#betsy i got so excited i whipped my phone out

[vodkacheesefries]

The My Chemical Romance concert was tonight and it was everything I ever wanted. I have more assorted videos, some bad pictures (I need a better phone) but @cantfakethecake I had to get part of this song for you and upload it ASAP.

Also if anyone else was at the Denver show tonight, who was on Gerard's shirt? I couldn't figure it out but I feel like it was right on the tip of my tongue!

[acklesforlife]

Happy Birthday Danneel Ackles!

It’s Danneel Ackles’ birthday, so we thought for our continuing celebration of Supernatural Spring Break week, this was a good time to both wish her a happy birthday and share the rather amusing story of one of our first times meeting her.

There have been a few memorable times since, including the party celebrating ‘Supernatural Day’ in Austin with Mayor Adler, which was just plain fun and an opportunity for some real conversation.

And I’ll be forever touched that Danneel wanted a copy of Family Don’t End With Blood (and how incredulous she was that Jensen actually had a chapter in it!) and that she has read our other books too.

The actual first time we met Danneel was a long time ago – at the after party following the premiere of indie movie Ten Inch Hero, which was at a club in LA back in, I think 2008. We all left the premiere and walked over to the club, invited by director David Mackay – the cast and the audience all together.

We had a lovely little chat with Danneel there about the film, met screenwriter Betsy Morris who’s still a friend today, and asked actor Matt Barr (now of Walker) to watch the rest room door while I in desperation used the men’s room because there was a huge line at the women’s. (He was lovely about it and it makes me laugh now every time I see him as Hoyt).

It was a momentous party, what can I say?  After that, my co-author Kathy and I interviewed David over a three hour brunch in Vancouver for the first book we were working on, and mentioned that we’d love to chat with Danneel  too. To be honest, we didn’t really think that would happen. But a few months later, while we were in LA for the Supernatural convention, we got a call from David.

I’ll let some excerpts from our second book, Fangasm! Supernatural Fangirls, take it from here…

… he let us know that Danneel Harris had actually agreed to an interview too. This prompted some hyperventilating and a rush of euphoria that left us grinning like fools. Jensen Ackles’s girlfriend was going to meet with us? Really? David had given Lynn’s cell phone number to Danneel so that she could call us tomorrow, the same day the boys came back to town. SWEET.

Given the pattern of the weekend so far—great things happening and then going horribly wrong—we should have known what was coming.

[On the Sunday of the convention, while everyone was in a fever pitch of excitement over Jared and Jensen being there] Lynn was obsessively checking her phone. “Noooo!!” she gasped. It was the plaintive moan of a beast in distress.

Kathy assumed that Lynn was passing a gallstone from the sound of it.

“No reception!” Lynn said, wide-eyed.

For Kathy, who hates phones (really, what doesn’t Kathy hate?) this didn’t seem like a big deal. The world really is too connected anyway. An hour out of cell phone reception seemed like a welcome respite, an opportunity just to enjoy the moment.

Lynn wasn’t as philosophical. “What if Danneel calls?”

Kathy honestly didn’t hold out much hope that this would actually happen—a yellow on the threat scale at most—so she wasn’t concerned.

Lynn was taking up her slack by flailing around, banging buttons on her phone as if somehow this would jolt it into action. “How can there be no cell phone reception in LA??”

Lynn had a point. We’re reasonably certain that there is cell phone reception in the Arctic Circle, but there was not a bar to be had in a hotel in LA. LA!! The town where everyone’s people are calling everyone else’s people, where iPhones are accessorized to coordinate with the day’s outfits, where a missed call can ruin a career. Jared and Jensen distracted Lynn for the duration of their time onstage, but as soon as it was over Lynn made a bee line for Jared’s girlfriend, Sandy (the woman sitting in front, wearing a hoodie so no one would recognize her—except Lynn apparently). Lynn wildly explained our dilemma to the stunned and probably scared actress. It was a good thing the Men With No Necks (MWNN) were only being paid to guard “the boys” or Lynn would have been face down on the carpet.

While Lynn was doing this, Kathy was pretending that she did not know Lynn.

Sandy was sympathetic, but didn’t know if she’d even see Danneel. Lynn thanked her for the sympathy and moved on to the next person who might be able to help. She attempted to enlist convention photographer Lizz, to no avail, and finally Creation owner Adam.

“I’ll try Lynn,” he said, sounding slightly exasperated. “But I’m kinda running an entire convention here.”

Thwarted again, Lynn pulled out all the stops. During her Jensen photo op, she stopped everything to explain the situation to Jensen himself.

“Hi, Jensen,” Lynn said, hoping that her voice wasn’t sounding too shaky. “We have an interview set up with Danneel today for the book we’re writing on fandom, and she’s supposed to call us, but I don’t have any reception on my phone, so I’m afraid she won’t be able to.”

The photo-op process screeched to a halt, and the room fell silent. Photo ops, you see, are not a place for conversation. They are highly valued by fans, who pay top dollar for the privilege of standing next to a celebrity, and they are relentlessly organized. The entire experience lasts about twenty seconds, and during that time you’re expected to say hello to the celebrity, smile, perhaps get an arm around your back or lean into said celebrity’s very firm bicep, and then move the hell out of the way and let the next person crowd in for the next picture. The photo ops allow no room for deviation. So when deviation happens, no one is very happy. The photographer wasn’t happy. The other fans weren’t happy. And the MWNN looked ready to move into swift and potentially lethal action.

Not that any of this stopped Lynn. “Can you put us in touch with her?” she continued, oblivious to the threatening stares all around her.

“Oh right, the interview,” Jensen said.

Lynn just nodded, though inside she was stuck on “OMG Jensen knows about our interview and our book, ohmygodohmygod.”

“Maybe she can email you,” Jensen continued. Then the conversation abruptly ended as Lynn was grabbed unceremoniously by the back of the neck and “escorted�� from the photo-op room. Uh oh. She hadn’t experienced that feeling since being a two-year-old caught trying to get away with her baby brother’s coveted teddy bear. Lynn was most definitely in trouble—and even worse, she’d made no progress in getting in touch with Danneel, who didn’t even have our email address!

Lynn, ever the intrepid researcher, was not deterred. She thanked the Man with No Neck for his assistance and got right back in line for her next photo op, the “sandwich” photo (as in sandwiched between Jared and Jensen, which is vaguely dirty and thus very popular). As Lynn walked up, Jensen immediately tried to continue their conversation.

“So do you want to . . .” he began, while Jared looked confused. After all, the celebrities know the no talking rule as well as the fans.

Lynn held up a hand defensively. “Shh, I’m not talking to you. I totally got in trouble for it before,” she added, as the MWNN hovered threateningly.

Jensen laughed. “I got in trouble too,” he protested.

We doubt the MWNN were involved.

“Can Danneel get us her email?” Lynn managed as she was once again “encouraged” to leave the room as quickly as possible.

There was no time for an answer. Damn. Thwarted again. We were disappointed, but Lynn was relieved that she wasn’t escorted out of the entire con (the specter of the Flying Fangirl from Asylum still looms large at these events after all). We were still feeling like an interview with Danneel had been too good to be true anyway, so we tried to swallow our sadness and settled in to watch some of the other guests. Midway through the next panel, Lizz the photographer came out into the audience and passed us a note—from Danneel. It just said, “Send me an email, love danneel” and included her email address. Being a bit clueless about the popularity of smartphones in 2008, we figured this meant that she wanted us to get in touch with her later for an email interview. We were disappointed that we wouldn’t get to talk to her in person but incredibly excited that she’d given us her email address. We wandered back outside after the panel and tried not to be too miserable about the Danneel interview not happening that day. We were hanging out in the hallway chatting when photographer Lizz suddenly appeared and yanked us away in the middle of a sentence with an exasperated, “Come with me!” She led us down a small side hall.

We still weren’t entirely sure what was going on. Were we in trouble again? Had the MWNN decided to kick us out after all? Moments later, Danneel emerged from the side door, introducing herself with a smile. Somehow we managed to compose ourselves and smile back. Apparently Jensen had facilitated the interview after all! Danneel suggested that we all grab some coffee, so we headed upstairs to the hotel’s Starbucks, where Danneel insisted on treating.

Coffee in hand, we went back downstairs to start the interview. Danneel suggested that we go backstage to talk, and then came a weirdly symbolic moment. The very same Man with No Neck who had tossed Lynn unceremoniously out of the photo op for daring to speak to the talent now held back the curtain to the backstage area, solicitously helped Danneel and us step over the various wires and cables snaking across the floor, then closed the curtain behind us to seal our crossover. The irony wasn’t lost on us.

Kathy whipped out her trusty voice recorder just as she had done for every other interview we’ve conducted, turned it on, and . . . nothing. We were interviewing Jensen Ackles’s girlfriend and there was NOTHING. It wasn’t the batteries, which had been checked and rechecked. Kathy tried to maintain some semblance of professionalism. She would quietly figure out what was wrong and then she would just as quietly fix it. Deep breaths. Okay, the recorder was FULL. Not to worry. She excused herself, leaving a confused Lynn to entertain Danneel.

First the cell phone, now the voice recorder. Sunday turned out to be the day technology failed us. This, for Lynn, is an everyday occurrence. For Kathy not so much. She loves technology. She embraced the Internet years before it got pretty, she used a “portable” PC to write her doctoral dissertation (portability is of course a relative designation—relative to muscle mass and stamina), and she gets gleeful over the prospect of using every new toy her university has to offer. So yes, technology was her friend. Until it wasn’t.

While Kathy dashed upstairs to grab her laptop (wishing that she could grab a shot of tequila), Lynn attempted to keep up a conversation with Danneel without actually asking any of our carefully prepared interview questions. Without a recorder, there was no way she’d remember a damn thing that was said—so that left small talk as the only option. Luckily, Danneel and Lynn connected over their mutual love of writing, swapped college stories, and then Lynn (as always) managed to talk about her children. Danneel proved herself a great listener. Minutes went by—lots of them—and Lynn realized to her horror that Jensen and Jared were almost done with their autographs. After that, it was off to the airport—and we would lose our interviewee to her boyfriend as she left with Ackles. Where was Kathy???

Finally, shortly before Lynn had moved on to telling Danneel about her daughter’s first steps, Kathy returned and hurriedly tried to download everything onto the laptop while time quickly ran out. Come on!! All Kathy could focus on was how long it was taking for everything to download. That and the rising nausea that threatened to overtake her. Lynn, in desperation, started asking the interview questions (which, since they weren’t recorded, are lost to posterity—and to this book).

Suddenly Jared Padalecki walked by, meaning that autographs were over and people were getting ready to leave. We despaired of a recorded interview, heartbroken over the squandered opportunity. And then, quite unexpectedly, Jensen Ackles was standing there, smiling and saying hello. Even more improbably, he held a fluffy white dog in his arms. For a moment, Kathy was sure this was all part of the nightmare, because fandom at the time had no clue that Jensen even owned a dog. Icarus, however, was quite real—and quite fluffy. Icarus was almost as excited to see Jensen as we were—he’d apparently been whining backstage every time he heard his owner’s voice during the Q&A. We hugged Icarus while Jensen hugged Danneel and tried to talk her into riding with him to the airport. All Kathy heard in those words were that it was too late—she’d blown it.

Danneel, however, had other ideas. She blew Jensen off. No wait. This part can’t really be happening either. More of that dream? Kathy was contemplating poking herself with a sharp object, sticking her finger in a wall socket, anything to jar herself back into reality. This was surely just her own anxiety-ridden psyche toying with her. Must be. Who says goodbye to Jensen Ackles so that she can talk to US?? But Danneel really was excusing herself to say good-bye to Jensen, Icarus happily following, with assurances to us that she’d be right back to finish the interview. Kathy gathered together the few shreds of sanity she still had, sorted the problem, and figured out how to record directly onto the laptop.

Danneel returned, true to her word, and the interview finally began. We relocated to the “green room,” the cloistered room where the guests are confined between stage appearances. The green room, as we were well aware, is a private space—more or less a “No Fans Allowed” clubhouse for the celebrities. We immediately felt like imposters, occupying a space where we clearly shouldn’t be. The room offered a small banquet of food, a bit of which we gratefully sampled, and a table stacked full of fans’ gifts for “the boys.” The coolest of these was a hairdryer that looked exactly like Dean Winchester’s favorite gun—and yes, it actually worked!

Danneel, of course, was quite comfortable in the green room and turned out to be very good at making us comfortable as well. Lynn asked questions. Danneel answered. Kathy breathed. Everything was going to work out just fine. Somewhere the unicorns of fandom were neighing happily.

And then the laptop went dead.

Kathy again tried to be unobtrusive as she flailed around trying to find an outlet. No point in making a bigger fool of herself, right? Sooner or later, though, it became apparent that she was in need of assistance and everyone, including Danneel, was up and scouting for an outlet, crawling under tables and moving furniture to do so. Danneel, we decided, had the patience of a saint. She never lost her sense of humor either, shrugging off our apology for keeping her from accompanying Jensen to the airport by wryly noting that “Jared would have been in the limo anyway, it’s not like we could have made out on the way to the airport” and jumping up to knock on wood when we asked her about the possibility of marriage.

In the midst of all the sitcom mishaps we did manage to carry on an interview…

You can read the rest of our misadventures (and the interview itself) with Danneel in the book, but Kathy and I left that day with a respect and affection for Danneel that has never faded.

Jensen posted a photo of her plunging a clogged toilet today for her birthday, and I laughed because it makes it clear that she’s still as genuine as she was that day she got down on the floor and crawled around looking for an outlet right along with us.

I’ve had the opportunity to chat with Danneel several times since our hilarious interview, and I think most people who have run into her at the brewery would say this too – she’s not afraid to be real.

I’m so glad Danneel was able to be part of Supernatural as a cast member before it ended, but really she’s always been part of the SPN Family. Happy birthday, Danneel – thanks for keeping it real!

–Lynn

Source: [x]

[camillemontespan]

ten years from now [AU. drake walker x camille montespan] [part sixteen: passenger]

M A S T E R  L I S T

Warnings: None. This is another slow burn, another chapter to show their past relationship :) I promise things will get more exciting soon!

@moonlightgem7 @jovialyouthmusic @mskaneko @ibldw-main @katedrakeohd @pug-bitch @gooddaykate @princessleac1 @burnsoslow  @loveellamae  @pedudley @oofchoices @emichelle @simplymissjulia @dcbbw @sirbeepsalot @rainbowsinthestorm @notoriouscs @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @axwalker​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​ @nomadics-stuff​  @gardeningourmet​ @marshmallowsandfire​ @kingliam2019​ @drakeandkatherine​ **************************************************

The next day, Drake set up two chairs and a small table under the apple tree, making sure that he put a space between them so that Clover’s resting place would be in the middle. He placed the beer cooler down on the ground and turned on his Spotify playlist from his phone - 80s music, the best kind of music in his opinion.

‘Hey Drake.’

Drake turned to see Camille wandering up the road. She looked particularly lovely today, even if she was only wearing ripped blue jeans, woven sandals and a simple white shirt. She was carrying a bottle of whiskey; clearly, she didn’t like to turn up to social calls without bringing something. 

‘Hey Montespan,’ he greeted her. She gave him a smile and cast her eyes at the chairs and beer cooler.

‘I see we’re having a party,’ she quipped, setting the whiskey on the table. Drake chuckled and gestured for her to sit down. 

‘If you brought whiskey, it’s definitely a party,’ he said. ‘Beer first?’

Camille took a beer and together, they toasted to Clover, which seemed to be their new inside joke. Inside jokes were what got you. As they sat down, Camille wrinkled her nose. ‘What is this music?’

‘It’s Bon Jovi!’ Drake said defiantly, swigging back his beer. ‘You got a problem with that?’

‘I forgot you used to love Bon Jovi. They’re a bit.. Cringe..’ Camille replied delicately.

‘Says the woman who used to love Britney Spears,’ Drake said dryly.  

Camille’s eyes widened. ‘Britney isn’t cringe!’

‘She kinda is, Montespan..’

‘She’s cooler than Bon Jovi!’

They both laughed, settling back into their chairs and smiling as the sun hit their faces. They listened to the music, Drake tapping his foot on the ground as Camille browsed his playlist, judging his taste out loud.

‘Seriously?’ she said. ‘Africa by Toto?’

Drake whipped around to face her. ‘If you say ANYTHING about Toto, get the fuck off my property.’

Camille stuck her tongue out and continued to scroll. Drake watched her out of the corner of his eye, smiling as he studied her. It was nice having her back in his life again. He didn’t know how he had managed to live without her for so long. She was like sunshine personified; Drake needed sunshine in his life. For so long, everything had felt dull and grey but not now. With Camille, everything was now in beautiful technicolor.

********************************************

Drake aged 18, Camille aged 17

‘SHOT THROUGH THE HEART AND YOU’RE TO BLAME, YOU GIVE LOVE A BAD NAME!’ Drake hollered as he drove the pick up truck, hitting the steering wheel with his hand. Camille was resting her head in her hand and giving Drake some serious side eye.

‘Drake..’

Drake took his eyes off the road for one moment to point at Camille as he sang -terribly- ‘An angel's smile is what you sell, you promise me heaven, then put me through hell!’

‘Drake, keep your eyes on the road!’ Camille yelped, bolting forward to grab the wheel. Drake smirked and took her hands off the wheel, taking over.

‘Camille, relax..’

‘You’re gonna kill me if you keep singing that shit!’

‘Cut me deep,’ Drake replied. ‘Wow.’

Camille rolled her eyes. ‘I’d like to get home in one piece.’

‘You can’t even drive so stop being a shitty backseat driver.’

Camille let out a mock offended gasp. ‘How dare you?!’

Drake smirked and kept his eyes on the road. ‘Just sayin’, until you can drive properly, keep that cakehole shut.’

‘CAKEHOLE?’

Drake laughed as Camille hit him gently on the arm. ‘Watch it, I’m driving!’ he said.

‘You didn’t care about road safety a moment ago!’ she cried, hitting him again. 

As he kept his eyes on the road, Drake grabbed her hand and placed it to his mouth, kissing her palm softly. Camille stopped protesting and blushed instead. She felt his lips curl up into a smile and she went quiet. 

‘Can you teach me?’ she asked after a moment. 

Drake shook his head. ‘Hell no.’

‘Why?’

He sighed. ‘Because I’ve heard that teaching your girlfriend to drive is just asking for a break up. Like, we will probably end up fighting.’

‘I think we’ll be fine,’ Camille told him. ‘Please, Drake.’ 

She wasn’t going to give up, he knew that now. The road was empty except for them; nobody was around to tell them off if Camille took the wheel. She was also less likely to cause an accident. 

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Get in my seat.’

Camille clapped her hands and got out of the truck, followed by Drake. As he walked to the passenger side, passing Camille, she jumped up to kiss him happily on the cheek. Drake chuckled and slapped her ass gently. 

They got back into the truck. Camille instantly turned off the 80s music and belted up. She looked at Drake. ‘Okay, now what?’

This was a manual vehicle. While everyone else drove automatics, Drake didn’t; the truck had belonged to his dad and Drake refused to sell it. It was one of the things that belonged to Jackson that Drake had left. It still had his cigarette lighter in the compartment. 

‘You need to find the biting point,’ Drake told her. ‘Place your foot there, and your other foot there. Got it? Now, watch the hood of the car. It should rise up and the engine will make a low noise; that’s the biting point. When you’ve got it, move your right foot towards you. Pretend you’re pulling it through honey- it should be a smooth motion.’

Camille bit her lip as she concentrated on finding the biting point. Keeping her hands firmly on the wheel, she moved her foot up. The truck jolted forward and the engine turned off.

‘Damn it..’ she muttered.

‘It’s alright,’ Drake assured her softly. ‘Try again.’

Camille frowned, watching the hood of the truck as it rose up, listening to the engine. ‘Fuck, this is harder than it looks..’ she murmured.

‘I know,’ Drake said. ‘But you’ll get it.’

Camille brought her foot up and the truck moved forward, fluid this time, not jolting. ‘Oh my god, I got it!’ Camille squealed. ‘I got it!’

‘Okay, so push your foot right down on the accelerator, right to the floor, and keep your foot off the clutch.’

Camille nodded and drove forward, increasing the speed. She was beaming from ear to ear as she drove quicker. 

‘Awesome!’ Drake cheered. ‘Keep going!’

The speed increased. And increased. And increased.

‘Uhhh, Camille,’ Drake said, his voice like a warning. ‘Slow down..’

‘Oops, sorry!’ 

She drove on but her speed kept rising until they were in danger of going over the speed limit. ‘Camille, slow down,’ Drake said again. 

‘Sorry!’

It turned out that Camille liked to speed. If Drake had known that, he would not have let her drive Betsy. After the fifth time of Camille not watching her speed, Drake told her that her driving time was done.

‘But I was good!’ she protested.

‘You’re a speed demon!’ 

‘I am not!’

‘You are!’ Drake cried. ‘Seriously, I’ve been holding onto my seat in case you end up driving us off the road!’

Camille narrowed her eyes. ‘I was really good! Please, let me keep driving-’

‘No.’

‘Please!’

Drake sighed. ‘Pull over.’

Camille rolled her eyes but pulled the truck over to a harsh stop, practically pulling the two of them forward in their seats. Camille turned off the ignition and crossed her arms, sulking. 

‘Get out of my seat,’ Drake said cooly.

Silently, Camille unbuckled her seatbelt and clambered out of the car. Drake sat for a moment, thinking to himself. Had he been too harsh on her? Had he made her feel shit? He had, hadn’t he? He felt the guilt build up in his stomach and knew he would have to say sorry. He didn’t want to argue with her. 

Camille knocked on his door. ‘Come on, Walker, get out of my seat.’

Drake unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door to get out. Camille looked at him with a mutinous expression on her face. Drake sighed and fixed her with a steady look. 

‘Camille, I’m sorry.’

Camille shrugged. ‘It’s fine.’

Uh oh. When girls said things were fine, Drake knew that they were not fine.

He reached out to take her hand. ‘You were really good,’ he assured her. ‘Really good.’

Camille kept her hand in his but she still looked like she wanted to hit him. ‘I thought I was a speed demon.’

‘Well.. ‘

Camille let out a groan and pulled away from him to walk away. Drake jumped out of the truck and rushed to pull her back. ‘Wait!’

She turned to face him. Drake gently moved her so her back pressed up against the truck; he placed his hands on either side of her head, blocking her in. She looked up at him, her brown eyes blazing like molten lava. 

Drake’s eyes penetrated hers. ‘I’m sorry,’ he told her steadily. ‘I can keep teaching you if you want me to and I promise I won’t call you a speed demon. You were really good. It was nice watching you drive.’

Camille looked down; Drake gently touched her chin, bringing her face up to his. ‘Smile for me,’ he whispered. 

She smiled. 

Relieved, Drake leaned down to press a kiss to her lips. Camille wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. Drake let out a low groan against her mouth, making her smile some more. His hands ran down her arms to her lower back, pulling her in tightly. 

‘You wanna get in the back with me?’ he murmured in her ear. 

Camille reached down to brush his belt buckle with her hand. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. 

Drake drew back from her and opened the back passenger door. Together, they climbed inside, laughing at the tight space before their hands touched again, their lips met in a heated kiss, and their argument was forgotten.

*****************************************

‘So I wanted to ask you something,’ Drake said, after finishing his third bottle of beer. He was eyeing the whiskey bottle now; seeing this, Camille unscrewed the bottle and handed it to him. Drake took it gratefully and poured himself a glass. He sipped the amber liquid, feeling it warm his throat.

Camille was watching him expectantly. ‘Ask me what?’

Drake smiled. ‘Do you want to come over on 4th of July?’

She drew back in surprise. ‘Oh..’

Drake instantly regretted asking. It had been Bianca’s idea first and now that he and Camille were getting friendlier again, Drake felt like maybe it wasn’t a bad suggestion. He now realised that maybe Bianca had terrible ideas. Like, Bianca didn’t know about Drake’s baby steps mantra. Inviting Camille to the Walker’s 4th July celebration did not follow the baby step rule.

‘You don’t have to,’ he said quickly, back tracking. ‘It’s just because you’re back in Texas and it might be a nice thing for you to get involved in. But if you still want space, it’s alright. Forget I asked.’

‘Drake-’

‘It’s cool,’ Drake interrupted her, sipping more whiskey. It shot down his throat, making him cough and splutter. Camille ran her fingers along the rim of her glass, considering his invitation

‘Drake, I’d like to come,’ she told him. 

Drake’s eyes widened. ‘You would?’

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘If my grandma is feeling up to it, can she come along too?’

Drake nodded. ‘Of course! The more the merrier. We make it big, you know, because dad loved it.’

Camille smiled. ‘I remember Jackson was the King of the 4th of July..’

Drake grinned and poured her a glass of whiskey. She took it and clinked her glass against his. Their eyes met; Camille’s were full of mischief, the look he loved. 

‘To Clover and Jackson,’ she said. 

Drake chuckled.

‘To Clover and Jackson.’

[aeromuses]

 Ch. 2 Valentine Blues (A Hey Arnold Fan Fiction)

   Previous Chapter.

   “Across, through the loop, a little adjusting, a little tug AAAND - perfect!” 

   Despite his previous Valentine blues, Arnold now had a patient, almost smug little smile on his face, upon looking back at his reflection in the mirror, holding onto his tie as confidently as he could, before reaching up to graze his fingers through the ends of his cornflower hair like they were a comb, making sure it stood up straight. He was proud of himself for remembering the way Gerald had taught him to to tie a tie last summer, unlike his cooky grandfather, who he appreciated more than anyone, but who was also just a little too old to remember things like tying a tie. 

   “Maybe Gerald was right and...all I needed was that nap.” 

   Maybe tonight there will even be someone as dateless as I am. Yeah, that’s the spirit.

   Meanwhile...

   With Helga’s phone buzzing uncontrollably, nearly vibrating off the end of her bed, she was getting ready as quickly as possible. Of course she was lucky to have a dad who ran beepers, but God were they LOUD when they wanted to be, just beeping all over the place. 

   “Gee whiz, Phoebe, just a second!”

   Doesn’t she know that i’m getting ready? The words ‘Arnold’ and ‘dance’ didn’t register in her little miss smarty pants brain?

   In spite of everything however, Helga answers nonchalantly, resting her Bob’s Beepers cell phone between her ear and her shoulder. She was in a pretty decent mood after all, despite the slow burn of nervousness that she had grown accustom to when it came to Arnold related things.  “Helga G. Pataki.” Always, always professional...

   Putting her multi-tasking skills to work, she yanks a collection of hanging dresses all to one side, nearly stepping inside of her stand in closet that’s filled with pink to the rim, until she finally finds the one perfect dress she’s looking for, reserved all the way in the back. “Aha! Yeah, you were saying Phoebe?” 

   Cheap brush dipping into her semi-stale mascara, getting to the good stuff at the bottom of the half-way goopy bottle, she begins to doll up her eyelashes, listening intently. “Uh-huh...oh, criminey! Phoebe, do you have any high-heeled shoes that I could borrow? I just...for some reason, I just can’t seem to find my other heel!”

   Meanwhile, on the other line...

   “I will be there in exactly 1 minute and roughly 30 seconds, Helga. Already fully prepared and on my way. Remember the last time you dressed as Cecile? Well if I remembered correctly, I recall you reporting that you lost one of your heels that exact night you wore them, and well...since then I’ve been keeping an extra pair under my bed, just in case. That’s precisely what i’ve been trying to tell you this entire time. So sorry for all of the phone calls, I just HAD to reach you, you see...”

   “Oh, wow.” Phoebe really was impressive. How did she do it? Well, there was no time to question that. However, at the end of the other line, she could somehow hear her friend smile before saying, “I know you would do the same if it were me in similar circumstances with Gerald...not that I would ever land in said circumstances myself, but well...you get what I mean. It’s the very least I could do Helga.” 

   Did I really leave my shoe behind that night? 

   Helga’s memory, suddenly coming up foggy as she pondered this question. She was feeling so many emotions that night, that she had forgotten how she had even gotten home all on her own in the dark, probably wanting to head straight back before Arnoldo noticed anything too characteristic of the girl behind the mask.

   “Phoebe, you really are too good to me. Just come on in, okay? Bob is watching TV downstairs and Miriam is passed out.” 

   Smiling to herself, she hit the ‘end call’ button. She was actually pretty excited to see Phoebe, and even go to the dance together. Sure, Geraldo was still a total geek, but he wasn’t half bad for Phoebe she supposed. As long as he didn’t mean funny business! Everyone knew that they would be talking to ol’ Betsy if that were ever the case.

   Hearing a light 3 knocks on her parents door down below, despite her insisting that Phoebe just barge right in, she knew that was indicative of her friend’s arrival, which meant soon, very soon, Cecile would be making her way to P.S. 118. 

   BACK AT THE DANCE

   “See, Arnold? This ain’t so bad.” An optimistic Gerald chimed in, as he and his best friend leaned beside the punch bowl. “They’ve even got your man playin’-”

   “Dino Spumoni.” They both said in unison. “Yeah, you’re right Gerald. I don’t know what I was thinking, moping around back there. There’s more to dances than just...girls, I guess. Take this punch bowl, for instance. It’s not entirely bad once you get past the tartness...it’s actually, actually pretty good for-”

   “Couldn’t help but overhear you enjoying that punch, Arnold, Gerald? I’m happy you like it! It’s homemade, straight from Sheena’s kitchen! Gee, we must have spent about an entire hour making it the other night, isn’t that right Sheena?” 

   “Oh, yes!” The hippie-looking girl replied just about as squeakily as Eugene, only more relaxed, her usual content smile on her face, before nodding and grabbing another refill of punch.

   “You were saying Arnold?” Gerald had a look of amusement on his face, as Arnold sheepishly tugged at his collar, laughing unhumorously, a bit nervous now about tasting Eugene’s punch, despite having decided long ago that him being a ‘jinx’ was just all in his head.

   “Yeah, right.” Arnold only smirked, his eyelids suddenly drooping over his eyes, the way they always did, drifting off to the sound of Dino Spumoni’s music. Before he knew it, he was off in his own world, the chatter of the children around him simply fading away as he melted into a putty of relaxation. The entire room felt like a boat, rocking back and forth in a gentle swing, as Arnold’s creative mind processed the tune filling up the auditorium, each musical note causing him to drift away farther. 

   That is, until...

   “C-Cecile?” 

   From the corner of his eye, he could have sworn-

   “Hey, ARNOLD. Hey Arnold!”

   “Huh?” His head whipped around for a moment, confused. As Gerald was speaking to him, he could have sworn he had heard Harvey the postman speaking in his low, mature tone. “Hey Arnold, you still got those Valentine’s Blues?” He had heard the voice say, before snapping right back out of it, and once again hopping back to reality, a very concerned looking Gerald staring at him. 

   “Cecile? Who’s Cecile? You mean that pen-pal from France from a couple years ago? The one I took to get hamburgers?”

   “Yeah! Wait, yes, but n-no. I saw her, right there Gerald!” He exclaimed, pointing to where the blur of pink had flashed before him. “But not Cecile-Cecile...Cecile! The other Cecile! I mean...it’s confusing.”

   “ARNOLD, snap outta’ it. What would Cecile be doing here, on Valentine’s day? We live in America, remember? And say what?” He exclaimed, simply worried for his pal. He couldn’t explain how much it really freaked him out when Arnold pulled stuff like this. It was like, inside his head it made sense, but on the outside it didn’t look good at all. 

   “Gerald, I can’t explain it any better than you can. I was drinking Eugene’s punch, just listening to Dino’s music, and the whole room got all...weird, and-and-”

   “Whatever you say, Arnold...whatever you say. Hey, i’m gonna go grab a slice of one of those cakes and bring it over to Phoebe. She likes the lemon meringue best. You gonna be alright? Maybe lay off that punch for a while...” Gerald couldn’t help but snicker, wondering how anyone would let Eugene participate in making the punch for the whole grade to begin with. 

   Meanwhile, Arnold was still trying to piece things together. Phoebe? Since when did Phoebe walk in here? Didn’t she always come in with...Helga? Just her name alone, causing an almost involuntary shutter to wash over Arnold. Thinking of Helga was still, well...a little awkward, just like it had been running into her the other day. 

   It was strange though, that Phoebe would walk in all alone. She wasn’t exactly the type to walk or ride all the way to school by herself. And yet he had just seen her, stepping through the entrance way alone. Or was that the same time he saw Cecile walk in?

   Arnold blinked a few times, rubbing his forehead as if to correct his thought pattern, only even more confused than before. Well, it wasn’t exactly his business anyway...and Phoebe would be okay now that she had Gerald to escort her. He had always had this habit of watching over others, making sure that they were getting along okay.

   With a sigh, he stared down at his cup of punch, watching his funny, semi-distorted reflection before tossing it into the nearest garbage hiding underneath one of the impressively set up tables of snacks. He had to admit, this year the decorations were looking much better than the last. It was almost like the place was set up to take place in France or something, with all of the Paree related designs. 

   Just then, it was nearby that he heard Rhonda Wellington speaking to Nadine and Peapod kid, a look of satisfaction on her face. “I stayed up ALL night, just designing this entire area. I would say it’s the best dance to date, since the most popular girl designed it.” 

   At that, Nadine nodded, half-smiling, half-smirking to herself, just happy that Rhonda seemed to be placing her energy into something creative. A moment later, they all threw their heads back and laughed dramatically. “Quite impressive, miss Wellington...quite impressive.” Said Peapod kid.

   Well, I guess this was it. Without a date, he would just stand here and observe, watching everything and everyone around him as he often tended to do, just letting the evening unravel, allowing himself to space out just a little bit, all the while the lights turned down low, only a small flicker appearing.

   But wait...

   Another flicker, and another...

   Soon those same soft flickers were washing over the dance floor in an array of tiny hearts, a slow tune playing to paint a pretty picture. In the center of the dance floor, Arnold couldn’t believe it. No one else was paying attention, all in their own little world at the snack bar or getting their picture taken, leaving this one, singular spot secluded, just for the two of them. 

   “Cecile?” 

   “Ar-nold.” There came that interesting accent, causing a small, nostalgic smile from Arnold himself.

   “Is that really you? Am I...imagining things?”

   “I...are you happy to see me?” 

   “I...don’t know, Cecile, it’s just-” His thoughts speaking for themselves, it wasn’t as though he weren’t happy to see Cecile, just confused more than anything. 

   “Arnold, dance with me.” She almost whispered, attempting to hide the desperation in her tone.

   “I...I can’t. Not until I, know who you are.” 

   “What...what do you mean?” And there it was, that soft tone that came out from under Cecile’s accent every so often, that made Arnold all the more intrigued, but also suspicious, and most of all, curious. 

   “Cecile, how did you even get here?” 

   Despite Arnold’s previous claim, he had found himself placing his hands on her upper waist, where it was proper to dance, as her shaky arms nervously lowered onto his shoulders, following suit, while the hands of said shaky arms were lowered, trying their best to remain graceful sitting atop his shoulders, just barely brushing his neck and hairline.

   And that’s when they began their dance, Arnold’s eyebrow raised, reminding Helga of the April Fool’s Dance, just a tinge of embarrassment coming to her cheeks. “I...like I said, I can’t tell you who I am.” Her voice plain as day, Arnold was peering into her eyes, searching... just searching. 

   Then, suddenly, just as quickly as the curiosity had arrived, it had also disappeared, his expression dropping to a relaxed smile, eyelids drooping downward in all of their half-lidded glory, for the girl before him. “You know, it’s been a while since i’ve seen you Cecile, and i’ve...grown up a little since then. You may even say, I forgive you for what happened.” 

   Forgive me? Was he being serious? Helga’s thoughts screamed to her from under her veil. God, Arnold thought he was such a noble steed! So far along his own moral compass to realize that she didn’t exactly need his APPROVAL or rather, forgiveness for what happened. What WAS he so SMUG about anyway?

   Not realizing her hidden personality coming out to say hello, however, amongst her coupled secret thoughts of judgement, she murmured out sarcastically. “Oh, wow, thanks.” Only to retrace her steps both mentally and physically, seeing as she involuntarily began backing up with her dancing heels as well, nearly tripping backwards.

   It was then, without realizing, that they were suddenly doing the tango, the music having switched up a notch as a new musician took up the stage. “I, I mean-” She sputtered out, but it was too late. Arnold had that dreaded smirk on his face and he was taking her all over the dance floor, gripping her waist and wrist so very tightly as they danced in union, dipping her back and causing her to nearly have a heart attack.

  “Monsieur!” She squeaked. “Too fast - you’re going too fast!” If she wasn’t too careful, she was sure she would end up punching Arnoldo’s lights out. What could she say? He just brought it right back out of her, I guess, with his infuriating little mind tricks. And she thought she was bad. Is this how he had treated Lila, and all the other girls? Well no wonder he was dateless! Criminey! 

   “Don’t do the tango back in France, huh?” Arnold had no idea what was going on with him, but he just couldn’t stop. He knew that Cecile wasn’t who she said she was, but why was he feeling so...just so, like he had to do this? Had to get BACK at her somehow? 

   But his thoughts of course were interrupted, by the speechless look on Cecile’s face, looking almost as though she were crying out for help, as her eyes wandered off to the snack bar far behind them, searching for her best friend, Arnold just barely noticing this behavior, as his eyes wandered with her own.

   PHOEBE....PHOEBE, SAVE ME!

   Back on the other side of the bar.

   “Did you guys hear something?” Came a peep from the short, dark-haired girl.

[alphacrone]

food truck au 2/??

(PART ONE HERE)

Jack had one blissful week of texting Eric in peace before his teammates caught on.

“ZIMMBONI,” Tater shouted across the dressing room at the end of practice that day. “Who you texting that make you smile so big?”

In a scary sort of tandem, Ransom and Holster whipped around to look at him.

“Yeah, Zimmboni,” Holster parroted. “Who ya texting?”

“A friend,” Jack said sternly. He tried to meet Chowder’s eyes, begging for an assist, but the rookie was oblivious to Jack’s plight, chatting with Marty and Thirdy in the corner.

“A friend,” Ransom said scandalously. “A lady friend?”

“No,” Jack spat. Which, in hindsight, was a terrible mistake.

“Oh ho,” Holster said, grin wide. “A gentleman friend?”

“He’s just a friend,” Jack said, now unabashedly glaring at Tater. Tater shrugged and grinned. He and Jack had been playing together since they were fresh-faced rookies; Jack’s moods didn’t faze him at all.

“Is he cute?” Ransom asked, chin in his hands. “I bet he’s cute.”

“What’s his name?” Holster asked. They’d both scooted closer, mischievous looks on their faces. Jack tightened his grip on his phone and stood.

“Leave me alone,” Jack grumbled, forgoing a shower to grab his bag and head for the door.

“Aw, Jack, wait!” Ransom called “We’re just giving you a hard time-”

Jack walked faster as Ransom and Holster chased after him, but their legs were longer and he soon had two large and sweaty men draping themselves across his shoulders. “Bro, dude, we weren’t trying to make you feel bad,” Holster said seriously as they continued walking. “We just wanna know about this dude.”

“Yeah, dude,” Ransom said. “And we already took care of the jackasses who had a problem when you came out to us. No one cares if you’re dating a guy.”

“I mean, we care,” Holster said. “Because you’re a fucking robot, bro, and we care that someone can make you smile like Tater just by texting you.”

Jack sighed. There was no escaping this. “His name is Eric. And we’re just friends.”

“Right,” Ransom said, like he didn’t believe Jack at all. “Friends.”

“I don’t even know if he’s interested,” Jack found himself saying. “I mean, I think he is, but he’s so friendly maybe he’s just being nice…”

“Doubt it,” Holster said. “Jack, you’re captain oblivious- no offense.”

Ransom nodded sagely. “If you think he’s interested-”

“-then he’s basically throwing himself at you,” Holster finished. They fistbumped behind Jack’s head.

“Thanks, guys,” Jack said, sighing. “I think.”

“You’re welcome,” Ransom said. “So...where’d you meet Eric?”

“Uh, you know that food truck, Li’l Dick-”

“LI’L DICKY’S SOUTHERN COMFORTS?!” Holster shouted.

Ransom gasped dramatically. “You mean the most delicious and most inappropriately named food truck in the city?”

Holster slapped at Jack’s chest wildly in excitement. “You mean Eric, the southern dude who runs it?”

“Bro!” Ransom gripped tightly at Jack’s arm. “He’s mad cute. Do you get an employee discount?”

“Don’t tell Tater,” Holster said seriously. “He’s loves their biscuits and gravy like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Dude, have you tried the cobbler? Orgasmic.”

“Speaking of orgasmic-”

“Nope, alright, conversation over,” Jack said, shoving them both off. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Holster sighed. “If you don’t come to practice with embarrassing hickeys everywhere we’re disowning you.”

Jack rolled his eyes and waved. Maybe if they disowned him he’d finally get some peace and quiet. There was a novel thought.

  Jack had no such luck, however. The boys gave him a hard time for a few days, but seemed to have dropped it by their off day. Jack realized, in retrospect, that letting his guard down had been his first mistake.

There was a small art festival going on that weekend, taking up a few streets downtown, and Bittle’s truck was one of many to cater. He hadn’t made a move yet, too scared of being wrong and too busy to find time for a date if he was right, but he and Bittle texted every day and chatted whenever he came by the truck and it was just...nice. Normal. Fun.

There wasn’t a line when Jack found Li’l Dicky’s, and Bittle’s face lit up as Jack approached the window. “I was hopin’ you’d come by today. Everyone’s in a fried chicken mood today, I’ve been bored out of my mind.”

“Losing everyone to Fry Guy?” Jack asked, frowning. “I can, euh, tweet about you if you want, try to drum up some business.”

“As sweet as that offer is,” Bittle said. “I’d rather you just stay here and talk to me. Pie?”

“Please,” Jack said, smiling. Remembering Ransom and Holster’s encouragement, he added, “You look nice today.”

He was rewarded by a light blush painting Bittle’s cheeks. “Oh, thank you,” Bittle said, nearly dropping the pie he selected for Jack. “Don’t know how, been sweatin’ up a storm in this hunk of junk.”

“You always look nice,” Jack said quietly. Bittle chewed on his bottom lip, eyes searching Jack’s face, and Jack wanted to say more, something smooth and charming and flirtatious, but suddenly there were loud voices behind him, and he sighed. “I should let you get to your customers.”

“ZIMMBONI!”

Jack froze, blood freezing in his veins. It couldn’t be...the universe didn’t hate him that much…

“Jack! Quit hogging all that southern lovin’,” Holster shouted, shoving Jack out of the way. “Hey there, li’l Dicky.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “No one but my mama’s allowed to call me Dicky, thank you very much.”

Ransom pushed Holster out of the way, winking at Eric. “We’ll have three of your finest southern comforts, thank you.”

Eric laughed despite the frown he was trying to maintain. “That joke stopped being funny ages ago, gentlemen.”

Like Moses parting the Red Sea, Tater pushed aside Ransom and Holster and leaned against the windowsill of the truck. “Little B, what is your special today?”

Eric leaned on his elbows, grinning down good-naturedly at Tater. “Red beans and rice, Mr. Mashkov. Not the fanciest, but always a crowd pleaser.”

“Hmm,” Tater said, tapping his chin in thought. “I’ll try that. And mac n’ cheese. And pie.”

Eric laughed and tapped out the order on his phone. “What kind of pie?”

“The sugar one,” Tater said, pulling a face. “Checkers? No, chess! Chess pie.”

“Sure thing,” Eric said, taking the card from Tater’s outstretched hand and ringing up his order. “So, you boys’re all teammates, huh?”

As if on cue, Ransom and Holster got their arms around Jack, hauling him back over to the window. “Chyeah,” Ransom said. “And, like, best bros.”

Eric bit back a smile as he prepared Tater’s order, packaging it all up in his signature metal buckets. “That must be fun.”

“It is,” Tater agreed, taking his food eagerly. “We all love playing with Zimmboni.”

“Absolutely,” Ransom said. “Real generous player. Giving. Shares the puck.”

“Amazing stamina,” Holster added, waggling his eyebrows. “Can play all night long.”

“But he’s got a tender side,” Ransom said.

Holster nodded. “And have you seen  his ass?”

“I have to go,” Jack hissed, ducking out from under Ransom’s and Holster’s arm. “Bittle, I’m sorry about them. I’ll text you.”

Eric looked disappointed to see Jack leave, but he smiled and nodded. “Sure, sweetpea.”

Jack could hear the others protesting, but he ignored them as he scurried away, mini pie clutched tightly in his hand. God, if he’d ever had a chance with Bittle, it had surely gone out the window now. He was going to murder the guys. Or get them traded. Something.

  That evening, Jack was perched on his his couch, reading, when someone knocked on the door. With a sigh, he set down his book and steeled himself for another hour-long conversation with the middle-aged woman who lived next door and always found an excuse to borrow a cup of sugar from Jack.

Except, it wasn’t Susan; it was Bittle, looking as confused as Jack felt. Before Bittle could say anything, he was shoved into the apartment as three other men rushed in, shouting instructions at each other.

Jack reached out to steady Bittle, then huffed and glared at his teammates. “What the hell, guys?”

“Zimmboni,” Tater said gravely, clasping Jack’s shoulder with his free hand. “How have you not asked out little B? You text for weeks and say ‘just friend?’ We’re helping.”

“What-”  Jack began, then found himself shoved into a seat at his kitchen table. Holster had covered it in a white tablecloth and was setting out plates and wine glasses. Ransom lit a few candles and Tater ushered Bittle over to sit across from Jack.

“I’m sorry,” Bittle whispered. “They kidnapped me as I was parking Betsy. Promised to promote the truck if I came with them.”

Jack felt his expression soften. “It’s okay, Bittle. I’m happy to see you.”

“Now, for dinner,” Tater announced. “Take-out from Spaghetti Kettle. And wine!”

Ransom and Holster dumped the food onto serving platters and all but threw them onto the table. Tater poured them both generous helpings of Merlot, bowing ridiculously when Bittle thanked him. And then the idiots were gone, giggling out the door like children.

“Um.” Bittle opened and closed his mouth a few times before he found words. “I think this is a date.”

Jack huffed a small, frustrated laugh. “This wasn’t how I imagined our first date.”

Bittle looked up at him -- something Jack wasn’t used to, given that Bittle was always standing in his truck when they spoke. He was much shorter than Jack realized. “How did you imagine it?”

“Well, for starter’s, I was going to take you to an actual restaurant,” Jack said, motioning around his apartment. “And I never intended for my teammates to get involved.”

“I think they’re sweet,” Bittle said, taking a small sip of his wine. “They really care about you.”

“I guess,” Jack grumbled, heart beating rapidly as Bittle laughed. “I think they just want your employee discount.”

“Well, either way,” Bittle said, reaching across the table to take Jack’s hand. “They got us here, now. I’m going to be sending them all thank you baskets.”

Jack grinned. “Maybe wait to see how the date goes, eh? Could be terrible.”

Bittle raised an eyebrow. “If the things they were saying ‘bout your stamina are true, I highly doubt that.”

Dinner was suddenly the last thing on Jack’s mind. He brought Bittle’s hand to his lips and gently kissed his knuckles. Bittle sucked in a small breath, eyes dark and smile wanting.  

Pasta and breadsticks, it turned out the next morning, made a fantastic breakfast.

[aether-asterisk]

Escape from Camp Funtasia Chapter 4: Best Day Ever

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and now, the weekly fanfic update

Thankfully, everyone was able to get a good night's sleep, and they all started to wake up little by little by about 8:45 AM.

The bus supervisor, a younger woman wearing a bright-blue t-shirt that said "I <3 CF" on it in bright red letters, approached the four stowaways, Ollie being the only one that was fully awake. She had curly blonde hair with a neon pink-to-purple streak on one side, and a neon blue-to-green streak on the other. "Say, I don't remember us picking up you four. Mind telling me your names?" "O-oh, um," Ollie stammered, not expecting to be interrogated by a member of the Funtasia Crew in such a matter, "M-my name is Ollie, and these are Sophie, Nate, and Alice. We should be on the list, my mom signed us all up, and--" The woman smiled. "Say no more, little dude. Glad you guys could make it! For a moment there, we thought you flaked on us for some dumb lesser camp." Ollie laughed nervously. "Not by choice, anyway..."

The woman didn't seem to hear him, not that it would've mattered much. "Anyway, I'm Jodie, but you can just call me Jo. We'll be at Camp Funtasia in about an hour, so make yourself comfy and enjoy the ride!" Sophie sat up in her seat and stretched. "Will we be stopping at Watson's Waffle House for breakfast, Miss Jo?" "Why stop at some silly waffle house," Jo giggled, "When you can have a ginormous all-you-can-eat pancake buffet at the camp instead?" Sophie gasped. "With whipped cream?" "Oh yes." A tiny squeal came out of Sophie's mouth. Satisfied, Jo went back to the front of the bus to let the kids talk among themselves.

"Guys...!" Sophie was bouncing in her seat in anticipation, "They've got a pancake buffet!!" "So we heard," Ollie smiled as he unzipped his suitcase and pulled out his phone. "I feel like I should text my mom and let her know we made it to Camp Funtasia after all, but at the same time she might freak out that we ditched Wallahavanna..." "Man, she didn't even wanna send us to Wallahavanna in the first place! Why would she be mad?!" Nate pulled out his gaming system. "When you're done with that, I'm gonna set up a multiplayer battle. Feel free to join."

Ollie sighed. "I guess you have a point. I did promise her I'd send a message every so often to let her know we're okay, and there's no way Big Betsy would've even let me send one before confiscating it permanently..." "Realistically, she would've destroyed it as soon as she caught sight of it," Alice finished brushing her hair and grabbed her gaming system. "Huh...That's weird," Ollie held his phone up high curiously, "No signal." Sophie already had her gaming system ready. "Maybe they'll have a wifi hotspot at the camp. Now are you joining or not?!"

Ollie put his phone away and took out his gaming system. "Yeah, maybe you're right. Alright, I'm in."

~*~*~

The bus slowed to a stop in front of a castle that looked exactly like the one in the brochure. The campers cheered and immediately hurried out the door, where a taller man with messy hair awaited them. "Welcome to Camp Funtasia, children," the man grinned from ear to ear, "I am Mr. Funtasia, head-counselor and owner of the camp, but for the next three months, I also hope to be your friend -- Mr. Fun. But enough about me. Children...," The gates behind him opened slowly. Mr. Fun stepped aside. "Your paradise awaits."

All the kids gazed in awe as the gates opened all the way, revealing a giant ferris wheel and other rides off to the sides, various cotton candy machines scattered around the vicinity, and a big fountain with a statue of a tiger on it in the center of the area leading to the building. The paths were colored in bright tye-dye spiral patterns. "Now, children," Mr. Fun stepped inside, with the campers immediately following him, "I know all of this looks tempting, but please do be patient. We have yet to eat breakfast, of course. Follow me to the dining hall and we will begin out morning feast. After you have finished, you are free to roam around the park as you wish." The campers did not hesitate to continue following him into the castle.

"Oh, man, this is gonna be so awesome!" Ollie's eyes darted towards one of the roller coasters. "That one's gotta be like, 70 feet tall!" Sophie's eyes beamed. "Going at 80 miles per hour, too!" Alice rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't recommend stuffing yourself full of pancakes, then. You'll throw up everywhere. Gross, but cool under the right circumstances." The others looked at Alice in disgust and just kept walking.

The main room had a big circular sofa in the middle. Inside the circular couch was a big container of assorted snacks and candy. Around the room were more couches and cushions with various irregular shapes in front of multiple television screens, each one hooked up to its own gaming console on top of a bookcase below the screens. The bookcases were filled with gaming cartridges for each system. In between each screen were hallways that led to different parts of the castle. Mr. Fun straightened his peppermint-striped bowtie. "The dining hall is over this way. Come, children, and leave your bags here. You may come back for them when you are ready to get settled into a bedroom of your choosing."

~*~*~

The sun rose over Camp Wallahavanna. A speaker posted next to one of the cabins boomed all throughout the campsite. "Attention, campers, It's time to wake up. Please report to the mess hall for breakfast. Today's specials are..."

Big Betsy slammed open the front door of the counselor building and stormed over to one of the cabins for morning roll-call. "I just know one of those little punks tried to escape me, we'll see about that..." The first cabin she went to was Ollie's cabin, and she tore the door off its hinges and threw it behind her, hitting one of the campers on their way to the mess hall as instructed. She stomped toward one of the beds and vigorously shook the figure occupying the bed. "WAKE UP, YOU LITTLE RAT! IT'S TIME FOR BREAKFAST, AND SO HELP ME--" The figure revealed itself to be a holographic image of Sophie sleeping, which immediately disappeared as Betsy went to slap it awake.

Without a second thought, she ran back to the counselor building and snatched the intercom from one of the counselor's desks and pushed him off his chair. "ATTENTION ALL STAFF: WE HAVE FOUR RUNAWAYS AT LARGE. FIRST ONE OF YOU SORRY EXCUSES OF CHAPERONES TO ROUND 'EM UP GETS AN EXTRA FIVE MINUTES ON YOUR BREAK TIME. NOW MOVE IT!!!"

An alarm sounded as the counselors scrambled all over the campsite in a frenzy. Betsy watched on from the window with fire in her eyes.

"Those little punks aren't getting away. Nobody messes with Big Betsy."

~*~*~

After a long day of excitement, roller coaster rides and several counts of vomiting, the clock eventually struck 10:00 PM -- time for everyone to retire to their rooms and rest.

Ollie came out of the bathroom that was connected to both his and Nate's room and Sophie and Alice's room, with another door in between the two rooms. "Boy, have you guys seen this bathroom yet? There's fancy hotel-soaps and one of those fancy toilets that squirts back up at you! It's amazing." Sophie was sitting on her bed, brushing her hair. "I still can't believe you ate all that pizza and barfed it out on The Whiplash in that one kid's face!" "Yeah, I probably shouldnt've sat up front...Poor guy. I feel bad that it made HIM throw up, too." "Literally everyone threw up. It was still pretty cool, though," Alice piped up from her bed, reading a book on the study of dreams. Ollie chuckled sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess it was. I'm just glad I didn't get in trouble for it."

Nate, sitting on the bed next to Ollie's, stretched one of his legs out and pulled on a sock. "Hey, you heard the man. That stuff happens all the time. As long as we're havin' fun, y'know?" "Yup," Ollie laid down in his bedand tucked himself in. "And we get to do it all again tomorrow." "...Even the pancake buffet," Nate sighed. "Especially the pancake buffet," Sophie smiled.

"...Well, good night, guys," Ollie reached for the light and flicked it off.