#the church of the children of atom

[novie-luv]

Who are the Children of Atom?

The Church of the Children of Atom (truncated as Atomites, sometimes derisively called rad eaters) is a religious movement that worships Atom, a deity personifying nuclear weapons, their detonation, and the resulting radiation.

Where most people see weapons of mass destruction, we see holy tools of creation. Generally, we believe the world was created when an atom was split and that each nuclear detonation represents the birth of countless new universes.

[Source] [Index Post]

[atomsmessenger]

Come to church, we have laser pistols, wastelanders Omelettes, and beer.

And Arcade, I guess, but you can't touch.

[cherubispunk]

BARK! BITE! BLEED! (INTERLUDE) - FWB!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

summary: the sting of biting one’s tongue is a lesser of two evils compared to the sting of rejection.

a note from Lucy: Not really a full part but still important to the storyline. Just a little bit of a deeper look into the reader and Frankie’s relationship, their characters and their ideas of each other.

playlist | moodboard

wc: 3046

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n, obsessive behaviour, frankie is obsessed and it is very unhealthy, toxic relationships, age gap (reader is 21, Frankie is 27) - though not mentioned in this part, graphic smut, oral (f receiving), face sitting, p in v sex, creampie, biting, softdom!frankie, scratching, references to suicide, references to racial discrimination and othering in American school systems.

“Is it your smile I enjoy…or the parts of me still stuck in your teeth?”

Some days Frankie liked to pretend you were a map. Easy to read. The landmarks recognisable on top of your skin. The world growing with you, shifting over bone. Breathing with life. The valley of your breasts. The bridge of your hips. The high street that was your spine. At the top of the high street, just over the fleshy part at the nape of your neck, was a library. It was locked. Always. Sometimes he would look through the window to see if anyone was still there. Peer in through grimy glass to expect someone thumbing through pages of a book, folding the corners to mark a quote, or a passage that held particular resonance. Alas, they were plastered with dated newspapers and rotting boards nailed to the over closed shutters. So he wandered back down, past the railway tracks of one rib, the empty children’s playground of another. The church on your sternum. The graveyard had no flowers by headstones. Half were smothered by a thick blanket of browning moss. Others were merely so caked in grime and crumbling that names were illegible. And passed over the bridge to the empty bandstand of your navel. Where music would play if someone gave the time of day. Behind him were footprints of marks he left with his teeth. A need to show himself he had been here. I have been here.

Behind the bandstand, deeper in, on a small mound of a hill, lay a wooden gate. And beyond the gate was an orchard fenced off from the rest. Here, Frankie would indulge his selfish tongue in the sweet fruit. Between two trunks of apple trees. Bite after ripened bite. The juice was full with a sweet flavour and sticky as it dribbled down his chin. Stained his fingers with their residue when he wiped his mouth. But there was a sharp aftertaste. And before he knew it the apple rotted in his hand. Dropped to the dew dappled grass and damp dirt.

It was always quiet in that town he roamed. No train on the tracks to go clickety-clack. No child on the swings giggling ‘higher dad!’. No busker at the bandstand humming the hymn of god loving us back. Just him. Eerie and silent with only his footsteps to accompany the low murmur of the tree conversing with the blackbird. And the gutters slugged with stagnant rain. He avoided pavement cracks. His mother would save her back. He rounded ladders. It cut himself seven years of slack. Nothing bad would come of it either way. That map was his mind's creation. So he kissed you hard enough to invert you. Fucked you hard enough to invert you. Maybe then he would see what was inside. What wallowed under your skin and festered hot in the gaps between? Each atom of each cell was a stone he wished to turn over. Because there must be something. You had your walls for a reason. Maybe it was written on you like a book? Carved into flesh, a signature he could run a finger over after reading. Behind the backs of your lids, under the tips of your nails. The crook of a knee or elbow. Or he’d trace the freckles on your skin like constellations. Using them like sailors in the archaic times to pass through uncharted waters. Scylla would come and feast on his weathered ship soon enough. Drag him to Davy Jones’s locker. No vessel of good intent crossed your choppy waters before.

You both agreed that you were not a mother. A wife. A bride. Or anything else he might want you to be other than human. You were happy with your independence. You didn't want to throw anything away just yet. Not at all. Not for a long, long while. You set ground rules. Had a straightforward argument that you bought up without the need for him to ask what this consisted off.

“We tell each other when we have had sex with someone else.” Seemed easy enough to Frankie. “And wear protection with them too.” Another valid request. “But most of all, no feelings. I don’t care who you sleep with, or what you do with them, and if you meet someone who you really hit it off with then we call it quits. But if you start to feel even a shred of something more, Frankie, that's it. We call it.”

That had poor Francisco swallowing back a lump in his throat before it could choke the reply back down him. His stomach felt hot, and burned all of a sudden as he tried to digest what you had said. A knot consisting of a livewire thrummed in his gut and made his skin flush. And it irked him to no end.

Frankie remembered his years as an outsider. In a school where the white outnumbered the other. A child of immigrants, lucky enough to have skin that passed. He heard stories of a boy who sat two rows down from him in his American history class. A boy with dark skin and textured hair. Who was teased about his colour. Who threw himself from a bridge because every time he looked down at his hands, darker than those of other students, he felt like he didn’t belong. Frankie felt it too. He could memorise the names of presidents. He could recite that the capital of Texas was Austin. That the United States of America were at war with the United Kingdom from the twelfth of April 1861 to the thirteenth of May1865. But no matter how much of a textbook he would splurge out from between his lips he was always from the outside looking in. It made him wonder in silence to his pillow if he would ever belong. If any fact, or word, or story would make him fit in. He’d have even the gaps between two. He’d squeeze into it, no matter how small, and make it his to belong in. He thought the army would be his ticket in. That if he served a country he would earn his place in it. A foolish thought. For even now, looking at you, he felt the chill from the other side of the window pane. The side in the cold.

While you lay draped in bed, strewn out like the sheets, smoking a cigarette in languid drags, he thought to himself how little he truly knew. Yes he knew about America. But not a sentence about you. Your past. Yes, he knew you did your laundry on Sundays. You came home from the bar you worked in at 1:00. But nothing of note. Nothing important. Part of him liked it. Mystery left room for the mind to entertain. Often fantasy was far more intriguing than reality and it made you seem all the more interesting. A comfort to know he wasn't wasting his time on no one; But rather devoting it to someone. However, the other part— the part of him that watched smoke serpentine from the glowing end of your cigarette— hated it. The way it felt in his gut. Anxiety. He felt it before. But never in this situation. In combat he knew he didn't have time for it. It didn't ululate or linger. It was there, then he swallowed, and it wasn't. Now? Well…he had these moments between. Moments where you would light a cigarette, inhale, exhale. And he would watch as your chest rose, then fell in a pattern enough to hypnotise him. Something so simple as your breathing engaged him. Frankie wondered what it would be like; to live under your skin and have the steady up and down lull him to sleep at night. A rocking back and forth. To and fro. Up and down. Belonging. Moments where he would trace the line of your spine with his eyes. Too scared to touch what wasn’t his until he would bite his tongue and press a single finger to the dip and back down its soft curve. Earlier in the evening, when the sky started to stain tangerine, you had been canting your hips into his, dragging up and down on his length and singing his praises in a breathy chorus. Lost on the feeling of the stretch. The welcome invasion. Then you did the same with his face. Clit brushing zealously over the hooked, aquiline bridge of his nose. Your slick devoured by his wanting mouth. Frankie was the river that ran and unravelled in valleys to feed into your ocean. He hated being in the dark. Only when he fucked you did he have a chance at turning on a light.

“Read it.” He mumbled, nodding to the book in your hands, and rolling over between your thighs to part them. A classic of some century long past. One he never cared much for. But he wanted something. Needed something to tell you to do. Or just something to say. Because the silence was torture for his lonely mind.

You were halfway through stubbing your cigarette into the chipped ceramic dish on your bedside table when he spoke. “What?” You asked, tilting your head in curiosity, eyes searching his. As if the answer lay in their storm-brewing shade of chestnut. Although in the dark, under nothing but halogen street lamp glow, they looked a lot more like black. A nothingness that promised the existence of something.

“I said,” Frankie mumbled again, his voice firm, low and with a gravely finish to it that was just like him. Rough around the edges. Hard to part with. “Read it.” and then, Out loud.”

The words were smudged into the skin of your thigh as he trailed his lips over the inside of the right. His hands skimmed down the outside and squeezed plush flesh. Plump and smooth. Small divots of silver stretch marks on your flesh like ink carved into flesh. Hand painted by some deity in the sky that paid no mind to him now. When he traced his mouth higher he stuck out his tongue. You were wet and hot with his breath and his spit, his come too, still sticky between your thighs at the apex of them. Your very centre. Where his prominent, aquiline nose traced through your folds before his tongue flicked your clit once. “Frankie…” you whined, toes curling. Because you were so sensitive. So worn and stretched and aching. He hushed you, taking liberty over the time where he called the shots. When he was able to bend you to his will and have your head spinning dizzy instead. He didn't feel so motion sick when that was the case.

“Shhh…” he soothed, and pressed the flat of his tongue to your aching sex where heat melted and spread out through your limbs, seeping into muscle and unwinding tension. “Just read…”

Silence. And he thought he may have taken it too far. Finally sent you over some indiscernible edge that appeared too quickly for him to press the brakes. But then your honeyed voice filled his ears;

“Orpheus wished and prayed, in vain, to cross the Styx again, but the ferryman fended him off. Still, for seven days, he sat there by the shore, neglecting himself and not taking nourishment. Sorrow, troubled thought, and tears were his food.” You started, eyes blurring under the hazy weight of pleasure. His tongue delved a little deeper, circled your clit, flicking over the hood of it once, twice, thrice in quick laps. The tip of it pressed to a point and rolled it in careful, full circles. Your nerves thrummed like livewires, humming the same way telephone lines would in a hot summer rainstorm. Where heat lightning flashed ahead.

“Pretty pussy all used and fuckin’ soaked still.” He murmured into you slick, now in a generous shine across his chin. You whined, keening your hips up so his nose pressed to your mound and the smattering of curls there. He lay belly flat to the mattress, hips rutting slowly in tandem with the torturous, bold, and thick laps of your cunt. “C’mon, baby. Léeme a mí. Keep going.”

You read on, lips quivering, words dying by the dragging slice of a moan, a whimper, or simpering whine. Toes curling as his tongue lapped at you. “Three times the sun had ended the year, in watery Pisces, and Orpheus had abstained from the love of women, either because things ended badly for him, or because he had sworn to do so. Yet, many felt a desire to be joined with the poet, and many grieved at rejection.”

His mouth made a sinful soaking sound, wet and generous and full of your taste. “Que cosa mas linda.” He crooned into your cunt, lips smearing into your drenched sex while you stumbled over the words on your page. “Coño— tan mojado, bebita.” You whimpered again, a pathetic sound, fingers daring to curl into the thick head of brown hair at the crown of his head and press him deeper— because, god, you had never wanted something so carnally in your life. “Son deliciosas.” The glint of wanting in his eyes was like the blade of a knife catching the light. A flash of warning before it sliced tender flesh and let blood bleed red. You watched in quivering liquid smooth heat while he tasted, and favoured, and lusted over the seam between your thighs. It was such a pretty sight. Such a wonderful feeling of freedom that sat aching and twisting in your belly. The feeling of impending relief— release. A little death.

“I cant–” You gasped, legs jolting before the malleable, soft and round swell of your thighs clamped over his ears. Your core bearing down on the plane of his nose at your clit and his tongue that dipped in and out of your slick, drooling hole. Large hands, rough to touch, unforgiving and telling, pressed them back to the mattress again. He had you spread completely, open and melting into a pathetic resolve of messy sounds. He dragged his nose through your folds once more, before his lips enclosed around your bud and drew it between them in a sharp suck that had you seeing stars. Ovid’s Metamorphosis, Orpheus, they were put back between the pages of a closed book. Shimmering away into mere dust of thought. A coiling pressure replaced them. One of pleasure, and a slight pain of overstimulation. Hot like a wire in a ready-to-blow fuse. “Fuck– Frankie…” You yelped, and he replied with nothing more than a guttural groan into your centre. A lewd slurp of the slit of your cunt as if it was his last meal. Like it was divine to him. Tasted sweeter than a slice of heaven. Here he could blur into you and forget he was separate. Ignore that you ended somewhere and he started some place after. No gap between could exist with his face pressed into your pussy. Gushing all over his lips and tongue and cheeks just for him. Drenching his face in the thick shine of your slick.

And then there was the slow release of the ache; The coiling heat blooming in your lower belly. Growing with each circle of his tongue over your swollen clit. Your legs twitched from a moment, breathing heavily and staggered as you squeezed your eyes tightly shut. Your vision fizzled behind your eyelids for a moment, making opening your eyes to look down at him retreating would probably have you passing out.

“Bien hecho, chica.” he mumbled as he smeared his lips over your goose pimpled skin, hair stood on end from the tone of his crooning voice, the rough scrape of his moustache over flesh. “Good girl.”

He climbed back up the bed to lie next to you, and the two of you lay still for a while. Your mind felt dormant under the heavy guise of something dragging, your eyelids like paperweights, stinging with the need to just sleep.

“Been meaning to ask you something…” Frankie spoke up, smoothing a hand over your stomach atop the bedsheets you had slipped back under.

“Mhm?’ You asked in a voice that was hazed by the want to sleep, eyes still closed, but awake.

“I’ve got this…thing.” He started, and he watched art you opened one eye to peer at him sceptically, lips pursed ever so slightly. “And all my mates have dates because they're either married, or engaged, or have been planning to get round to proposing…” You scoffed before he had the chance to pick up the trail off of his own sentence. He couldn’t quite meet the scrutinising eyes of yours. The ones that narrowed a fraction as they watched him smooth over the top of your sheets, over a thread that had snagged there when being washed in the machine.

“What thing are you bateing me into going to, Morales?”

“Just a military thing.” He shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, but the way his thick fingers found and pulled at the same stray thread of your duvet cover said otherwise. “A formal.” There was a hint of fear settling like silt at the bottom of a river in his eyes. A flicker. If that. Maybe you could call it a glimmer from afar. Whatever you might call it, it was better left unsaid. You sighed to save him the embarrassment, rolling onto your side and propping your head up with your arm.

“And there isn’t a single soul on this planet that you know of who can accompany you other than me, hm?”

“Please?” He practically begged, rolling on top of you to speak to the skin of your hot neck, skin still slightly salty from the sweat that had previously lain there. “Just as a friend. Nothing more, I promise you.” It would would be nice to have someone there he wished to add, but but his tongue to hold it back. He hated the idea of seeming soppy. Either way, the sting of biting one’s tongue is a lesser of two evils compared to the sting of rejection.

“I suppose I better find a dress then.”

[elsalouisa]

"One of the few occasions when I ever saw the Czarina really happy was when she went back with her husband to her old home in Darmstadt for the marriage of my brother Andrew to Princess Alice, daughter of Prince Louis of Battenberg (who later took the title of Marquis of Milford Haven). She was like a girl released from school then, her face lost its look of sadness. She and Queen Alexandra were the two most beautiful women at the wedding, the Empress in misty delphinium blue and the Queen of England in a dress of amethyst sequins and wearing an amethyst necklace and tiara. There was, of course, a tremendous family reunion for the marriage and the festivities lasted through several days of dinners, balls and gala performances at the opera. That was in 1903. The other day I came across a photograph of some of the guests and realised that nearly half of the group died by violence not very much later. The Emperor, the Empress, their children, the Grand Duchess Elizabeth and several Russian Grand Dukes were put to death during the Revolution. My father was assassinated, some of the English guests and one or two of the German princes were killed in the Great War. Perhaps it was as well for us that we could not read the future, for I think it would have cast a shadow over the tejoicings.

Andrew and Alice had two wedding ceremonies, the first in the Protestant Church and the second in the Russian Church with Greek Orthodox rites. During the service the Russian priest asks the bride two questions . . . whether she consents of her own free will to matry her husband and whether she has already promised her hand to any one else. As my sister-in-law is slightly deaf she was carefully tehearsed the day before, but, even so, at the last moment she was so nervous that she confused the questions and made the responses in the wrong order, to the horror of the officiating priests and the intense amusement of the guests.

My mothet’s sister, the Duchess Vera of Wuttemberg, was at the wedding and, as usual, my brothers and 1 teased her unmercifully. Her appearance was irresistibly funny in our eyes, for she was small and dumpty, with a fat, round, spectacled face and, in the days when the shingle was unknown, she wore her hair cut short. Her hats and even her tiaras were always secured to her head by bands of elastic. At the family dinner after the wedding my brother George sat next to her and, at a pause in the proceedings, snatched off her tiara and put it on his own head. Everybody laughed, Aunt Vera included, though she vowed vengeance on the culprit. Her turn came, as she thought, 2 little later, when the bride and bridegroom started on the honeymoon. We were all gathered at the door throwing rice after them, when someone knocked off poor Aunt Vera’s glasses, which were smashed to atoms on the stone steps. She turned round quickly and, guessing, although she was unable to see clearly without her spectacles, that George was to blame again, dealt a mighty box on the ear of the petson standing immediately behind her. Unfortunately, it was not George, for he had taken care to slip out of range, but the British Admiral, Mark Kerr, who was the recipient of it!"

Memoirs of H R H Prince Christopher of Greece

[aemiron-main]

Father And Son: TFS, Brenner, Cat Stevens, The Cycles, Cat’s Cradle, 8:15gate, Radiationgate and Cat’s In The Cradle

So, during TFS, Brenner says the following to Henry, specifically saying “father and son” to him at the end:

Which, that made me think of the 1970 Cat Stevens song, Father and Son, because Brenner’s dialogue is worded the EXACT same same way as the song title:

And you might be thinking “this is a stretch, Brenner just saying ‘Father and Son’ doesn’t mean it’s connected to the Cat Stevens song, ‘father and son,’ is a common phrase, right?” and usually, I’d agree- however, Cat Stevens, and specifically, the EXACT ALBUM that Father and Son is on has ALREADY BEEN REFERENCED in ST specifically in the context of Brenner.

Where?

In the newspaper (because of COURSE it’s the newspapers again)- look at Brenner’s crossword here:

It says “tillerman’s beverage,” as one of the hints- and the answer is tea. As in Tea for the Tillerman. As in the exact album by Cat Stevens that Father and Son is on:

And not only does it appear in Brenner’s crossword, but they specifically showing him crossing that one off:

And there’s him having written the answer in, down vertically from 60- “tea”:

And what is the song “Father and Son” about? Well, it’s basically about what the title says- a father and his son. But specifically, it's about a the difference in perspective between father and son re: his son leaving/it's about the generational divide between father and son, and was written about the idea of a son wanting to leave to join the Russian Revolution.

This is also all interesting regarding the idea of anachronistic song references in TFS, specifically, songs from the 70s, such as Chuck E’s In Love being referenced in TFS versus Father and Son being from 1970:

And while I don’t think Brenner himself was necessarily referencing the song (although it’s possible because as evidenced by him knowing the answer to that crossword, he’s clearly aware of the album Tea for the Tillerman), it’s still yet another reference to a 70s song in TFS.

And speaking of TFS, Father and Son was originally supposed to be a musical (and of COURSE there's an Edward involved LMAO):

Versus the musical number in the church in TFS and the musical Oklahoma being reference repeatedly in TFS/Ted Wheeler sings a song from it.

However, there’s also more to this whole ST referencing Cat Stevens thing- because it’s something I talked about on discord quite awhile ago-

-but basically, summarizing those screenshots, this all connects to “I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight,” playing over a scene of Karen in s3, because that song has these lyrics:

And that “curtains are closed, cat’s in the cradle,” lyric is interesting for the following reasons:

a.) the whole “behind the curtain” thing in ST plus the whole TFS play/curtain thing

B.) “Cat’s in the cradle,” versus the book Cat’s Cradle from 1963 by Kurt Vonnegut- which has some VERY interesting connections to ST.

So, in Cat’s Cradle, the narrator is a writer that introduces himself as Jonah (but his name is really John and he’s never named again), and he sets up the plot as a flashback. The plot centers around when Jonah was planning to write a book called The Day the World Ended about what people were doing on the day of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima.

Which, the connection to Hiroshima is interesting considering what I talked about in this post regarding how 8:15 gate connects to Hiroshima & to James’ radiationgate posts.

And in the book, John also includes snippets from religious texts called The Books of Bokonon. Most of the events of the novel occur before the narrator was converted to his current religion, Bokononism.

And while researching for his book, Jonah heads to Ilium, New York, the hometown of the late Felix Hoenikker, who was a co-creator of the atomic bomb, because Jonah wants to interview Hoenikker's children, coworkers etc.

When he gets there, Jonah finds out about a substance called ice-nine, created for military use by Hoenikker and now likely in the possession of his three adult children. Ice-nine is an alternative structure of water that is solid at room temperature and acts as a seed crystal upon contact with ordinary liquid water, causing that liquid water to instantly freeze and transform into more ice-nine. Among several odd unfoldings in Ilium, the narrator meets Hoenniker's younger son, Newt, who recounts that his father was doing nothing more than playing the string game "cat's cradle" when the first bomb was dropped.

Which, all of the ice-nine stuff has me staring at the lack of water in the UD, and the song “Cold As Ice” playing during S3, during a scene where Mike has a Lynx behind his head (which, the Lynx thing is something I’ll come back to in this post bc it ties into all of the “cat’s in the cradle,” stuff, esp being in the same season/possibly the same ep as that Karen “cat’s in the cradle scene” and Victor’s burning cradle scene vs the taxidermy lynx in the Creel house).

And also, the book even has its own Papa- the dictator called “Papa” Monzano, who is introduced when Jonah goes to the fictional Caribbean island San Lorenzo, which is also where Jonah gets introduced to Bokononism.

Bokononism was founded by Bokonon, who was a former leader of the island, and who created Bokononism as part of a project to give people hope and community in the face of the island's poverty. As a deliberate attempt to give Bokononism an alluring sense of forbidden glamor, the religion is outlawed, which forced Bokonon to live in "hiding" in the jungle.

Which, Bokonon hiding in the jungle reminds me of all of the stuff re: Henry supposedly hiding in the darkness versus Will hiding in S1.

And also, Papa Monzano, threatens all Bokononists with impalement on a large hook (despite the fact that Monzano himself secretly practices the religion, and the hook punishment doesnt really get used)- which this makes me think of all of the impalement imagery in ST, such as Billy being impaled by the fleshflayer-

(which is extra interesting considering the visual parallels between this shot of Billy’s impalement pose versus Vecna’s attic pose & how Vecna also gets impaled by the tentacles when they plug into him)

-plus Phineas Gage having been impaled by a rod-

(which is ALSO extra interesting considering how the Phineas Gage scene/“No Longer Gage” ties into TFS with Alice saying that “Henry” is “Not Henry,” and how right before that Alice-Henry exchange, Henry had these weird appendages grow out of his back, which is extremely visually similar to the Vecna attic scene I just mentioned, and therefore also ties all of this back to Billy’s impalement, especially considering the parallels between Billy and Max versus Henry and Alice, although Henry doesn’t treat Alice the way Billy treats Max, there’s still parallels + Max has unending Henry parallels, especially re: sibling death & Billy’s death vs Alice’s death)

And also, Monzano has an adopted daughter, Mona- which, that immediately makes me think of Patty being Mr Newby’s adopted daughter, especially considering Mr Newby’s Brenner parallels, such as Mr Newby having stolen Patty versus Brenner stealing kids-

-AND Mr Newby being very authoritarian/dictator-esque when it comes to how he runs the school & how he runs his family.

And also, Monzano is ill from cancer- which, as we know, there’s SO many references to cancer in ST, considering what I’ve talked about re: the connections between regen healing and cancer plus the idea that Peter Owens may have had cancer.

And also, Monzano wants his successor to be Frank Hoenikker, who was both Monzano's personal bodyguard and, coincidentally, Felix Hoenikker's other son. Frank achieved this position by giving "Papa" Monzano a piece of ice-nine.

However, Frank doesnt want to be the new leaser and somewhat randomly offers Jonah the presidency. Although Jonah is surprised at at first, he accepts after he finds out that this means he’ll get go marry Monah. Soon after, the bedridden "Papa" Monzano commits suicide by swallowing ice-nine, whereupon his corpse instantly turns into solid ice-nine.

Papa Monzano being bedridden has me staring directly at Brenner Sr (who Brenner Jr also calls Papa), who was bedridden and dying after his return from Dimension X.

Frank Hoenikker admits to giving Monzano ice-nine, and the Hoenikkers explain that when they were young their father would give them hints about the existence of ice-nine while experimenting with it in the kitchen. After their father's death, they gathered chunks of the substance into thermos flasks and have kept them ever since.

Which, this has me staring at the scene of the Bingham kids in the kitchen, and how Peter Bingham puts in “too much salt,” versus the salt and ice used for sensory deprivation tanks, versus ice-nine, PLUS “Peter” Bingham versus what I mentioned earlier about Peter Owens and cancer, PLUS what I mentioned about Mr Newby versus all of the parallels between Mr Bingham and Mr Newby and Suzie versus Patty etc etc.

And after Monzano dies, celebrations for Jonah’s presidential inauguration begin, but during an air show performed by fighter planes, one of the planes malfunctions and crashes into the seaside palace, causing Monzano's still-frozen body to fall into the sea.

Instantly, all the water in the world's seas, rivers, and groundwater transforms into solid ice-nine. The freezing of the oceans immediately makes tornadoes ravage the earth, but Jonah manages to escape with Mona to a secret bunker beneath the palace. When the initial storms subside, they emerge and search the island for survivors, and discover a mass grave where all the surviving San Lorenzans committed suicide by touching ice-nine. Grieving for her people, Mona follows suit and dies.

This makes me think of a.) the complete lack of water and complete lack of people in the UD, and b.) all of the bunker stuff in ST, specifically, the NINA bunker + Murray’s bunker, and how Murray has a bunch of Creel references in his bunker, like his his Billie Holiday record + his WW2 posters which then also connect to the Peter Pan and Skull Rock and Eddie-Edward stuff but that’s a post on its own- but that also makes me think of what I said earlier re: Phineas Gage getting impaled because Scott uses that skull graphic that reminds me a lot of Murray's poster:

I also now have to wonder- if the UD was once a normal timeline that got devastated in some apocalyptic manner, could there still be PEOPLE there?? In bunkers?? After all, we’ve only seen UD Hawkins, but if the UD extends to other parts of the world, then what if there’s an UD NINA bunkers that still has living people inside of it??? Or hell, what about Murray’s bunker in the UD?? They’ve never shown it to us, but for all we know, there could be living people/alternate timeline versions of people in there, having survived however long it’s been since the disaster.

And at the end of the book, Jonah lives with some other survivors in a cave- versus TFS Henry having ended up lost in a cave in Nevada, and ending up contracting the shadow as a result, and Brenner says that Henry “changed, like my Papa,” due to Henry’s time in the cave, which brings us back to what I said earlier about Brenner Sr.

And anyway, setting all that aside and going back to the other reason why that “cat’s in the cradle,” line fron I Just Died In Your Wems Tonight is interesting, there’s also C.) “cat’s in the cradle,” versus the song Cat’s Cradle by Harry Chapin.

Which, “Cat’s in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin is about a father not being able to find time for his son and then his son growing up without him and not being able to find time for his father- basically, the son becomes just like his father, ironically, as a result of his lack of interaction with his father, which, the whole “becoming his father,” thing has me staring DIRECTLY at the lines in TFS re: “you have to BE your dad”:

And the “Cat’s In The Cradle,” thing is extra interesting because that song CONSTANTLY gets misattributed to Cat Stevens, who has an album called Cats Cradle:

Which, that reminds of all of the mistaken identity stuff in ST, especially regarding Brenner and Richard vs Martin/the identity mixups there and Eddie Munson delivering subtext for Edward & Eddie Munson being wrongfully accused of murder & Victor also being wrongfully accused by Wayne versus “the man who did this,” and how that connects to Brenner.

And speaking of “cat’s in the cradle,” there’s also all of the cradle imagery with Victor:

And there’s also all of the cat imagery in ST, specifically the silver cat/lynx stuff in S3 versus the stuffed silver cat/lynx in the Creel house and Victor talking about a wildcat:

Not to mention that again, that lyric is from “I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight,” versus Henry literally “dying” in Victor’s arms:

And it’s also interesting that this seems to be a REALLY specific song choice for S3/they really wanted “I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight,” because the use of this song is anachronistic, as S3 is set in 1985, and I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight was released in 1986- which is also interesting considering what I talked about earlier re: TFS and song anachronisms.

Point is, I think that Brenner’s TFS dialogue re: “father and son,” is meant to reference the Cat Stevens song “Father and Son,” and that there’s a bunch of other connections re: “cat’s in the cradle ,” and Vonnegut’s “Cat’s Cradle,” and Harry Chapin’s “Cat’s In The Cradle,” and all of Victor’s cat and cradle imagery.

And I also won’t be surprised if we get the song Father and Son on the s5 soundtrack.

[propheticpotato42]

I’ve been thinking a lot about the potential of religion in the fallout universe.

We’ve seen a lot of local cults throughout the series but really only two religious “institutions” and those are Mormonism and Catholicism. The reason why I single out these two is that they both seem to have a larger reach than any of the other cults or practices while also maintaining a level of stability and uniformity.

The examples of Mormonism we see in Honest Hearts shows, through the New Canaanites, that the Mormon faith is still alive in post-apocalyptic South West and still has many devotees and followers. The many is implied.

The examples of Catholicism are less overt. We only ever meet a handful Catholics in the modern Fallout games and they are all in Fallout 3. Father Clifford runs a church and is aided by Diego who wants to join the Priesthood. The only other Catholic is Marcella who is a missionary sent from “The Abbey of the Road” and you met her in Point Lookout. What I think is interesting about this is the consistency. What I mean is that when Marcella arrives at Father Clifford’s church she immediately recognizes all of the prayers and the two engage in the same rituals and prayers. This means that Father Clifford uses the same language and ritual as the Abbey, which makes sense if they are both Catholics, but it also means that there is no massive drift going on after 200 years. Either that or Father Clifford is associated with the Abbey. Furthermore the rule of Clerical celibacy also survived the 200 years as can be seen by the Diego missions, and celibacy is the kind of thing you could see not surviving the post apocalypse.

For me this screams that both Mormonism and Catholicism are still alive in wasteland, and potentially more widespread than we may think.

I have this theory that the Catholic Church may even still fully exist as an institution in certain parts of the post apocalyptic Americas but warped by time and has incorporated some elements of Folklore Religion.

Also I lied earlier because there is a third religious institution, the Children of Atom. They appear in both Fallout 3 and 4 and show a consistent religious believe and structure. Also they fucking spread from the capital wasteland all the way to Far Harbor. And in the Far Harbor DLC they even start experiencing the beginning of a straight up religious schism. There is a lot of potential there to explore if only Bethesda used it.

What really interests me is the potential for various other religions groups. Are there any Muslims in the wasteland? Hindus? Buddhists? The US is the most diverse place on the planet and it is kinda hard to believe that all of these various religions didn’t survive in some way. I just don’t believe it.

And think of the potential!!!!

Post apocalyptic Amish settlements! Greek Orthodox Churches built in the middle of abandoned cities! A Sikh inspired equivalent to the Followers of the Apocalypse!

I can understand how bringing in real world religion can get messy fast but even in that case why don’t we see any new religions that are more than kooky local groups? Why doesn’t spirituality spread in the wasteland? And again the potential!

There is so much there!!!

[queenie-says-free-palestine]

some facts about palestine

done w the help of @kourtgreene

the death toll has surpassed 10000 now, a majority of which are women and children

there are also 25000 people injured and estimated thousands are missing

1.5 million are currently displaced in gaza

at least 47 mosques and 3 churches have been destroyed, including the third oldest church in the world

11 bakeries have also been destroyed

47 families (with a total of 500 people in them) have been wiped from the civil registry in gaza

more children have died in gaza since october seventh than from conflicts around the world in each of the last four years

the usa provides $3.8 billion for israel every year

71% of the gazan population screens positive for depression

20000 people are in need of specialised mental health services

there have been 105 attacks on hospitals in gaza since october seventh

in the west bank, WHERE HAMAS HAS NO CONTROL, there are 128 fatalities and ~2270 injuries

there are at least 28 journalists who have been murdered in gaza by israeli attacks

at least 97 schools have been damaged (war crime)

among healthcare staff there have been at least 60 deaths and 111 injuries

107 healthcare facilities have been targeted (which is a war crime) including 19 hospitals, 49 clinics, and 39 ambulances

46% of hospitals arent working

because of electricity being cut off from hospitals, there are thousands of people in need

this includes 130 babies in incubators, 50000 pregnant women, 1000 kidney dialysis patients, and 35000 non-contagious disease patients (e.g. heart failure, diabetes)

there are 183 births per day and the mothers struggle to find a proper place to give birth with proper medical aid

18000 tons of bombs have been dropped on gaza, which is 1.5x the explosive force of the atomic bomb on hiroshima

the number of palestinian prisoners / hostages israel has kidnapped in the west bank have doubled since october 7th (again, hamas is not in the west bank)

thousands of workers from gaza were released from the jails and have reported being beaten, tortured, stripped, bruised, pissed on, denied basic sanitation, denied food, denied water, and have been tagged as numbers

meanwhile, israeli people who have been taken hostage by hamas have reported that they are treated surprisingly well, even eating the same food as the hamas soldiers and having their toilets cleaned regularly

families in the west bank are reporting that their men are vanishing, leading to the idea that israelis are kidnapping them

subhi has an excellent video detailing more about the above point, also you should follow him on instagram he breaks things down incredibly well

israels iron dome has malfunctioned and one of their rockets has hit a hospital in tel aviv

it is important to remember the above point lest they (very likely) come out and somehow blame hamas/hezbollah/iran

theyre dropping lots of white phosphorus

chemical warfare has been a crime since the end of the first world war

theyve bombed the south dozens of times now despite claiming that theyll only target the north (anyone still saying that the south is safe is either clueless or a liar)

theyve hit the rafah border and it’s passage, killing dozens

a ceasefire is for the people of gaza to breathe. a ceasefire is NOT the end of OUR fight for palestine

these numbers increase every single day

this specific attack has been going on for a month

the isolation of gaza is 15 years old

israeli hands have been covered in palestinian blood for 75 years

most governments are failing to do anything that actually stops the massacre

the palestinians in gaza need our help.

[findingrome1]

Peace be with you friends.

Today August 6th and later August 9th will mark the 79th anniversary of the dropping of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. This event marks the 1st and God willing only time when nuclear weapons were used in history. Since then history was permanently altered for better or for worse.

This choice is argued for as justified for numerous reasons. One of these chief arguments originally coming from the Truman administration is that of a grim calculation. They made the utilitarian argument that if these 2 bombs can end the war in 2 radical new demonstrations of force killing 100s of thousands then it is worth using. Since in November the USA alongside her allies would invade the home islands. This invasion in conservative estimates would lead to millions more war dead since Japan intended to mirror Germany and to fight to the bitter end. Furthermore take a moment and imagine yourself as the Truman administration in winter. You need to justify a draft expansion to a war worry nation for the Japanese meat grinder where millions of young men have already died. I can empathize with this sentiment and see the reasoning but the Magistrium of the Roman Catholic church and a deeper dive into history shows the use of Little Boy and Fat Man were morally grave actions.

I won't go into all details but I shall provide 2 excellent youtube videos covering this topic. One from World War Two (yes that's the name), and one from the Counsel of Trent. Now the utilitarian argument can overlap with the objective moral truths found in Christianity it still is deficient.

The Atomic bombings were unjustifiable. They targeted civilians by dropping on city centers to maximize their deaths. Miles away from significant military assets and factories. What helped to justify is during the course of ww2 both sides experimented with different theories of targeted civilians. This is because the powers involved were in a state of total war. This meant all sides sought to get the most out of their resources so the line between civilian and soldier was murky. Strategic bombing theory which developed in Europe in the 1920s was put into full effect with the UK under Air Marshal Harris against Germany and her allies. The USA from 1943 onwards was around the clock bombing Japan's economy to ruins. Now these were not justified either. This bombings intentionally ruined 100s of thousands of homes, killed 10s of thousands civilians. People who were not soldiers, but mostly women and children.

One final thing I shall note is that the United States and her allies made blunders in negotiations which prolonged the war. Imperial Japan would have been more keen to come to the peace table if they knew the Emperor would be allowed to live and keep his title even as a puppet. We knew about this through spying and backdoor diplomatic channels but still kept ambiguous on this. This isn't the only blunder but this is the most notable in my opinion. Please visit the links those professionals do a way better job than I could on a post I spent a half hour to write and they go into far greater detail than I did. Keep safe and God bless.

https://youtu.be/Y79iz3ufZbg?si=7Us2H3txroG7I1f6

https://youtu.be/6amuetZv-eM?si=bdAJc3bc9KKHEas0

[onetruesirius]

I sit here and I watch the news about Gaza

and I think

shit, I need to get back to work;

it's toxic to just fixate on the news,

It's bad for my mental health.

I can't be irresponsible to myself

I have class in the morning.

I have exams next week...

But how can I turn a blind eye?

How can I not care

that nine thousand Gazan children are dead,

that the Israeli Occupation Force has dropped the equivalent of an atomic bomb

on a space about the size of the New York City metropolis,

that an episcopal church was bombed—

it was one of the oldest churches in the world,

that one of the oldest mosques in the region was destroyed

that hospitals are being shelled with doctors and patients still within,

that men are carrying pieces of their dead children out of houses in plastic grocery bags because there's no other way to carry that many pieces in their hands,

that over a million people were told to evacuate on bombed-out roads,

and then they were shot and bombed with USAmerican white phosphorus when trying to leave?

Do you know what white phosphorus does to a human body?????

Please google it.

And if you "don't want to see something like that"

Oh,

I want you to google it even more now.

just to be appropriately horrified.

How can I not see that the Israeli government doesn't see Palestinian people [THEIR people if we're going by statehood metrics, who were on that land when the BRITISH GOVERNMENT decided to make the state] as human beings,

that they'd do anything to slaughter Palestinians under the cover of radio silence so the world turns away?

And that men wail from minarets—

not to call their flock to holy prayer but

to speak messages of hope that god will save them,

to attempt to reach the outside world, when the information reaches the people at the edge of the strip, who have international SIM cards and can get the word out,

and to deliver news of where the bombs fall so that paramedics can know where to dig more bodies out—the bodies that aren't a bloody slurry sprayed across the streets and walls, anyways.

And that journalists are being executed en masse to hide the story.

And that men are being stripped naken and forced to sit on the ground for hours at a time, just like in Nazi Germany.

And I can't forget the fact that the United States, MY NATION, voted AGAINST a UN call for a ceasefire...

TWICE.

And that construction companies are already tearing down the old apartments to make room for new living arrangements for the colonisers, before the old buildings even stop burning.

And that settlers are coming into these abandoned homes and looting food and jewelry and desecrating prayer rugs.

And it isn't the fault of Jewish people.

I know that.

Jewish people deserve a place to be safe and free, wherever they are...

But this fact likewise does not require the creation of an ethnostate.

The implication that the only way for Jewish people to be safe is to kill everyone else... is it not in itself antisemitic?

I'm scared for the Palestinian people, and also for my Jewish diaspora friends.

They hate what's going on just as much as I do,

but they're going to get blamed by well-meaning Palestine supporters.

I know they will.

They know they will.

We all know that they will.

Another wave of antisemitism.

Another wave of islamophobia.

Another wave of killings.

Another wave of ethnic cleansing.

On it goes.

A little boy was already killed by his mother's racist landlord in Chicago. Stabbed 26 times.

Three college students were attacked and one was maimed for life.

Attacks against synagogues here in the US have only increased. Two people were shot, allegedly for a Free Palestine...

But we all know that the neonazis have been using this mess to stir the pot against Jewish people and boost their recruitment.

The Palestinian 2023/24 school year has been officially canceled going forward.

Because the enrolled students are dead or missing.

Because they were bombed with American ground-to-ground missiles.

We all know the missiles are American in origin.

Russia has its own genocide to attend to, and China doesn't care enough to give arms to anyone. And we know it's American White Phosphorus.

All the while, war profiteers in my nation get richer and richer,

richer and richer and richer,

and richer and richer and richer and richer and richer and richer—

and they'll laugh like the evil FUCKING pricks that they are

when Gaza gets bombed,

and they'll laugh like the evil FUCKING pricks that they are

when Jewish people get attacked in the streets,

because every act of violence

and every sentiment of hated

fills their pockets with more and more and more US-AMERICAN DOLLARS and GUNS and BOMBINGS and SHOOTINGS and HATRED and GOD BLESS AMERICA—

or something like that

.

.

.

I've signed petitions.

I've signed so many I've lost track of the ones I've signed and the ones I haven't, the ones for other countries that I can repost but can't sign or they might get tossed out.

I've donated money to relief organizations for when the borders re-open, because I'm an optimistic bastard like that.

I've sent emails.

I've sent... so many emails.

I've called all my Representatives in Congress.

I've spread news to as many of my friends as I can without them blocking me.

And still Gaza burns.

And still children are slaughtered, even during the fake ceasefire.

And still I have exams next week.

And still I think about how I really shouldn't fixate on this, because it affects my mood.

and it's been impacting my performance at school.

and it's been undoing months of work I've done with my therapist to try and disconnect from current events.

And still I think about how

"the current events"

rain down like hellfire on innocent mothers of dead children,

and children of dead mothers,

and sisters of dead brothers,

and brothers of dead sisters,

and fathers of dead babies,

and babies of dead fathers,

and teachers of dead students,

and students of dead teachers,

and churches and pastors,

and mosques and imams,

and hospitals and doctors,

and synagogues and rabbis,

and the fucking relief trucks that were filled with food and water.

And here I sit, and I don't know what to do about it????

And I wonder if this is all the point?

To make things worse and worse and worse and worse so that people are so unbearably exhausted from just trying to do the right thing

that they can't take care of themselves?

That they can't achieve upwards mobility?

That they can't make any difference at all for the things that matter most to them?

but I'm just one monkey...

one monkey can't solve systemic problems

that are baked into the roots of our society.

It's a first world problem, for sure. I have the privilege to be able to unplug from this and rest in my bed and not get bombed.

But I just want to make things better, for everyone...

I know that I can't do that.

But I wish I could

Oh, god—

I wish I could.

But I guess I'll just go to sleep.

After all

I have class in the morning.

[novie-luv]

The Alters at Which We Worship

[atomsmessenger]

It took us an hour, but we've finally got all the bodies of my old coworkers piled up in the corner here. We must've also done something appealing to Atom, as well. I mean, just look at how those plasma rifles float ominously above them.

[n-tcat]

Child of Atom — A Ficto-Religion based on the Church of the Children of Atom from the Fallout. The specific beliefs are entirely up to user interpretation. Those who are in part this religion do not, and should not, have a moderator or a leader, as it is entirely based on their own experiences.

I do not support fults or fultists for any reason. This term isn't intended to be MOGAI / LIOM in any way, and is just tagged at it is for reach

@ficto-religious-archive

[apothecaryforwearysouls]

@callsignbaphomet has opened the door to my opinions on magic in fallout ✨️ woe be upon ye <3

Okay okay okay sooooooooooo! This goes back all the way to my original playthrough of point lookout! Not only is this where we find the Necronomicon (I know its not called that but come one.) We see the Blackhall family praying and worshipping and reading from it. We are told it has power! The swamp people are drawn to it as well. In my mind it has to be able to give magical powers of some sort. Not to mention we are asked by Marcella to help destroy the book. Now I have a personal belief that her search for religious artifacts points to the artifacts having power as well.

Now my theory is we have 4 versions of magic that can be accessed, however none of them are arcane in nature. In fallout science is the stand in for arcane magics to me. The magic we are seeing is faith based, clerics, paladins, warlocks, etc. So let's talk about them one at a time.

ATOM: we see that the children of Atom have boons and benefits like immunity to radiation. They are the the most prevalent and widespread religion that we get to see. We see that they accept all of Atoms children. Ghouls of all types are seen as deeply connected to Atoms holy light! (It's why I theorize that Atom is at war with the eldritch entities but another time for that.) I feel like the CoA are capable of more feats than we get to see in game. Bethesda gave us a bit more of their capabilities in Far Harbor. We walked the hallucinations and we're guided to the answers we needed. I'm a big fan of the idea that the children are more important than we give credit for.

2. Ug-Qualtoth: they keep giving us locations and quests for this evil thing! He'll in the ttrpg they have an entire adventure associated! The two major characters we see tied to this are the Dunwich family and Lorenzo. The Dunwich family are directly tied to rituals, artifact finding, and sacrifices to the old gods which has given them extended lives and who knows what else! And with Lorenzo we get to see the effects his blood has not to mention the psychic powers he uses!! Oh and pickman too! His paintings are definitely related.

3. The Mothman: so this is the most recent addition to this ever growing web. But we see the effects of the mothman cults, we see that the Mothman can give you buffs and visions. The former church in 76 houses tomes you cannot read without keeping your connection to Mothman. It's ability to teleport in puffs of black smoke and prophetic abilities are undeniable.

4. I'll call this the miscellaneous section: we know ghosts are real (I'm counting them the more magical aspects of the games given supernatural entities and magic go hand in hand alot.) In Nukaworld we have the Ghoul magician who was capable of things that is more than just simple slight of hand. Going back to Marcella, she was searching for religious artifacts. In my mind that makes me thing that Christian artifacts hold some level of power even if minor given how the religion has fallen from its massive pre war following.

All in all I've been a devout believer in magic within the fallout universe and think they really need to add more aspects of magic and the supernatural in the games and not just the ttrpg. I know they probably don't want to because of pushback but it's so obvious that there is a dark undertone to this setting!

I don't think it would break any kind of cannon for a character to have some type of powers/abilities through a worship of a god/entity. (My brain is struggling but please if you have ideas or questions feel free to ask!)

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Camp Wanamaker (Ch. 2/10)

June 24, 2023

Notes - Guess who had one of the busiest weeks of her life, yet still managed to write 35 pages - that’s right, it’s me! Guess who also forgot that Royce's birthday falls halfway through the week and she had already written out the day it takes place on, so she had to go back and add a hint at his birthday being, you know, a thing... Yeah, also me.

Chapter 2 - Gives You Hell

Sundays, typically, were free days in the O’Brian household. Before Damien and Chelsea’s separation, they spent Sundays doing something as a family. Bowling, arcades, go-kart racing, and visits to museums became the norm until everything was finalized. Although the pair chose to stay in the same house to take care of the children and watch them grow together, Sundays were a common thread of adventures and excitement they would spend as a family. Over time, however, the excitement faded as schedules filled up and the children grew interests of their own. Though there were the occasional Sundays spent in the back pew of the church in the next town over or attempting to have fun at the town’s practically unused candlepin bowling alley, most days were spent bustling around Sanbornton - each member of the family doing something different than the next.

Contrary to popular belief, Vivien enjoyed Sundays. Well, most of the time. As she had been the oldest of the siblings, she remembered the most from the time before their parents’ divorce. She could recall going on long drives in the family’s minivan, hogging the bench seat in the far back all to herself, and using Pac-Man to kick a bunch of ghost asses as she button-mashed her Atomic Purple Game Boy. More often than not, she spent her Sundays draining her parents’ bank accounts wherever they went and filling the rest of the back seat with stuffed animals and bags filled with souvenirs. Despite those days being long gone, Vivien still found herself enjoying Sundays in particular, just for a different reason.

As her family’s schedules became cluttered and they had less time to spend on day trips to far-off places, she had begun spending more weekends with her Aunt Hayley and her girlfriend, Charlie, sometimes staying from Friday night to Sunday evening with the woman she had always felt close with. During the summer, however, things were different. The first time Vivien had spent a full summer with Hayley and Charlie, she was ten, and the pair had signed up to work at the summer camp Chelsea and Hayley’s parents owned - Camp Wanamaker. Vivien was the youngest person there when they arrived that Sunday, as Hayley and Charlie were there for the workers-only week. Most of the people at the camp enjoyed having Vivien around despite her age, and, as the first week came to a close and bus-loads of campers began piling in on the following Monday, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment that her week of being treated like the camp’s princess was over.

Now that she was older and had spent many of her pre-teen and teenage summers at the camp as both a camper and a cabin lead, Vivien had grown to deeply appreciate Sundays for what they were: bookends. The summer seasons at Camp Wanamaker technically started on a Sunday for the workers as that was the first full day they would be there, and the season ended with the big, end-of-summer showcase on either the second or third Sunday of August. Sundays were, quite literally, the beginning and end of her summers at camp.

Maybe that was why Vivien liked summer Sundays so much. 

Sundays at Camp Wanamaker hardly ever changed. More often than not, Sundays were a constant in a world fueled by chaotic variables. Unlike most days at camp when counselors would chase down the kids they were responsible for and drag them to whatever activity was next for the day, Sundays at the camp were a day to rest, lounge around the cabins with your bunkmates, and eat s'mores around the campfire. Imagine Vivien’s surprise when she showed up to the mess hall on what was supposed to be a normal Sunday to see Carrie and Royce working well together in the kitchen, talking and laughing like old friends.  

Perhaps, however, we should start our story a week prior to this incident, on Sunday, the eighteenth of June.

Waking up in a room without stars on the ceiling was nothing new for Vivien O’Brian. Well, at least not during the summer. Waking up to the sound of gentle breathing was new, however. Slowly shifting her head upwards, Vivien found herself watching Royce as he slept soundly beside her. They had only done this a handful of times in their relationship - most of them accidental sleepovers on the Birch family’s living room floor - but Vivien found something oddly soothing about the gentle rise and fall of Royce’s chest as he slept peacefully. Trying not to roll her eyes at herself, Vivien let out a soft sigh; she was turning into Mick - sappy enough to fill an entire maple tree.

As much as she loved feeling like a mushy, lovesick, twenty-something-year-old, Vivien slowly detached herself from Royce’s grasp, giving the snoring blond on the other side of her boyfriend a chance to absorb Royce’s unending warmth as she rose from the bed and grabbed her glasses from the nightstand before creeping out of the room as silently as she could. Heading around the balcony toward the room she had claimed the day prior, Vivien tried not to laugh as she passed the room where a certain auburn-haired male muttered a cuss in his sleep and rolled onto his side with an incoherent, grumbling complaint. Reaching her bedroom, Vivien softly closed the door and checked her phone for the weather before pulling a swimsuit from her dresser and bringing it with her to the bathroom to change into once she was ready for the day to begin.

By the time she had made it down to the water, the sun was just barely breaching the horizon, casting an array of reds and pinks across the sky. Vivien sighed to herself as she stood at the waterline; if old wives’ tales could be trusted, red in the morning meant storms to come later in the day. Glad to have chosen to take a morning swim, Vivien ditched her towel and glasses on the sand under the pier before venturing into the chilly water. Once she was far enough out, Vivien dove into the water, happy to get the worst part over with as she resurfaced, staring up at the sky as though it could tell her what was in store for her that day.

To be fair, she had no intention of doing much apart from the norm. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were a staple, but apart from that, she had no plans. Maybe, if she felt up to it, she would go to the archery range with Mick or go up to the counselor’s lodge to teach herself how to play her grandmother’s old violin in the vain hope that her terrible, wounded-cat-esque playing would encourage the older woman to teach her how to actually handle the old string instrument. As Vivien let the water carry her further from the shore, she took in a deep breath and relaxed - it felt nice not to have plans for once.

Time became nothing more than an illusion as Vivien floated on the water, the sun gradually warming the waves as it steadily rose overhead. After what felt like nothing more than a few minutes had passed, Vivien jolted as a hand captured her ankle. The hand released her as she began treading water, coming face to face with the blurry visage of who she presumed was none other than her boyfriend.

“Royce?” she questioned.

“Not quite,” the voice replied, a smirk noticeable in the male’s tone.

Vivien usually felt pretty confident in her ability to differentiate between voices, but for some reason, she couldn’t tell who this person was. “Are you one of the people I’m staying with?” she asked.

“No,” the man replied.

Cautiously, she questioned, “Do I know you?”

“You might if you were wearing your glasses,” he snickered. Ah, so whoever had chosen to approach her had a sense of humor - duly noted.

If he knew she had glasses, there was a chance she truly did know whoever it was, but Vivien wasn’t easily convinced. He could have easily spotted her glasses on her towel and taken that information with him. Then again, she had left her things under the pier. With a sigh, Vivien asked, “Are we close to shore?”

The water sloshed around them as the mystery man looked around, “We’re near the end of the pier.”

With a nod, Vivien gestured for the man to lead the way and followed the sound of splashes until she found sand under her feet again. After running a hand over her dripping hair and wiping her eyes of water, Vivien followed the edge of the pier until she found her hiding spot. Taking her glasses from where she’d left them, Vivien placed them on the bridge of her nose and wrapped her violet towel around her shoulders, clutching it close with wrinkly, raisin-like fingers before turning toward the only other person on the beach. Standing not far away with a crooked smile, shimmering green eyes, and drenched, golden brown hair was a man who, if the tattoo of the Spider-Man symbol on his wrist was anything to go by, was a bit older than Vivien. Though he had no shirt on, he was quick to pick one up from the sand, taking his phone from it before shaking it free of sand. To her dismay, however, nothing about the person before her rang any bells. He just looked like some random guy.

“I’m sorry,” she began slowly, sending the man an apologetic smile, “I’m not sure I recognize you.”

The man chuckled, “That’s alright, Viv. I get it. I’ve changed a lot since you last saw me.”

“I guess so,” Vivien chuckled nervously.

Instead of pressing further, the green-eyed man unlocked his cell phone and tapped on it before scrolling a few times and tapping on something. With a smile, he turned the phone around to Vivien and held it out to her, allowing her to take it as he said, “That might help.”

The picture he had chosen was an old photograph that had been taken long ago at a party at the next town’s roller rink. Vivien vaguely remembered the party, recalling the disco ball shining brightly overhead, the many falls to the wooden floor she had taken, and spending time with the birthday boy in the arcade after both of them had collided into a heap and scuffed up their knees. Despite the birthday boy being born a year before her, Vivien had grown up with him, both of them being in the same class from kindergarten to sixth grade and spending most of their evenings at the boy’s house, doing their homework together before battling each other to the death on different games his family had that Vivien’s didn’t. They were quite close, and, if Vivien remembered correctly, the boy’s birthday party was the last time she had seen him before his family’s move to Seattle.

Examining the photograph, Vivien found herself staring at a younger version of herself - metal-filled mouth and all - who sat beside a boy with dark hair that had only just begun to grow back in after his buzz cut, their matching green eyes shining as they gave each other bunny ears. As the puzzle pieces began to fall into place, Vivien looked up, finding those same green eyes shining back at her. Moving the phone up so that she could look between the two, Vivien breathed, “Noah?”

With a widening smile and a nod, he chuckled, “Hey, Vivien.”

Noah Michaels had certainly changed over the five years they had been apart. The once-geeky boy had transformed into someone who could have easily walked off of the set of some beach show. His previously buzzed hair was now long, he stood quite a bit taller, and, if Vivien had to guess, he had been working out over the years. However, that didn’t change the fact that she could vividly remember forcing him to dress up as Anna from Frozen when they were seven so that she had someone to perform with at the school talent show when her friend Ivy got the flu the day before. Regardless of how much had changed over time, Noah was still the dumbass she had grown up with.

“I thought you guys moved out to Washington,” Vivien claimed as she handed back the phone.

“We did,” he confirmed. “Seattle to Los Angeles, Los Angeles to some small town in New Jersey, and from there back to Lisbon.”

“You live in Lisbon now?”

“Mhm,” Noah hummed. “Dad left the military, and we decided to move back to the area to be closer to family.”

Vivien nodded, sparing a glance at the cabin as the front door creaked open, and a barely alert Royce made his way outside. Turning back toward Noah, she asked, “So, what brings you to camp?”

He chuckled, “I ran into some of the guys from school and they were telling me that they were going to work the summer here, so I decided I’d try it out too. What about you?”

“My grandparents own the place, so I’m here every year,” Vivien replied as Royce neared her. Stretching out an arm, Vivien pulled her boyfriend close, allowing him to kiss her cheek before turning back to Noah and saying, “Noah, this is my boyfriend, Royce. Royce, this is Noah; we grew up together.”

“Nice to meet you,” Royce yawned, holding out a hand.

Noah was quick to latch on with a smile, “Likewise, man.”

Royce eyed the tattoo with a raised eyebrow and asked, “Is that from Spider-Man?”

As emerald eyes glimmered, Noah nodded, “Yeah, it’s the Tobey Maguire one. I got it for my birthday back in October.”

“Nice,” Royce commented, stifling another yawn as he turned to Vivien and smiled. “Were you out swimming for a long time?”

“I’m not sure,” she shrugged. “It was around five when I got up.”

“It’s six-twenty,” Noah claimed, checking his phone before clicking it off again.

Vivien chuckled, “I guess I was out there longer than I thought.”

The three stood around almost awkwardly for a while before Noah grinned and said, “Well, I’ll let you two spend some time together. I’m going to get my morning swim in.”

“Since when do you swim?” Vivien questioned as Noah set his shirt and cell phone on the edge of the pier. “Last I knew, you sink like a rock in any body of water.”

Noah let out a bark of laughter, “I used to, yeah. I took swimming lessons in LA and ended up joining a swim team last year. I’m hoping to do a triathlon in a year or two.”

“Holy shit, man!” Vivien laughed. “I don’t even know what I want to do in an hour or two, let alone a year or so.”

Noah chuckled, running a hand through his hair and pushing it out of his face, “Yeah, well, I’m hoping to compete with my dad at some point, so I’m trying my hardest to prepare for the day when it comes.”

“Ah,” Vivien breathed, nodding in understanding. “Well, in that case, I suppose we better let you get to it.”

“Thanks. I hope you guys have a good rest of your morning,” Noah smiled. Turning his focus onto Royce, he added, “It was nice meeting you, Royce.”

“Yeah,” Royce nodded as the other boy headed toward the water. “It was nice meeting you, too.”

With a final wave to her friend, Vivien took Royce by the hand and guided him back toward the lodge, allowing him to sit on the wooden porch swing at the front of the building as she took advantage of the outdoor shower on the side. As Vivien recalled stories from her childhood with Noah, Royce watched the taller, older boy swim across to the other side of the lake with ease. Royce laughed distantly as Vivien made a joke about cake and water balloons as he watched Noah glide across the water. If that had been him, Royce would have had to stop time and time again to catch his breath and try not to panic as large fish brushed his legs. Back home, he had no problem in the water as sea creatures kept their distance from the crashing shoreline, but after accidentally kicking a fish in the lake the night before and feeling its slimy scales glide across his leg, the thought of it happening again made Royce’s skin crawl. How Noah was handling himself so well, Royce had no idea, but he was impressed all the same.

As Vivien finished washing the lake water smell from her hair, Royce moved so that she could sit beside him and the pair watched the sky glow in an array of hues until it was almost time for breakfast. Sitting beside Vivien as he stabbed a piece of his pancake with a fork, Royce wasn’t too surprised to see Noah approach them with a smile, asking to join them for the first meal of the day. After going through a round of introductions, most of the people at the table fell into an easy conversation with Noah, listening to him recount stories from his adventures over the years. When Royce later asked if Vivien wanted to join him in the library, he was only mildly disappointed that she had already promised Noah that she would show him around the campground. After giving her a hug and wishing her a fun time with her friend, Royce watched them leave with a small smile before heading to the library to lounge around for a while.

When it began raining after lunch, Royce was sure she would return to the lodge to lounge in the living room and play cards with him and Bentley. However, he didn’t see her again until dinner when she and Noah burst into the mess hall soaking wet and laughing about something nobody else had any clue about. Happy to see his girlfriend enjoying herself with an old friend, Royce simply sat and listened as the two rambled on about all that they had done throughout the day. After the meal was over, the two finally split off and Vivien chattered on about the fun she’d had with the older boy for a while before eventually settling in on the living room with Riven, Royce, and Bentley. The quartet played a rather intense game of Monopoly that went well past lights-out, but nobody else in the lodge said a word as they were far more interested in who would win the game than they were about what hour it was.

Riven got sick of having to pay Bentley every turn and “accidentally” flipped the board as he exasperatedly laid back on the floor, coincidentally kicking the coffee table instead of Bentley’s thigh. With the game over, the cabin mates went their separate ways, heading to their bedrooms to change after wishing each other a good night. Once he was changed into his pajamas, Bentley headed for Royce’s room, sitting on the bed while Royce picked out an outfit for the next day. Royce listened with a smile as Bentley rambled about his day, having spent most of it attempting to mold a lump of wet clay into a vase in the pottery barn. Then, a simple statement caught his attention. 

“Then, when Viv and her friend came in, I stopped for a while and we hung out,” Bentley claimed, tossing a hacky sack he’d gotten from the activity shed into the air and catching it in the other hand.

“Oh yeah?” Royce wondered as he turned toward Bentley with a smile. “What did you guys do?”

Bentley shrugged, “Noah painted for a while with Viv and then he helped me cut the clay I wanted to work with since I had taken too much and it kept falling in on itself.”

“That’s cool,” Royce commented as he moved to sit on the edge of his bed. “What do you think of him?”

“He’s pretty cool, I guess,” Bentley offered. “I’ve only known him for a day, though.”

“Yeah,” Royce nodded. “Kind of hard to have an opinion after just a day.”

Bentley hummed, “But if Viv trusts him, I do too.”

Royce adjusted his pillow as he nodded. Bentley was right; although it had only been a day, Noah had gained everyone’s trust because Vivien knew him. It was a quick adjustment, but an easy one. Though he hadn’t spent much time with Noah, he seemed to be a good companion for Vivien outside of the people she now shared a cabin with. Royce smiled to himself as he relaxed into his mattress, glad that his girlfriend had another friend on the grounds of her family’s camp for the summer. Seeing her so excited to have reignited an old friendship made Royce happy all the same. Taking in a deep breath, Royce tried to think of ways he could try to get to know Noah better, wanting to put in an effort to become friends with Vivien’s old schoolmate.

Perhaps things were easier said than done.

Mondays were the one day every week Miles always dreaded. It wasn’t just the typical, “Monday means back to work or school, therefore, it sucks,” type of deal either, it was something much more than that. Regardless of whether or not he had to do anything, something always seemed to occur on a Monday to make him want to do nothing more than slam his head against a wall. It could be something as simple as his alarm not going off and it would still send his entire day down the drain. Sure, there were a few odd days where nothing would happen and he would simply be on edge all day, waiting for the inevitable, only for it to never come, but those were few and far between.

Today just so happened to be one of those rare days.

He had gotten up just before the camp’s speaker system began to play Highway to Hell, pushing himself from the blankets just as the song cut off halfway through and Vivien’s grandmother came over the speaker with an apology before starting a new song; he had arrived at the mess hall just in time for a new pot of coffee to be made available, earning himself a fresh cup of hot coffee that somehow managed to wake him up more than two cups of espresso could; his assignment for the day was to work in the fitness center, managing everything from the desk unless asked otherwise; and, to top it all off, he had free time to work on the song he and Vivien had been working on in their free time. As far as Mondays go, it was clear to Miles that this one far surpassed any other. However, that just set him even further on edge than he already was.

Miles wouldn’t say he was necessarily surprised when Vivien’s friend, Noah, crossed the threshold into the fitness center, but he was a bit taken aback to see Vivien with him. As far as he knew, the closest Vivien had come to working out was her time on the ice at her skating rink and her ballet classes, but as she followed the taller male to a leg press machine and instructed him on how much weight to add, Miles smirked to himself. He knew Vivien had legs of steel - she had to in order to be such an impressive skater - but it wasn’t until she easily out-pressed her friend, that he realized just how strong she was.

By the time it was nearly noon, Miles had watched the pair go through most of the machines, competing to see who was stronger or faster. From just over his notebook filled with musical notes, Miles watched the two argue about who ran further than who on the treadmill over the duration of a single song. With a shake of his head, Miles went back to working on his music until a hand grabbed the top of the book and he was forced to look up at Vivien’s cockily grinning face.

“Can I help you?” he drawled.

“I need an impartial person to keep track of my distance because someone-” Vivien glared over her shoulder at her friend, “-keeps restarting my machine when the song is over.”

Glancing at the green-eyed boy who didn’t bother wiping the mischievous smirk from his face before turning his gaze back toward Vivien, Miles sighed, “Do I have to?”

Before Vivien could answer with a sassy remark - because, yes, he did have to do his job - Noah spoke up, “You’re the one who’s currently in charge of the gym, aren’t you?”

Miles presumed that the boy’s remark was probably intended to be a humorous quip, but he found nothing overly funny about the teenager’s deadpan delivery. If anything, the boy sounded serious about the question. The only reason he gave the boy the faintest breath of a chuckle was because of the short snicker Vivien gave and, even then, it was obvious his reaction was forced. After giving Noah a quick once-over, Miles’ gaze flickered to Vivien and he placed his notebook on the table before rising from his seat. “I’ll be there in a minute,” Miles claimed with a nod.

Vivien gave Miles a quick smile before turning to Noah and saying, “Why don’t you go ahead? I have to tell Miles about something his girlfriend said this morning while he was too busy snoring into his coffee cup.”

Noah let out a short snort and nodded, “Yeah, alright.”

As Noah walked off, Vivien stayed glued to her spot before the desk and, once he was far enough away, she turned to Miles again before softly saying, “Noah isn’t the best at jokes.”

“I noticed,” Miles muttered, glancing at the boy.

“He’s trying,” Vivien offered. “He’s been homeschooled for a long time and I think it kept him from making a ton of friends. I think he’s just trying to navigate everyone’s sense of humor. It may not sound like it sometimes, but I promise, he is trying.”

From the moment he had heard about Noah, Miles was more than a bit apprehensive to accept him. While he wanted nothing more than for Vivien to be excited to spend time with her old friend, the way Royce’s eyes dulled ever-so-slightly while Vivien’s glowed as she sang the boy’s praises at the breakfast table, made an uncomfortable pit begin to grow in Miles’ gut. Despite his instincts screaming at him to tell Vivien he felt off about the boy she was so delighted to spend time with, Miles could see just how eager she was for him to accept her friend. So, as he swallowed his commentary for the time being, Miles took in a deep breath and reached across the table to nudge Vivien’s shoulder.

“Relax, kiddo,” he began as he rounded the desk. “I get it. I’ll pass the message along to the others to make things easier for him.”

“Really?” Vivien questioned. “You would do that?”

“Of course,” Miles agreed. “Now, let’s get this race over with before lunch.”

Vivien beamed, sliding an arm around Miles as they walked toward the waiting treadmill, “Merci, Miles.”

Bringing an arm around the brunette’s shoulders, Miles grinned, “Toujours, Vivien.”

Once the lunch announcement echoed throughout the camp and the fitness center was empty, Miles gathered his notebook and drink and left for the mess hall where almost everyone from their cabin was already sitting around their typical lunch table. As Miles joined the line of people waiting to fill their plates with food, he glanced over at the table where Royce sat between Vivien and Bentley, the three of them laughing and talking as they always did. The trio looked up as a familiar head of golden brown hair approached, but instead of continuing on to sit with the other workers he was bunking with in one of the cabins on the far side of the camp, Noah took up a spot across from Vivien.

Taking in a breath and forcing himself to smile as the kids noticed him looking over at them, Miles jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder. Chuckling, Vivien’s grandfather removed his hand as Miles turned to face him, “Just me, son.”

“Sorry, sir,” Miles apologized as he placed a slice of pizza on his plate.

“Don’t be,” the man brushed off. “And, Miles, you don’t have to call me sir.”

Peering at the man from the corner of his eyes, Miles chuckled nervously, “I’m not sure what else I would call you.”

“Most of the counselors call me Chief,” George suggested, glancing around cautiously to see if his wife was watching before adding another two slices of pizza to his plate. Turning back toward Miles with a bright smile, the man placed a hand on Miles’ arm and continued his previous train of thought, “Vivien and some of her friends, however, call me Grandpa George. The choice is yours, son.”

Smiling at the man’s gesture, Miles nodded, “Alright, then. Thank you.”

“Of course,” George said, patting Miles on the arm before stepping around him. “Now, would you care to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

“What do you mean?” Miles wondered.

George’s eyes shone knowingly as he met Miles curious stare. “You’re worried about something. I want to offer help if I can.”

With a heavy sigh, Miles glanced at his plate before looking over to where Bentley and Royce were listening to Vivien and Noah blather on about their day, “I’m not sure it can be helped, really.”

“Ah,” George breathed, following Miles’ line of sight to where his granddaughter and her friends sat. “You’re worried about Noah coming between Vivien and your brothers.”

Whirling around to find George once again, Miles asked, “How did you figure that out?”

“I’m old,” George shrugged. “I see things clearer now than I did when I was your age.”

“Tell that to your eye doctors,” Dawn commented as she joined them. Turning her gentle gaze onto Miles, she smiled, “Truthfully, Miles, you don’t have much to worry about when it comes to Vivien.”

“It’s not necessarily her that I’m worried about,” Miles admitted.

“Noah, then?” Dawn presumed. When Miles relented a nod of confirmation, she shook her head. “Long ago, when they were still just children, we all used to say that the two of them would be a cute couple. Nowadays, however, I couldn’t say the same.”

George nodded, “They’re good friends, sure, but there is nothing romantic between them on either side.”

“How can you be so sure?” Miles asked. “All day yesterday and today, he’s been attached at her hip.”

Dawn found George’s eyes and sighed, “That might be my fault. I asked Vivien to show him around this week and help him feel more comfortable. He’s shadowing her until Sunday. After that, I believe we’re setting him up as a lifeguard at the pool.”

“So it’s just for this week?” Miles asked.

Dawn hummed as George nodded, “It should be, yes.”

Reassured that things would return to normal by the end of the week, Miles smiled and thanked the older couple before making his way to the table where everyone was listening to Bentley talk about how someone got slammed in the face by a basketball earlier in the day. Once lunch was over and everyone was allowed some free time, Miles accompanied his brothers to the art barn, where Bentley proudly showed them how he managed to make a lopsided bowl that he insisted Miles could put by the door to hold his keys. After spending a few hours messily attempting to make something out of a lump of clay, the dinner bell rang and they cleaned things up before leaving to see what was being served in the mess hall.

Later that night, when Miles was sitting on the joined section of the pier with Royce and Bentley to watch the sunset, he took in a deep breath and turned to Royce and asked, “So, what do you think about this Noah guy?”

“He’s alright,” Royce shrugged, swinging his legs back and forth in the water. “He’s not overly talkative with anyone other than Vivien, but he’s getting better at talking with me and Benny now that we’ve hung out a little.”

Miles hummed, “Viv’s grandparents said that he’s shadowing her for the week to see if that helps him get more comfortable with people.”

“They picked a good person to help him,” Bentley said. “She’s one of the most outgoing people here.”

With a chuckle, Miles nodded, “Yeah. I guess they were really close as kids, so I guess that helps.”

“Viv said that, when they were little, a lot of people thought they would be together at some point, but that she thought it was weird,” Bentley claimed.

Ah, so Bentley had been worried about it too. Miles fought to keep himself from grinning at just how secretly protective his baby brother had gotten to be. “Her grandma told me something similar,” Miles agreed. 

Dodging the obvious question of his thoughts on the matter, Royce turned to his brothers and smiled as he said, “They were talking about doing archery with us tomorrow. Maybe we can try to help him open up more while we’re hanging out.”

Miles shared a subtle look of disappointment with Bentley before turning to Royce with a smile, “That sounds like a great idea, RJ.”

“Yeah, because there’s nothing like getting someone to talk when you’ve got a weapon in your hands,” Bentley sarcastically claimed, earning himself an elbow from Miles.

Despite his best efforts, Bentley arose early that Tuesday morning, finding himself alone with a note on the table beside his bed that told him Royce and Vivien were going to spend the morning sitting on the porch and reading together. Unlike Royce and Vivien, he never liked rising early or using the morning to do anything productive. If he could have done so, he would have rolled over and slept in until at least eight or nine. However, he knew the wake-up call would come over the camp’s speakers sooner rather than later, so he pried himself from the comfort of his blankets and drowsily pushed himself to venture down the stairs.

True to the note they had left, Bentley found Vivien and Royce sitting on the porch swing together, a book open between them as Royce read aloud. As Bentley stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him, Royce paused his reading, smiling at his younger brother as he said, “Morning, Ben.”

“Mornin’,” Bentley mumbled, taking what space was left on the swing as Vivien slid closer to Royce.

As Bentley’s head fell onto Vivien’s shoulder and Vivien’s, in turn, dropped onto Royce’s, Royce chuckled and began reading once more, his soft, dulcet voice dragging Bentley closer to the brink of sleep. It wasn’t until Wouldn’t It Be Nice by The Beach Boys began playing over the speakers that Bentley realized he had fallen asleep. After attempting to pull Bentley away from his new sleeping spot, Vivien headed inside the lodge and dragged Riven outside, getting her skating partner to pull Bentley from the swing. Riven went a step further, however, picking the half-asleep boy up and settling him on his back before making the journey to the mess hall a while behind the others.

Bentley’s nonsensical mumblings about wanting to go back to bed did nothing to steer Riven back toward the lodge, instead making the older boy chuckle, “If I had the choice, I’d be right there with you, half-pint, but Vivien dragged us into this, so we’re going to have to see it through.”

Scoffing as he rested his chin on Riven’s shoulder, Bentley huffed, “It’s not like it matters. She’s gonna spend all day with Noah anyway.”

“You don’t like Noah?” Riven questioned quietly.

Bentley’s noncommittal noise did little to answer, but he soon decided, “He’s nice and all, but Miley and I think Royce is a little bothered by him having Viv all to himself.”

Riven hummed in understanding, giving the young blond a nod as he thought things over. Ever the observant one, Riven had quickly found Royce sitting a bit quieter at meal times when Noah was around. It didn’t take a genius to see that, whether Royce knew it or not, he was at least a little bothered by the boy’s presence. Choosing to steer away from the topic until he had looked more into it, Riven asked, “Is Miley what you call Miles?”

With a nod, Bentley muttered, “Me, Royce, and sometimes Viv.”

Letting out a confused chuckle, Riven wondered, “Why sometimes?”

“He gave her permission to call him that when she stayed with us over vacation,” Bentley claimed, “but she says she only calls him that when there’s an emergency or if she needs help.”

“Has she ever called him Miley?”

“Twice that I know of.”

“What happened?” Riven asked.

“The first time she called him that, Miles wasn’t too thrilled,” Bentley snickered. “She was doing it to tease him and he explained that was a nickname that only Royce and I could use.”

“But now she can use it?”

“Yeah,” Bentley nodded, “but she’s only done it once since then that I know about.”

Riven nodded, attempting to recall whether or not he had been there when Vivien had called Miles by his nickname. When he couldn’t, he softly asked, “Was that in your world or ours?”

Just as Bentley opened his mouth to answer, the realization of what Riven had said hit him like a brick wall. Instead, his mouth slowly closed and, as Riven peered back at him, he forced a small smile and asked, “You mean our state or yours?” 

“No,” Riven chuckled. “I know what I said.”

“What do you mean?” Bentley chuckled. “We don’t live in another world.”

Smiling knowingly as he stepped over a tree root that stuck up out of the ground, Riven smiled and shook his head, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar?”

“Yeah,” Bentley sagged. Glancing at Riven’s hazel eyes, he asked, “When did you figure it out?” 

“A while ago,” Riven shrugged. “Don’t worry, though; I never told Vivien or Mick about it. I haven’t told anyone about it, actually.”

“I wasn’t overly worried about that, actually,” Bentley smiled.

Riven smirked, “They already know, don’t they?”

“They do,” Bentley confirmed. “But if you want to surprise them with the fact that you know, I won’t say anything to them.”

With a chuckle, Riven nodded, “I could have some fun with that.”

A brief round of laughter filled the air between the boys, before Bentley wondered, “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you figure it out?”

Sighing, Riven began, “I’d had an inkling that something wasn’t quite right when Pip seemed hesitant to show me pictures of her boyfriend. At first, I thought that maybe he was a criminal of some sort as Vivien had sort of dodged ever having a ‘teenage rebellion’ phase, but when I was eventually shown a picture of this kid who looked like he couldn’t hurt a fly, I was more than a bit suspicious.”

“Understandable,” Bentley nodded. “Did you look him up or something?”

“I tried to, with no results,” Riven confirmed. “Deciding that I would be getting nowhere fast if I kept pressing on like that, I let it go.”

“So, what happened?” the blond pressed. “How did you figure it out?”

“It was an accident, really,” Riven explained with a short laugh. “I bought a set of old beach movies from this shop my dad frequents with the idea to see if there was any way I could use some lines from them at the beginning of our song recordings.”

“Instead, you found us.”

The auburn-haired male nodded, “Right on the title screen when I put the DVD into the player.”

Bentley snorted, it seemed as though Riven and Vivien were more alike than he had previously thought. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

With a shrug, Riven admitted, “I figured you guys would say something when you felt ready to.” 

“Viv wanted to,” Bentley claimed as Riven set him back on his feet, “but everyone else felt it was a good idea to keep it to ourselves until we figured out how to do it without freaking you out like we did Vivien.”

Chuckling Riven smirked as he asked, “I take it she didn’t take it too well?”

“She was pretty much shell-shocked at the time,” Bentley stated, “but it got better after she sat through the show and asked us about a million questions.”

“Typical,” Riven chortled.

As they made their way toward the front door of the mess hall, Bentley snatched Riven’s wrist and asked, “You’re not going to tell anybody, right?”

“Are you?” Bentley quickly shook his head, so, in response, Riven shook his. “Then, no. It’s our secret, half-pint.”

Glad to be able to feel somewhat closer to the older skater, Bentley made sure Riven sat beside him at the breakfast table, the blond eager to get to know him as something more than Vivien’s friend from practice. When Noah joined the table, Riven easily picked up on Bentley’s amiable unease, followed closely by how Royce’s energetic chatter about some book series he’d been enjoying in the library seemed to take a backseat to Vivien’s childhood friend’s tentative ramblings about swimming. 

Although Riven could tell Vivien wasn’t nearly as enthralled by the sandy brunet’s talk of a triathlon as she was in the book her boyfriend was enjoying, it didn’t appear as though Royce could see the minute way Vivien’s fingers drummed on the table or how her attention seemed to flicker like a dying flashlight. When Royce chimed in with something to add to the conversation, Vivien’s incessant tapping stilled and her focus was solely on the curly-haired boy to her right - something Riven was sure went unnoticed by most of the people at the table. Trying not to make his observations known, Riven simply continued eating, allowing the others at the table to carry on with their morning conversations as he sat in near-perfect silence.

As they all began to clear the tables and prepared to head out to their stations for the first half of the day, Riven followed Bentley to the trash with a pile he had gathered. While they worked on draining the excess maple syrup from a few plates, Riven locked gazes with the blond and offered, “If you need my help talking to Royce about this, let me know.”

Bentley glanced over Riven’s shoulder, presumably at his brother, before finding Riven’s eyes once again. “Are you sure?”

Riven nodded, “I can try to get something out of him tomorrow when we’re both holed up in the health center.”

“Thank you,” Bentley breathed.

Smiling at the younger blond, Riven said, “Anytime.”

According to the schedule, Riven’s first Wednesday at Camp Wanamaker would be spent in the most boring building on the grounds - the health center. Hardly anyone ever ended up in the health center during the training week. At the most, maybe three or four people would come in asking for something to help their headaches or period cramps. Overall, it was a fairly boring spot until the campers arrived.

Children always brought chaos to camp. Splinters, twisted ankles, and the occasional tumble from the rock wall or smack to the face from a volleyball were fairly common when the children arrived. Without them wreaking all sorts of havoc on the grounds, the health center was quiet. The tedious chores of sweeping floors and taking inventory were taken care of fairly quickly in the morning and again at night, but once the typical tasks were done, there was nothing else to do. As Riven stared across the room to where Royce was occupying his type with a book he’d borrowed from the library, he let out a sigh.

Royce peered over the top of his book, finding Riven’s head tipped back as the older boy stared up at the ceiling. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m bored as hell,” Riven groaned. “This is, by far, the worst place to be holed up all day.”

“Tell me about it,” Royce huffed. “Today is my birthday.”

“How come you didn’t ask for the day off to go hang out somewhere?” Riven asked. “Chief would’ve let you go.”

“He also would have had to let out my brothers, Viv, and anyone else who wanted to spend the day with me,” Royce deadpanned. With a shrug, he said, “It’s not worth it anyway.”

“It’s your birthday,” Riven stated. “You should be allowed to do fun shit instead of being holed up in here with me all day.”

“It doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would,” Royce shrugged. Choosing to set aside his book in favor of distracting his girlfriend’s closest friend, Royce stood and crossed the room to sit on Riven’s desk. “What would you rather be doing?”

“Literally anything else,” Riven chuckled humorlessly. “I would even take archery at this point and we both know how that would go.”

Royce fought the smirk that wanted so desperately to appear. The day before, he had spent time at the archery station with the majority of his cabin mates and had seen Riven both try and fail to land a single arrow on the target. Clearing his throat and smiling at the auburn-haired boy, he offered, “Do you want me to run to the cabin and grab a deck of cards? You could beat my ass in poker for a few hours.”

Taking in a deep, contemplative breath, Riven nodded, “That could be fun.” Royce smiled and pushed himself away from the desk, but before he could get far, Riven suggested, “Why don’t you check in your desk first? I think Erica and I spent a few hours building a house of cards last year and we might have left the deck in one of these desks.”

Royce nodded, rounding his desk and pulling open each drawer, searching them before pulling a tattered cardboard box out of the second to last. Shaking the box victoriously, Royce beamed, “Found them.”

“Alright,” Riven smirked. As Royce grabbed his chair and wheeled it over to Riven’s desk, Riven cleared a spot on his desk. “So,” he began, “do you want to play blackjack or regular poker?”

Royce shrugged, “I’ve never really played either one, so I don’t know. Dealer’s choice, I guess?”

“I’ll teach you,” Riven said with a smile. “Blackjack would probably be a bit easier to start with since it’s just math.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Riven nodded, taking a piece of paper and a pen from his desk and writing out the card numbers on the paper. “You just have to get as close as you can to twenty-one points without going over.”

“That sounds easy enough,” Royce smiled.

Riven hummed, “Everything is its normal number apart from the aces and the royalty cards. Royal cards are worth ten and aces can be either one or eleven points.”

Royce looked over the paper as Riven turned it toward him. “The suits don’t matter?” he asked. 

“Nope,” Riven declared with a smile as he pulled the cards from the box and began shuffling them. “Just try to get close to twenty-one. If you want another card to add to your deck, you say ‘hit,’ and when you think you’re close enough and don’t want to risk going over, you say ‘freeze.’ At least, that’s what my dad taught me.”

Royce nodded, watching Riven shuffle the cards a few times before asking, “Are you close with your dad?”

“Pretty close, yeah,” Riven claimed. “After my mom died a while back, he and I grew a lot closer. We’re all we have left, so we try to keep our relationship in good standing. Bentley said your mom died a while ago, too, right? Were you close with your dad after that?”

Royce took in a deep breath and sighed, “No. When our mom died, our dad went sort of off the rails - drinking and all that.”

“Is that why your brother didn’t take Chief up on his offer of a drink last night?” Riven asked as he placed two cards in front of Royce - one facing up and the other down.

“He offered Miles alcohol?”

Riven nodded, “He usually offers the older counselors a drink at some point just to sit around and get to know them better. It’s never anything hard - maybe a beer or something - but he takes one cabin at a time and offers them either something lightly alcoholic or a soda. I heard him talking with your brother when I was helping Bentley clean tables.”

“Do you know what he chose?” Royce questioned as he looked over his cards.

“A soda,” Riven stated. “Hit or freeze?”

Chuckling at the measly nine he had gotten, Royce said, “Hit, please.”

As Riven placed another card face-up on Royce’s side of the table, he continued with their previous conversation, “I think Chief gave him a can of cream soda and brought him back to the office to talk with him more.”

“I was wondering why he came back late,” Royce admitted as he recounted his cards. “I’m going to freeze there.”

“Good job,” Riven commented with a smile, taking a moment to look over his cards before adding another to his pile. “I’m frozen too. Let’s flip them and see who’s closer.”

As they both flipped their cards over, Riven smiled as Royce came out with a nineteen and his own hand managed to be just a point shy. “I won?” Royce wondered softly.

“You did,” Riven agreed, placing his hand of cards on top of Royce’s and pushing them to the side. As he flipped another set of cards onto the desk, Riven asked, “Do you think you’ll ever drink?”

Ryce was quick to shake his head, “I doubt it. After watching our dad spiral into drunken stupors more than once, I don’t think I want to touch the stuff.”

“Wise decision,” Riven applauded. “Vivien shares a similar opinion, but she’s had wine before.”

“She’s not old enough to drink,” Royce slowly mused, his head tilting to the side.

Riven smiled as he recalled, “It was an accident. We were screwing around in the winery and took some of the sample cups thinking they were punch for an upcoming wedding reception.”

Royce grinned, “What happened?”

“We got absolutely trashed,” Riven snickered. “Her mom was pissed while our dads were too busy laughing their asses off at us. I guess we both had guzzled about four cups of chocolate raspberry wine before they found us.”

“Holy shit!” Royce squawked.

“Oh yeah,” Riven laughed. “To make things even worse, Vivien started cussing at her parents - told her mom to fuck off and flipped her dad off.”

“How old was she?”

Riven glanced at his cards as he thought about his answer before replying, “I was almost ten, so she was maybe six or seven.”

“Wow,” Royce breathed. “I can’t imagine her doing anything like that, especially not so young.”

“Like I said, it wasn’t intentional,” Riven shrugged. “After that, she’s sworn off alcohol, but she does taste-test the season wines her family puts out every once in a while. It’s just not enough to get drunk on.”

Royce nodded and checked his cards, smiling as the image of a young, chaotic Vivien running around her family’s winery, drunk off her ass and flipping people off, filled his thoughts. “I guess she and I have more in common than I thought."

Spotting the opportunity to get his point across, Riven glanced over at Royce and nodded, “Add that to the list of reasons you shouldn’t be worried about her friendship with Noah.”

Freezing, Roycer slowly looked up, finding Riven’s calm stare aimed back at him. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Placing the deck of cards aside, Riven folded his hands together on the desk and leveled Royce with a small grin, “I can tell you’re bothered by how close they’ve been, whether you see it or not. Granted, you two have time together in the mornings and after dinner, but it bothers you, at least a little, that he’s been attached to her hip for the last few days.”

“I trust Vivien,” Royce stated firmly. 

“And I’m glad you do,” Riven said placatingly, “but I’m not questioning how much you trust her. I just want you to know that it’s understandable if you’re uncomfortable with another boy, around your age, hanging around your girl all day, every day.”

“She and Noah are just friends and I know it wouldn’t go further than that,” Royce said, but to Riven, it almost sounded as though he was trying to convince himself of that. “Besides, he’s supposed to be shadowing her until the campers begin to show up. Even if the situation did bother me, which it doesn’t, I wouldn't be able to do anything about it.”

“You could, actually,” Riven claimed. When Royce’s curiosity became evident, Riven smiled and said, “I’ve known Noah as long as Vivien has; if it makes things better for you, I can always swap out with her.”

Before answering, Royce actually appeared to think on the idea, his eyes flitting around before finally stilling. With a shake of his head, Royce replied, “It’s only three more days.”

“Four,” Riven corrected. “The campers don’t come until Monday, so you have until Sunday night.”

“Still,” Royce sighed, “I can handle that. After that, things will go back to normal, and I can pretend this never happened.”

Riven examined Royce’s face and, despite having the intense urge to shake the boy until he relented, he couldn’t find any reason to. Royce’s steadfast expression gave Riven little wiggle room, but as he knew he had, at the very least, offered Royce an out if he wanted it, Riven chose to wave his white flag of defeat and picked up the deck of cards once more. “Alright,” he said, “but just remember what I said. I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Royce breathed, allowing a small smile to tug at his lips. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Riven nodded. Adjusting his grip on the cards, Riven smiled as he asked, “Now, hit or freeze?”

It wasn’t often that Royce got the chance to spend one-on-one time with Mick. Most days, they were too busy with their individual interests and schedules, but that Thursday was something different. When Royce entered the downstairs section of the Lakeside Lodge, he found he wasn’t the only one awake. Mick had pushed the coffee table out of the way before putting her headphones on and beginning her usual morning exercises, but when she took notice of the young brunet, she smiled and invited him to join her. Shrugging, Royce set his book and cell phone aside before joining the woman. 

They talked for a while about the different stretches Mick did every day, but there wasn’t much to their conversation apart from that. Breakfast came and went as uneventfully as it always did, but as Royce joined back up with Mick on the steps outside the mess hall, he found himself feeling almost excited to spend the day lifeguarding with her. Jade and Erica joined them at the pool after a while, having taken the time to go back to their cabin to put on clothing that would be more forgiving in the heat of the snack stand. While Erica and Jade took their spots in the little shack near the pool entrance, Mick and Royce perched themselves on one of the lifeguard chairs. There wasn’t much to do as most everyone had to work in other positions, but as the day grew hotter and the heat became more noticeable, a select few workers entered the pool to cool off from the heat of the sun.

Royce was grateful for the overhead umbrella they had over the chair to keep themselves cool from the heat, but as Mick climbed down from their perch and grabbed a pair of popsicles to snack on, he realized just how hot it had gotten. “Thanks again, Mick,” he said before sucking down some of the extra juice from the plastic tube.

“Of course,” she replied with a smile. “I wasn’t sure if it was you or Viv who preferred the blue raspberry ones.”

“We both like it,” Royce shrugged. “She just prefers watermelon.”

As Mick nodded, she sighed thoughtfully, “I think I’m the only one in the entire cabin who likes the banana-flavored ones.”

“Is that what the yellow ones taste like?” Royce questioned. When Mick nodded, Royce laughed, “I thought they were lemon!”

Mick made a face of disgust and shook her head, “Ew, no. Lemon-scented anything makes me think of cleaning supplies; that’s why I picked the box with the banana-flavored pops.”

“Huh,” Royce chuckled. “Learn something new every day, I guess.”

“I guess so.”

The pair sat in near-silence as the few people in the pool took turns blasting each other with sprays of water. Taking another bite of his popsicle, Royce allowed his thoughts to fill his head as he stared off into space. After the conversation he’d had with Riven the day before, he had continuously found himself deep in thought on the topic of Noah and his relationship with Vivien. While Royce was confident in his trust of Vivien and knew he had nothing to worry about on her end of things, he couldn’t exactly say that he had the same trust in Noah. He hadn’t known the other boy for a full week yet and his apprehensiveness with the boy’s presence was becoming more and more obvious. 

Slowly taking in a deep breath, Royce pulled his attention back to the present and looked over at the people swimming about in the crystalline water before him before turning his gaze toward Mick. As her neighbor, Mick was most likely to have known Vivien the longest. Maybe she would have some sort of insider knowledge on the situation. As he tried to think of a way to broach the situation, Royce heard a laugh that drew his attention away from the older girl. Finding Vivien laughing as she walked with Noah toward their station at the tennis court, Royce allowed himself to smile. Maybe he had no reason to worry about any of it. Maybe he was just overreacting. They were old friends, after all. 

Mick seemed to have noticed the trio as she let out a soft laugh, “It’s so nice to see them together again.”

Shifting his gaze from the pair to the brunette beside him, Royce asked, “Who? Viv and Noah?”

Mick nodded as she turned to Royce with a smile, “Yeah. They were so close when they were little.”

“Mick said they went to school together,” Royce acknowledged.

“They did everything together,” Mick agreed. “No matter what they were doing or where they were, they were always together.”

Royce hummed, “So they were like me and Bentley when we first came to town?”

“In a way,” Mick shrugged. “You could never find one of them without the other.”

With a nod, Royce glanced back toward the pair, just barely catching Vivien throwing a tennis ball across the court at Noah, hitting him in the shoulder with a cackle of victory. He couldn’t quite make out what was being said between the pair, it was obvious that they were getting along as they always had. Noah picked up the ball and hurled it back across the net between himself and Vivien, cursing as Vivien dodged his throw and instead chucked another ball at him. Smirking at his girlfriend’s determination to pelt her friend with fuzzy, green balls, Royce chuckled, “They seem to be getting along well.”

“I’m not surprised,” Mick smiled. “The two of them were so close before that I bet it feels like no time has passed to them.” With a short, thoughtful chuckle as Vivien found a bag of tennis balls to assault her friend with, Mick claimed, “You know, a lot of people thought the two of them would end up together someday.”

The news had Royce’s attention at once. The thought brought an uncomfortable sinking feeling to his stomach and he was sure that, if he hadn’t been sitting, he would have fallen to the cement surrounding the pool. Nobody had told him this. How many people knew? Did Vivien and Noah feel that way as well at some point? As he watched the two on the tennis court laugh and screech insults at each other, Royce could see his girlfriend’s beaming smile and a tense strain of impending doom spread through his chest as Noah ducked under Vivien’s attack and brought his arms around her knees, hauling her over his shoulder while she squeaked at the sudden height difference.

“Really?” Royce wondered softly as he watched Vivien drop the balls she had collected in favor of thumping a fist against Noah’s back, begging to be let down.

Mick hummed, “Back then, I think everyone thought they would be a cute couple, but I can’t see it now.”

Allowing his gaze to fall on the brunette beside him, Royce asked, “You can’t.”

“I doubt anyone can,” she claimed as she turned toward him. “After all the time they’ve spent apart, they’re just getting accustomed to being around each other again. I think them spending so much time together now is just giving them a chance to get to know each other all over again.”

Royce nodded slowly, “Things have changed a lot since they last saw each other.”

“They have, yeah.” Mick glanced back at the pair as Vivien whacked Noah on the shoulder with her tennis racket. With a snort, she said, “One thing remains a constant, though.” When Royce’s eyebrow raised in a silent question, Mick said, “Vivien has no interest in him as anything more than her friend.”

“How can you tell?” he asked.

“Well, for one, it’s obvious how much she adores you,” Mick stated with a smile. “I’ve never seen her as happy as I have since she’s been with you. Two…” Mick shook her head, “I don’t think she’s ever seen him as anything more than a friend. The two used to beat each other up and harass each other on a daily basis, which, by the look of things, I don’t think has changed.”

“She’s like that with me sometimes,” Royce admitted.

“It’s different,” Mick stated. “With you, she’s gentle and, when she does shove you around, it’s playful and soft. With Noah, it’s like an actual fight; they know each other’s limits and dance around them with ease. To him, she’s one of the guys and he knows she can hold her own. To her, he’s another Riven - a sibling-like figure she can push around without worrying about getting in trouble for it.”

Once Royce felt as though he had absorbed the concept, he softly asked, “Is that why you think they wouldn’t make a good couple anymore?”

“That’s one of many reasons,” Mick chuckled with a nod, “but yeah, that’s the jist of it.”

Royce hummed and brought his melting popsicle to his lips before tipping it up and draining some of the juice from it. He was grateful it had been Mick that explained it to him. Most of the time, she made things make sense more than anyone else could. She had a way of explaining things that could make even the most tense person relax. He took in a deep breath and looked over the swimmers making laps in the pool before glancing over at Vivien and her friend. Royce smiled as he watched the two begin an easy-going match, sending the ball across the net - or attempting to, at the very least. Maybe Mick was right - he had nothing to worry about.

Friday, as it so happened, was campfire day at Camp Wanamaker and, as most of the campers were, Butchy was busy finding logs to burn. Though the camp had a storage area on the side of the main office filled with logs to burn, Vivien’s grandparents had given everyone the task of finding some wood to burn on their own. Some had ventured toward the lake in search of driftwood or fallen logs on the tree line, but Butchy had taken it upon himself to search the area around the amphitheatre as hardly anyone had headed there. With a collection of sticks and kindling, Butchy took in a deep breath and headed toward the fire pit that had yet to be started. Just as he set his pile down beside the circle of rocks, Royce came out of the tree line on the other side, pushing his way past some shrubbery with a grin and dropping off some wood to burn.

“Hey, gattino,” Butchy greeted, waving the younger boy toward him. “There are some good size logs where I was looking. Do you want to help me get some?” 

“Sure,” Royce smiled.

Butchy smiled in return, bringing an arm around Royce as they headed back toward the trees. The pair talked as they walked through the woods, discussing everything from what they’d had for breakfast to some movie Royce was letting Vivien drag him to when they got the chance to leave camp for a few hours. As he loaded Royce’s arms with firewood, Butchy chuckled, “I don’t know what happened between you and Vivien, but I’m glad you two resolved whatever it was.”

“What do you mean?” Royce questioned as he followed Butchy to where a fallen tree blanketed the ground.

Butchy turned back to Royce and shrugged, “It just seemed as though the two of you were, I don’t know… a bit off the past few days. I just figured you two had sorted things out and that’s why it feels like you both are back to your normal selves.”

“We weren’t fighting or anything,” Royce stated. As Butchy laid a few small branches on the ever-growing pile, he said, “I just needed time to process her friendship with Noah, I guess. They were really close as kids and were spending a lot of time together the last few days, but I talked it over with a few people and I feel a lot better about it now.”

Butchy nodded, giving Royce a small grin as he recalled, “You know, Mickie and I had a similar issue a while back.”

Royce’s eyebrow raised as he asked, “You did?” When Butchy nodded in confirmation, Royce breathed, “Wow. I didn’t think that was possible for the two of you.”

“It’s possible for anyone,” Butchy stated. “Back then, our relationship was pretty secretive to anyone in her world and, when one of her closest friends came over for a visit, I was pretty tense. His name was Hudson and he would sit closer to her than he did to anyone else, they would talk about things I had no clue about and, when I tried to do things with them, it felt as though I wasn’t wanted.”

Pausing, Royce realized he had been in the exact same position. “That’s what happened to me with Noah,” he claimed. Shaking his head, he turned to Butchy and asked, “What happened?”

“Obviously, we were fine,” Butchy chuckled. “I found out they thought of each other as siblings. They had grown up together as their parents were close friends and had grown up treating each other as family. Just like with your situation with Noah, I found that I had nothing to worry about.”

Royce almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He couldn’t imagine Butchy having much of anything to worry about; he always seemed so sure of himself and, as far as appearances went, he could have found anyone to be with if things with Mick went to the wayside. However, the knowledge that even someone like Butchy had gone through something similar in his love life and still came out on top, was reassuring. Watching Butchy pile his arms full of branches and fallen tree limbs, Royce smiled, “Thank you, Butchy.”

“You’re welcome, gattino,” Butchy grinned, gently nudging the boy toward the amphitheatre. As they began walking, he added, “You had nothing to worry about in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” Royce asked as he turned to look back at Butchy.

Instead of answering directly, Butchy asked, “You know how they say the eyes are the windows to the soul?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, take a good look at how Vivien looks at you,” Butchy said with a knowing smile. “She loves you with all of her heart and it’s obvious.”

The idea had Royce smiling despite himself. He would just have to pay more attention to her eyes when he saw her next. Flicking his attention back to Butchy, he asked, “Are you sure?”

Butchy chuckled, shifting the wood in his grasp to one arm as he reached up to pat Royce on the shoulder, “I, of all people, would know. The two of you have a rare kind of love, bud. Don’t waste your time worrying about something that will only keep you from seeing what’s right in front of you.”

As Butchy gave Royce one last reassuring pat on the shoulder and continued on toward where they would soon be lighting the fire, Royce stood in place, grinning like an idiot to himself as he registered all that Butchy had told him. It was reassuring, to say the least. Pleased with the hopeful statements Butchy had given him, Royce turned to the camp and continued trekking through the woods, glad to be given more reassurance that he was on the right track. Once everyone returned from their searches for kindling, Royce took his seat on one of the wooden benches closest to the fire pit and allowed his smile to only broaden as Vivien sat beside him, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder.

The weekend, according to Royce’s schedule, were the days to dread most. The schedule for the first week had been easy enough to follow, but Royce had been silently dreading the weekend schedule he had been given. Whoever decided to pair him with Carrie in the playhouse on Saturday and in the kitchen on Sunday, had to have had it out for him. Although he had promised Miles he would at least try to be more civil with the blonde, he wasn’t sure that entailed him listening to Carrie sing show tunes all day.

After breakfast, they had made their way to the playhouse, Royce fighting the urge to tell the blonde to just be quiet as she sang some lyrics from a show she, Mick, and Vivien had made them start watching in the evenings. By the time they had finally gotten to their designated building for the day, they had met up with the other playhouse workers and Royce was subjected to hearing them blather on and on about which show they were hoping the camp would put together over the summer. 

While Royce certainly cared about theatre - he had to with Vivien around - he wasn't very fond of the idea of being on stage in front of everyone and their families. He was more than willing to help out if they needed help painting sets or writing scripts, but having to memorize lines to be on stage would absolutely be outside of his comfort zone. When he made this fact known to the others, only one other person seemed to agree with him and, to Royce’s dismay, the ginger girl had nobody from her cabin with her to keep her participating and ultimately sat on the edge of the stage, more occupied with her cell phone than anything else.

After sending a few members of the group to the art barn for paints and other supplies, the group sat along the edge of the stage waiting for Vivien’s grandmother, Dawn, to arrive. They didn’t have to wait long as the doors to the barn were pushed open and Dawn took a moment to flip the doors’ respective stoppers down to keep them open. Making her way to the stage, Dawn smiled as she scanned over those present, “Well, it appears we have a full cast of players ready to help with stage prep today.”

One boy with blond-tipped hair hurried to offer Dawn a hand as she headed for the stairs on the side of the stage, “Ten in total, Nonna.”

“More than enough for today,” she commented as she stepped further onto the stage. As the workers moved into a line across the stage, Dawn examined them all briefly before smiling, “As I’m sure some of you have heard through the grapevine, we’re narrowing down our list of performances for the end-of-summer showcase.”

Murmurs of excitement passed over the group before Carrie raised a hand and asked, “Are we getting rid of more today?”

“Better than that,” Dawn said. “We’re narrowing it down to the final option.”

The boy with the blond-tipped hair - Royce was sure his name was one of those weird ones that his parents probably thought was different and creative, but was really just ridiculous - ran for the side of the stage, dragging back a whiteboard with five pieces of paper still taped to it. Each paper had a different show’s title and logo on it, but Royce couldn’t understand the hype as everyone else got excited about the listings. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, he knew, was one of Shakespeare’s plays, but he couldn’t see many children sitting still long enough to enjoy it. Legally Blonde and Hairspray had made it to the finals, but, if he was going to be completely honest, Royce wasn’t surprised; the shows were energetic and fun - something they could captivate any audience with. Clue had made it into the mix and, although it wasn’t a musical, it was certainly a fun addition. The last show on the whiteboard was a show called Arsenic and Old Lace, but Royce wasn’t sure exactly what that show entailed.

Though Royce could claim he was intrigued, it appeared as though he wasn’t nearly as excited as some of the others present as Dawn reached up and hovered a hand over the different names. Anytime she came close to stopping over a certain one, there would be exclamations of shock or pleas for her to take something else from the board. Then, her first choice came like ripping off a bandage - quick and painless - and A Midsummer Night’s Dream was torn away, leaving a small piece of paper stuck to the tape that refused to peel away from the whiteboard. One by one, the names were pulled until only Clue and Hairspray remained.

As though she was on the edge of her seat, Carrie gripped the only thing close enough to her that wouldn’t fall over - Royce’s arm. The blonde’s claws dug into Royce’s arm unknowingly, but as Royce turned to glare at her and tell her to remove herself before he did, he saw the genuine excitement glimmering in her eyes and chose to hold off on his remarks, allowing her to use his arm as an emery board as Dawn reached for the last paper. Royce watched with mild anticipation as the older woman held both papers in her hands, but as she pulled both from the board, holding one above her head in victory, even Royce felt a surge of elation. Hairspray would have been his pick of the bunch anyway.

After giving a brief speech about the musical and how they had chosen it to allow some of the campers to perform as well, Dawn began dismissing them to different areas. “Marcus, Thalia, you two are on props. There is a large bin in the storage room that should have some of what you need. We’ll get donations for the rest.”

The redhead who had been on her phone throughout most of her time in the playhouse followed a short boy to the side of the stage, the two of them disappearing behind a curtain. The boy who stood beside Dawn said, “Kiran, Summer, you’re going to be helping us with the costumes. We’ve started on a few, but we need more help.”

Dawn smiled as a paid stepped from the crowd and moved toward the curtains to watch everyone else get sorted out. Another pair was assigned to see how many chairs they could fill the audience with and, before Royce knew it, the older woman was calling his name. “Royce and Carrie, you two are going to be working on painting set pieces with me.”

Royce’s brain stalled. Was she serious? Was she really telling him to spend the rest of his day with her and Carrie? Did Vivien not tell her about how strained his relationship with Carrie was? Maybe she had and the woman simply didn't care. No, Dawn seemed too nice to do something like that. Maybe Vivien put her up to it! That sounded like a more likely cause. Vivien was forever trying to get the two of them to work past things. He wouldn’t put it past Vivien to ask her grandmother for help moving things along.

Being caught up in his thoughts, Royce missed the older woman’s dismissal of another pair and only realized he was being left behind when Carrie nudged him and told him to follow them. Containers of paint and a few wooden boards were brought outside, and the trio sat around a picnic table to work on their projects. As they worked, Carrie and Dawn began talking about their enjoyment of musicals and theatre in general while Royce got to work on using an image from Dawn’s phone to help him paint a copy of the musical’s hairspray can onto a board. After a while of radio silence on the boy’s part, Dawn reached over the table and dotted the back of his hand with a splotch of yellow paint.

Royce glanced down at his hand before looking across the table at the woman with widened eyes. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” he asked.

Dawn smirked, “No, sweetheart. You’ve just been awfully quiet. Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” Royce claimed, perhaps just a bit too eagerly.

“Are you sure?” Carrie tried.

“Yeah,” Royce said. Although Carrie looked ready to press further, she simply took in a deep breath and sighed as she went on with her work, allowing Royce to continue on with his work. Dawn hummed thoughtfully, but left the subject alone as she continued painting. After a while, Royce couldn’t take the silence anymore and glanced over at the woman before asking, “Do we all have to participate in the showcase performance?”

Glad to have finally caught on to the root of the issue, Dawn set a soft smile on her face and nodded, “In some way or another, yes.”

“Do we all have to be on stage at some point?” Royce questioned. “I don’t like being on stage like that.”

Before Dawn could answer, Carrie smiled as she mused, “Miles isn’t a fan of it much either, but he’s gotten out of his shell at least a little since I’ve been with him.”

“Not like you gave him much of a choice,” Royce muttered under his breath.

Ignoring the snide comment directed toward the blonde, Dawn answered Royce’s previous question, “Even the people who worked on the set design go on the stage at some point.”

After a tentative pause, Royce seemingly resigned to his fate as he nodded and breathed, “Okay.”

As Royce rigidly returned to his painting, Dawn smiled gently and said, “You know, even my husband despises being on that stage sometimes.”

“Really?” Royce questioned.

Carrie nodded, “I would have thought he would be used to it after running the camp for so long.”

“Well, I’m sure part of his reasoning is that he knows I’ve concocted some sort of end-of-year prank for him,” Dawn claimed with a shrug, “but I know he detests being on stage anyway. I just don’t see how.”

“I can,” Royce scoffed. “Up there, you’ve got blazingly hot lights shining in your face, you have to memorize a bunch of songs and dances and know when to come in for them, and we can’t forget the fact that there are at least a zillion eyes on you, judging you at all times.”

Dawn nodded thoughtfully before smiling, “But this stage is different.”

“What do you mean?” Royce asked.

“This isn’t Broadway,” Dawn said with a reassuring smile. “Up there, there is no judgment if someone forgets what to say or do. I mean, hell, if you want a good example of that, go ask Chief to show you last year’s performance of The Play That Goes Wrong. That entire show was a trainwreck, but everyone loved it.”

Royce allowed the woman’s comments to sink in before he asked, “Nobody cares if you screw up?” When Dawn shook her head, Royce tacked on, “I thought you have to be perfect on stage.”

“Nobody is perfect,” Carrie said before Dawn could. “Everyone messes up at some point or another. On the stage, we’re merely players putting on a show. As long as you have fun and enjoy yourself on the stage, nobody will care how well things go as they’ll be more focused on your energy and acting.”

Dawn nodded in agreement, “The only thing we ask of everyone is that they try to have fun no matter what they do or don’t do on stage.”

“And, if it makes it any better,” Carrie began, “you’ll have everyone you love by your side - and me, of course - and we’ll all be rooting for you no matter what you do.”

For a fleeting moment, Royce had the instinct to correct the blonde on her statement, adding her to the group that he cared about, yet he bit his tongue, holding back the instinctual comment as he gave a sharp nod. The thought of the blonde being on the list of people he cared about had never occurred to Royce before - at least, not that he knew of - and the instinct to speak his mind on the topic had certainly never come around before, so Royce had no clue where it had come from. Brushing it off as something to do with Miles and Vivien’s incessant pleas for him to mend whatever imaginary bond they saw between himself and Carrie, Royce took in a deep breath and thanked both women with a smile before returning to his painting, not once bothering to wipe the yellow paint from the back of his hand.

Normal Sundays in the Murphy household were spent on the couch, watching cartoons while they ate a late breakfast. However, that rainy Sunday morning felt anything but typical as Royce rose early and made his way to the mess hall to begin working on the breakfast he and Carrie would be serving to the line of hungry counselors and other staff arriving within the hour. Carrie arrived not long after, pulling her hair into a bun of sorts before taking an apron from the hooks on the wall and joining Royce as he pulled a variety of food from the refrigerator. 

“What are we making this morning?” she asked as Royce placed a gallon of milk on a nearby metal counter.

Royce turned toward Carrie before nodding to the whiteboard beside the fridge, “It’s on the calendar. The list of everything we need is on the paper taped to the wall next to it.”

After thanking Royce, Carrie made her way to where the listing was. Breakfast at camp was simple more often than not. There was always a selection of cold foods left out for the residents to make for themselves - cereal, microwavable oatmeal, yogurts, an assortment of berries, fruit salad, and bread for toast being left on a counter off to the side of where the rest of the food was kept in heated containers. It seemed as though the options for the day were going to be simple staples as everyone would probably end up scarfing down their food in favor of getting things ready before the campers were destined to arrive the next day. According to the list, eggs were to be either scrambled or placed in breakfast sandwiches, a minimum of fifty pancakes were to be made, and a smaller portion of breakfast tacos were to be made up, wrapped, and pinned with toothpicks before the arrival of the first counselors.

“I didn’t realize just how much food was being eaten every day,” Carrie claimed. 

“Yeah, well, now that you realize it,” Royce began as he began cracking eggs into a metal bowl, “do you think you could get started on making something? I can handle the scrambled eggs for the tacos and everything if you want to start on something else.”

Carrie nodded wordlessly, taking an extra bowl from the set Royce had pulled from the cupboards and looking over the supplies before picking up a box of pancake mix. “‘Just add water’ pancakes? How is that supposed to make it taste good?”

Looking up from the eggs he had been whisking, Royce gave Carrie a disbelieving stare, “You weren’t complaining when you ate them yesterday.”

“Yesterday, they had blueberries in them,” Carrie retorted.

“Then add blueberries or chocolate chips or whatever you want,” Royce shrugged, turning back to his eggs as he brought them over to the griddle to cook them. “Just don’t go overboard; it’s supposed to be quick and easy so that we have it done by the time everyone gets here.”

Carrie nodded to herself as Royce turned his back on her, grabbing a measuring cup from the counter and tearing the bag of pancake mix open. Dumping the bag into the bowl, Carrie grabbed another and crossed over to the sink, pouring cup after cup of water into the bowl until she had enough to mix into the pancake powder. Carrying the bowl over to the counter, Carrie took her time pouring the water into the powder-filled bowl, but just as she was grabbing a whisk to mix everything with, the kitchen door swung open, and a head of golden brown hair entered the room. 

Royce turned to see who had come to visit them, yet quickly got back to work as he spotted Noah’s usual smirk. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Isn’t this usual when you go out to swim?”

“Normally, yeah,” Noah agreed, observing Royce’s handiwork as he entered the room, “but Viv asked me to come and check on you guys while she’s at a short meeting with her grandparents this morning. She said you guys don’t always get along.”

“We don’t,” Carrie agreed as she stepped up to the griddle next to Royce’s and began pouring out the first of many pancakes, “but we know when to set that aside for the greater good.”

“Well, that’s good,” Noah chuckled. “I was worried I would have to start breaking up a fight or something.”

“Nope,” Royce said, trying desperately to focus on not scorching the eggs before him.

Noah hummed, watching the pair work in silence for a while, “You know, she always talks about you guys when we’re together.”

“She does?” Royce asked.

“Yeah,” Noah agreed. “She’s got some weird-ass nicknames for all of you, though. I mean, who calls someone named Bentley, Beemer? It’s not even the nickname for the Bentley car company. It’s for BMW.”

Taking in a slow breath, Royce fought to keep himself calm as he clenched his teeth and replied, “At the time, she couldn’t remember which company it was, but Bentley liked it, so we went with it.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Noah sighed. Giving a chuckle, he continued, “I think some of her nicknames are funny, though.”

Carrie leaned forward so she could see Noah as she smiled patiently and claimed, “I do too, but they’re individually hers, and she’s almost always sincere when she uses them.”

Royce peered over at Carrie, finding the blonde’s smile to be welcoming despite her eyes portraying her desire to get Noah out of the kitchen so that they could work in peace. As Royce turned back to his eggs, he found himself smiling at the thought of Carrie kicking Noah out through the swinging doors using some moves she’d had to learn for the spy show she was in recently. Shaking the thought from his head, he chuckled, “Even when Viv calls Riven an ass, she’s got some kind of fondness to it.”

“Yeah, I heard that the other day,” Noah snorted. After a moment, he claimed, “I’ve heard most of her nicknames when we’re with other people, but I have a few I can’t see the reasoning for.”

“Like what?” Carrie asked.

Noah didn’t hesitate as he asked, “Why does she call your older brother ‘Miley’?”

“What?” Royce pressed, pausing in his scrambling of the eggs.

“Just yesterday, while we were hanging out with him on the basketball court, she called him Miley and started teasing him about losing the ball to her,” Noah recalled. “I thought it was kind of stupid. I mean, who calls a boy by a girl’s name?”

Royce could feel the urge to tackle the teenager through the swinging doors rising with every breath he took, but before he had the chance to verbally demolish Noah for his lack of tact regarding Miles’ nickname, Carrie spoke up, “Actually, it’s a family nickname. His brothers have called him that since they were little and, naturally, Vivien picked up on it after a while.”

Either Noah didn’t pick up on the glare from Royce that would have driven him six feet under or he simply ignored it as he smiled and claimed, “That makes sense.” After a while of silence, he asked, “Is there anything you guys need help with?”

“No,” Royce stated firmly, ready to get the older boy out of the room before he did something that would result in him ending up behind bars.

Carrie plastered a smile on her face as she leaned forward and said, “If you want, you could restock the staple foods in the mess hall. Other than that, we’re all set.”

Noah nodded, giving a final departing statement before exiting the kitchen to grab things from the pantry to put out for the morning meal. As soon as he was sure that Noah was gone, Royce let out a sigh and let his head hang for a moment as he breathed in a breath of relief. Wanting to help the brunet by her side although she was unsure of how he would react to it, Carrie placed a hand on his back and rubbed a small circle between his shoulder blades before returning to the pancakes before her, adding some to the plates she had set aside. Once Royce had calmed himself a bit, he hurriedly scooped the eggs he’s been cooking into a heated plate that would keep them warm until the rest of the workers arrived.

As silence fell over the room, Carrie found herself glancing at the younger boy more often to check up on him, but as they finished their respective foods and worked on slicing open packages of sausage and bacon, Carrie asked, “I do have to ask, why do you call Miles that?”

Royce looked up at the blonde, finding himself giving her a small smile as he replied, “It was something our mom called him. If I remember correctly, it started as ‘Smiley Miley’ before fading into just Miley. Most of the time, Bentley and I call him that in order to either get out of trouble or let him know we’re hurting without outright saying it. Sometimes, though, it’s just to feel closer to our mom.”

Carrie smiled thoughtfully, distantly wondering what their mom was like. Maybe, in some not-so-distant world, she had already met the woman the Murphy boys loved so much. Maybe Miles had introduced them early in their relationship and the two got along like mother and daughter. Carrie wondered just how many things would be different in a world where the brothers never lost their mother. Shaking the thought from her head, Carrie turned to Royce and asked, “Now he lets Vivien call him that too, huh?”

Royce nodded as a beaming smile flooded his face, “She doesn’t do it often at all, but I guess she does it more to tease him than anything. He doesn’t seem to mind it, though, as it’s only happened a few times.”

Carrie glanced toward the door as she heard something being torn open on the other side. Noah was still working on filling the tray of other foods, it seemed. Turning back to Royce, she asked, “It bothers you when someone from outside of your family calls him that, though, doesn’t it?”

“Usually, yeah,” Royce confirmed. “Viv is an exception since she’s known him for a while.”

“Of course,” Carrie chuckled. “It only makes sense that, since he sees her as his family just as much as you and Bentley are, he would allow her to call him such a personal nickname.”

Almost surprised with the blonde’s easy acceptance of his statement, Royce grinned and nodded as he continued cutting open bacon pouches and setting them on a plate to bring to the griddle. After the meat was fully cooked and ready to go, the two settled into a rhythm as they worked on making breakfast for everyone. Once Royce was done filling a tortilla with eggs and a few strips of bacon, Carrie would add sausage and sprinkled cheese before wrapping them up and setting them aside.

As she took another wrap from Royce, Carrie said, “I know it probably won’t mean much to you, but I’m proud of you for not letting things with Noah get to you.”

Royce snickered, “It took everything in me not to jump across the counter; somehow, I don’t think I handled that all too well.”

Carrie shook her head with a smile, “I meant with him spending so much time with Vivien these last few days. It feels like he’s been up her ass this last week, and you’ve handled it with ease and grace.”

“I did?” Royce questioned. 

“Regardless of whether or not you felt like you were, I think you were,” Carrie stated. “Most boys, especially in their teens and early twenties, are insecure in their relationships and get jealous easily, but you seemed so confident in your relationship with Viv that I never once thought I would have to get Miles to step in.”

As Royce slid two strips of bacon into the tortilla and handed it to Carrie, he sighed, “At first, I was only acting like I was alright with it, but after talking with Riven, Mick, and Butchy about things, I think I felt better about it all.

“Regardless of whether or not you were merely acting,” Carrie began, placing a hand on Royce’s arm with a smile, “I know it wasn’t easy, and I congratulate you for being so mature. It was very impressive.”

Finding nothing but sincerity in the blonde’s oceanic eyes, Royce allowed himself to smile as he muttered, “Thanks, Carrie.”

The two continued on with their task only a few minutes more, their hands stilling as the doors to the kitchen swung open and an out-of-breath Vivien entered, rambling about the meeting she’d been in as she threw an apron on. However, as she turned around and saw Carrie and Royce working together in a mostly-clean kitchen, no angrily thrown pans wedged in the walls or knives held to the other’s throat, the brunette stalled, her brain short-circuiting at the scene before her. 

Looking around as though she was anticipating someone to jump out of a cabinet with a camera, telling her she was being pranked, Vivien asked, “Did I just enter the Twilight Zone or something?” Royce watched his girlfriend for a moment before turning to Carrie with an amused grin. As the pair locked eyes, they burst into laughter, only furthering Vivien’s confusion about the situation. With wide eyes, Vivien watched the two laugh as though her reaction had been totally out of pocket and softly muttered to herself, “Yeah, I definitely entered the Twilight Zone.”

[dexlexia]

atomic gold - a vashwood fan fic

chapter 1/3: atomic pairing: vashwood (vash x nicholas) rating: 18+ summary: Nicholas swore this was the last fight, but it was never the case. He always ended up in the projector room in the east wing of the university’s main building being patched up by Vash. Vash was a good guy, a little goofy at times. And had a habit of causing more trouble than helping, but he and Nicholas were rather close since they both became the only two members of the dying film club.  tags: college au, internalized homophobia, smut, nicholas is bad at feelings, film club au, minor violence, mentions of blood, trans!vash, needle mentions, jealousy, background relationships, catholicism, slow burn, eventual smut, reference to abuse, controlling knives a/n: this fic will be updated on June 11th (today), June 18th & June 25th. read it on ao3 !

Nicholas swore this was the last fight, but it was never the case. He always ended up in the projector room in the east wing of the university’s main building being patched up by Vash.

Vash was a good guy, a little goofy at times. And had a habit of causing more trouble than helping, but he and Nicholas were rather close since they both became the only two members of the dying film club. 

  “Aw c’mon big guy.” Vash said, “It doesn’t hurt that bad.” He dabbed a cotton ball covered in disinfectant onto Nicholas’ eyebrow, there was a small gash there from where he got punched. 

Nicholas hissed through his teeth and gripped the torn knees of his jeans. He was fighting a few guys from the athletics department. They kept coming to the projector room and bothering Vash. They wanted him to play their shitty movies on the big screen of the auditorium, and Nicholas had enough and beat up most of them before they went scurrying. 

  “Don’t be such a big baby.” Vash chuckled. 

  "I'm not being a huge baby." Nicholas responded as he relaxed his grip on his jeans and threw his arm over the back of the cramped couch. His legs kicked up on the falling apart table they took from the garbage of another club on campus. The local university was known as the "rumble"  or the "badlands' ', it was a desert that surrounded this college town.  It was also known from the amount of delinquents that would visit the campus from neighboring small towns and cause problems. 

Nicholas has lived in the university town his whole life, there was an orphanage and church where he grew up. So he had never strayed too far away from home. If he wanted the walk, he could get from the university to the church.  He closed his eyes as Vash placed a Hello Kitty bandage on top of his bleeding eyebrow. 

  "Is there anything else I should know about?" He started to zip up the bag of medical supplies. making sure that Nicholas was okay. He reached out for a moment and almost patted Nicholas on the knee, but decided against it. Nicholas wasn't big on physical touch, Vash chalked it up to a life of prayer. It's not like being raised by nuns and priests was known to be a hugging and kissing kind of upbringing. 

  "Everything else is fine, I promise I'm alright." Nicholas' dark eyes met Vash's.

  "You know I worry, you're like my best friend here.  Who else is going to watch  Children of the Plants or Forsaken God with me?" Vash pulled two of the DVDs out from the cramped  shelf that lined the far wall of the room. Stuffed with almost every DVD one could think of., "You know, I might have a hook up at the library who says that they're getting some archival footage, I might be able to get it for free." 

  "Is it from that Millie girl?" Nicholas asked. 

  "Not this time, it's another girl from the library." 

  "Which one is that?  Amelia Anne?  Or that other really tall girl Patricia." Nicholas asked as he leaned over to his bag and took out some nicotine gum and started chewing. He always wanted a smoke after a good fight,  but Vash barred all smoking from the projection room.  He said it ruined the forms of film they kept in the room. 

  "Patricia doesn't even go here anymore.  I think she works with her family a few states over. Her name is Meryl, she seems keen on preserving the film and having it readily available for students.  I'm wondering if I should invite the two of them to the club, it would be good to have more members on the list." 

Nicholas frowned, "We don't need anymore members." 

Vash pouted, "C'mon, Nicholas. It's only us, what's going to happen when we graduate? We need more members so the club can go after next year." He really was like a puppy dog,  those big blue eyes that looked to the other man. 

Nicholas sighed, "I'll think about it. This room is cramped with just the two of us, we don't need more bodies in this hot ass room." He rested his temple on his knuckle and looked at the blonde, "I don't want a repeat of what happened when you tried to join the group." 

Vash grimaced, "Knives isn't that bad, he just worries."

Their eyes met, without words Vash knew what Nicholas was thinking. He hated Knives with a passion. There was something about that science major, member of the student union, asshole that Nicholas couldn't stand. But Vash cared for his brother, it was the only family he had left, and Nicholas could empathize with the feeling of not having much family to turn to. 

Nicholas just wished that Vash could admit that his brother had faults. 

Vash's phone rang and he reached for it on the table. He saw it was a message from his brother and got up, "Well I have to head out now, Knives is here. I'll see you Thursday okay? Remember to lock the door on the way out." He grabbed his bag and waved over his shoulder as he exited the room. 

Nicholas sunk into his seat a little more.  He groaned and ran fingers through his dark hair.  He felt like a mess,  anytime Vash was around, Nicholas couldn't think of much else besides the blonde himself. He had to tell him to stop touching him so he could get a semblance of control over himself.  Nicholas didn't know what to call these feelings, they were a jumbled mess of wires that sat in his chest. Most not connected to any rational thought. 

Vash was a humanoid typhoon, he left as quickly as he came rolling in. He was a disaster and Nicholas wanted him so badly. But there was something deep inside of Nicholas that scoffed at these feelings. They were almost disgusting in nature.  These feelings could only be akin to lust, because being gay in Nicholas' eyes was being someone who could never be loved. Love was reserved for God's creations, not a sinner like Nicholas. 

He spat the gum out into the wastebin and got up.  He put the DVDs that Vash took out back and left the room.  This felt like something that Nicholas needed to pray about. 

-

Nicholas didn't see Vash on Wednesday, but he did see Knives putting up posters for a talk with one of the professors from another university within the state. The two locked eyes, as Nicholas passed by.  Knives gave a small nod of acknowledgment while Nicholas gave him a partial wave. 

The dark haired man ran his tongue across his molars as he passed in an effort to keep it civil.  When his back was turned to the blonde, he heard him say, "Nice cut you got there."  And Nicholas looked over his shoulder. 

  "Yeah, your brother fixed me up." 

Knives shrugged,  "Vash always loved fixing broken things." Then the sound of tape being peeled filled the space between them. It was like nothing was  around them, even though the reality was that there were multiple students trying to get around them. 

  "Yeah, I guess." 

  "Heads up, by the way. A little birdie told me they're cracking down on fights. I'd hate to see you go before you could graduate, Wolfwood."

  "Isn't that sweet."

  "Yeah, so keep Vash out of your little brawls. I'd hate for us to have problems."  Knives then flashed the smile that got him elected in the first place. before he tore the strip of tape with his teeth and went back to putting up posters. 

Nicholas sighed and continued walking. He bit the inside of his mouth to keep himself from mouthing off to the vice president of the student union. That's the last thing he needed on his rep sheet right now, he was already down there with the delinquents that enjoyed a good fight. Classes went by in a blur, his main focus was on history but.dabbled in other classes for electives. He knew people looked at him when he sat in the front of the lecture hall, especially when they saw the dried gash in his eyebrow. 

A good Catholic boy who loved a good fight. And protecting the hyperactive stringbean he called a club partner. 

Classes weren't so bad at the university, the rooms were often un-airconditioned which left Nichola unbuttoning the first few buttons of his crisp shirt.  During one lecture this afternoon, he saw a meek girl a few seats down with large bottle glasses getting a small peek of his chest, especially the curly hairs that laid there. 

Nicholas chuckled briefly into his fist. He should be attracted to girls like that, the kind that were sweet and smart. But the vibration of his phone in his pocket had the dark haired man at the beck and call to the chaos that was Vash. 

He briefly looked at his phone, what he saw in the text were pictures of cats drawn as different tarot cards and Vash captioned it with "This is how I want my cards to be read., lol." 

Vash texted him through most of the day as he usually did. The blonde didn't have many friends, he was friendly with the workers at the library but he wasn't going out every night. It wasn't like Knives would let him anyway. Nicholas' head was in his phone, going through the memes that Vash found when he heard his name. 

  "Wolfwood!" A gruff voice got him out of his trance. 

Well, if it wasn't the idiots from the athletic department.  Nicholas put his bag down, "I don't have all day. I got places to be." His bag hit the floor with a 'thump'.  He rolled up his sleeves. 

One of the members stepped forward and Nicholas did the same, even though his eyebrow still stung from being hit the day before.  He grit his teeth and pulled back his arm. Before he could punch forward, someone cleared their throat from the top of the staircase.  The men looked over and saw a young woman with black hair and gray-lilac eyes. 

  "Excuse me." She said with her arms crossed, "If you're going to fight, take it outside."

  "Meryl what are you- oh hi Nicholas." A taller woman came down the stairs and stopped where the other one was. Nicholas knew her as Millie, she often "rented" movies from the club. She worked at the library and was taller than most of the guys on campus.

  "Hey Millie." Nicholas dropped his arm and looked at her. And the second of looking away, the dark haired man's vision went dark and a sharp pain shot through his temple. 

-

When Nicholas woke up he was in the infirmary. He was laid out on a cot with a cold press against the side of his head.  There were three people sitting  at the other end of the room,  Nicholas couldn't make them out until he blinked himself awake. Millie, that Meryl girl and Vash were there.  The women were sitting on the uncomfortable chairs and Vash was propped up against the wall, his long legs crossed. 

Nicholas groaned as he tried to sit up but the sharp pain kept him down. He exhaled deeply and kept his right eye shut as it hurt to even keep it open. The noises he made attracted the attention of the others in the room. Vash was the first to be at Nicholas' side. 

   "Hey buddy."  He said, "Nasty bruise you got there." 

  "Why are you here, you have today off." 

  "Ah well, I got a text from Millie that you got knocked out so I had to come as fast as possible.  You missed your three o'clock class though. "

  "It's fine." Nicholas sighed,  "It's just critical thinking about poetry." 

Meryl stifled a laugh and Nicholas shot her a look with his good eye.  She said, "Sorry, sorry. I just never pictured you as a poetry guy is all. Everything I've heard from you has been about fighting or movies." 

Nicholas frowned as he turned back to Vash.  Oh how he wanted to reach out and touch the man above him. How he wanted to run his fingers through that undercut. But instead the throb in his head kept him from doing much else besides staring. He asked, "How long do I have to stay here?"

  "Just until the nurse checks up on you. Then we can go." Vash smiled, "Do you want to come over tonight, Knives is out for the evening?"

  "I don't want to be a bother." 

  "Don't worry about it,  I'd feel better knowing you were safe. Just in case you had a concussion, that's all.  C'mon Wolfwood." 

Nicholas exhaled, "Fine, if it makes you feel better I'll do it." He slowly sat up and could see the hesitation that Vash had to help him sit up. His hands ghosted his body just in case he  fell back down on the thin pillow.  He sort of regretted telling Vash to not touch him. 

Millie went to go get the nurse, Nicholas was checked out. It was suggested he wore sunglasses until the bruising around his eye healed. It would be sensitive to light for a few weeks. Thankfully it wasn't something worth going to the hospital for, but the nurse told him that if his condition gets worse to go to the ER as soon as possible.

  "It's good you have a friend like Vash." Said the nurse, "Those brothers are always there to lend a helping hand." 

Nicholas nodded, "Uh, yeah." He wouldn't consider Knives to be nice. Millie helped him back to his feet and he took the ice pack with him. The cool ice felt nice against his bruised skin.  It was dark by the time they left the nurse's office.  He could still feel Vash's hand ghosting his back for support.  He turned to the blonde, "If you want to drag me home, feel free."

Vash gave a reassuring smile, "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

  "I'm going to be feeling discomfort for a few weeks." Nicholas responded. 

They crossed campus together, Vash carried Nicholas' bag  that he had dropped prior to getting hit. They eventually got to the rows of townhouses that made up part of the residence. Vash and Knives lived together in the corner near the back of the lot. The light from the streetlamp made Nicholas' sore eye throb. 

  "A little bright isn't it." Vash remarked,  "Don't worry I'll protect you!"  And took off the orange glasses he always wore and put them over Nicholas' eyes, "Won't be perfect, but I think I have a pair at home." He flashed a beaming smile. 

Nicholas smiled at the blonde, "Thanks, Vash. I owe you one."

The townhouse was dark when they entered, it wasn't as modern as the apartments at the other end of the campus but it made do. It had a better heating and cooling system compared to the university buildings themselves.  Vash put Nicholas' bag down, "Do you want me to go to your dorm and pick up some things. Or do you want to wear my clothes tomorrow." 

  "Hate to break it to you, blondie. I'll stretch out all your clothes. I have bigger tits than you do." Nicholas laughed. 

  "Well of course you do, I got mine removed six months ago." Vash replied, he then held out his hand, "Keys, and the code is still 2455?" 

  "Always." Nicholas handed over his keys, "Just grab whatever, a clean pair of boxers would be nice too." He smiled as Vash turned away from him to go to the residence apartments where Nicholas lived.  The dark haired man closed the door, took off his shoes and turned on some lights before he  headed to the  living room.  He placed Vash's glasses on the coffee table. 

The brothers got lucky with this townhouse,  it only had two bedrooms in the entire place. Usually they had four to six, but the brothers had their own rooms. Usually when Nicholas slept over he usually crashed on the overused leather couch.  Vash usually dumped a bunch of pillows and blankets on top of him to help him get comfortable. 

He took off his jacket  and dropped onto the couch then draped his coat over the arm of where he sat. He unbuttoned more of his shirt and relaxed.  He gingerly touched the bruise around his right eye.  The pain could be felt in his teeth. It was so bad. He knew he'd have to take a look at it in the morning. 

He stared up at the ceiling, applying the melting ice ever so often until he walked to the fridge and found the star shaped ice cubes that Vash kept in the freezer. He wrapped up a few pieces in some paper towels and threw out the old ice. His ass once more found the couch and he remained quiet in the townhouse until Vash returned.  The door opened and Nicholas looked down the hall to see Vash with a plastic bag full of Nicholas' stuff. 

  "Hey!" Vash chirped, "I got some extra clothes, tomorrow's going to be a scorcher so I got you some shorts. Your roommate was gone so it wasn't a hassle to get everything. Your toothbrush is the orange one right?"

  "You know me too well, blondie." Nicholas chuckled.

  "Anything for you, Nicky." 

Nicholas rolled his good eye, "I told you to never call me that." 

Vash stuck his tongue out playfully, "Well I told you to never call me blondie."  Then dropped the bag on the coffee table beside his glasses.  He put his hands on his hips, "We should probably get comfortable." Then turned to head upstairs to the bedrooms. 

Vash's was on the right while Knives' was on the left. They were separated by a short hallway and the bathroom they shared.  As the two men climbed the stairs, Nicholas asked Vash where his brother went. "Oh you know, he's taking the astronomy class this semester so class runs late. Then he said he had something to do for the student union so he wasn't coming home tonight." 

  "Maybe he finally got a girlfriend." 

Vash laughed, "Oh, I'd know if he had a girlfriend.  Knives don't keep secrets from me." He opened the door to his bedroom. The two men got undressed in the spacious room. Nicholas always tensed up with how casual Vash was to show off his body. 

Nicholas knew the act of changing wasn't sexual. He didn't really see anything aside from the thick scar lines. Most jagged and cut in weird places. Nicholas didn't know much about Vash's childhood, but he knew it wasn't easy.  He knew his mother died, he and his brother were shipped around the country in foster care, and some of those homes were ideal. And then Vash lost his arm at sixteen in an accident. 

The only scars that had any precision to them were what Vash called the "anchor" scars from his top surgery.  Vash admitted those were the only scars that didn't carry hurt, but rather euphoria. 

  "Why do you always change in front of me, but you've told me you were scared of showing girls your body." Nicholas asked as he tugged on the t-shirt Vash brought him. He kept his eyes on the blonde's back as he stepped into his shorts. 

Vash chuckled to himself, "You don't find it all gross, Nicholas. You don't look at it all and find me disgusting. " He looked at the prosthetic arm he had, "You make me feel like a real man." 

Nicholas wanted to hug Vash in that moment, feel the blonde's back against his chest. But he restrained himself, instead clenching his fists and quickly loosening the grip. "Well, you're more of a man than I'll ever be.  Anyone who tells you otherwise is going to hear from me." 

Vash smiled as he turned around, still shirtless.  "Yeah well, I have the advantage of the top surgery scars blending into all the other ones." He put his hands on his hips and put on his best smile. That's what he always did when he was vulnerable to Nicholas, he'd laugh it off and move on. It pained Nicholas to see him do that. 

The men got dressed and Vash suggested they put on a movie while they made dinner. He explained that he was cooking up something for him and his brother before he got the text to come to the nurse's office. "I mean the ground beef was going to go bad soon, so I had to cook it tonight."

  "What were you doing with it?" 

  "Making me infamous cheeseburger pasta." Vash beamed.

  "Didn't you get the recipe from the internet like the second week living on campus?" 

  "Yes, but it doesn't call for chili powder,  so therefore it makes it my special recipe. "

Nicholas chuckled, "Whatever you say, I could go for anything right now." The two began to restart dinner. Thankfully Vash had only prepped most of the items.  Vash cooked the beef while Nicholas watched the noodles. It was almost domestic. Something that Nicholas craved. It made his heart yearn. 

Is this really something he could have? Was he allowed to be this domestic? He was taught that most gay love came from the sin of lust. But Nicholas didn't want to jump Vash's bones, he wanted to do this. He wanted to share meals, watch films. Was that still the sin of lust? In his anxious state, Nicholas tugged on the cross he wore around his neck. He couldn't  seek guidance tonight, he'd have to sit in his worry of sin.

But as he watched Vash chatter away with him, pushing the meat around the old skillet.  He laughed at his own jokes, he however noticed that Nicholas was lost in thought. He waved his hand in front of the other man's face, "Are you okay there, Nicholas? Do you want me to take over?"

  "No, no. I'm fine, just thinking about something." 

  "Oooh, what is it? Something important?" Vash tilted his head to the side briefly. 

Nicholas shrugged, "I promise I'm not thinking about anything special right now." Then he grabbed a serving spoon from the drawer to check if the noodles were done. It wasn't that important, even if the emotion was strangling him. Nothing that Vash needed to worry his blonde head about. 

-

The pair finished dinner.  And ended up on the couch,  Vash yawned as he grabbed one of the crochet blankets he made in second year over his lap. "How are you feeling?" He asked.

  "Good, good." 

Vash ran his hand through his blonde hair before dropping it down on the couch, his prosthetic fingers so close to Nicholas' own. The dark haired man swallowed and kept his composure.  He buried those feelings deep, he wasn't going to throw caution to the wind and fuck up the foundation of their friendship. 

Nicholas knew that Vash was bisexual and transgender. He said what was the point of picking one. Nicholas never told him that he was gay, resorting to just smiling at the blonde's freedom to express his gender and sexuality. To Vash, Nicholas was just a very good ally.  Afterall he was one of the people to take care of Vash when he took a semester off to recover from top surgery since Knives was often busy with his own affairs.  But no matter how strong Nicholas' resolve was, he reached out a pinky finger and brushed it alongside Vash's own. 

He wondered if the blonde could feel it, he never asked for the schematics of Vash's prosthetic. He thought it was a little too invasive, it was honestly none of his business and knew it would strike a nerve if asked poorly.  So he rubbed his pinky against his and prayed to God that Vash couldn't feel anything. But quickly pulled his hand away when Vash coughed into his other elbow. 

Stupid, stupid, sinful. Was all that Nicholas thought. 

  "Hey Nicholas?" Vash asked. 

  "Uh yeah?" He responded

  "I know your face is all busted in, but can you do me a favor?"

Nicholas nodded. The pair ended up in the bathroom upstairs.  Vash took off his sweatpants, and sat on top of the toilet lid and lined up his supplies. The packaged needle and the bottle of testosterone. Vash had the option to take the gel but there was a familiarity to take the needle. But sometimes he needed a little help getting the job done.  He took the needle out, got the testosterone into it at the right dose and held it out for Nicholas to administer it. 

  "Got the Band-Aid?" Nicholas asked.

Vash held out the heart shaped bandages that he bought especially for the testosterone shots, "peace and love, baby!"

Nicholas smiled, even though the swelling in his face made it hurt.  He reached out and held Vash's thigh and slowly inserted the needle into the top of Vash's thigh. "1, 2, 3. There. Relax. Tensing it up will make it hurt later." 

  "Okay, okay." Vash turned his head to not look at the needle in his skin. He felt the prick and before he knew it, Nicholas was finished. He felt the bandage be taken from his hand and stuck on his thigh. Vash turned back to look at Nicholas on his knees in front of him. The blonde then smacked his thigh to "help" the testerone get into his bloodstream.

  "Does that help?"

Vash shrugged, "Maybe, no idea. "

Nicholas got up slowly, "I'm glad I could help you. I think you can help me get some more ice for this bruise."  He pointed to his eye that was swelling up a little bit. 

The blonde got up and pulled his sweatpants back up, tightening the waistband around his waist.  "Of course! Anything for my Nicky." He slapped Nicholas on the shoulder and exited the bathroom. 

Nicholas caught himself in the mirror as he passed by to exit the bathroom. His eye looked like a mess, the bruise was a deep red on the verge of purple. At least his face wasn't broken.  It was just a nasty bruise for the next month or so. He stretched his arms above his head, his shirt rolled up to show a bit of his happy trail. He then exited the bathroom. 

The two eventually put on a movie, and Nicholas felt the best he had felt in the last few days. He felt almost a peace surrounded by Vash's warmth. He was like the golden rays  of the afternoon light.  Vash handed him another paper towel full of ice and carefully patted it onto Nicholas' skin. 

  "Is it okay?" He asked.

  "Yeah, I don't mind." He exhaled through his nose, "Thank you." 

Vash  continued to press the ice on the other's face, "You better sleep on your other side tonight. Why don't you take my room?" 

  "I couldn't, I'll be fine on the couch." 

  "No, no. You need a nice place to sleep, where I can keep an eye on you. I don't want you dying in your sleep." Vash frowned at him, "I'm not explaining to the  cops why there's a dead man in my house." 

  "I promise I'll be fine."

  "No, no. How about this, we both share the bed. Dudes do that right?" Vash cocked his head to the side. 

  "I promise you they do not." Nicholas replied, the idea of sharing a bed with Vash made his heart race.  The bed wasn't big enough to fit two people but not huge. He would survive on the couch.

  "No way! Well tonight we're making an exception. I need to keep an eye on you in case your condition gets worse. That's what the nurse said to me, so I must follow by it! Who cares what regular dudes do anyway, desperate times call for desperate measures!" Vash puffed out his chest and put his hands on his hips.

Nicholas couldn't help but laugh. "Whatever you say, Vash." He shook his head, "Why don't you pull something from that DVD collection of yours and let's watch something." He watched the blonde perk up and go get something from his prized DVD collection. Nicholas held the ice to his head and watched him pick something out. His heart hammered in his chest.  Times like these made Nicholas question his loyalty to his faith. That there was something more to be devoted to.

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 7.16

Holidays

Accountant and Auditor Day (Ukraine)

Artificial Intelligence Appreciation Day

Assata Shakur Day

Atomic Bomb Day

Catcher in the Rye Day

Closet Space Appreciation Day

DC Day

Dixie Cup Day

Elderly Women Day (Kiribati)

Engineer’s Day (Honduras)

Festival of Convivial Tools

Fiesta de La Tirana (Tarapacá Region, Chile)

Guinea Pig Appreciation Day

Harela (Uttarakhand, India)

Holocaust Memorial Day (France)

International Disability Awareness Day

International Drag Day

International Juggling Day

Islamic Calendar Day

Lady of Carmen Day (Chile)

La Paz Day (Bolivia)

National Atomic Veterans Day

National Change Your Font Day

National D.R.E.S.S. Syndrome Day

National Emily Day

National Geordie Day (UK)

National Jerry Day

National Peace Day (Dia de la Paz; Bolivia)

National Stick Shift Day

National Take the Stairs Day

National Wedding Invitation Day

No Kissing Day

Order of the Arrow Day (BSA)

Parking Meter Day

Parks Day (Canada)

Reading Together Day (UK)

Rural Transit Day

716 Day

Talk to a Telemarketer Day

Tare Day (French Republic)

Trinity Test Day

Urs Shah-I-Hamdan Sahib (Kashmir, India)

Val d’hie Roundup Anniversary Day

World PR Day

World Snake Day

World Wizkid Day (Nigeria)

Food & Drink Celebrations

Fresh Spinach Day

Hot Coal Chicken Day (Peru)

Hot Dog Night

Ice Cream Cone Day

National Cherry Day (UK)

National Corn Fritter Day

National Funnel Cake Day

National Personal Chef Day [also 2.26]

Independence & Related Days

Custosia (Declared; 2017) [unrecognized]

La Paz Day (Bolivia)

Manu’s Cession Day (American Samoa)

Ozamiz City Charter Day (Philippines)

3rd Tuesday in July

National Children’s Book Day (Philippines) [3rd Tuesday]

Taco Tuesday [Every Tuesday]

Weekly Holidays beginning July 16 (3rd Week of July)

Prime Days (Amazon) [thru 7.17]

Festivals Beginning July 16, 2024

Beanpole Days (Pequot Lakes, Minnesota) [thru 7.17]

Fiesta Topeka (Topeka, Kansas) [thru 7.20]

Les Escales du Cargo (Arles, France) [thru 7.21]

Feast Days

Andrea del Sarto (Artology)

Asalha Puja Day (Buddhist Lent begins)

Athenogenes (Christian; Martyr)

Bobby Henderson Day (Pastafarian; Saint)

Charles Sheeler (Artology)

Day of Erzulie Dantor (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Dr. Doom Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Display of the Embarrassing Swimsuits (Church of the SubGenius)

Elembiuos (a.k.a. Clam-time; Celtic Book of Days)

Eustathius of Antioch (Christian; Saint)

Feast of the Commemoration of Our Lady of Mount Carmel (Carmelite Order; Christian)

First Sermon of Lord Buddha (Bhutan)

Flight of Muhammad (the Hegira; 622)

Fulrad (Christian; Saint)

Gergetoba (Day of Spiritual Love; Georgia)

Gondulphus of Tongeren (Christian; Saint)

Great Schism Anniversary Day (1054)

Harela (Day of Green; Hinduism)

Hejira (First Day of Islamic Calendar; 622) [original date]

Helier (a.k.a. Elier; Christian; Saint)

Immolation Day (Ancient Greece)

Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot (Artology)

Joshua Reynolds (Artology)

Mary Magdalen Postel (Christian; Saint & Virgin)

Our Lady of Mount Carmel (Christian)

Petal-Hopping for Non-Starters (Shamanism)

Phoebe Cates Day (Humanism)

Reineldis (Christian; Saint & Virgin)

Robert Sheckley (Writerism)

Rotary Doozer (Muppetism)

Saut d’Eau Waterfall Pilgrimage (Voodoo; Haiti; Everyday Wicca)

Skip This Day Day (Pastafarian)

Solstitium XI (Pagan)

Tony Kushner (Writerism)

The Troubadours (Positivist; Saint)

Vardavar (Pagan Prank Day; Armenia) [14 Weeks after Easter]

Zoot (Muppetism)

Islamic Lunar Holidays

Ashura (Islamic) [Begins at Sundown; Muharram 9-10] (a.k.a. ... 

Achoura (Algeria)

Ashorra (Parts of India)

Ashoura (Lebanon)

Ashura Holiday (Afghanistan, Bahrain, Iraq, Pakistan, Somalia)

Muharram (Parts of India)

Remembrance of Muharram

Tamkharit (Senegal)

Tamxarit (Gambia)

Tasoua Hosseini (Iran)

Tasu’a

Yaum-e-Ashur (Pakistan)

Yawmul Ashura (Gambia)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Butsumetsu (仏滅 Japan) [Unlucky all day.]

Prime Number Day: 197 [45 of 72]

Premieres

Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, by Diana Ross (Song; 1970)

Alice’s Restaurant Massacree, by Arlo Guthrie (Song; 1976)

Akira (Anime Film; 1988)

Ant-Man (Film; 2015)

Barney Bear and the Uninvited Pest (MGM Cartoon; 1943)

The Big Bite (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1966)

The Blair Witch Project (Film; 1999)

The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger (Novel; 1951)

Die Entführung aus dem Serail (The Abduction from the Seraglio), by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Opera; 1782)

Dragon Around (Disney Cartoon; 1954)

Drop Dead Gorgeous (Film; 1999)

Eyes Wide Shut (Film; 1999)

False Hare (WB LT Cartoon; 1964)

Free Willy (Film; 1993)

From Up on Poppy Hill (Studio Ghibli Animated Film; 2011)

George of the Jungle (Film; 1997)

The Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling (Novel; 2005) [Harry Potter #6]

Happy Birthdaze (Fleischer/Famous Popeye Cartoon; 1943)

Hocus Pocus (Film; 1993)

Inception (Film; 2010)

Indian Serenade (Color Rhapsody Cartoon; 1937)

Lost and Foundry (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1937)

The Moonstone, by Wilkie Collins (Novel; 1868)

Mouse and Garden (WB LT Cartoon; 1960)

The Office Boy (Ub Iwerks Cartoon; 1932)

Once A Day, by Connie Smith (Song; 1964)

Piano Sonata, by Béla Bartók (Piano Sonata; 1927)

Poison Ivy, recorded by The Coasters (Song; 1959)

Pom Poko (Studio Ghibli Animated Film; 1994)

Punch (UK Weekly Satire Magazine; 1842)

Schmigadoon! (TV Series; 2021)

Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll (TV Series; 2015)

Space Jam: A New Legacy (Animated Film; 2021)

Space Race (Video Game; 1973)

Stargate: Atlantis (TV Series; 2004)

The Timid Pup (Color Rhapsody Cartoon; 1940)

Topper (Film; 1937)

What a Lion (MGM Cartoon; 1938)

Today’s Name Days

Carmen, Irmgard, Maria (Austria)

Yulian, Yuliana, Yuliya (Bulgaria)

Elvira, Karmela (Croatia)

Luboš (Czech Republic)

Tychos (Denmark)

Rein, Reinhold, Reino, Reinu, Reinut, Rinaldo, Ronald (Estonia)

Reino, Rene (Finland)

Elvire (France)

Carmen, Irmgard (Germany)

Valter (Hungary)

Maria, Vitaliano (Italy)

Hermīne, Rasulite (Latvia)

Danguolė, Faustas, Vaigaudas (Lithuania)

Sanna, Susanne (Norway)

Andrzej, Benedykt, Dziersław, Dzierżysław, Eustachiusz, Eustachy, Faust, Maria Magdalena, Marika, Ostap, Ruta, Stefan (Poland)

Drahomíra (Slovakia)

Carmen (Spain)

Reine, Reinhold (Sweden)

Ruth, Valentina, Valia (Ukraine)

Carmel, Carmela, Carmelo, Carmen, Shelby, Sherman, Sherwood (USA)

Carma, Carmel, Carmela, Carmelita, Carmella, Camelo, Carmélo, Carmen, Carmencita, Carmi, Carmie, Carmina, Carmine, Karmen, Phoebe (Universal)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 198 of 2024; 170 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 2 of Week 29 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Tinne (Holly) [Day 10 of 28]

Chinese: Month 6 (Xin-Wei), Day 11 (Xin-Si)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 10 Tammuz 5784

Islamic: 9 Muharram 1446

J Cal: 18 Red; Foursday [18 of 30]

Julian: 3 July 2024

Moon: 75%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 1 Dante (8th Month) [The Troubadours]

Runic Half Month: Ur (Primal Strength) [Day 8 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 27 of 94)

Week: 3rd Week of July

Zodiac: Cancer (Day 26 of 31)

Calendar Changes

Dante (Modern Epic Poetry) [Month 8 of 13; Positivist]