet of green paint to explode over her side.

          “Ahaha! Gotcha, Rosa!” a familiar voice bubbles. Rosa angrily whips around.

          “Gina! Where did you come from? We’re supposed to be on the same team! You’re not supposed to shoot me!” Rosa bursts. Needlessly to say, Rosa is very passive-aggressive when it comes to a good game of paintball.

          Gina grins. “Oh, Rosa.” She cocks her paintball gun up and quickly takes aim. A split second later, Rosa’s hair is covered in pink paint. “You look cute with pink hair.”

          “You are the worst,” Rosa says, storming away.

          The next time she sees Gina is of course at the party. Gina has clearly had a few drinks. She walks up to Rosa and touches her hair. “It’s not pink anymore?” Gina frowns.

          “Yeah, I washed the paint out,” Rosa says. She tries to turn a cold shoulder towards Gina for the recent paintball events, but her voice softens a little bit when she sees the pout on Gina’s lips. There was just no staying mad at Gina Linetti.

          Nearby, Jake is singing karaoke while somehow sitting on Terry’s shoulders. They sing along loudly to Taylor Swift’s ‘Love Story’ without a care in the world. Charles video tapes them from behind.

          Judging Amy’s current state, it is clear that she has had three drinks. She jumps on top of the bed and waves her arms to the music with a wild expression on her face.

          Rosa has resolved to having only one drink. Her head is already slightly throbbing (probably because of the paintball Gina hit her in the head with earlier that day) and she doesn’t want to make it any worse.

          “Oh my god, look, Captain Holt,” Gina says. Rosa turns around to see Captain Holt sitting in a chair, observing the ongoing events. He takes a sip of beer as he watches Jake and Terry with a stoic expression on his face.

          The party ends some time after that when most people have tired out. “Room buddy,” Charles hiccups, grabbing Terry’s arm. Jake and Amy leave with their arms around each other, waving goodbye to the mostly empty room.

          “C’mon, Rosie, let’s go,” Gina murmurs. “I’m tired.”

          Being the more sober one, Rosa shrugs and leads Gina out of the room. Gina heavily leans on Rosa’s arm while they walk through the halls in search of their room.

          Rosa finally locates it a few minutes later. She unlocks it and the two spill into the hotel room.

          “A bed,” Gina mutters hoarsely, walking over and collapsing on it. Rosa looks around in confusion. There should be two beds, not one…

          “Where’s the other one?” Rosa asks.

          “Shut up and go to sleep, Rosie,” Gina mumbles, attempting to kick her shoes off.

          “No, that can’t be right,” Rosa says, shaking her head. She gazes around the room in vain search of another bed, even though there clearly isn’t one. “I’m gonna go ask Holt,” Rosa mutters, turning and leaving the room.

          Half an hour later, she returns in defeat. “I thought maybe our room got switched with Jake and Amy’s, but no! There aren’t any other rooms with two beds, so we’re stuck with one,” she rants.

          Gina looks up from her phone. “Oh, hey, I was just drunk-texting Kamila Al-Jamil. So we gotta share a bed. No big deal, Rosa. We’re adults.”

          “Yeah?” Rosa sighs. “You are so drunk right now, Gina.”

          “I know,” Gina grins, sinking into the pillows. “But this isn’t some fanfiction, Rosa. This is real life. We can handle this without falling in love or something stupid like that,” she laughs.

          “Yeah. That would be so dumb; falling in love with you,” Rosa mutters, heading to the bathroom.

          A few minutes later, Rosa emerges wearing a tank top and a pair of sweatpants to discover Gina lying on the bed with her phone on top of her face. And she’s not lying on one side of the bed; she’s sprawled across it.

          “Gina!” Rosa says, making futile attempts to push Gina over to the other side of the bed. Gina mutters something intelligible under her breath and turns over. Rosa sighs in defeat and climbs onto the bed. She lies down in the little space that she has and does her best to fall asleep.

          Rosa jolts awake a few hour later, in the middle of the night. Gina is breathing slowly, less than inches away from Rosa’s face. Her body is curled up against Rosa’s, and she radiates warmth. “Gina!” Rosa hisses softly. Gina doesn’t wake up.

          Rosa thinks about what to do for a few minutes. In the end, she decides to let Gina sleep and get some rest herself. They were grown women. They could handle this.

          But Rosa can’t sleep. She finds herself thinking about Gina. Specifically, the chemistry that she has with Gina. Gina was… dynamite. She was gorgeous. And if they really wanted to, they could make a great couple.

          Rosa tries to shake these thoughts from her head, but the thought of kissing Gina fills her mind. She lifts her head and looks at Gina, who is peacefully asleep. Rosa drops her head back into the pillows and sighs.

          A few hours later, she’s shaken awake by none other than Gina. “Hmmm?” Rosa groans, opening her eyes.

          “Hey,” Gina whispers. “Is it really weird that I kinda wanna kiss you right now? If you say no, then a robot has possessed my body. Either that, or I’m still drunk and not in the right state of mind,” Gina says. Rosa can’t help but notice the fact that Gina’s lips are mere inches away from hers.

          “Weirdly, it’s not that weird,” Rosa mutters, wrapping her arms around Gina’s back and pulling her into a long overdue kiss.

          “I guess this is a fanfiction,” Gina grins after they pull apart. She collapses down next to Rosa and snuggles against her. Rosa smiles in the dark and pulls Gina into a tighter embrace.

          They don’t speak about it at all the next morning, until Gina appears at breakfast with a pair of dark sunglasses on her face. “Hey, guys. Rosa and I are eloping.”

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

Even numbers. Fuck you 💙

:’) 🖕💙

Under the cut… oh my god… lord give me strength… if any of y’all wanna get to know me… read this monster X’D

2. Are you outgoing or shy?

I think a bit of both?? I’m the type of person who’d willingly get lost in a strange city but also suddenly develop a stutter when I try to communicate with my fellow humans. :)

4. Are you easy to get along with?

lmao no.

6. What kind of people are you attracted to?

Kind ones. Who can tolerate me.

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind?

An ex friend/abuser atm. :))))

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with?

What qualifies as deep?? I guess, my Dad?? Maybe??

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now?

Dodie Clark - Monster

Easy Life - Pockets

Lorde - Buzzcut Season

Zack Hemsey - The Way

Fits and the Tantrums - Roll Up

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles?

Yeah, I think so?

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

I kissed my Mum on the top of her head. So, yes. XD

18. Do you still talk to your first crush?

That would be Jesse. So, yes. Hope he doesn’t find this blog yikes. X’D

20. Do you like your neighbors?

Yes on one side. No on the other side.

22. Where would you like to travel?

America firstly. Then all over the place to visit other friends. I promised my Mum I’d take her to San Francisco one day, so I gotta keep that promise.

24. Favorite part of your daily routine?

PETS :DDDDD

26. What do you do when you wake up?

Try my best not to murder anyone while I get my cup of tea liquid life ready. XD Say hi to doggos and beep babies. Check to see if any of my friends need me urgently. Then eat toast.

28. Who are you most comfortable around?

My pets. My parents. My friends.

30. Do you ever want to get married?

I really don’t mind getting married or living in sin. XD It would depend entirely on what my partner wanted, I’d do whatever would make them happy.

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with?

No one. Guess you could say I’m demisexual.

34. Do you play sports? What sports?

Does horseback riding count?? I’ve dabbled in a bit of cricket. But my lungs don’t like intensive exercising, especially cardio stuff.

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them?

Story of my life, every single time. I’ve never told anyone I liked them. I’d rather die than make them feel bad or uncomfortable bc I know they don’t feel the same way.

38. Describe your dream girl/guy?

At the moment all I can think of is my crush lmao. :’)

40. What do you want to do after high school?

Absolutely nothing bc I’m a dropout. XD Be a completely self-taught author, hopefully.

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean?

Online, I’m probably just really tired and don’t have the energy to be upbeat and/or talk to people. In real life, it’s nothing abnormal; I hate my voice so I don’t talk much and I like quiet. If I’m not using a bunch of emojis (you know how I normally do) when I’m talking, you know I’m either being super serious, or I’m pissed off, or both.

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean?

NEITHER YIKES I LIKE MY SOLID EARTH THANK U VERY MUCH

46. What are you paranoid about?

Being annoying.

48. Have you ever been drunk?

Nope. Not really planning on it, either. I’m kind of curious as to how I’d be, though. Like I have deep-rooted buried anger issues so I might be angry, but I’m also depressed so I might be a puddle of tears and sadness, BUT my personality is v energetic and happy so… who knows, dude. X’D

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore?

Blue and grey. It has “yo” on the hood. :D

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself?

Biologically male. please.

54. Favourite store?

?? don’t have one. 

56. Favourite colour?

Navy or a kind of dark aqua-navy kind of colour, like a bit of a green tinge as well? I’m also really fond of yellow too.

58. Last thing you ate?

LEFTOVER HAMBURGER AND IT WAS DELICIOUS I FORGOT HOW MUCH I LOVED HAMBURGERS!!!!!!1!!

60. Ever won a competition? For what?

Yeah, dog training competition with our German Shepherd when I was 11.

62. Been arrested? For what?

No yet lmao.

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss?

I’ll be sure to tell you about it when it happens. XD

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends?

I don’t have any irl friends so… HELL YEAH!!

68. Twitter or Tumblr?

Tumblr. Obviously.

70. Names of your bestfriends?

I could literally just list all my Tumblr friends here. I’ve learnt not to get specifically close to any one or two persons. So… all my beans!!! Love you!!

72. What colour are your towels?

Blue! :D I was forced to use the pink towels in the set when I was little and not out as trans so now I surround myself in all the gendered blue bullshit X’D

74. Do you sleep with stuffed animals?

….. maaayyyybbbeee.

76. Favourite animal?

D O G

78:Chocolate or Vanilla?

Neither.

80. What colour shirt are you wearing?

It’s my very yellow button down!! :D

82. Favourite tv show?

S E N S E 8

84. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2?

Never seen either oops.

86. Favourite character from Mean Girls?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

88. First person you talked to today?

Enna aka Cinnamonpuff aka steverogershield

90. Name a person you hate?

My brother, Mackenzie. :)

92. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now?

Anyone who mistreats animals.

94.How many sweatpants do you have?

I rarely wear anything but sweatpants, so I have 8. THEY’RE COMFY OKAY. And since it’s usually cold or hot here with no real warm in between, I’m either wearing shorts or sweatpants. It’s only in the rare in-between weather (like now) that I wear my jeans.

96. Last movie you watched?

Can’t remember. I watched the first season of Jessica Jones tho, so… show instead of movie. XD

98.Favourite actor?

TERRY CREWS

100. Have any pets?

YES!!! 3 dogs (one German Shepherd named Ria, a Whippet named Granger, and a mutt named Maude), 3 chickens (Haymitch the black one, Cinna the dark brown one, Effie the pale brown one) and 2 ducks (Peeta and Katniss.) THEY’RE MY BABIES AND I’D DIE FOR THEM!!! :’D

102. Do you type fast?

LMAO APPARENTLY I DO??? My Dad thinks I must type gibberish and makes me type out what he says because he doesn’t think I can type that fast. I only type with 2 fingers normally too. X’D

104. Can you spell well?

w e l l (idk. maybe.)

106. Ever been to a bonfire party?

Yup.

108. Have you ever been on a horse? 

Many times. I LOVE them SO MUCH.

110. Is something irritating you right now?

Yeah.

112. Do you have trust issues?

No. *insert canned audience laughter here* Yes, I do. Big time. Just bc I’m friendly doesn’t mean I trust anyone.

114. What was your childhood nickname?

Matt, actually!! :D

116. Do you play the Wii?

Used to, now I don’t have one anymore and it wasn’t my favourite console.

118.Do you like chicken noodle soup?

Y E S. GIMME!!!!!! :D

120.Favourite book?

Bird by Crystal Chan.

122.Are you mean?

I think I definitely can be very cutting when I lose my temper. But I haven’t done that in years now and I try very hard to be a good person. Luckily my first reaction is normally hurt, so by the time the anger kicks in I normally try and get out of the situation before I can say something harsh.

124.Can you keep white shoes clean?

NOPE. I can never keep anything clean, probably why I like dark colours so much. I literally do not own any white clothes anymore because they always get stained within a few hours of me wearing them asdfghjkl. 😅

126.Do you believe in true love?

Kind of. I believe that no relationship is ever perfect, but if people gel well and COMMUNICATE OFTEN AND HONESTLY the relationship can be amazing. I guess it’s its own kind of perfect relationship. I definitely think there’s people you get along brilliantly with, better than anyone else. There’s somebody in the world for everyone! :D

128.What makes you happy?

Animals. My friends. My OCs. :’)

130.What your zodiac sign?

Pisces!! I definitely think I’ve grown into it over time. X’D

132. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

??? depends on whether I like them back or not, obviously. If I do, I’ll probably scream for a solid week and then decide if I want to drag them into my mountain of bullshit with a relationship, or leave it be. If I don’t, let them down as gently as I can. Also I’m a raging bi, so gender wouldn’t matter. :P

134.Favourite lyrics right now?

My all-time favourite lyrics are from The Judge by Twenty one Pilots:

“When the leader of the bad guys sangSomething soft and soaked in painI heard the echo from his secret hideawayHe must’ve forgot to close his doorAs he cranked out those dismal chordsAnd his four walls declared him insane”

136.Dumbest lie you ever told?

“Did you let Haymitch jump on your back again?”

“Uh… noooo.”

“Then why do you have massive scratches in the clear shape of chicken feet on your back?”

“UHHHHHH-”

i”M A HUFFLEPUFF OKAY I’M NOT GOOD AT LYING X’D

128.How tall are you?

I’m not.

140.Brunette or Blonde?

Like, people I’m attracted to, or for me? I honestly don’t care attraction wise. For me, I guess brunette bc I think I look really weird with pale hair lmao.

142.Night or Day?

NIGHT. Dear god, night.

144.Are you a vegetarian?

NOPE. Honestly think I’d go insane if I didn’t eat meat. XD I mean, I would if I had to, but I’d really prefer not to.

146.Tea or Coffee?

TEA. I hate coffee, I’ll leave that to other people. XD

148.Mars or Snickers?

SNICKERS. Mars are good but… Snickers!!!!

150. Do you believe in ghosts?

Hell fucking yes you bet I do pal!!!!!!

[aprilsimpsonhunt-blog]

haha. First of all, how confusing is that title? (I usually try to do some sort of play on words, with either a pattern name or the fabric company name. This time I went full on with both…and think the result is a little unnerving. Sorry! 🙂

  Hey everyone! Hope this post finds you well.

I recently achieved something I’ve only ever dreamed of….I managed to sew up one of my fabric strike offs FOR a pattern test! If you do pattern testing and strike off sewing(or know about them), you know that finding a balance is key, but seldom do the two end up overlapping perfectly. I’ve always run into scheduling issues before. This time, Katie (Wilson, of Duck Butt Designs) was gracious enough to allow me to share little sneaks of the Duck Butt Designs project throughout the week, so that I could share my pretties from the ladies over at Beanpop, too! I’m pretty darn excited about it all, too!

    For starters, I’ll say that this was my first test for DBD (Duck Butt Designs). I have loved their patterns for quite some time now, but have never seen the tester calls. This time, I believe it must have been fated, as I’m quite honestly never around on Facebook any more. But not only was I online, the post actually came up right in my feed! Does Facebook know me or what? lol.

Duck Butt Designs (or DBD, as they’re affectionately called within the online sewing community”) is best known for their unique children’s pieces, but they also have wardrobe pieces for the entire family. Many of the options, including the basics, have some form of color blocking or other unique feature that makes the pattern super fun. I downloaded their free Panel Pocket Tee from the Facebook Group about a year ago and have used it faithfully since. It’s the perfect size for child/infant panels…in fact, that’s kinda why Katie designed it! 🙂

Panel Pocket Tee by DBD

When I first made my plans to sew up this round for Beanpop, I had hoped to use the PPT. Duck Butt Designs has pants, shorts and tee options, as well as pullovers, unders, pockets and more. There is a pattern for just about everything. My favorite thing about the pattern is: they usually come with some fun extra. For example, the colorblocked tees usually have a printable coloring sheet to help you map out fabric choices in advance. It makes the patterns fun to sew for me and helps the kids feel as though they have a hand in the process as well, which they looooove!

Testing, testing….

  I’m so glad I signed up to test this top! We had a blast (as you can tell from our photos) and it was fun chatting with the other testers while we worked. It was about as laid back of a test as I’ve seen. The pattern has been released and  you can find the Back To school top and hoodie here. (click the name to be taken to the listing. Be sure to use code: FIRSTDAY to get 20% off until this sunday!)

Aquila, my youngest, was the one doing the pattern test (officially), but Kalel was the one with the strike off fabric (he’s the zombie lover) so we went ahead and made him one, too. *Their sizes were 12 months and 4T, if it makes a difference to any of you. 🙂

The hoodie features :

a color blocked front

an optional color blocked back

The bottom front piece is made of 2 seperate pieces of fabric, which work together to form a big pocket

Lined, Tulip style hood or band for the neck.

Bands or hemming instructions for arms and waist.

3 different sleeve lengths (or use bands to make it sleeveless)

Sizes 3 months -11/12

A0 size printing available

      I made 2 muslins to begin with. Then once I was sure there wouldn’t be any more additions or changes to the pattern, I went on to use my pretty custom fabrics. *I have found through trial and error that this is the best way.* Almost every time I’ve tried to skip the muslin stage, it’s ended up backfiring on me. So, without a doubt, even if you know the designer and they always nail it, use a muslin. You never know what kind of issues will pop up. And as fate would have it, they always pop up for me when I use exensive fabric. 🙂 Not that I don’t love ALL my fabric. It’s just that some fabric is a little more special and I prefer to save it for projects that will be worn. lol. This hoodie actually only went through 2 versions! Bonus points for the Katie, because my muslins were totally usuable, so that’s another plus! Can never have too many hoodies!

    My favorite thing about testing and photographing both kids? The outtakes were hysterical. I’ll post a few at the end. They’re always my favorite. 🙂

  Testing felt like it flew by. Everything fit perfectly and I love all the options! I feel like we will definitely be making many more of these, as a top and as a hoodie! I’m so glad we got the chance to test for Katie and DBD! Be sure to grab the pattern here, on the Duck Butt Designs website. You can use the code FIRSTDAY for 20% until Sunday, 08/13/217.

You can find out more about DBD and join in the sewing fun in the Duck Butt Designs Facebook Group

Fabric addiction is real…

  When the ladies at Beanpop Fabrics announced that we could apply to sew up things for this round, I was incredibly excited…even before we got to see the actual prints! This round was geared towards the Halloween holidays. There are some fun glitter cats, tarot cards, magic potion labels, sugar animals, and a vintage horror movie poster print fabric. I love that they did spooky…but in a fun way. There wasn’t anything overwhelmingly shocking or scary. and the tarot and potion prints are incredible! I’m basically just in love with the whole round! I’ve assembled a collage (below) of some of the strike off seamstresses’ work. Aren’t they all so talented?  You can find more of their work (and more pretty fabric) in the Beanpop Fabric Facebook Group. There is also a Beanpop Fabric Facebook Buy and Sell Group, where you can find some of the older prints that aren’t in production any more. The current pre-order for the fabrics I’m showing here is available on the main Beanpop website, under the Round 14 section.

credit (from left to right, row by row): Amy Kushner, Alexis Schank, Nikki Luke, Melissa Mitchell, Savannah Layland, Brianna Karle, April Simpson-Hunt (me) and Becky Dunlap.

I quickly put my bid in on a number of prints. This was probably the first time I can confidently say that I would have been happy with anything I received. When I saw the zombies panel and fat half set, I knew that it would be perfect for my 4 year old, who loves all things spooky. (his favorite movie is Chucky) Most of the sets or prints came in cotton lycra, which is a great base and is pretty much the norm for strike offs. Beanpop has an incredible selection of bases, including stretch woven, 240-260 GSM cotton lycra and french terry, which is what the zombies fabric came on.

  This was my first time working with french terry and ermahgawd…it’s AWESOME! I would venture a guess to say that all french terry may not be awesome. But Beanpop seems to turn everything they touch into gold, so I’m not surprised that this base is lush, thick and a dream to sew up. My son loved the texture so much, he refused to take the pants off for 3 days! (this is my boy who refuses to wear jeans because they “feel funny”). As a result of both of these things, I a lot of Beanpop FT in my future. 🙂

The prints themselves were incredibly crisp and clear. For some reason, I always expect the panel to have visual interest than the coordinate. I’m not sure exactly why I feel this way. I suppose I’ll have to get over it, though, as this zombies coordinate was my favorite part! (although it would be tough to pick an all out favorite). The panel features zombies, headstones and flames. It looks scary, yet somehow accomplishes it in a fun way, that doesn’t look out of place on a Pre-K kid. The coordinate features axes, chainsaws, headstones and skulls in a floating, random pattern. Behind those images, though, is a dark and light grey scratched background, which is almost like a very thin, uneven plaid(possibly?). It’s very subtle, yet adds dimension and texture. Then, there are little pops of red, yellow and green floating throughout the coordinate in little brains, hearts, skulls and more. I love all the attention to detail. It makes the print so much fun and so interesting to look at! I’m currently trying to find a way to make myself something to wear with the tiny scraps I have left. I believe I’ll be ordering more soon!

This was one of those instances where I struggled with my point and shoot camera.(FujiFilm FinePix 3280) It seems like no matter how hard I try or how well I learn my settings, I still have issues with focus or light. I really wanted to do these prints justice! I hope you are able to see how clear the prints are, as well as the colors. I have a friend, Laura Akins Asup, who is a great photographer and does most of our professional shots. She was nice enough to agree to do some photos for us, so she took the ones shown from the store, that you can see above.(you know, the only REALLY professional looking ones. lol) I love them, but the store’s lighting caused my own mint green ponte de roma coordinate (from Stylish Fabrics) to look more blue than green.  This is why there are so many photos here! sorry! I wanted to show off everything to the best of my ability. I’m incredibly proud of this project and so in love with everything I’m sharing!

The Halloween round is open at Beanpop from now until August 22, so be sure to grab them all quickly!

https://beanpopfabrics.net/collections/round-14-preorder

Also, be sure to sign up via the website, since user accounts are required for purchases. Use code “WAHM10” to get 10% off all orders of 8 yards or more!

    Thanks so much for reading!

Until next time, Sewing and Swimming,

    April Simpson-Hunt

  *now, as promised….here are some of the “outtakes” from the 2 days spent trying to get photos. haha. Enjoy! 🙂

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Beanpop’s Zombies go back to school, Duck Butt style haha. First of all, how confusing is that title? (I usually try to do some sort of play on words, with either a pattern name or the fabric company name.

[trouvxilles-blog]

UNDERUSED CHARACTER QUESTIONS

INTRODUCTION

NAME: terrence yoon AGE: twenty-one PICTURE/GIF OF YOUR MUSE:

WHAT WOULD BE THEIR TWITTER NAME? WHAT SORTS OF TWEETS WOULD THEY TWEET?

terry has twitter which he checks every so often. his account is public, so a bunch of people from school follow him there, but it’s not a very large following since he doesn’t give out his username unless someone asks. his following list, on the other hand, consists mostly of the people in the cafe he hangs out with often, and a few other close friends. he also follows a few celebrities (like lady gaga, who he doesn’t even remember following, but he can’t be bothered to unfollow, and random funny/crack accounts). he doesn’t always have internet access, so he’s rarely on. but when he is, he mostly just retweets things like photos and quotes. for some reason, his mentions are always blowing up.

display name: terry. username: terryoon

WHAT’S THEIR FAVORITE GENRE OF MOVIES? OF MUSIC?

movies:

whatever he catches on television, he’ll probably watch it. despite being in broadcasting, he prefers movies over television series. sometimes he stays up late at night just to finish watching something, only to regret it the next morning because the ending was shitty as fuck. he’ll watch anything that seems interesting enough, but his favorite genre is horror. his guilty pleasures are dramas like the notebook. not necessarily romance, but definitely tear-jerkers.

music:

anything with thumping bass, guitar riffs, and drum solos loud enough to keep him awake. he likes alternative punk/rock and indie pop/rock music. he stays up late into the night studying, and the music helps keep him attentive. when working the night shift at the mini-mart, he listened to alternative rock music while reading since it was literally at the dead of the night (after midnight to, like, four in the morning). he listens to the likes of nine inch nails, nirvana, blink 182, all time low, sum 41, yellowcard, we are the in crowd. shit you’d listen to unironically if you were going through your high school emo phase. (might explain the shitty haircut.)

he finds anyway, here’s wonderwall fucking hilarious for some odd reason. probably because he used to go to a lot of college parties and knows a bunch of douches who carry their guitar around everywhere ready to play wonderwall or some basic ass song in front of anyone willing to listen. speaking of parties, he loathes electronic dance music - and that one the chainsmokers song? miss him with that shit. he hears it so much at bar and clubs he’s getting sick of it.

WHAT’S ON THEIR TOP QUEUE ON NETFLIX?

netflix costs money. they don’t have netflix, but he has bootleg copies of attack on titan given to him by a friend - which he’s been putting off for a year. also, he’s got a to-watch list mostly filled with horror movies and documentaries on conspiracy theories. terry hates being idle, so when he does have time to watch, you know he’s bored out of his fucking mind.

WHAT’S THEIR FAVORITE SCENT? DO THEY SMELL LIKE THAT?

one of his richer college buddies (you know the one - they have no fucking clue what to give for birthdays or christmas) gave him eau de parfum wood 47 two years ago. it’s phased out now. it’s his favorite scent, but since he doesn’t really wear perfume or cologne, it’s left rarely untouched on top of the wooden drawer in their room. sometimes lance uses it, but you only need a really tiny fucking drop. it’ll last you the entire day. he’s been using it more recently, thought. they’ve only used up literally a quarter of the bottle since terry got it. the scent is overwhelming when he sweats. (but at least he smells great.) without perfume, he smells like... strawberry shampoo. clean, but with that weird sweet scent that you can actually tell are strawberries.

that aside, he loves the smell of peppermint and sugar (specifically butterscotch). sometimes he smells like peppermint because he opts to chew gum now instead of smoke. sometimes he smells like butterscotch candy. for people, he just wants someone who smells clean. if terry can smell clean despite all the shit he goes through on the daily, so can you. (equal exchange or something. he never forgets to shower. sometimes he showers twice just to make sure.)

APPLE OR ANDROID?

android. it’s a confusing interface (how the fuck does this work? he asked when lance gave him his an old nokia lumia), but it has bigger memory and longer battery life. all he needs is gmail, the camera, and the music app. he’s managed to consistently get credits now since his new job waiting tables pays higher, and because he needs credits to text/call about shifts. his older sister and brother use apple, so he’s tried out both.

FAVORITE SEASON? LEAST FAVORITE SEASON?

terry’s favorite season is fall because it’s gradually getting cold, he can wear his hoodie anytime he wants, and everything is dying. also, he and his siblings love halloween. summer comes as a close second because terry adores the beach. he can’t just go whenever he wants due to academic and financial responsibilities. with break, he can file for a weekend leave, disappear days at a time, and just bask under the fucking sun with his toes buried in the sand. (or, really, he just misses santa barbara.)

his least favorite would have to be winter because he doesn’t like having to wear four layers of clothes at once. it’s hard to move when you’re bulky as fuck. once november hits, he has a tendency to ramble on about about how autumn should just transition immediately to spring so summer can arrive faster.

ARE THEY A BOTTOM, TOP OR VERSATILE?

definitely versatile. he used to mostly top, but now he enjoys being bottom. recently, he’s been bottoming a lot (even he’s surprised), but doesn’t have a problem being either. it’s not like he’s super dominant or submissive in bed. if his partner wants to do some vanilla missionary or doggy style, he rolls with it. terry usually adjusts to whatever his partner wants. #GoldStarGay

so, yes. definitely a versatile bottom.

DESCRIBE THEIR MORNING ROUTINE. DO THEY WAKE UP EARLY OR SLEEP IN? DO THEY PRESS THE SNOOZE BUTTON A BUNCH OF TIMES OR DO THEY IMMEDIATELY GET UP?

he’s required to wake up early when he was still in rotc. he’s grown a habit of waking up before sunrise regardless of how many hours of sleep he got the previous night. sometimes he wakes up even before his alarm goes off. morning routine includes: jogging six miles, go back home, shower, breakfast (quick or to go), then rotc training (plus classroom time until noon).

during weekends, he manages to get in a few more hours to sleep in, but still wakes up before nine. he’s on a tight schedule (all the fucking time). places to go, people to meet. if he wakes up terribly hungover (in his own home), he’ll sleep in for like fifteen hours. if he wakes up at a stranger’s house, he leaves before five in the morning (although preferably, he wants to be out the door by four).

tagged by: @haebxtna​ (thank you my bb!) tagging: if you see this (like fine print on a contract), you are tagged.