starters for dagwoodhq.

@dagwoodstart​​

“every year i’m terrified of the dare portion of the bon fire, and they’re never even that bad.” she rolled her eyes. “i kind of want them to step it up this year, but at the same time i’m terrified to ask for that?” @dagwoodstart​

“sugar … butter … flour…” as cheesy as it sounded for clyde to do, he repeated the those words in his head as he continued to bake in the mess hall, which they let him do on occasion. he wanted to make sure he got the recipies right in his head, for when he teaches the counselors and the little ones about a new recipie he tried before camp started. deep dish blueberry bacon. did it sound appitizing, who knows? but clyde was able to make it absolutely mouthwatering, he hoped anyway. he dipped a spoon into his filling before tasting it. the crust was ready to go into the oven, he was just waiting for the filling. “needs more sugar.” he said to himself as he grabbed for another teaspoon of sugar, just as he heard someone step into the kitchen doors. “hey, just in time.” he said whisking in the sugar, while looking up. “i need somoene to try this for me.” clyde dipped a second spoon into the filling before holding it up for the person to taste. @dagwoodstart​

“you know what I was thinking? this is crazy– so, like, if you could choose, would you rather, like, know the date of your death– the day you’re gonna die, no way to change it, no matter what it is, or know the cause of your death, like a car accident or something, and nearly pee your pants every time you pull up to an intersection?” if it weren’t for the cover of darkness, one might have noticed his red-rimmed eyes and understood immediately where this was coming from, and why they just ran into him returning from the lake so late at night. that is, if the scent lingering on his clothing didn’t already reveal all they needed to know. he sinks into one of the adirondack chairs surrounding dagwood’s main firepit, head cocking to one side in consideration. “don’t answer that,” he says, “because i just thought of something even crazier.” suddenly overcome by a cough, he bends an elbow to block his mouth. “alright,” he says, offering up the weed to share again. “and– i’m being serious. like, i’m so freaking serious right now. i know everyone thinks i’m out of my mind for considering hotdogs sandwiches. but hear me out on this one: is cereal… a soup? and is there any way – at all – that you could get me into the mess hall right this very second to have some?” @dagwoodstart​

cross-legged on a large boulder just off the camp’s main path, shane’s surveying the coworkers that move past her on routes to and from their task assignments. she’s looking for someone. not necessarily anyone in particular; she’ll know who they are when she sees them. when finally she does, she hops to her feet. “you look… handy,” she begins, approaching without hesitation, or any regard for whether or not they have a moment to speak with her, never mind time for the favor she plans to ask. “busy right now?” she pauses a beat, but doesn’t allow them the space to speak. “don’t care, actually. i’ve got a volleyball net that needs assembling. i could do it alone; the problem is that i don’t want to.” her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “are you down to help? compensation will be awarded in the form of my gratitude and an extra sloppy joe tonight at dinner, because it’s just about my least favorite food on this planet.” she wrinkles her nose at the thought of the meal. “my plan was to fill up on the fruit snacks i got stashed in my bunk, but i could also stand to spare a pack or two if it sells you on helping me.” @dagwoodstart​

greene’s meeting was different than noah’s orientation. he’d asked to meet one on one with each individual staff member. it wasn’t about educating them, or making introductions. though he hadn’t said as much, he was sure that it had spread through camp now that this was his way of assessing exactly what each counselor did, and how well they did it. a performance review before the season had even started. he called a “come in” at the knock on the heavy oak door, and gestured to the seat in front of him. the bowl of candy that marcia greene, his mother and the camp director of 28 years, had always had on her desk still sat there, but it was empty. “before we begin, this is an informal meeting. nothing you say is going to be documented, or go into any kind of record. we’re just here to talk about your position. i haven’t gotten a chance to meet many staff yet. can you state your job title and tell me a little bit about what you do here at dagwood?” @dagwoodstart​

THE THING ABOUT the first few days of summer at Dagwood was that Noah rarely got to go over the things he needed to all at once. He had been doing the whole assistant director thing for four years now and had yet to master the art of a seamless orientation. Notoriously, as the week went on Noah’s meetings unraveled into something much more informal and what had started as organized welcomes (with baked goods and everything) became hurried one on ones. He felt better knowing that most of the orientations were formalities at this point, a good chunk of the personnel were returning staff members, but if Marcia Greene had taught him one thing it was that getting sued was … pretty bad. Which, yeah. “Um, okay, glad we got a chance to talk. Just to recap — don’t start any fires, unless they’re campfires and if you ever need to reach out to someone our program coordinator Justin is fucking cool. Ah, my door is always open, if you need to talk or run out of snacks.” Noah trailed off, signing something that needed to be on Greene’s desk yesterday and looking up for the first time in a while. “Also, you’re about to walk in poison ivy. Don’t — do that either.” He smiled. ”Do you want to ask me anything? I have a lot of pamphlets.” Noah shuffled through his binder until he found one going over toxic plants, handing it to the other with a glimmer in his eye. “I’ve, uh, got a feeling you’ll be needing that.” / @dagwoodstart​

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juliet walked quietly through the wood path, her film camera slung around her neck. this was one of her favorite parts of camp - the stillness of the woods and the opportunity for so many things to be caught on camera. she loved moments captured with natural light. juliet was inspired the most through her time at camp dagwood, whether through the people, the fun, or the nature vibe of it all. there was so much more energy to the photos she took whenever she was here. she snapped a photo of the sunlight peeking through the trees and heard some twigs snap behind her, causing her to jump and turn around, pressing a hand against her heart. “holy shit - you scared me,” juliet said, a little frazzled. 

          ‘ has nobody snuck any alchohol into this place yet ??! these fucking kids are already pissing me off… ’

Elliot all but collapses face first — the couch in the staff lounge rank to say the least. ( He’s heard rumors, after all. Of spills, and sex, and vomit – all provided by the counselors of years past. The unmentionable stains suddenly seeming too disgusting to consider. Surely they should’ve tossed this old thing out years ago? ) Though, after the particularly involved afternoon he’s had … he’s in need of a blissfully long nap wherever he first lands. ( And maybe a hit off a joint if the opportunity presents itself. ) He lifts his head momentarily, his gaze bleary. “— Tell me the truth,” He implores, “Do the kids somehow seem – I mean, I don’t know – worse this year…? Or am I just, like, having a bad day?” Eli shakes his head. “Granted, dodgeball might’ve been a bad idea to begin with… but I swear, it’s like they were aiming for my face.”