#but walt was just . not charming enough a character to do it sorry he is what he is. sorry to him but i cannot stand him

[chooey]

just finished breaking bad

[elpublico]

Hello! I've been following you for a while and have been wanting to ask you: who exactly is this Federico Garcia Lorca, you seem to like him a lot and I was wondering if you might want to explain why you love him so much. Also why don't you like Salvador Dali (cause I think that has something to do with Lorca? lol) Anyway no pressure if you don't want to answer. I like your blog a lot, have a nice day! :)

first and foremost, thank you very much :-) <3 

ive written an absurd amount here, so uh tldr lorca is a spanish writer whose work i enjoy very much, i dont like dalí because of his support of facist systems and because he was an asshole plain and simple, and they are related in that they shared a weird intense homoerotic bond from roughly 1924-1929

and a more in depth explanation below should you care to read! warning it is quite literally 1.5k words. sorry

okay. let us begin

a very basic bio: federico garcía lorca was a spanish creative best known for his plays and poetry, though he was also a talented musician, draftsman, and theatrical director. he was born in 1898 and is considered part of the generación del 27, a loosely defined collection of spanish creatives and intellectuals interested in modernism emerging in the 1920s and 1930s. he was assassinated at by francoist forces at the start of the spanish civil war in 1936 due to his support of and connections to the republican government, leftist politics, and his somewhat public homosexuality. 

i have serious, academic answers for why i like him but also silly ones so i’ll start with the silly ones. he was a weird fucking guy. most modernists are weird guys but he’s weird in a unique and dare i say somewhat charming way. he played a game with his friends where he’d pretend to be dead and everyone would pretend to have a funeral for him. when he was a kid he play Catholic Mass and make his family cry during his sermons. he had a jesus complex and wrote a play about his jesus complex. weird guy i love studying his weird brain. also he was that fun type of 20th century homophobic homosexual that was like “guys relax im a cool homosexual i dont like drag” thats extremely easy and fun to ridicule (see: ode to walt whitman). this is especially bold of him since he has the world’s worst taste in men.

on a more serious note i do genuinely enjoy his poetry (and plays, but i’m not well-versed enough in theater to give an informed review), and i think its a particularly poignant and unique version of modernism. and it is both easy and fun to make fun of his loser ass homophobia, but i think generally his work portrays a far more nuanced and compelling depiction of struggling with internalized homophobia that what you see in “ode to walt whitman.” as i am interested in both modernism and queer art, he’s one of those touchstone creatives that forms the basis of this line of inquiry in my personal research interests. also, i think his drawings are severely underrated as examples of spanish modern art and in terms of the material culture of modernism and warrant more in depth scholarship than what currently exists, which is generally just as a coda to his written work.

this is something of a meta-reason, but something i’ve also become interested in as i learn more about lorca is the way in which he has become martyrized in historical and contemporary discussions. i mean like people really create Narratives out of this guy’s life. even as early as 1939 we have people like william carlos williams championing him as the martyr of the spanish civil war to galvanize support in the usa among the literary community (if anyone is interested in reading williams’s essay hit me up i have a pdf). ian gibson’s (lorca’s biographer and the guy who uncovered the details surrounding lorca’s assassination) biography is very much constructed as a narrative of an smoothed over and idealized character. i started thinking more seriously about this after watching the film bones of contention, where lorca is shown as patron saint of lgbt people oppressed under francos rule and of all those who killed during franco's rule. the director of the fundación lorca, who is his niece (great-niece?) expressed in this documentary that the family did not want his bones to be found and reburied, because there is such a strong symbolic connection to him amongst those still fighting for government recognition of the true devastation of facist rule. if they find his bones and rebury them with family, there is the concern that the government will use this as propaganda to suggest that they have dealt with all the repercussions of facism and will not diligently follow up with how fascist power is still a systematic issue. i don’t know if this makes sense, as i haven’t articulated this yet and i still don’t really know what to make of it. there’s just something about the loss of humanity here, that his family could not and cannot properly grieve him because in this horrific death he has become a symbol of resistance. and even as people use his image to delve into queer art and history and as facist resistance, there are also people working in the opposite direction, claiming him as like, a neutral historical presence that like, whether he would have wanted that or not, just isn’t true or even ethical when talking about him today. 

and as we talk about narratives i feel this is a good time to shift to dalí who is like The Narrative Guy. as mentioned previously, lorca and dalí were doing some type of gay shit for a little while there (what kind of gay shit is still up for debate). they met in madrid at the residencia de estudiantes, then became very close around 1925, when lorca first visited the dalí summer home in cadaqués. lorca visited again in 1927. they kept a regular correspondence, of which we have relatively few letters, esp those penned by lorca to dalí, and had a particularly fruitful artistic exchange in the years they were friends. lorca drew more (and exhibited his drawings in barcelona), and dalí wrote more. they shared symbols and had this sort of theoretical artistic dialogue through the analysis of saint sebastian. lorca’s head and references to lorca can be found in many of dalí’s paintings of the period, and lorca wrote his "ode to salvador dalí" (which unfortunately kind of slaps) some scholars even go as far as calling this dalí’s lorca period and lorca’s dalinian period.

in 1928 (i think?) luis buñuel (spanish filmmaker who was friends with both of them) begins to turn against lorca, supposedly because he found lorca’s work too traditional/conservative but also probably in large part also due to the fact that he was gay and that he was being gay with dalí. buñuel goes up to dalí, goes “hey i hate lorca don’t you hate lorca haha,” dalí pens this really critical and kind of rude letter to lorca saying his freshly published gypsy ballads was too traditional/conservative and he needed to be more modern etc etc it’s all very high school. dalí pulls away from lorca, goes to paris and collaborates with buñuel on un chien andalou and l’age d’or, lorca goes to new york, and they don’t see each other again until 1935 or 1936 i don’t remember the date. i guess now is as good a time as ever to say at this point in time dalí had ostensibly communist politics and affiliations, but going into late 30s/early 40s as he becomes more successful financially, he cozies up to the fascist franco regime and catholic church and other such institutions so he can live comfortably in spain. he espouses a lot of racist shit that (in my opinion) he only said to further his own career. later on in his life he does a lot of sketchy stuff relating to prints to earn a quick buck. so you know. i dont like him LOL

anyway to bring this back to lorca and narratives, dalí is understandably a key component in understanding the development of lorca’s work but a lot of what he’s said following lorca’s death just cannot be taken at face value. he claims lorca was entirely apolitical in his 1942 autobiography (obviously to make dalí’s own horrendous politics easier to swallow), and in a later interview he presented their relationship in a way that makes lorca look like a pining fool and kind of predatory. this has very clearly influenced lorca scholarship, though i think more and more people are looking at dalí’s comments more critically. in trying to manipulate his own self-image, dalí has had an insane influence over lorca’s narrative, which. grinds my gears.

i hate to end on dalí but i have no more to say lol. but at least i am spreading the word that dalí fucking sucks. gonna cite/link some shit here in the interest of transparency:

biographical details for both mostly pulled from my recollections of ian gibson’s biographies of the two (frederico garcía lorca: a life and the shameful life of salvador dalí) i will also say my understanding of dalí’s personal motives comes pretty much exclusively from gibson’s biography and its thesis, that dalí’s entire life revolved around masking and coping with his own personal sense of shame. very biased point of view but i don’t care enough about dalí to bother reading more about him. even just writing this post bummed me way the fuck out. too much dalí. i will also say i encourage everyone to NOT read gibson’s dalí biography, there’s a really transphobic section that violates the privacy of someone in dalí’s life. she’s a public figure and i’m sure it would not be hard to find speculation elsewhere, but you know. it’s just gross and all i can do is my best to prevent more people from speculating about this woman’s genitals

read a good article a while ago that sums up dalí’s racism but i can’t find it so here are some other articles providing more details, some of which i am only learning about now lol:

el pais: https://english.elpais.com/culture/2022-09-06/the-day-dali-invented-a-racist-religion.html

vice: https://www.vice.com/en/article/8qwp9v/its-really-surreal-how-salvador-dal-was-a-fascist-who-hit-women

if you are ever looking for a painfully mediocre period drama, i suggest little ashes in which robert pattinson plays dalí, making some of the most confusing acting choices of his entire career.

if you’re gonna read a lorca biography i suggest leslie stainton’s lorca: a dream of life. i haven’t read it all the way through, but it’s written more for a general audience than gibson’s hyper detailed version, and stainton isn’t afraid to point out tomfoolery on the part of lorca.

a selection of lorca poems:

fable and round of the three friends: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/623292/fable-and-round-of-the-three-friends/

ballad of the spanish civil guard: https://www.poesi.as/index214uk.htm

the guitar: https://poets.org/poem/guitar

if you made it this far i'm sorry

[thran-duils]

Performance Art

Title: Performance Art Summary:  Fem!Reader x Ransom Drysdale. The reader is married to Ransom; a picture of their life and flashback to when they met. If she had been here by her own choice and her own choice alone, things may be better for her. Ransom is devious though and is able to tangle her into his web. Words: 4,482 Author’s Note: I would tag it dark!Ransom, but tbh, he is the perfect character to be writing for this type of thing. Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Dub-con, dub-con smut, body shaming, coercion, emotional abuse, loveless relationship

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

You caught a reflection of yourself in the window. A tight deep blue dress – Ransom’s favorite color of course – practically painted on your curves. It was the first time you had worn heels this high in almost a year -- the pregnancy causing too much swelling in your feet. The silver straps of them wove around your foot, a band around your ankle. You had thought humorlessly to yourself earlier it was like you were willingly putting on shackles –

“Y/N?”

You blinked, your attention zoning back into the dining table.

Ransom’s aunt Joni was looking at you across the table, a wide smile on her face. She smiled even wider if that was possible, “There you are. Looks like you were on, like, Mars or something.” A few light laughs shared at your expense echoed around hers. “I said, you look amazing. How did you do it?”

You snuck a quick look down at yourself. Right. Your weight. Post pregnancy. Of course that was an appropriate topic of conversation at the Drysdale dinner table. Everything was about appearance.

“Well—”

“Luckily, Y/N has got great genes,” Ransom cut in from beside you. You closed your mouth, gaze turned towards him. You had taken too long to respond for his liking, once again. “Plus, she is really motivated in the gym. Not to mention, a tuck does a lot of wonders.”

You almost visibly blanched. Almost. You were good at hiding your emotions now.

Joni let out a sharp, shrill laugh. Waving her hand at you, she said, “I knew you weren’t perfect! There was no way. Aw, Y/N, nothing to be ashamed of. I had it done too. Couldn’t stand to look at myself after Meg. She wreaked ab-so-lute havoc. Still does. Luckily not on my body though now, so it’s easier to deal with.”

“Thanks, mom,” Meg muttered, throwing her a disdainful look.

“I didn’t wait long either. They told me to wait six months,” Joni said, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “I just couldn’t.”

“Same,” Donna chimed in from down the table. Joni gave her a nod of solidarity.

“Doctor said if she was having the surgery, it should wait until after breastfeeding,” Ransom said for you. “Well, that’s why the baby is on formula.”

He tossed you a quick smirk, cutting into his steak. You watched the red seep from the flesh of it onto the plate, trying to disassociate from him divulging things that should be secret.

“And that’s perfectly fine,” Joni said firmly. “You know, I don’t care what some people say, formula is just as good for the baby as breastmilk. People should trust science more.” You heard a small snort from down the table and did not even have to look to know who it emanated from.

“Of course you would disagree with something regarding science,” Meg quipped at Jacob.

“When it’s filled with mass media lies –”

“Alright,” Donna said cutting into the conversation uncomfortably. Luckily, Walt had left the room to go to the bathroom; he no doubt would have encouraged Jacob’s tirade. Tenseness quickly melted away to charm, “Anyway, Y/N. You do look lovely. And the baby is just beautiful.”

The baby. Yes. The baby being cradled by Fran in another room currently instead of you. Away from the table in case he cried and disrupted dinner. He was beautiful for the aesthetic but when it came to dinner – or any other event Ransom deemed took precedence to your child’s presence -- his preciousness only extended into the collective patience so far.

“Yes, he is sure is a little bundle of joy,” Richard announced, looking proud. Proud of his new grandson and continuing his family line.

A perfectly crafted, artificial smile. “Yes. He is.”

<> <> <>

…TWO AND A HALF YEARS EARLIER

“What the absolute SHIT!”

A shout rang over the water of your shower. You stalled, straining to hear if there was anything else, trying to figure out what was going on.

“What the hell! Who the hell set my alarm to basically blow my goddamn fucking eardrums?”

Shit.

You rinsed your hair quickly, cursing the fact your refreshing shower was being cut short. You had over indulged on the vodka last night and the cool water was like heaven. And now you were going to have to deal with this.

Wrapping your towel around yourself, you continued to hear a loud conversation continuing about who had decided to try to blow someone’s eardrum and not to mention, wake them at an ungodly hour.

It was nine in the morning.

You left the bathroom quickly, walking over to the railing to look down the staircase to the ground-floor landing. You leaned against the oak, peering down at the looming figure over your roommate, Malcolm.

“Look, Ransom, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. We were all drinking. Just go back to bed, man.”

The other guy, Ransom, scoffed loudly. “Go back to bed? Malcolm, my ear is still ringing like a motherfucker!”

Malcolm threw his hands out, “Then do you want breakfast? Alyssa has it cooking.”

Ransom exhaled loudly, annoyance still evident. “Whatever,” he muttered, rubbing his ear, and turned away from Malcolm.

Malcolm all but rolled his eyes before saying, “Well, when you are hungry, it’s in the kitchen. I bet it would really help with the hangover.”

He turned and walked off.

Ransom looked after him before shaking his head and making to go back down the hall to the guest room where he had been sleeping.

Something was bubbling in your chest to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted.

Ransom’s eyes were on you in a moment a floor above him, leaning over the railing in only your towel. Now that he was looking at you and you had drawn attention to yourself, you were quickly losing whatever resolve had forced its way out of you.

“I… I think it was me?” you said uncertainly. “I mean, with your alarm. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I had turned it up that loudly.”

He was burning a hole through you with the way he was staring at you. The seconds stretched into miles, just waiting for him to say something.

“You should keep your hands off my shit.”

The words stung. You were not sure what you had expected but maybe with an apology, you thought you would quell his frustration even a little bit. Apparently, that was not the case.

Ransom tore his gaze away from you and stormed off down the hallway leaving you gripping the bannister nervously.

<> <> <>

You would have gotten over the exchange if only you had not run into him a few days later. You were attending a business convention, trying to get a leg up in the industry; you were close to graduating. There were a lot of big names there and you had been drawn to Linda Drysdale, who had taken an immediate liking, you believed, to you. She was all charm and compliments, but they were constructive compliments, not merely for flattery. She claimed to be self-made -- you noted to yourself to investigate that later – and that was encouraging for you.

“Ah, did not expect to see you here,” She said over your shoulder.

You turned your head and your heart dropped into your stomach recognizing him. Ransom. He was dressed nicer now; hair slicked back, donning a dark grey cashmere sweater and cream trousers.

Turning away quickly, heart beginning to pound, you hoped he had not recognized you.

“Seems I can’t get away from you.”

No such luck.

Linda looked at you and then back at Ransom. “You two know each other?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘know’. I don’t even know her name. She just lives with my friend.”

“Oh. Hmm. That is an odd coincidence then,” Linda said. “Well, her name is Y/N and she is about to graduate – with honors as her esteemed mentor happened to mention to me and she had neglected to herself,” she gave you a slight wink. She had already teased you about being too modest about your accomplishments earlier in your conversation. It was only because Dr. Ewiler – and old friend of hers – had walked by and joined the conversation briefly and spoke you up that she knew about your grades. “With majors in Entrepreneurship and Accounting.”

Ransom peered down his nose at you, still not sitting down in one of the chairs. “Fascinating,” he said flatly.

Red came to your cheeks at his impertinent demeanor and Linda noticed.

Linda scoffed, looking embarrassed for a moment before recovering. She scolded, “Hugh Ransom, Jesus. Be polite.” To you, she said, “Please excuse, my son. I thought I raised him better.”

Son? You almost groaned. You did not miss him rolling his eyes at his mother’s comment.

“Sorry,” he told you in a tone of voice that relayed no remorse at all. “Y/N. Nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” you said in an even tone, feigning some level of sincerity despite wanting him to just leave. But if he was her son… “I hope your hearing is back to normal despite my clumsy behavior. I am still apologetic about that.”

You were trying to mend that bridge with him; you did not want it to possibly ruin whatever relationship you were currently starting with his mother. You wanted – no, you needed – to have her as a connection.

Yet, you could not quite pinpoint the emotion – miffed? Amused? – that was behind his small, closed lipped smile at your apology. His smile did not reach his eyes, that was clear enough.

“It’s fine,” he responded.

“Your hearing…?” Linda asked.

Turning back to look at her, you gave a little nervous laugh, thinking of a cutesy way you could tell the story. You began to explain but Ransom cut you off.

“I had a little too much to drink and passed out. Y/N tried to help me out by making sure I got up at a decent hour but somehow turned the volume of my alarm up to full blast. Right next to my head.”

Linda snorted, “Oh. Well. That does sound like you.” There was something underneath her tone. As if there was a jab at Ransom. He was stone faced though. “Well, Y/N. At least you tried. That’s all we can say sometimes.”

You nodded, exhaling. Your heart was still beating rapidly.

“So, what brought you to a business convention at a college, Ransom? Surely it wasn’t to see me?” Linda asked, looking at him expectantly.

Ransom told her, “Actually. It was. I was hoping we could catch lunch. I wanted to talk to you about something. When’s this thing over?”

Linda checked her watch and said, “I can really leave any time now.”

You fought to hide your disappointment.

Her attention was on you now. “How about I give you my number, Y/N? I would like to continue this conversation about your business model proposal; it is promising.”

You sat up straighter, heart beginning to race again. She liked your idea? Truly?

“I could use some fresh minds at my disposal. That is if you are interested in my company.”

“Oh. Yes,” you said quickly.

Linda smirked at you amused at your quick response. She pulled out a small card from her purse and flipped it over, scribbling a number on the back. Holding it out to you, she said, “Personal cell phone. Now, don’t abuse it.”

“Of course not,” you reassured her, taking it from her. “That would be disrespectful.”

“Yes, it would,” Linda agreed. She stood up from her chair, straightening out her dress. She held out her purse to Ransom, “Here.”

He took it reluctantly as she gathered herself. You stood to meet her, realizing in your excited state you had neglected to do when she rose. You wanted to kick yourself.

When she looked at you again, you stuck your hand out. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me. It was enlightening and beneficial for me to have a respected self-made businesswoman’s opinion.”

Linda shook your hand strongly. “You’re welcome, Y/N. I hope to hear from you soon.”

She walked past you and you pivoted, following her movement.

Ransom was staring you down and you averted your eyes from him to the ground momentarily before looking up at him again. He smirked when you met his gaze again. There was something malicious about it and you did not like it one bit.

<> <> <>

A knock on your bedroom door drew you from your bed. You put your bookmark in place and tossed the book onto the comforter next to you before getting up.

Swinging the door open, you startled seeing Ransom standing there, his large hand planted on the doorframe, leaning in towards you. His cologne was strong, wafting in around you.

“Can I come in?” he asked you without waiting for an answer, pushing past you.

“I…” you started to say, stumbling your words. “Yes?”

Ransom was taking your room in and you shifted uncomfortably. He walked over to your desk, flipping through the pages of your latest pieces of your latest thesis; the one you had been speaking to his mother about.

Eyes ran over the pictures hung of you and your friends, over your bookcase, your movie collection, fingers tracing your jewelry hung on display…

He was invading your space.

“Um, can I help you with something? Is Malcolm supposed to be here?”

“He is here,” Ransom answered, dismissively, coming to rest in front of your collection of rocks you had collected from different parts of the world you had traveled to. You could tell him where each one was from with ease, memory tied deeply to them. He was touching them, examining them, and tossing them carelessly back into the bowl.

Moving quickly over to him, you asked, “Can I help you with something then?”

He dropped the rock he was looking at and turned to you, “Yes, actually. I came up here to ask you out on a date.”

Taken aback, you leaned away, brows furrowed in confusion. “Ah. What?”

“Are you the one with a hearing problem, then?” Ransom quipped.

“I heard you just fine,” you responded, still trying to catch up with what was happening.

“Then it’s settled. I have a reservation at Ocean Prime at 7pm tonight. I’ll come back by to pick you up at 6:30pm.” He moved past you back towards your door.

Your mouth was open like a fish, blinking. You snapped back to reality and turned quickly. “Wait—”

“Wear something nice!” Ransom ordered over his shoulder, not bothering to close the door behind him.

Deflating, you stared at the empty doorway behind him. He had not even given you time to respond – to decline if you so chose to. But could you really decline? He was Linda Drysdale’s son. And you wanted so desperately a break into that business world that she moved in; Ransom – despite his boorish behavior – could be a key to that if you played your cards right.

Turning towards your closet, you bit your lip. What could you wear?

<> <> <>

Holding your clutch close in front of you, you walked next to Ransom after the valet took your car. He had a long stride and guided you to keep up with him. Throughout dinner he surprisingly asked you questions about yourself, allowing you to answer. You kept it short and courteous, mindful about not overindulging. He genuinely seemed interested and you were caught off guard; you had expected him to go off about himself. It is what his persona had indicated he would be like in all your encounters with him. Maybe he had simply been in a bad mood?

At least that was the case with you. He was less than courteous with the wait staff and you found yourself forcing yourself to thank them more profusely and smile wider to try to make up for him.

He picked up the entire bill although you had offered to go Dutch. He had seemed momentarily vexed by the offer but recovered quickly, holding out his card to the waitress between his fingers, not even acknowledging her presence past that.

On the ride home, it was quiet, the windows down in his beamer as the two of you raced through the city. He was a fast driver and it made you nervous, but you tried to focus on the city lights, taking in the night life.

Ransom insisted on walking you back inside and having another drink. He helped himself to a smidge of Malcolm’s scotch and handed you your own glass. You sipped and made a face even though you tried not to.

“Right. It’s not a woman’s drink,” he said, taking the glass back from you and emptying it into his own. “Let’s get you something fruity. Ah, perfect. Let me guess: this orange vodka is yours?”

“Yes,” you affirmed, playing with the top ruffle of your dress.

Ransom made you a drink of the vodka, orange juice, a splash of sprite, and ice.

“You know your way around a drink,” you commented lightly, taking a sip.

“I had the pleasure of being able to experiment with my mother and father’s extensive alcohol cabinet since I was a teen,” Ransom responded, taking a drink of the scotch. He walked around you to the living room. “I’ve always loved Malcolm’s style of decorating. He is good at keeping the Victorian look of the house while touching it up with modern.”

You followed him, listening.

He tossed you a look and said, “You haven’t put your touch on anything out here.”

“It’s not really my house. I just rent my room.”

“I know,” Ransom chuckled. “That’s why I wanted to see your room.” Another drink. “Want to show me it again?”

The way he so flippantly mentioned it…

“You don’t want to stay down here?”

Ransom turned back to you, chuckling. He pushed your glass, guiding it up to your lips. “Drink up.” You did as he asked and almost choked when he made you finish the entire thing. “Now, let me ask you again… want to show me again?”

No. He had not simply been in a bad mood the last couple of times. He was still the same inconsiderate, entitled jerk.

You did not answer him, at loss for words.

“Fine. Thought you would feel more at ease in your bedroom, but I guess here is just as well.” You made to protest but he interrupted, “Malcolm isn’t coming home tonight. I asked because I invited them to do dinner too, but he declined since they are going up north to see Alyssa’s parents. Fortuitous for me.”

Finishing his drink in a quick gulp, he grabbed both your glasses and placed them on the mantel above the fireplace. Before you could react, he tugged you to him, his mouth crashing into yours. You tried to recoil but he held tight, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. He turned you, forcing you up against the wall to further prevent you from escaping.

His hands slipped up underneath your dress, gripping at your thighs.

“Hey!” you finally were able to exclaim when he came up for air. You tried to push him away. “Ransom!”

“Yes?” he asked condescendingly, forcing you back against the wall erasing the small amount of space you had carved out for yourself with the shove. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes! Stop!” you told him, trying to escape underneath his arm but he blocked your attempt, pressing his body weight against you. “Please!”

“What? You don’t like me?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t even know you!”

“Oh, but you want to know me. And you want to know my family. That is clear as day,” Ransom stated, leaning in close, his nose almost brushing yours. “A girl from a modest family trying to get a leg up in the world…” He smirked. “Truth be told, I would love to get your leg up. But first…”

He forced you to your knees, your face close to his crotch. You tried to push yourself up and away, but he grasped your hair and you stilled, gasping at the tug he administered when you had tried to move again.

Ransom’s free hand came down to your cheek, caressing gently. His thumb brushed over your lips as you shakily made eye contact with him. His pupils were beginning to dilate, desire glaring as his tongue ran across his lip. He hand cupped your jaw and he murmured, “You keep saying you’re sorry. I want you to show me how sorry you are.”

You gaped and he grinned, “That’s the spirit, keep it open.”

Gasping when he shoved your cheek up against him again, you felt his hardening dick through his pants. “Come on, Y/N. Be a good girl. I know you know how to do this. A girl like you? From a modest family not in the area? You didn’t get through school just on brains alone. Had to make connections somehow.”

Anger coursed through you at his words and you tried to push away from him once more, but he just wound his hand tighter in your hair causing you to wince. Tears pricked at your eyes as your anger melted to humiliation as he grinded his length up and down your cheek.

Yanking you away, he stared down at you, tickled at the expression on your face.

“You want to use my mother to get into the business world with a bang. It’s understandable, she’s great at what she does. And she has those connections in her hand to give you. All you gotta do is charm her and give her results.”

“But I want you to have to work a little harder for it. You know I can say one thing to my mother, and she won’t have anything to do with you ever again.” He ran his fingers across your lips forcibly. “So, you’re going to open that pretty little mouth of yours and you’re going to show me one, how sorry you are and two, how badly you want to break out of your situation.”

When you did not answer he gave your head a little shake, “Right, Y/N?”

You licked your lips, a tear escaping. Horsley, you answered, “Right.”

He unzipped his trousers, his cock springing free from the confines of his boxer briefs. You stared at the length in front of you, trying to compose yourself. You could do this. You had to do this. You were backed into a corner, literally and figuratively.

Ransom tasted salty as you took him into your mouth. He groaned the further you took him in, increasing your speed the wetter you made him. His fingers at the back of your head were digging in, forcibly pushing you further to take him even deeper. Tongue swirling, you drew low moans of pleasure from him.

Suddenly, both his hands grasped the sides of your head, holding you in place. He thrusted, using you and you struggled to stay steady on your knees with his violent jolts. Loud grunts left his lips, animalistic and savage. You gagged, a few tears running down your cheeks. He was hitting the back of your throat so roughly you thought you were going to get sick.

Fortunately, he pushed you away. Gasping for air, you rubbed at your throat, trying to ease the discomfort.

He grasped your arms and yanked you from the floor. In a fluid motion, he spun the two of you around to face the back of the couch. His hand pressed to the small of your back and your face came to contact with the couch cushions.

Ransom forced himself between your legs, kicking one out to the side to give himself more room.

“A-a condom?” you choked out.

“You’re on birth control, aren’t you?” he asked, hiking your dress up.

“Y-y-yes.”

He chortled and said to himself more than anything, “Well, we will have to fix that for next time.”

You bucked forward when you felt his fingers slipping inside you, rubbing at your clit. You whimpered feeling yourself get wetter with each stroke. You were getting close; he was skilled at pushing you towards falling over the edge.

But he wanted to be inside you for that; his fingers left and his head replaced them.

When he pushed himself inside, you cried out adjusting to his girth. He moaned loudly, bottoming out. He let out a little laugh before pulling out and slamming back in. Your hands gripped the cushions trying to give yourself some sense of balance as he rammed into you repeatedly.

Ransom was holding tight at your hips, his own snapping off your ass hard enough that it was going to bruise. Each stroke of his cock against your clit sent a flow of pleasure through you until it was like a wave breaking. Broken whimpers echoed as you convulsed around him. When he came with a loud shout, you felt him fill you, his cock twitching inside.

His grip went lax at your hips and he reached underneath, and you squeaked when he pinched at your oversensitive clit.

“That was cute,” he husked, his hands slowly running up your sides. One of his hands snaked around your neck and he pulled you back up to his chest, still fully seated inside you.

“Mhm, yeah,” Ransom breathed against your ear, his fingers flexing in and out on your neck. “I think if you keep this up, you will be the epitome of the type of girl I want to bring home to my parents.”

<> <> <>

…PRESENT

Ransom never let you out from underneath his thumb, not that he needed to try too hard. You knew that if you divorced him, you had nothing. You had signed a prenup and even if you thought you could make it without money, there would be bad blood with the Drysdales and with how much influence they had on the area, you would have a huge obstacle to overcome.

Yes, you got to work with Linda, and you had influence with her. But it was still her business, not yours.

You had gotten what you wanted mostly though.

A family. Money. A place in the business world.

It just came with a price.

Ransom’s hand gripped your leg underneath the table, sliding past the hem to the inside of your thigh.

“Now I have two precious things in this world to me,” he said in response to his father.

Another perfectly crafted smile from you.

And he still had that malicious glint in his eye, even as he leaned in and planted a kiss on your cheek.

“Good girl,” he breathed so only you could hear.

[madisonrooney]

hi it's your secret santa! first of all HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! i hope you have a wonderful day! how are you celebrating, if you are at all? safely, i hope! either way i hope you manage to find a way to have a great day full of love!! consider my christmas gift a belated birthday gift as well lol. anyway i loved reading your last answer, it was so thoughtful and sweet. i realized after reading that i barely know anything about dove lol so follow up q: what about dove makes you love her so much?

sorry for the late response! the last couple days have been v busy and ive been super tired and dissociative on top of it so i made a point to save this bc i wanted to give it my full attention!

first of all thank you!! i was going to do a virtual meet and greet with one of my favs from jersey boys but he got confused about timezones so we rescheduled but were doing it next week! then i went to a virtual walt disney family museum panel, had pizza for dinner and watched some liv and maddie, my mom made a cookie cake that we ate while watching the grinch musical, and then some friends and i watched the jersey boys movie together over skype!

im so glad you enjoyed reading my last answer! and oof thats another loaded question (i love it tho)

- like i said when first talking about what drew me to her and liv and maddie, a big thing is just how much passion and love she puts into her characters. ofc she puts passion into every character she plays, but its the passion she puts into characters like liv, maddie, and mal that means the most to me. that goes back to the fact that ive dealt with a lot of negativity directed towards me for enjoying disney channel, and then you have dove out here saying “yah im a teenager/twenty-something who not only respects what theyre doing on disney channel, but puts my all into it” not to mention she even won an emmy for playing liv and maddie in season 4! i hope that passion and talent has started to change the conversation about disney channel, and tbh i think it has at least a bit.  ofc, none of this is to say other people her age acting on disney channel arent talented and passionate, but idk, something about her has always stood out to me. i find her to be more animated and expressive than most. it can be hard for me to read emotions in live action movies and shows, so thats been really important for me. not to mention she was not only playing the lead but TWO lead characters on a four season show with distinct personalities but also subtle similarities. AND the main character in the biggest DCOM franchise in years for 5 years running now. PLUS the fact that there was a period where those were both happening at the same time. she was only 16 when she started all this and hadnt even had any big roles prior to it!! she had a lot of responsibility so it was amazing to see her not only pull it off, but excel at it.

- i just love like....her aesthetic?? shes always seemed to be a very old soul to me, into old jazz music and poetry and stuff like that. its just very charming. and for her to have that aesthetic on top of being a disney channel actress is a fascinating juxtaposition.

- this is kind of sappy and it gets tiring to hear it said over and over again but that doesnt mean it isnt true: i love how transparent she is about her struggles with mental health issues, trauma, and such. she has been for a long time but even more so over the last year or two. no shade to anyone else, but a lot of actors dont really give you a look into their personal lives, they just share and promote their product. im not saying theres anything wrong with that, its good to know what youre comfortable sharing, ive just felt all the more close to her with her being as open as she is, especially as someone who has gone through trauma myself, albeit different from hers.

- kind of connected to that, i love how important spreading kindness, positivity, and love is to her. thats another thing thats been said a million times but still, its very important to me.

for example. she’ll randomly tweet things like “i love you” a lot. im one to always think of the thought process that goes on behind whatever someone posts, texts, etc., bc personally i put a lot of a thought into pretty much anything i say or do before i put it out there publicly, probably bc of my social anxiety. even tho its a simple statement and takes her a couple seconds to post, she still had to have the thought “i want to remind my fans that theyre loved” or something along those lines. and she has this thought FREQUENTLY. to just randomly get a notification every few days or weeks or so of her saying something like that is just very heartwarming to me.

the reason i connected with miley so much when she helped me through my initial trauma was bc it felt like even if no one loved me, she loves her fans, thus she loves me. thus the person i love and admire the most loves me. even if its only one person, it can be enough. it was for me at the time. i feel that same way with dove. when she came into my life, i didn’t feel as unloved, but her love was still helpful to me.

- of course i need to specifically talk about her kindness in person too. dont get me wrong (ive been saying that a lot havent i lol), i totally and completely loved her long before i met her, but naturally, i love her 10x more after the experiences ive had getting to know her in person.

i could go ONNNNNNN about the experiences ive had with her, and i have lol, and if you already heard me ramble about this in the server i apologize, but the most important thing ive taken away from every encounter ive had with her is this: she always goes the extra mile. she always goes out of her way to make people feel special. what i mean by that is she could say/do HALF as much as she has when meeting me and i would still leave over the moon feeling loved. you can tell she does this in excess bc she really truly means it and cares about people like me, she doesnt have any kind of ulterior motive and isnt just going through the motions doing whats asked of her, she simply cares about me and the rest of her fans. some examples - the first time we met, i was sobbing (lol) and she hugged me for a really long time, rocking me back and forth, brushing my hair with her thumb, calling me sweetheart and honey. she even started to tear up a bit herself. - a couple months later, i went to my first liv and maddie taping. i was preparing to reintroduce myself (i looked a little different bc id been cosplaying as maddie the first time i met her) and ofc when preparing myself, i fantasized pretty heavily as i usually do and pictured myself showing her the pic of us on my phone, her gasping, jumping out of her chair screaming, and hugging me, thinking that was probably way more than i was gonna get. that is EXACTLY what happened. then she went on to tell me how my costume made her whole weekend. things like this would continue to happen where i would set the bar impossibly high and not only would she meet it but she’d exceed it. - our usual interaction from there on would start with her face lighting up when she saw me, her calling me some kind of cute name like love or baby, and then hugging me without me even having to initiate it. - when i saw her in mamma mia, i didnt know when id be seeing her again afterwards after pretty consistently getting to see her for 2 years, so i wanted to make sure we got some kind of closure. at the stage door, i reminded her how much she meant to me and just expected like an “aww i love you too” or something back, but she said “you are an angel in my life” and i will never forget that. obvs, i havent told her ALL the details about what she and her characters mean to me but like...she can tell. she can tell if im in a homemade maddie costume sobbing into her arms that theres something there, and shes VERY appreciative of that. - i thankfully got to see her at a meet and greet a few months later and every time i thought i should get going cuz i didnt want to hold the line up, she would just open her arms for another hug. speaking of being appreciative, she even said “thank you for being such a supportive fan.” as i left, i turned around to say one last goodbye. i made sure she wasnt with the next fan yet and yelled out “bye!” and she yelled back “I LOVE YOU!!” and blew me a kiss. again, its the little things. - i saw her at a small panel in new york a few months after that. she walked in the room when the lights were down as they were playing a clip, she quietly waved hi to everyone, then saw me and loudly whispered HI BABY!!! and stopped on her way to the stage to give me a hug. (then she looked at me from the stage and asked which way i thought she should cross her legs for the interview lol) - sometimes when she sees im next in line, shell give me a knowing smile or whisper “hi baby!!” or something like that. she saw me in the crowd after clueless and seemed to make a point to come to me last bc she knew wed be talking for a while, which we did. she even told me she’d seen me in the audience, asking if i was in the front on the left, which i was.

even all that is still just scratching the surface. weve “known” each other for 5 years now and every time i think she’s done the most she can do, she outdoes herself again. not to mention when im at these events, i see her treat all the fans she meets with all of that kindness too. naturally all of this has made me love her all the more.

- finally, lets just be honest here..........................shes REALLY fucking hot.

[starspangledbanner27]

**CHAPTER UPDATE – Chapter 6 posted**

Fandom: Saving Mr. Banks (AU)

Description: AU take on the movie, exploring what might have happened if the author of the Mary Poppins books had been someone very different from P. L. Travers.  For Carrie Schultz, the chance to collaborate with Walt Disney Studios to bring Mary Poppins from the page to the screen is a dream come true. ��However, matters grow complicated when animated penguins prove to be a point of contention, a friendly working relationship turns into more than she bargained for, and Carrie struggles to prevent Walt’s team from discovering her own hidden afflictions.

Characters: Carolina “Carrie” Schultz (OC), Don DaGradi, Walt Disney, Richard M. Sherman, Robert B. Sherman, Ralph

Rating: T

Genre: Drama/Romance

Language: English

Read on Fanfiction.net, AO3, Wattpad, Quotev, or below.

From the beginning on Fanfiction.net, AO3, Wattpad, or Quotev.

My motivation to update finally returned from a three-week hiatus.  To those of you who’ve been awaiting this next chapter, thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoy it. :)

~~~~~

Chapter 6

“Well, everybody . . .” Don adjusted himself in his seat, “this is it—the last scene.  What do you say we finish this up and then take a break?”

Dick threw his hands up and stretched over the back of his chair.  “I say hallelujah!”  

“I concur with Dick,” I replied.  After almost two solid hours of going through the script—reading, revising, and even returning to earlier scenes to make changes—the four of us were eager for a respite.

“All right, then.”  Don glanced at me over the top of his glasses.  “Carrie, why don’t you read for Mary Poppins; Bob, you read for Michael; and I’ll read for Jane.  Dick, you can start us off with the scene heading.”

“You got it.”  Dick looked down at his copy of the script.  “‘Scene 12—Nursery and Living Room.   In the living room, a worried Mrs. Banks, Ellen, and Cook are talking amongst themselves while the Constable talks on the phone.  In the nursery, Michael and Jane are watching Mary Poppins pack her carpetbag.’”

“‘She doesn’t care what will happen to us!’” Bob read Michael’s line.  

Don cleared his throat, raised his eyebrows, and adopted a girlish falsetto.  “‘She only said she would stay until the wind changed.  Isn’t that right, Mary Poppins?’”  Unlike Dick and Bob, who used their normal voices regardless of whose lines they were reading, Don fully assumed the persona of every character he read for; and I couldn’t help chuckling to myself at his impersonation of Jane.  However, I managed to suppress my amusement long enough to read Mary Poppins’s part.

“‘Will you bring me my hat, Jane?’”

“‘Mary Poppins, don’t you love us?’”  Don pulled his face into such an exaggeratedly pathetic pout that I burst out laughing.

“‘And what would happen to me, may I ask, if I loved all the children I said goodbye to?’” I gasped amidst a fit of giggles.

“There, Don—look what you did.”  Bob gestured to me and shook his head with mock exasperation. “You broke her.”  

By that time, I had almost succeeded in bringing my laughter under control, but Bob’s dry remark set it off all over again.  Then, suddenly, that all-too-familiar tightness took hold in my lungs; and I crumpled forward, pressing one hand to my mouth and the other to my chest as a series of coughs racked my body.  Don and Bob ceased their banter and looked at me with concern.  “You all right, Carrie?” Don asked.  

I nodded.  Liar, taunted a voice in the back of my head, but I ignored it.  Then, mustering all my strength, I drew a long, deep breath and held it, straining against the urge to cough again.  After five seconds, I blew it out slowly, then reached for my glass of water and took a drink.  When I finished, I looked up to see the three men staring at me.

“Sorry,” I sighed.  “I guess I haven’t laughed that hard in a while.”  

“Are you okay now?” Don asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I assured him.  

Dick pointed to the script.  “Should I read the next part, then?”

I nodded.  “Go ahead.”

“All right, where were we?”  He scanned over the page.  “Oh, here we are.  ‘Mary Poppins continues to silently pack her bag.’”

Don took the next part.  “The Constable, talking on the phone, says, ‘Yes sir . . . George W. Banks.  17 Cherry Tree Lane.  About six foot one.  Yes, we rang the bank.  No sign of him!’”  

I read Ellen’s line.  “‘Wouldn’t hurt to let them drag the river!’”

“‘Really, Ellen!’” Bob read for Mrs. Banks.

“‘He seemed to be such a fine, stable gentleman, sir!’” Don read for the Constable again.  “He’s still speaking into the phone at that point,” he clarified.

“That’s the last line on the page,” I observed.  “But that’s not the end, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Don confirmed.  “The ending is a . . . work in progress.”

“Do you have a concept in mind?”

He sighed.  “Not exactly.  We’ve been tossing ideas around for over a week now, but we haven’t come up with anything satisfactory.”

I nodded thoughtfully.  “I see.  Well, maybe I can help.”

“That’s what we were hoping,” he confessed with a grin. Then, taking a deep breath, he flipped his copy of the script shut and folded his arms on the table.  “All right; now that we’ve made it through that, let’s take a break and meet back here in ten minutes.”

“Finally,” Dick sighed with relief as the four of us rose from our chairs.  

Bob grabbed his cane and headed for the door.  “I’m gonna go ask Dolly to bring in some sandwiches and fruit.”

“Good idea,” Don agreed.  

After Bob left the room, I meandered over to one of the pinup boards and scanned my eyes across the various sketches that were tacked to it.  “What are all these drawings for?” I inquired at last.

“That’s some of the concept art for the movie,” Don explained, coming to stand beside me.  “We find it’s helpful to have a visual—plus, it’s fun.  This one here is Michael in his chalk world outfit.”  He pointed to the one I was looking at, which depicted a young boy clad in white shorts, a blue-and-white pinstriped jacket, and a yellow straw hat with a blue ribbon.  

I smiled.  “They’re charming.  Who draws them?”

“Most of them are drawn by our concept artists—people from the animation department,” he replied.

“Don’s too modest,” Dick interjected from across the room.  “At least half the drawings in here are his work.”

I turned to Don.  “Is that true?”

A self-conscious smile tugged at his mouth.  “Well, since he mentions it, yes, I did draw some of them.”  Returning his gaze to the board, he reached out and straightened a few of the sketches that were hanging crookedly.  “I started out here at Disney Studios working in animation, and most of us animators tend to think in terms of storyboards.  So when I’m working on a screenplay like this one, I’ll often make sketches to help us visualize the story.”  

“He can make entire scenes come to life on paper,” Dick affirmed.  

“That’s quite impressive,” I remarked.

“Well, Dick is rather liberal in his praise, but thank you,” Don replied with a smile.  “I was originally thinking we’d go over the concept art with you tomorrow,” he continued, “but since it’s only 3:30, we might be able to do it before you leave today.”

I nodded eagerly.  “Yes, that’d be good.”

Just then the door opened, and Bob entered the room with Dolly close behind, pushing a cart with a plate of sandwiches and a fruit tray. “Here you go, gentlemen,” she announced. “Oh, and Carrie, your ride’s waiting outside.”

“What?” I asked, bewildered.  “I thought he wasn’t supposed to pick me up till five.”

“Well, Walt figured you might be a little tired after your first day here, so he had me call your driver and ask him to come early,” she explained.

“Oh, he did, did he?” I muttered.  Aloud I replied, “Thank you, Dolly, for letting me know. I’ll be right down.”  Dolly nodded, smiling, and began laying out the food.

With a small sigh of annoyance, I returned to the table to collect my jacket and purse.  “Well,” I said to the three men, “it appears I have to go now.  Thank you for a wonderful first day; I really enjoyed it.”

“Good, we’re glad to hear that,” Bob replied.  Dick, who had just taken a large bite of sandwich, expressed his agreement with a thumbs-up.  

I nodded.  “Well, then, I’ll see you all tomorrow.  Have a good evening.”  

“You too!” chorused Bob, Dick, and Dolly.

“I’ll walk you out,” Don said, opening the door for me.

As we strode through the hallway, I heaved another sigh. “I’m sorry we couldn’t go over the concept art.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Don reassured me. “We’ll just do it tomorrow.”

“But we had enough time; we could have done it today.” I shook my head in frustration.  “Walt didn’t even ask whether I wanted to leave early.  If he had, I would have said no.”  

He shrugged.  “Well, that’s Walt for you.  I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm by it.”  

I pursed my lips.  “Hmm.”

After several moments of silence, Don changed the subject. “I noticed you spoke up a lot more during the second half of the reading.”  

“Just following some good advice,” I replied with a smile, glancing up at him as I did so.

He caught my eye and grinned.  “I’m glad you did.”  

We made it to the front door; and as we emerged from the air-conditioned building into the sun-baked heat of the afternoon, Don asked, “Well . . . anything else before you leave?  Any other comments?”

I opened my mouth to say no, but then I remembered something that had been tugging at the back of my mind for most of the afternoon.  “Actually, yes, there is,” I confessed.  “Mr. Banks—his character in the script seems so . . .”  I trailed off, unsure of what exactly I was trying to convey.

“What?” Don prompted.

“I don’t know, just . . . something about him . . .” After another few seconds, I shook my head.  “Never mind. I’m not quite sure what it is.”

“Well, let us know if you figure it out,” he said. By that time, we had arrived at the spot along the sidewalk where Ralph had parked the car and was standing patiently beside it with his hands clasped.

“Ready to go, Miss Schultz?” he asked.

“Well, Mr. Disney seems to think I am,” I replied wryly. Ralph’s face registered confusion, but he smiled anyway.  Meanwhile, I turned once more to the man still standing beside me.  “Thank you for everything, Don.  I have to admit, I was a little nervous at first; but you and the Shermans made me feel comfortable here.  I really appreciate that.”

A warm grin spread across his face.  “The pleasure is all ours, Carrie.  It’s wonderful to have you here.”

I flushed with delight.  “Well . . . I guess I’d better go now.”

He nodded.  “See you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it.”  With a final parting smile, I climbed into the car.  

Ralph shut the door behind me, then hurried around the other side and climbed into the driver’s seat.  As the car pulled away from the sidewalk, I looked out the window to see Don waving goodbye.  I lifted my hand and waved back.

“Nice guy,” Ralph remarked after I turned around.

“Yes, he is,” I murmured, smiling to myself.

~~~~~

Back in my hotel room, I set my purse on the nightstand, kicked off my pumps, and collapsed onto the bed with a sigh.  After staring at the ceiling for several seconds, I turned my head to look at Mickey Mouse where he sat on the floor by the dresser. “Well, we made it through the first day,” I remarked to him.  “And it wasn’t so bad after all.”  

He smiled as if he’d known all along.

With a soft chuckle, I let my eyelids fall shut.  Just a quick rest . . .

~~~~~

When I opened my eyes, the room was dark.  Disoriented, I sat up and looked at the clock on the nightstand.  7:36.  I covered my face with my hands and groaned. How had I let myself fall asleep—for three and a half hours, no less?  At last, with a sigh of resignation, I stood up, stretched, and staggered over to the closet to find a more comfortable dress.  

Once I had changed, I sat down on the bed again and ordered up a belated dinner tray.  Then I propped the pillows against the headboard, retrieved the contract and a pencil from my purse, and settled down to comb through the pages of legalese.

When at last I reached the dotted line, I gave a nod of satisfaction.  The terms of the contract were exactly as my agent had described, including the two most important stipulations—live-action, script approval—all right there in black and white.  Just as I was searching through my purse for a pen with which to sign, the phone rang. I glanced at the clock—8:30.  Forgetting the contract, I set my purse aside and leaned over to pick up the phone.  “Hello?”

“Hey, Carrie, it’s Sam.”

“I figured as much,” I replied with a smile.  “But I didn’t expect you to call this late! It’s, what, 10:30 your time?”

“Oh, yeah.”  She giggled sheepishly.  “James took me out to dinner tonight.  We got to talking and lost track of the time.”

“So I take it you enjoyed yourselves?”

“We did.”  She gave a sigh of delight.  “But enough about me.  How was your first day at the studio?”

“It was great,” I affirmed.  “Everyone was very nice, especially the three men I’m working with.  We spent most of our time today going over the script.”

“And you like it so far?”

“I think so.  There are a few things I might like to change, but I think they’ve got a good start.”

“Good.”  She paused, then spoke again.  “So . . . three men, huh?  Are they cute?”

“They're married!” I exclaimed indignantly.  “Well, two of them are.”

“And the third one?”

“Don’t even go there, Sam.  I can’t be thinking about stuff like that; I need to focus on making this movie.  Not to mention there’s this thing called professional conduct.”

“Aw, too bad,” she lamented.  I rolled my eyes.  “Well, tell me more about these men,” she prompted.  “What exactly do they do?”

“Well, Dick and Bob Sherman are the songwriters,” I explained.  “They showed me some of what they’ve come up with so far—and, Sam, it’s amazing!  I can't wait to hear the rest.  And then there’s Don DaGradi, the scriptwriter—he’s pretty much the one in charge of this whole project.  I think you’d like him.  He was very welcoming, and he seems open to my suggestions, which is a pleasant surprise.”

“Ah,” she said knowingly.  “I’ll bet he’s the one who’s still single, isn’t he?”

“Sam, for heaven’s sake—”

“I knew it!” she exclaimed.  “So, is he attractive?”

I shook my head.  “You are incorrigible, Samantha.”

I could practically hear her triumphant grin.  “And proud of it!”

“Anyway,” I pointedly changed the subject, “things went very well today.  I think this whole thing is going to work out even better than I expected.”

“Well, I’m glad you had a good time,” she said.  Then, after a pause, “So, did you get to meet . . . him?”

“Walt, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, I did.”

“What’s he like?” she asked.

I furrowed my brow thoughtfully.  “You know, I’m not quite sure.  I mean, when I first met him, he came across a lot like he does on television—all warm and fatherly, like the sort of guy everyone would want as a friend.  But now . . . I don’t know, I’m starting to get the sense that there’s another side to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just . . . never mind.  It’s too complicated to explain.  Whatever it is, I doubt it’ll cause any problems.  Oh, and speaking of which, I just finished looking over the contract.  Everything seems to check out, so I’m going to sign it and hand it in tomorrow.”

There was a moment’s pause before she replied.  “You sure you want to do that now?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, surprised.

“I don’t know . . . maybe no reason,” she answered hesitantly.  “It’s just that I know how much Mary Poppins means to you, and I’d hate to have you run into any unpleasant surprises. And maybe you won’t; maybe it’ll all go smoothly, like you said . . . but if I were you, I’d hold off on signing the contract a little while longer, just in case you need that extra leverage.”  

“I see your point,” I conceded, “but I honestly don’t think it’s necessary.  The terms I specified are right there, and legally, that’s all that matters.”

“I know,” she said.  “But please, will you at least hold onto it for one more day?  And then if you still feel fine about it, I won’t try to talk you out of signing.”

Though I didn’t understand why she was so concerned about it, I also didn’t see any point in causing her needless anxiety.  “All right,” I agreed.  “If it means that much to you, I guess there can’t be any harm in waiting.”

“Good.”  She sounded relieved.  “I know you think I’m silly for worrying about these things.  I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Thanks, Sam.  I really do appreciate it.”  I drew a deep breath.  “You know, I wish you were here right now.  It feels strange being out here all alone.”

“But you’re not alone, Carrie, not really,” she assured me.  “I’m right here, whenever you need me.”

I smiled.  “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”  After a few moments, she spoke again.  “So, you’re still doing okay, right?  You sound really tired.”  

“Sam . . .”

“I know, I know.  I’m sorry.  I just . . . I had to ask.”  

“I’m fine,” I assured her.  “Really.  It’s been a long day, that’s all.”  

“Okay.”  She heaved a sigh.  “Well, in that case, you should get some sleep."

“You're right,” I agreed.  “I love you, Sam.”

“Love you, too, sis.  Talk to you tomorrow!”  With that, the line clicked shut; and I hung up the phone, put the unsigned contract back in my purse, and got up to prepare for bed.  

~~~~~

Half an hour later, I climbed into bed, turned off the lamp, and lay there staring at the wall as my mind replayed the most significant parts of the day—including what my sister had asked me about Don.  “So, is he attractive?”  Earlier, I had managed to dodge the question; but lying in the still darkness, alone with my thoughts, I had to admit that indeed he was.  

But so what? I asked myself.  Heaven knows, I have much more important things to worry about.  Sam had only been teasing, after all; there was no reason to take any of it seriously.  And the strange little flutter I felt every time Don smiled at me?  That was nothing, absolutely nothing.  Thus reassured, I turned over and closed my eyes . . . but the last image that hovered in my mind before being overtaken by sleep was that wide, playful grin with the twinkling brown eyes and the deep dimples in the cheeks.

~~~~~

Tag list… let me know if you want to be added or removed!  

@iwillalwaysreturm | @writings-of-a-narwhal | @24hourshipping

[zebraslovescupcakestoo]

A Brother’s Promise

It was mid September when they decided to throw an unexpected surprise party at the Disney company. Oswald himself was told by his charismatic little brother, Mickey, to help them set up. It didn't bothered him too much since he's going to be making most of the snacks like seafood and other buffet variety stuff. As long as it was healthy and that he had help.

Except that Mickey never gave his answer about what is it about and he just said 'It's a surprise!' and he has to wait along with the other staffs at their father's company.

No matter what people say about their father, Mickey and Oswald where actually well respected. They were actually the ones who made their family's name much better than their old man himself. They don't believed of getting their high positioned jobs through 'please, daddy' and they have it with a beautiful red bow. No no no! They even insisted that they worked FOR it and earned their keeps to achieved it.

Mickey was their best animator at the company aside from Ubbe Eert Iwerks. Unlike most cliche boss’s kid attitude they all thought he would have, he was very optimistic, hard working, colorful and very kind person. He was just like his cartoon counter part and Disney's iconic mascot. Everyone who worked with him were always happy.

Oswald was his older brother and the head mechanic of the new Disneyland maintenance team. It was a quite a surprise for them when he was an inventor of a sort and even more when they learned that he was a five times champion from Chinese boxing tournaments. Not even his size was estimated by bigger guys you could meet at the night bars. He was similar to his brother's optimistic mind but more realistic. He was mature, calm, smooth and can sometimes be intimidating if he catches someone being disrespectful to his brother or to another person. (Or if one of his staffs being lazy without putting a descent amount of work first too.) Nevertheless, he was very well respected and liked.

Both were at the presence once the big night have arrived. The party was inside their studio due to a thunder/rain storm and the room was like one of those school prom but with their animator's team, the maintenance’s team, even their janitors and their three, old maids from their 'old' home that took care of them since they were little aside their mother when she used to work as the secretary.  

Oswald was just standing alone, leaning at a naked wall that wasn't covered with a curtain or piled up with chairs. He was wearing his favorite blue vest with a dragon on, along with a white rolled up sleeves, black gloves, black dress pants and knee high boots. He didn't do much with his twin tailed hair aside he groomed it very well. He was observing everyone and just listened whenever he heard something interesting. He also had a punch cup in one of his hand.

He always was shown as a 'second' best compared to his popular brother, but he knows better that it wasn't his brother's fault that he has that certain charm and that his brother will always there for him. Even at his worst one time...

He then noticed that his brother was emerging from the crowd as he was attempting to leave them for a moment. He was wearing his signature rep carpet night outfit. He had his black suit with his matching red bow tie, white shirt, yellow gloves, red dress pants and his best pair of black dressed shoes. He finally arrived with a big plate full of a variety of delicacies that he made most of them that was enough for two.

“I figured you wanted something to eat. I haven't seen you at the buffet earlier.” Mickey started their conversation. “I was just thirsty at the time.” Oswald stated, but he did took some vegetables off his plate. “You looked good tonight.” He complemented his little brother. Mickey flustered at this sudden unexpected praise. “Oh! Er, Thank you! You look handsomer- er, I mean, more handsome! Like, you look great too!” He fumbled his words as Oswald chuckled a bit at his brother's little goofy moment. “Ha ha, thank you.”

They took a couple of minutes of silence to watch over among their workers as they all socialized as they much on. Oswald then broke off their silence. “It's still amazing that even with what's been going on in the world, I'm glad that there's some good times like these.” Mickey tried to think of another subject. “Say, how's that new role with that martial arts movie they've been working on?”

“Where have you heard that?” Oswald raised an eyebrow. Did his little brother still kept an eye out for him, even with his busy schedule? “You know I've been keeping up with what's going on with the movie sets, you can't hide it from me. I know you'll be great with that leading role of martial art vigilante.” Mickey smirked with a wink. He knew that his big brother will be well suited for this role and a great opportunity for him to stand out from their shadows. “I know you deserve it.”

“I doubt it would be successful. It's been a while since the industry made those kinds of Chinese influenced films and most were barely recognizable here in the states.” Oswald stated. “Don't think like that! I saw that part of the shoot and I think it would look great on the big screen once it's done! I bet that more people will love to see it once they noticed your awe inspiring fighting techniques!” Mickey tried to cheer him up. “Or maybe IF it flunked like you'd said, you can always try for a cooking show special.”

“You already beat me at that.” He said. “Just a dessert special, but you can still make a pretty good Eastern meals like the ones you've made tonight. They're very delicious just like mom used to make-!” Mickey then realized that he brought up a bit of a touchy subject. It wasn't offensive, it just that she passed away almost a decade ago. They both loved their mother and they reminisces of how they used to be as a real family. “I.. know she would have been very proud of your cooking skills if she was still with us today.” Mickey said what he think their late mother would have said to his older brother. “True, but I think she would have said your desserts were the best tonight first.” Oswald tried to be more realistic. “Not exactly! Mom was-*Sniff sniff* Do you smell something amazingly familiar?” Mickey asked and then he too took a sniff. They then both took a good silent whiff until they realized what it is. They then turn on each other with sparking stars in their eyes and spoke with a smile. “Chocolate!” They said in union.

No matter how much of a heath conscious, young men they were, they both love chocolate sweets, especially Mickey.

They noticed that they've just put a chocolate fountain along with a variety of fresh cut fruits. If Mickey did knew about it, Oswald would have noticed it sooner. “I'm going to get a bunch! I've saved my sweet tooth for this!” He then rushes to it. Guess that leaves the rabbit in charge of their drinks.

It didn't take him long for him to get milk, but he can't say the same thing about his little brother. Getting their fruits and chocolates were easy, it's the crowd that's keeping him 'captive.' Oswald was thankful that he didn't have to deal with that kind of attention. He would have laugh it off for all the times he wished he was more popular, now he was just thankful for having his little 'privacy' time.

It may took a few minutes, but Mickey finally made it. He was a bit short of breath. “So sorry... They... wouldn't... stop asking... for everything.” “Here, let's take a seat before you drop and create more attention for yourself.” He said and suggested to their seats behind him. They immediately started to clean up their plate and chocolate dip. Occasionally, there was someone who came up to Mickey for a small talk and that leaves Oswald for more samples that he took advantage, but he did leave some for Mickey and the last one. He finished it off and then admittedly said. “Sometimes, I envy your personal time alone.”

He was surprised at that. “I wouldn't say that. You have what most people want to be these days in this movie or animated industries.” Mickey wanted to corrected that confusion. “I'm not saying that I don't like it, it's just... I get a little overwhelmed sometimes and... I get a little tired sometimes too.” He then rested his head on his shoulder to emphasis it. Oswald may not know all what's going on with Mickey's celebrity life style, but he can see behind that mask he puts up in front of everyone that he gets tired, in more meanings than that.

He then noticed their father, Walt Disney, and one of their top animators, Ubbe Eert Iwerks, entered and they made quite a commotion. He also saw Ubbe holding a large envelope which he's guessing it might contain some sketches for either a cartoon or a new park ride. He bets it's for a cartoon cause if it WAS for a new park ride, he would know it way before anybody! He nudged his shoulder to wake him up. “Hey, dad's here.” Mickey grunted a bit and snapped his eyes opened once he realized it. “Ah! Finally! Quick Ozzy! We need you to be there before he announces the big surprise.” Oswald was confused but before he said anything else, Mickey quickly grabbed his wrist and dragged him to their father's side.

Oswald was curious of why he was needed when it was just a cartoon promotions. It was usually his brother's spotlight moments for those occasions. He did have those kinds of spotlights too for a new attraction or mechanics ideas. Why the sudden switch?

He was then placed on his father's left side and everybody looked at them. Walt then spoke. “I would like to start by saying thank you for everybody that has made it tonight's celebration of the return of a once beloved character.”

Oswald raised an eye brow. Surely it wasn't supposed to be Mickey in his spot? He looked at his little brother and he was just pumped up with excitement with little hops. Seemingly that it's a surprise that involves him and he had something to do with it.

His father continued as he was doing that. “Years ago, back when Ub and myself used to work for the Universe Studio animations, we've created a cartoon character for the company that we used to think that it will become one of the most beloved character for children of all ages. Along with other animators, we've made about twenty-six shorts before... an dispute for a proposal. Despite that it was our creation, under their contract and agreement, we had to leave that character behind. That character is also named Oswald that my late wife and myself gave to our first son.” He then placed a hand on Oswald's shoulder. He was surprised just as much as almost everybody else in the room.

He knew that he had a vague memory on the cartoons he used to watch that had a similar name and that he knew that his little brother was named after their company mascot, but he would NEVER imagine that he was too, named after another character his father created even BEFORE he founded the company.

“After many years, Ub and I wanted to bring back that lucky rabbit back to the animated family.” His father replied and then it was Ube's turn. “We did many times to negotiate a few, but ended with no results until Mickey came for one more try.” Then everybody turned to Mickey as he just waved a bit. “To be honest, I don't really exactly know what he did to convinced them, but somehow he manage to have them hand over the rights of the character. Now that it's official, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit is now welcomed in the Disney Animation Studios. We might say that he's like the older brother like ours is.” Ube lightly complimented him as he opened up the envelope and showed the rabbit character that was singed by Walt and Mickey themselves.

Then everybody was in cheers and clapping gleefully. Oswald was blushing but feel extremely happy on the inside and smiled a little. He then got surprised as his little brother picks him up with his usual bro hug with a big grind on his face. Which on the side note, he's ridiculously strong despite his size. “Eeeeeee! I'm so proud of you! Now we both have characters as true brothers!”

“Yeah... Thanks... can't... breathe... Mickey.” Oswald spoke while trying to catch some fresh air from his little brother's binding hugging arms.

Then suddenly the joy was interrupted with a loud thunder clapping and a door burst opened. Everybody looked at the direction of their front exit door as Mickey then puts Oswald down gently.

There were two individuals. One that was a bit higher and bigger than the average person and the other one was about the same height and size as Mickey. But this isn't just random people they don't know. It's actually the people they knew very well from their debut as the CEO's of Joey Drew Studio the Third.

Bendy DeMon and Boris Wolfenstein. Bendy had the signature white tuxedo with a black floof from his red carpet debut while Boris had on his overly large fur coat with his black fedora and matching tuxedo suit holding the umbrella.

Everybody was in shock as they came in to 'greet' them. They all whispered among themselves. Some were nervous, others were a bit bitter from the fact that they knew him a bit too well when they used to work under them.

“Why... It's Bendy DeMon.” “The newest chairman of that notorious Joey Drew Studios?” “Did the Disneys invited them?” “No, I don't think so.” “What does he want here?” “I preferred the thunderstorm's company over them.” “Shh! They'll hear you!”

Despite all the whispers they 'might' have heard, both of them weren't fazed at all. They then reached to Ube, Walt, Oswald and Mickey.

Bendy spoke. “Well, quite a glittering assemblage, dear Waltz. The animators, the mechanics, the janitors, the maids and...” He then sees the brothers and chuckles “How quaint. Even the rabbles.” Mickey tries to protest, but Oswald holds him back.

It was no secret that both Mickey and Bendy had a sour history between them and behind the curtains. Nobody knew how it all started and barely knew how it ended. The only things for sure is that Mickey doesn't like the way Bendy treated his animators poorly, despite how well they were paid and how he acted like a stereotypical, celebrity jerk with a big ego.

Bendy despise Mickey due to the fact that he was the complete opposite of him and that he was just like his animated counterpart. They think that the reason is that he was probably just jealous of his humble reputation and he was a well respected individual.

Nevertheless, they both have a rocky relationship and that they both once agreed to keep it 'just between themselves.'

Bendy kept his classy demeanor in the presence of his 'enemy's territory.' “I was surprised to noticed you we're all having a humble peasant party. I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation.” He responded as he took out a cigarette and fumbled in his pocket for a lighter.

“You weren't wanted and this is a no smoking zone. Do it outside if you had to!” One of their animator's spoke up against him. “Not wan-!” He was surprised and dropped his cigarette from his mouth. Everybody turned to the guy who had protested. “Tony! What are you doing? You're going to get in trouble!” His friend who was next to him said.

Under 'normal' circumstances, Bendy and Boris would have made... arrangements for mouthing them off. But since this isn't their territory, they can't do it, but they can 'intimidate' and provoke.

Bendy took a shot. “Tony? As in Tony Teebits? That lousy, wannabe animator who proposed to me months ago with a new cat character? And then he was fired with a farewell gift of a half a box of raisin muffins? HA ha ha! Don't tell me Nickel Mousey and his pops hired you here.” He mocked him off.

But the guy surprised him with agreement. “Yes they did! And their treatments were much better than your pays!” That made him grumbled and showed his gritting teeth. Bendy then mumbled. “You better pray that we don't found out where you live, tick flea!” He then cleared his throat, turns around to the Disney family and resumed his classy speech. “Oh dear, what an awkward situation! I've noticed it from someone and stopped here out of curiosity. What kind of children party is it?” He asked teasingly to Walt.

“It's a celebration of the return of Oswald the lucky rabbit character. I'm sure you've met my elder son before, right?”

“You mean Oddball the forgettable rabbit? Hardly knew him.” He disses him and that angers Mickey as he was holding in.

“Maybe this will help you jog a memory. The design is still a bit out dated, but I think it will suit him well once we start a new animated shorts.” Ube showed him the rabbit character and he was overly exaggerated with his disgusted expression. “Ugh! Oh, I wouldn't ask the devil himself to take him! Too old school and no appeal. What a horrid, corny, rabbit rip-off!”

Mickey then defended at that point. “You shouldn't judge a character base on their looks! Give him a chance in the spotlight!” Walt then jumped in for a calmer conversation. “Mickey has a point. We're doing a storyboard of the first few episodes. He'll be like a co-star character like Donald Duck or Goofy and we're also planning on making a few merchandise along the way.” Oswald then pulls his brother away as Mickey still giving him the angry stare.

“You mean you haven't made this 'publicly' yet?” Bendy asked out of curiosity. Everybody raised an uneasy suspicion. What does he mean? Ube then told him. “Not quite. We've just reveal our reclaim and that we'll announce it in public in a few days.”

He then maliciously smiled and took out a check book. “If it's not made in 'public' yet, I'll buy it from you right now. Just name your price, old chap!” He then set it on the table that was a free space of the varieties of desserts.

Everybody was in shock. But then Mickey marched up to him and said. “Bendy! You can't just buy him off! We worked really hard to have him back and I can't just hand him off over a check!” Oswald followed him up afterwards for protection. He knew that Mickey and Bendy were popular in their 'public image,' but there's another side of them that might get ugly.

Bendy tsked at him. “You think I was talking to you? You're just a measly animator under daddy's work. I'm talking to the REAL boss here!” He shows no sing of respect to him as he took out his pen. “Hey Walt! How much for that rabbit?”

“I'm afraid you've asked the wrong person. In actuality, Mickey was the one who have the rights of Oswald and in any future events that something happens to me, so will his animated character.” Walt explained.

Bendy was shocked. “What? You're telling me that his guy is going to be in charge one day AND who I'm supposed to be 'nice' with?” Boris the calms him down. “He does have a point.” He just tsked at Boris and then spoke to the crowd. “Don't make me laugh again. He only worked 'officially' for three years and you all treat him like he was some sort of an idol of a cult.”

Ube tried to reassure him. “He might be young but he is just as responsible as a successful animator.” Everybody was agreeing with him. Except for the two uninvited guests.

Bendy then had another idea. For an insult. “That I agreed. Once this place is bankrupted, he'll be selling his kindergarten pictures for fifty cents each, while his 'big bro' will be recycling old cardboard boxes for their new houses. AH hahahahaha!” He mockingly laugh it off while Mickey and Oswald frowned at that and crossed their arms.

They were used to Bendy's mockery of their art and mechanic skill receptively, but they still weren't impressed of his idea against their humility and compassion to the people around them.

He then proceeds to write in his check book after he cleared his throat. “Now really, enough of this childish games, Mousey. I'll pay you twice of what it's worth.” He started to write a bit. “Come now! I'm really being more than 'generous' here for an 'old friend.'” He then realized that there was no ink coming out of his signature pen. He then shook it violently as he said. “Blast this custom made pen. Blast-this-wreched-F#-KIN-PEN! BLARGH! *Gasped! *” He was surprised at the end when the ink splattered out and sprinkled at the front. Only to be stained on Mickey's signature soiree tuxedo as he shielded it from getting on Oswald's favourite white and blue dragon vest.

Everybody was shocked when it happened. They we're expecting a heated argument at any moment, like most people would do if they've ruined a lovely suit, but Mickey didn't. Despite that happened, he still has that angry expression, remains calm and dust off invisible dusts. Oswald was surprised of his brother, he knew that he would be there for him but not at this level.

Bendy then chuckled nervously, but he then continued to write again as if that never happened. “Oh... well. At least you still have that old black suit. Now then! How much do you want and when will you hand over the rights? Tomorrow? Three days?”

It was just then Mickey had enough. “Never.” He would say in a rare tone that he would use to anyone unless it was serious. Bendy was taken aback and then looks up to Mickey. “I'm sorry, has my request left you confused? Let me simplify: I will buy Oswald the Lucky Rabbit from you by twice the worth you've paid.” He then glared at him with a menacing smile. “I understood you and I said 'Never.' I am not selling that character. Do you understand?” Mickey wasn't budging from his position.

He knew the real Bendy before he became a famous CEO of Joey Drew Studio. He has a few ideas of the real 'reason' why he wanted to own the rights of his brother's cartoon character he was named after. He knew that he would make him the butt of the cartoon Bendy's jokes and if one day they wanted to get rid of him, they would burn all of the character models and proof so that he or someone in the Disney family wouldn't get the chance to have him back again. He knew that would not only insult his older brother, but to anger him personally!

Bendy raised an eyebrow and then turned to the crowd with a playful act. “Did anyone heard this? Is he rally serious about missing a chance of cash opportunity over a little character? I... Ha! I really am confused.” He then tore a slip from his check book and then Boris tried to say that he seems serious until he then cuts him off. “Oh Boris, he MUST be joking.” He then handed out the check to Mickey, but he still refused. “No, I mean it, Bendy. You are not getting Oswald.” He tighten his fists besides him.

Bendy then persisted and kept his mask under pressure as he demanded again. “I said. I. Want. to. Buy. That. Stupid. Rabbit.” He once again flashed his check in front of him, but he still refused. “No matter how many times you'll say it, I will not change my answer. You are not getting him and that's final!” Mickey put his foot down as it encouraged some of the other people in the room.

“Yeah!” “You tell him, Mick!” “Oswald deserves better!” “He's your brother!” “He's not a loser!” “He's better than this!”

That made Bendy angrier and then he spat. “Are you people serious? You expect that faith, trust and pixie dust crap thing will help you with your futures, finances and all that sh!t? Nobody barely knew this rabbit and you think that he will be just as popular as that Nickel Mousey HE was named after with just a few episodes?” He then pointed at Mickey.

Oswald had just about enough of him and decided to 'escort' him out before it escalated. However, Mickey raised his arms to block him to prevent him of doing so. “And just how can you be so certain that it will not succeed if he hasn't given a chance? If he's not as popular as you say, the he will be at least on the same level as Goofy and Donald Duck! Just wait and see what we can do with our hard work and creativity!” Mickey protested and then the whole room cheered with him.

It was by then Bendy started to loose his temper. “Why you- Bunch of- Lunatics- Happy-” He then decided to tore up the check. “Alright, Mickey! You win! Keep that rodent forgettable character for all I care! Do whatever your animators wanted to do with him! Roast him at Easter supper!” He then threw the pieces up in the air like confetti. “But if you're begging on the streets, don't you ever come near me asking for help. Boris!” He shouted him as if it was a signal to leave. “I'm through with all of you! You amateur animators! You rusty mechanics! You house maids toilet cleaners! The old Farts!” He then decided to display his bitterness by throwing an uncut whip cream pie to the crowd while he said his final piece. “AND THOSE BRATTY, RODENT BROTHERS MICKEY AND OSWALD F#CKING DISNEY!” The whole crowd was surprised as the pie was flung rapidly across the room and even more shockingly, there was a person who caught it with such ease as if it remained intact. It was Mickey. He then held it with his right has and rest his fist on his hip as he then glared back again at Bendy as they left the building.

The whole room was silent apart there was a faint sound of ripping tire that can be heard from outside, indicating that they must have left in fury. Mickey then took a deep breath and then spoke. “I'm sorry. It was me that he was really after.” He then placed the pie back on the table. But the old maids spoke out. “It's not your fault, Mickey!” “Flora's right. He wasn't supposed to be invited.” “Bendy is just jealous of you and Oswald solely cause you both work really hard to get where you are now!”

He then smiled at them. “Thank you, Miss Flora, Fauna and Merrywheather. It seems that this unfortunate event has put an end to this party.”

“Oh, that's not entirely true! We're really happy for you two!” One of the animators said. “The ladies are right! Oswald, the cartoon rabbit, is back to this rightful family! The foods you both prepared is delicious and you showed the 'real' brat that he can't get away with anything!” Then it was one of the mechanics team who said it. Everybody was saying the same thing along with Ube and Walt.

“I think you need to take the rest of the night off. We can all take care of the rest here.” Walt told Mickey. He knew that he was soaked in ink and that moment he stood up for his brother had took quite the energy.

“I can take him home.” Oswald told their father. “Oh! thank you, Oswald. You're very thoughtful for your little brother. I will see both of you soon.” Walt was then now at ease knowing that they will be fine.

Both of them were excused for the night.

---- Time skipping on a Hawaiian roller coaster ride! ------

It took a while for Mickey to get some of the ink that flung on his skin by Bendy before he came out of the bathroom with his PJ's. It was just his regular outwear of white shirt and red pants. He went to their living room to tell his brother that the bath's free until he caught him seeing one of his sketches. He quietly walked over to see that it was the ones he was making with his counterpart character and his brother's.

“Do you like him?” Mickey asked him. He looked at him with a shocked reaction and then regained his composure. “Ah! Mickey! You've surprised me!...” He then looked at his character again. “I... know that it seems a bit outdated, but I did tried my best to be as close as it can be to it's original and it's similarities.” Mickey explained to him with honesty. Despite that most of their Disney characters had a major makeovers over twenty years, Oswald still had his original looks but a bit more... brother's look a like similarities. “Nah... I think he looks great as a 'half brother' for him.” Oswald smiled at it.

“I did manage to have almost three episodes done. So I hope once they've been release, he's going to be famous just like mine!” Mickey cheered himself up. “That's pretty, overly optimistic, even for you. I... I'm just really happy that I too, had a character that I was named after... Although I did remembered that it was from that Universal Studio animations and it was from more than a decade ago...” Oswald sighed.

He couldn't say that he never 'knew' about this character. In fact, he actually heard this story from about a decade ago, in one of those father and son moments when it was just him and Walt. He remembered that he say one of his father's early sketches from his old animation jobs. He remembered of the early depictions of this character that had a similar name to his. He remembered that he and Walt had a one on one chat about the truth of this. His original characters, the heated exchange between him and his boss and how he had to make a difficult choice to leave him behind. He remembered that it was one of those moments that he can see in his father's eyes that he was sad about the whole thing and that he wished that he could have done better for him...

“How did you discovered about all of this? Dad was very secretive with his old sketches, even with us.” Oswald asked him. He had an idea on one detail he also remembered. As much as Mickey tried, he's an awful liar. “I, er... was... looking for a, er, pencil or something dad wanted me to get, and er, yeah. He might have absent, mindlessly had it out in the open at the time!” He smiled nervously, thinking his brother might buy it.

Which it didn't work. “Funny, cause I knew you were peeping me and dad from the door. I can see you from the slightly open door frame almost ten years back.” Mickey gasped. “Oh, and while we're on that subject, this isn't the first time you've been following me.” Oswald smirked and gave an impression just like their mother would have made if she knew what they've been up to.

Mickey frantically responded. “Me? Following you? Why, I knew you disliked me being around you and with everybody-”

“You've used dad's old clothes to disguise yourself at any events I would be. Chinese Boxing tournaments, drag racing and even at one time, an invention expose when I was fifth-teen.” Oswald cuts him off. Mickey's expression was dumbfounded. But then he finally admits with hands up. “Alright, fine. I admit. I did went to see you compete and also that time with dad. I knew that if I'd made myself public wherever you were, people will take attention away from you and the competitors. You'd always hated that, but I just wanted to be supportive of what you do and your career. So I hid myself for that and I wanted to let you know that there's people who appreciate you for being, well, you. Not me, not dad or even our family name!” He played with his fingers. “And... I do look up to you.”

“What?” Oswald said in disbelief. He, Mickey, looks up to someone like him? Someone who's spend more time in the family's shadow than he does at the junkyard for invention parts?

“I mean...” Mickey timidly confessed to him. “You're always been so more... mature than most people. Apart from when we fight and nobody's around... But you've always been more in independent than I am. You've practically made enough to live on your own, not to mention you're a better fighter than I am, you solve problems better than I could have done or at least less damaging, and you've got that 'cool guy' thing that stands out when it's your turn to shine like Dean Martin!” He then got sadder, which was rare even from him. “Compared to me... behind my public mask, I'm probably too optimistic for my own good. I'm almost nothing like you and yet...I felt you're not being appreciated enough while I'm...” He struggles for the appropriate things to say as he bow his head down.

However, his big brother knew what he wanted to say and he steps in. “Mickey... You don't need to go that far for me. Remember when I was eleven around Christmas time that I was very ill?”

He looks up to him again. “Yeah... You were so sick that you had to be hospitalized. I cried almost every night you were there.” It was one of the most painful moments for him. He and Oswald were inseparable and they both shared everything, even when they've had different ideas, they both usually find a way to work thing out.

“Remember that I was so ill that I wouldn't be able to watch the Christmas parade that included dad's float that year?” He added. “Yeah... Dad wanted me to be on it with the mascots, but... I escaped. At the time, I was so mad at him for not caring for you and that he cared more about the float than your well being.” Mickey was a bit ashamed at this early childish actions.

“After you ran off, I remembered from what dad told me that he and other people was looking everywhere for you until he had a good idea of where you'd be. He found you sleeping with me with that Winnie the Pooh book that mom used to read to us.” Oswald said. “He was a bit angry at you, but it wasn't for ditching, you've worried him just as much as anyone else who was working with us at the time.”

“I... didn't meant to cause that much trouble. I was just upset that dad and the people didn't cared for you except me.” Mickey then got an unexpected surprise from his 'cool' brother.

Oswald was hugging him with one of his hand on his head. “Did you remembered what you've said after dad ranted on your 'actions?'” Mickey was still silent for a bit. Oswald then gave his answer. “You said that you didn't cared for whatever Christmas specials and what the company had provided, you just wanted me back. That... really made me feel special enough and why people respected you much better than Bendy. You cared. You're kind, optimistic, helpful, even considerate for people's feelings. You've put more efforts in your work just like any other senior animators and they love to chat or hang out with you. Even if you had to put your foot down on those times like you did with Bendy earlier, you were standing up on our beliefs and what really mattered. You don't need to change that, not even for me.”

That made him teary and hug him back. “Ozzy...*Sniff * That was one of the nicest things you've said to me.”

“Don't start the water works. You'll get red eyes in the morning.” Oswald told him as they settled down for the night.

----Author’s notes-----

I KNOW! I KNOW! It’s been a while since I’ve posted a fanfic here!

It’s like I’ve been a bit busy with work, watching shows and gaming. I did wanted to write but when I do, I get writers block!

Anyways! I did made a few scene combo references from 101 Dalmatians, Sleeping Beauty and Frozen along with some Disney’s character references.

I imagine from one point that Mickey and Oswald were once good friends with Bendy until a certain event happened that made them ‘very’ bitter.

The only reason why they didn’t lash out in a blood bath is was to maintain their ‘public’ image... Who knows what will happened behind those masks.

I also imagined that Oswald had gained some sort of independence and set himself apart from the animation family for his mechanics and that Mickey really does look up to him for that. (which made him self-conscious of his independence and work his way to the top too!)

But this is just a fanfiction, please tell me of what you think! Love is welcome!

The Bendy Before the Ink Machine AU and humanoid characters belongs to Marini4. Disney references belongs to the company itself.

[writeturnlove]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), T'Challa (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, T'Challa (Marvel), The Winter Soldier, Black Panther

Summary:

After several months in cryogenic sleep, The Winter Soldier is awakened in Wakanda. King T'Challa has found some specialists willing to help the soldier conquer his demons in order to become a productive member of society, and eventually a hero. The newest doctor assigned to Sgt. Barnes, Dr. Elise Dennison, has a complicated history of her own and is now facing an ethical dilemma because she is attracted to both her patient and her employer.

Chapter 1: Bucky

           I’m used to waking up in darkness whenever they pull me out of cryo, so the blinding light that fills my eyes when I open them shocks the Hell out of me. For a second, I think I’m dead or dying and seeing the “white light,” then the scent of disinfectant fills my nose. The shit burns my nostrils, but it does make me realize something: I’m alive.

           I should have known.

           I’m not good enough to go to Heaven.

           I know what comes next. First, the chill that has seeped into my skin will start to fade. My body will adjust because it’s conditioned to adjust.

My vision is blurry. I can’t focus on a damned thing. I can only see geometric shapes and flashes of white that I’m assuming are doctors’ coats. Have they found a way to fix me? T’Challa said he would, so I’d like to think he’s right.

           My skin feels damp. My pores are open and I can feel every single one of them. It’s like all the hairs on me are moving, tingling at once. I start to blink through the haze as my eyes clear up and I can see what’s actually going on around me. There are huge windows lining the walls. The room is big, filled with equipment that I don’t recognize; technology that is foreign to me but obviously it’s monitoring my vital signs. I can hear my heartbeat. It’s so strong it almost doesn’t sound human. Maybe I’m not human anymore. There are medical personnel all around me – men and women draped in lab coats and holding tablets or touching holographic displays. I’m not in a hospital, but I hear beeping sounds. I close my eyes for a second. I need to get my mind straight.

           Where the fuck am I? Oh yeah. I’m in the palace in Wakanda. The room I’m in looks about the size of a warehouse, but the design appears to be more like a laboratory. I blink again and notice distance figures approach me. Men and women with serious expressions on their faces begin asking me questions that I can barely understand at first.

           I shake my head, trying to clear a path for them to reach me. Soon, I can make out one voice: a feminine one with a rich accent and a firm tone. She steps in front of me, her hair pulled back into a neat bun of braids. She tilts her oval face to the side and smiles at me with a perfect set of teeth. She’s gorgeous, but I’m too damned tired to flirt with her.

           Maybe later.

           “Mr. Barnes?” she asks.

           “Yes,” I say, sounding like I swallowed a gallon of gravel. This is normal for me. I clear my throat and try again.

           “Yes,” I repeat, sounding a little better.

           “How do you feel?” she asks, her manner is softer now, more caring.

           I look up in her onyx eyes and am pissed that I’m not feeling better because I really want to try a little charm on her, but I know she wouldn’t have anything to do with me.

           I shake the cobwebs from my head and answer.

           “I’m coming around,” I tell her, still trying to get my real voice back.

           Dr. Pretty Eyes gives me the once over and punches some information into a laptop before motioning for another group of people to attack me with a shitload of devices that I assume are supposed to confirm that I am actually “coming around.”

When she checks my pulse with her long fingers, I note that she’s wearing a wedding ring.

           Shit. I guess I won’t be flirting with the doc. Maybe T’Challa has another beautiful woman up his sleeve – one that isn’t married or heavily armed.

           After the throng of doctors lead me to a hospital bed, they proceed to poke and prod me, shoving a light in my face and asking me to tell them how many fingers they are holding up. This is to be expected so I’m not even pissed off about it. It’s their job.

           I hear footsteps. The cadence of the walk is steadier than the others. It’s not rushed or mechanical. It’s smooth. It’s the King. I remember sound. There’s a confidence in his stride. He takes his time as he walks to you because he knows you will wait for him. The others in the room part as he steps in front of me. He reaches out his hand and I take it even though I’m still a bit weary.

           “T’Challa,” I say. My voice is weak and distant, but it’s starting to come back to me.

           The general of his guard stands beside him. He introduces me to her: Okoye. She looks at me with disgust. It must be because I dared call the King by his first name rather than his title. I need to remember that she could probably kill me without breaking a sweat, and the only person stopping her from doing so happens to be the man I didn’t address properly.

           Her stance stiffens as she looks at me. She stands just over six feet tall and is dressed in red and gold armor. Although she’s built like a supermodel, her muscles are toned like a trained soldier. Yes. There are knives attached to her sides and I’m certain she would effortlessly slit my throat if I dared pose a threat to her king, so I choose to correct myself since we’ve already gotten off on the wrong foot.

           “Your Highness,” I begin, “I’m sorry. I’m still out of it.”

           T’Challa nods, giving me a smile before speaking.

           “I appreciate your confusion, Mr. Barnes. I know you need time to awaken. I do want to let you know that I have obtained the services of some specialists that may be able to help you. You will begin meeting them at the beginning of next week if you are feeling up to it.”

           “Thank you,” I tell him.

           “I should also provide you an update on your friend, Captain Rogers,” the King says.

           I look up him and I’m worried. The last time I saw Steve, he was a fugitive.

           “Captain Rogers is currently…. how did he put it … ‘Going off the grid’… for a while. He is well, but does not want to be contacted at this time. He assures me he will make contact soon to check on your progress,” T’Challa continued.

           I nod my understanding. The fog is beginning to lift and I realize I’m damned hungry. My stomach growls loudly, much to the amusement of the King, who gives me an embarrassed grin and then directs a young man to have the kitchen prepare me something to eat. From the corner of my eye, I can see Okoye glare at me. She seems to have a perpetual frown on her face. There’s no way I’m going to win this woman over, so I’ll settle for just not pissing her off.

           She turns to the king and says something in Wakandan. The King gives her a quick gesture of confirmation, then she looks at me again, her expression softens a bit…a very little bit.

           “Mr. Barnes, if you will follow me, I will take you to your suite,” she states. It sounds like an order, so I stand on wobbly legs and follow her because if there is one thing I automatically understand, it’s following orders.

           We walk through a series of corridors until we reach what appears to be the residential wing of the palace. I follow her long strides in silence, trying to take note of where we’re going and knowing I’d be lost if I didn’t have someone leading me around. This place is massive. I try to memorize every hallway and every turn I take.

           We stop at a door in what appears to be the center of the building. She finally turns around to face me and, without a word, opens the door and guides me inside.

           “Your dinner will be brought to your suite, Mr. Barnes. Until then,” she paused briefly, as if the words she was about say caused a bad taste in her mouth, “make yourself at home.”

           “Thank you,” I said with a smile that seemed to catch her off guard. She blinked quickly as her face softened enough to acknowledge my unexpected politeness. Okoye then shut the door behind her.

           Silence followed. I’m used to that. The suite looked like a small apartment. The walls were beige and lined with artwork. The main room contained a sofa and recliner. An oak bookshelf sat against the far wall. I scanned the books shelved there. It was filled with literature from various countries, including America.

           The suite also contained a small kitchen that I wouldn’t use because I can’t cook, but having a fridge is nice. I opened the door to find mostly water and juice. No beer. No liquor at all. I’m guessing the King doesn’t approve of such things. I’m going to have to loosen the guy up when I get myself straight.

           I walk through the suite and find a bedroom with a decent sized bathroom attached to it. I know I should lie down but I’ve been asleep for god knows how long.

           I make my way into the living room and randomly pull a book from the shelf. I flip through the pages of Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass” as I think about what’s about to happen. I don’t look forward to meeting with a bunch of experts over the next few weeks. If they can cure me, that’s fine, but Hydra dug so deep into me, I don’t know if anyone can get it out. I don’t want to remember, but I always do. It comes to me at night when I dream. God, I hope someone can make them go away; the nightmares. I never asked for this.

           I come upon this passage in the book I’m only barely reading:

             The earth recedes from me into the night,

           I saw that it was beautiful… and I see

           That what is not the earth is beautiful

             After 30 minutes or so, my food arrives. Someone figured that burgers and fries would probably be a safe bet to feed me on my first night. I shovel it down because I haven’t eaten and I need to remember what it feels like to be human. The food is okay, but a beer would be nice. I swallow an entire bottle of water and take a shower. I flick off the light and close my eyes. This is when the demons come. This is when I see them: the faces of the men and women I killed. These are the ghosts I try to hide from. These are the demons I fight.

           I do need a cure or I might as well have died falling from that train.

****

           The morning comes so fast I don’t even remember the day turning into night. I find a note slipped under my door, requesting that I get dressed and be ready by 9 a.m. Dressed in what? I don’t have any clothes. Then it occurs to me that the King probably had this figured out, so I check the dresser in my room to find several sweatshirts, t-shirts, pants, etc.

           The first couple of weeks go by in a blur. I can’t remember all of their names, but T’Challa assured me that they were all experts from around the world that specialized in treating conditions like mine. Each day I’m taken to what looks like a hospital room where I meet the doctor. They all look the same to me: faceless people in lab coats that sound like robots. I get asked the same questions over and over again. If this is supposed to help me, it’s not.

           I go to my suite each night, shower, and pick up one of those boring books from the shelf and hope it makes me tired enough to go to bed. I don’t want really want to dream. I have someone new to meet tomorrow. This one is supposed to be different, but I doubt it. My head hits the pillow and after five minutes, I pop back up again.

           I turn the light on and start searching my room for something else to do. I figure I’ll write to Steve even though I don’t know when or if he’ll get it. I find a pencil and a notepad and start writing. It doesn’t matter what I say. Steve is family. He’ll understand.

Hey Steve,

 Well, I’m out of the freezer for the moment. T’Challa promised he’d get this to you. He said you didn’t want anyone to now where you were. I respect that. I also understand it. I’ve been known to disappear for a while myself. Sometimes it’s necessary and with everything that went down, I’m sure you need it.

           As for me… the King said he might have found a way to help get the Hydra crap out of my head. I wish I could be optimistic about it. We’ll see. He’s a good guy. He’s also a bit serious for my taste.

I swear, you’d think a man that surrounds himself with so many beautiful women would smile more, but he doesn’t. Maybe I can help him tarnish that squeaky-clean image of his someday.

He’s lined up experts from around the world: neurologists, psychiatrists, therapists, etc. I’ve already sent four of these “experts” packing. They were smart, but none of them had any heart. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn. I don’t tolerate a lot of technical crap.

T’Challa has one more he wants me to meet. It’s some guy he went to college with – Dr. El …. I can’t remember the guy’s name. He’s a psychologist; another expert in psychobabble. This one is from the States – the only one he’s brought over here from the U.S.

T’Challa thinks this doc will be a better fit for me. We’ll see.

 Take care of yourself.

You know where to find me if you need anything.

 ‘Til the end of the line, brother. 

 Buck

 *******

           Another morning comes and I’m back in the hospital room waiting on a new doctor to come and see me. I can’t remember the name, but T’Challa says this one is from America, which is a first. Most of the others were from somewhere in Europe – just a bunch of stuffed shirts with no personality.

           After a few minutes, I hear talking in the hallway. I brace myself because I know I’m going to be answering the same questions all over again. I feel the weight of it on my shoulders even when I know I’m supposed to be positive.

           A soft knock follows the chatting outside my room.

           “Yeah,” I say into the emptiness of the room.

           When it opens, I look up at my new doctor and know that things are about to get messy. Her shoulder length black hair frames her perfect, honey-brown face. Her big brown eyes look up at me with hope and she gives me this sweet smile that makes me forget pretty much … everything. She’s wearing a white blouse and a pair of dark blue jeans; nothing like the other doctors that have walked in my door. She looks like the girl-next-door and god I wish she were just the girl next door because I want to –…

           “Mr. Barnes,” the doll-faced doctor says, “I’m Dr. Elise Dennison.”

Yeah, I say to myself, this is about to get very messy.

[carriejonesbooks]

When I was a kid at Bates College, I spent a lot of my time feeling like less. My family had been kind of poor after my step-father died. My nana would stand in line to get us big orange blocks of commodity cheese for the week to supplement our $30 grocery budget Every  week my mom would yell at her that we didn’t need that. She always took it.

My mom didn’t answer the phone because she was so afraid of credit card companies calling.  She’d make me do it and lie that she wasn’t there.

I still hate answering the phone, even the cell phone, even when it has caller ID.

Anyway, when I went to college I wanted to forget all that. I wanted to be an intellectual like everyone else. I wanted to have gone to private school in Manhattan or Conneticut, have a summer home in the Hamptons and clothes that weren’t from K-Mart, which was sort of the WalMart equivalent back then, but worse.

I got over all that because I knew it was pretty shallow. What I had a harder time getting over was class issues that had less to do with materialism and more to do with hatred and intellectual history.

In one of my directing classes, one of the sexier straight guys actually announced about Beckett, “People who are not wealthy don’t care about this. A truck driver doesn’t watch public television or listen to NPR. They don’t care, they’re too busy humping and eating and drinking.”

My dad was a truck driver. He watched public television. He listened to NPR. I didn’t want to think about him humping. He ate food. He didn’t drink. His parents had been prohibitionists.

In one of my playwrighting classes the professor announced, “The working people of this country don’t give a shit about nuclear power. They don’t give a shit about a man of color.”

When I was in elementary school my dad would bring him with him to protest the same nuclear power plant that my step dad was helping to build. He helped me try to get New Hampshire to recognize Martin Luther King Day and do a hundred other civil rights things. He cared.

And one of my college friends would love to say, “Carrie is too poor to be pro intellectual.”

He’s a minister now. That still doesn’t make what he said right.

And one of my female poetry teachers told me over and over again, her voice trilling up with her patrician accent, “Carrie, you have the potential to be a poet, but your voice is too raw, not refined, not artistic enough.”

My voice was poor. My cadence was public school. I was not from rich. Every sentence I spoke showed that.

They still do.

Those are just four of the incidents that made me both angry and intimidated and focused, but in the back of my head it just inflamed my self doubt. I could never be a poet because I wasn’t wealthy, private-school educated, my parents weren’t intellectuals. I could never move people with words because my words were too stark and my sentences too short. I would never fit in because I didn’t have the background that most of the other students had.

And then two things happened. I read Sherman Alexie, a not-wealthy Spokane and Coeur d’Alene who despite his issues with women, impacted me positively. Maybe because I never met him.

And I met Seamus Heaney in real life.

Seamus Heaney came to our college at the invitation of Robert Farnsworth, who was an awesome poet and professor. He met with students, he gave a reading and we all got to hang out with him at a reception.

“I can’t go,” I told my boyfriend at the time.

He bit into his pizza. He was always eating pizza. “Why not?”

“Because it’s Seamus Heaney,” I answered staring at the little bits of sausage on the pizza before I plucked them off.

“So?”

“Seamus Heaney!”

“So?”

I didn’t know how to explain. Seamus Heaney was THE poet, the Nobel Prize winner. He was Irish for God’s sake. Those people were gifted with words. They had so many amazing poets… Heaney, Yeats, Wilde, Clarke, Moore. I was from New Hampshire. We had Robert Frost but pretty much every New England state tried to claim him.

Heaney wrote things like:

“A hunger-striker’s father

stands in the graveyard dumb.

The police widow in veils

faints at the funeral home.

History says, Don’t hope

on this side of the grave.

But then, once in a lifetime

the longed for tidal wave

of justice can rise up,

and hope and history rhyme.”

You will regret it if you don’t go,” my boyfriend said. “I’m going to just be playing Leisure Suit Larry anyway.”

So, I went, as anxious as if I was going on stage myself. Heaney transfixed me with his amazing baritone and bear-like presence. And his words… Of course his words… And when I met him afterwards, I was terrified until he grabbed my hand in his and said, “So you are a poet?”

And I said, “No.”

And all he did was nod and say, “Oh, yes you are.”

But in his eyes was this knowing, this connection, and maybe it wasn’t really there. Maybe I just saw it because I wanted him to understand me, because I wanted someone to get who I was and who I wanted to be. Or maybe not?

I don’t know, but one second later my professor said, “Oh, yes she is. I told you about her. She is like you.”

And then one of them said something about growing up not wealthy and I can’t remember the exact words, but what I do remember is that I finally felt understood. Later, I looked up Seamus Heaney’s past, about how his dad was a farmer and neither of his parents were big on words really, not in the intellectual way that everyone in college seemed to be. I found out that he was like me a little bit not because he was a poet and I was trying so desperately hard to write just one decent poem, but because we were both human, that we both came from humble places, that we both looked in people’s eyes when we said hello.

And that was enough for me. That was enough for me to believe in myself.

Seamus Heaney performed a miracle when I met him. He made me believe that I could be whatever the hell I wanted to be and that it didn’t matter how hard I had to fight or work or not fit in. What mattered was that I wanted the miracle of being a writer, of metamorphosis from Carrie the poor neurotic kid from Bedford, New Hampshire into Carrie Jones, the neurotic best-selling author who lives on the coast of Maine.

He gave hope and miracles in his poems and in his person and I am so thankful for his existence and so sorry for the world’s loss.

“The main thing is to write

for the joy of it. Cultivate a work-lust

that imagines its haven like your hands at night

dreaming the sun in the sunspot of a breast.

You are fasted now, light-headed, dangerous.

Take off from here. And don’t be so earnest.”

  I wrote this post back in 2013 when Seamus Heaney died, but in one of my student packet’s this week, I referenced Heaney and then yesterday I saw this Liam Neeson video (randomly) where he was talking about Heaney, so… there you go. I’ve reposted it.

Here’s Seamus Heaney reading his own poem, “Blackberry Picking.”

  Do Good Wednesday

Scary, right?

People are fixing it.

You can help with poetry and kids. These images are from Get Lit’s website and Get Lit is making a difference.

“Get Lit was founded in 2006 after Diane Luby Lane created a one-woman show about the power of words and toured colleges with iconic Chicano poet Jimmy Santiago Baca. After the show closed, she couldn’t bear the thought of cutting off the work completely. She started teaching classic and spoken word poetry in two high schools, Fairfax and Walt Whitman. When the semester ended… the students wouldn’t leave. They insisted on meeting after school. The rest is history. Today, the curriculum has expanded to almost 100 schools, and the Get Lit Players are the most watched poets on the internet. Curriculum requests flow in from Mexico to New Zealand.”

Get Lit “uses poetry to increase literacy, empower youth, and inspire communities.”

Get Lit works – 98% of Get Lit Players go to college, and 70% get scholarships!

Here are Get Lit’s specific needs and how you can get involved.

  Writing News

Carrie’s  super excited about the upcoming TIME STOPPERS book coming out this August.

This middle grade fantasy series happens in Acadia National Park in Bar Harbor, Maine and it’s all about friendship and magic and kids saving their magical town.

An imaginative blend of fantasy, whimsy, and suspense, with a charming cast of underdog characters . . . This new fantasy series will entice younger fans of Harry Potter and Percy Jackson.” –  School Library Journal

  “Sticks the landing . . . The world building is engaging . . . between the decidedly wonderful residents and the terrifying monsters who plague them.” –  BCCB

  “Amid the magic, spells, adventure, and weirdness of this fantasy are embedded not-so-subtle life lessons about kindness, friendship, and cooperation.” –  Booklist

  “A wild and fresh take on fantasy with an intriguing cast of characters. Dangerous and scary and fun all rolled into one. In the words of Eva the dwarf, I freaking loved it!” –  Lisa McMann, New York Times bestselling author of The Unwanteds series

  “Effervescent, funny, and genuine.” –  Kirkus Reviews

It’s quirky. It’s awesome. It’s full of heart. You should go by the first two books now. 🙂

  Time Stoppers

Time Stopper Series

Time Stoppers Front and Back Covers – US versions

CARRIE’S BOOKS

For a complete round-up of Carrie’s 16-or-so books, check out her website. And if you like us, or our podcast, or just want to support a writer, please buy one of those books, or leave a review on a site like Amazon. Those reviews help. It’s all some weird marketing algorhthym from hell, basically.

OUR PODCAST

Thanks to all of you who keep listening to our weirdness as we talk about random thoughts, writing advice and life tips.

We’re sorry we laugh so much… sort of. Please share it and subscribe if you can.

Please rate and like us if you are feeling kind, because it matters somehow.

Love

The Poet Who Saw Me – Wednesday Writing Wisdom When I was a kid at Bates College, I spent a lot of my time feeling like less.

[rayman-25]

Podcast 2017 Episode 1 Shadows of the night (part 1)

Warning 

I do not have the characters Gravity Falls, Phineas and Ferb, the Loud House, teenager mutant ninjas turtles, Tekken and youtubeur (Moketo, Squeezie and Kirbendoworld)? With the exception of John, Marc and Alice.

Chapter text 

Arc 1: Hero in a Fort-Shell! Episode 1

"shadows of the night (part 1)" 

I walk around Central Park It was dark I have a newspaper that I bought in the afternoon. I read the journal. There was written « Manhattan Monster Hunt Contest’, Which states that whoever can find monster sighting wins a $ 100,000 reward. » I was stunned. Monsters in New York? Like the demons of the Mishima. One day, while eating a hot dog, I saw a young girl running in the park. I finished my hot dog, and I follow it. Arriving near the girl, I saw four strange creatures that look like turtles. So, I hide and take pictures without him seeing me 

TODAY 

It was a typical Saturday lunch at the Loud's house. Some of the Loud sisters (Sans Lori, Leni, Luna and Luan) did their daily routine, the parents were in the kitchen preparing dinner, John Christivoiren read his manga and Lincoln and Clyde were playing their favorite video game Battle Moles, by beating against the enemies.

"Try to support me with your blue mole, Clyde!" warned Lincoln. 

"Do not worry buddy, I will not let you down!" Unfortunately, as he said a random enemy became critical and destroyed the blue mole. "Okay, eat that." 

"Boys, can you speak softly, your father and I are trying to prepare dinner!" 

"Saturday Succotash requires exceptional care and delicacy!" says Lynn Sr.

"Sorry, let's try!" shouted Lincoln back. He returned to his video game but then turned to the audience: "I know what you think of what happened to the attitude towards New York? Let's say things have worked pretty well since we've been here. The new school has been nice, making new friends in the area, including Clyde, Dipper, Mabel, Irving, Marc and the new house is much more spacious. "

"Lana, give me back my cart!" Lola threatened. 

"NEVER!" Lana shouted.

"Of course the more things change, the more they stay the same," says impassive Lincoln. The binoculars descend the stairs in a cloud of dust and the fighting can be heard. 

"Give it to me !" 

"No way, my reptiles need something sweet to sleep!"

"The children shut up!" shouted Lynn Sr. angrily.

The twins had ended their fight, "Sorry dad!"

" As I have said. But lately, odd things happened in the city: there were strange disappearances of stolen objects, then we saw monsters circulating in the city, then ... "Lincoln was interrupted by Lori, Squeezie, John’s friends and the rest of the girls entered the house through the front door.

Clyde just caught the eye when he saw his 'soul mate' come into the house. 

"L-Lo-Lori!" He quickly had a nosebleed and fainted as an anime character.

"Auggh, Lincoln's weird friend still has blood on the carpet!" Lori shouted.

Lincoln goes on: "So yeah my best friend Clyde has a weird behavior for my sister Lori, who gets pretty filthy to see ..."

"So it was shopping malls? Asked Dipper

"Yeah," Squeezie said, "we're going to a video game store ..." He stopped and he saw John reading a manga with Charles, Cliff, Walt, and Geo watching "you're still reading the dbz manga, you"

"Oh yes, I want to introduce the newcomers from Soos and Thomas. The girl who is on her phone is Tambry, the teenager who wears a shirt with a heart soaring, it's Robbie Luna's boyfriend and the teenager that John hates is Squeezie is a French youtubeur- »

It was interrupted again when April came through the next door. "Thanks for the trip to the malls, I really love this new notebook to use for my journalism class."

"No problem guy, I heard the teacher could be pretty rough," commented Luna.

"Yeah, because he only sees black and white ah ah ah!" Luan joked. She looked at John "Greet my valiant prince charming"

"Get out, Luan," said John, reading his manga. 

"On the other hand, Luan is in love with John. Which is amazing, as this one hates her, "says Lincoln

"Always makes the best student in the class." April said seeing Lincoln leave her and decided to give him a friendly wave and smile, "Hello Linky, what's up."

"Hi Angel, I mean APRIL!" said Lincoln with a sigh of lovers, his heart and his head in the clouds. The older sisters just rolled their eyes at Lincoln's love, and he thought Clyde's behavior was trustworthy.

April clumsily laughs, "You're so cute Lincoln." 

"I thank you." sighed Lincoln with embarrassment.

"Are you still having trouble, little brother?" Lynn teased Lincoln in the middle of the stairs holding Lily kissing.

"Well, you're lucky to have a boyfriend like April," Marc said as he exited the bathroom. 

"But it's ridiculous!" said a familiar voice.

The others had their attention on Lisa who saw that she was upset.

"I know, the red hair clip does not match Lori's hair, it's ridiculous, but she does not listen to me," Leni said absently.

"Hey !" Lori exclaimed hurt slightly to her fashion pride.

"No, no, it's an idiotic contest that a paper company is watching, look!" 

Everyone takes a look at the newspaper and the bed « Manhattan Monster Hunt Contest’, Which states that whoever can find monster sighting wins a $ 100,000 reward. »

Lincoln shouted, "A monster hunt ?!"

Clyde shouted, "At $ 100,000!" 

Leni shouted, "A sale of shoes!"

All the kids seemed excited to hear that, except April, who looked worried for some reason. "You do not really plan to participate in this monster contest, are you?" 

"Hum," said Marc, who turned around 

"You know John, if we find these monsters, we'll make money and win a house with Moketo, Alice, your brother Tambry Thompson and Lynn. We can win a pool, we can order pizzas. We can invite everyone from New York kids, teenagers, night club dancers and even Mr Lee and Mrs Johnson. "

"Fuck you, Squeezie! John shouted, closing his manga

"John! Your language! Albert shouted "There's Lily, Lisa Lola, Lana Lucy, Dipper, Mabel, Linky, Clyde and my brother who are hearing from you"

"Yeah, I could always use the money for my animals!" Lana shouted.

"We are not going to waste money on these dirty things, we should use it for more clothes!" Lola shouted.

"Guys, do you realize we could make another coin with that money, right ?!" suggested Lynn. 

"It's ridiculous, these obscure monsters are just rumors." says Lisa

"I do not agree," said impassive Lucy appearing beside the children of nowhere.

"Aaah!" The children (except Marc) jumped at the sudden appearance of the Goth girl.

"You will stop that!" yelled Lisa has her heart beating.

"I saw one of them wandering around the city in search of spirits," Lucy quantified.

"Seriously, no one wants to hear about your phantasmagoric vibrations," Luna said. 

"If I had to guess I would say it would be a Kappa." Lucy guessed. 

"Kappa?" Leni asked confused by the strange word.

"A former demon of Japanese water who used to scare children away from dangerous water." Said April surprisingly responded shockingly to everyone.

"Um, she's right," Lucy told everyone, she was so surprised that she forgot to add monotone to her voice.

"Well, April, you're telling the truth," John says astonishingly reading his manga

"But Lucy, why could a demon of Japanese water be in the middle of Manhattan?" Lincoln asked confusedly. 

"Easy, the sewers that run all the time there is enough water for them to fill up." She explained,.

Clyde had also remembered something "You know I've also heard rumors that these creatures were coming out most of the time during the night."

"Really, it must be nocturnal monsters," Lana said to no one, and she thoughtfully looked at her face. "So, what kind of plan someone?" 

"Here's my plan, we'll take Vanzilla tonight so we can wander the city in search of monsters, we'll carry a disposable camera every time we spot them, and Luan will use his video camera," Lori warned.

"We will also need bait, to try them in the cameras," says Lana. 

"Oh, it's a good plan, Lori," Squeezie said. 

Moketo Approved this idea "me, I am" 

Oh yeah "said John" How are you going to do, if we go to film the monsters, without the permission of your parent, grumpy princess

"John, you! I'm going to ... "Lori said.

"Sorry, I did not say anything," John said, picking up his page 140 from his manga 

But April looked rather nervous, "Hmm ... actually guys I ..."

Lynn interrupted, "Wait, I have an idea, April, why do not you invite your four brothers whom you talk to us about, I think it's time we met your family to help us in our research!"

Lincoln, her friends and sisters Loud begged April to invite her "brothers" to help them in their search.

"Hmmm, um sorry, they're with my dad for a martial arts tournament, they'll be gone for the better part of a month," April told the Loud family while breathing lightly. 

"Girl, it's been 3 months and we have not met them yet, what are they doing ?!" Said Luna with irritation.

"They just do not feel comfortable meeting new people or making new friends," she says.

"So, do you mean they are recluse?" Lincoln asked.

All right, but one of those days, April, you're going to have to introduce them to us, "said Lori with slight suspicion, April calming down a bit but still worried about what awaits them.

"You're not going to die anyway," says John, reading his manga

Miss in profile: John says to April "You're not going to die anyway," Tambry said, sending a text message. 

The sisters Lincoln approached John "So you pay us what you said April" said Lori

"I'm not talking about April, I'm talking about Goku," said John, "I'm going to see what time it is ... noon? Well it's not all that, guys we go back we will eat pizzas »

"You are so lucky! Shouted the sisters of Lincoln 

"And you, Luna, what are you going to eat with your brother and your sisters? Asked Robbie 

"Succotash," said Luna. 

Can I eat pizzas with you? April asked. 

"Of course, but you have to ask your father," says Moketo 

"He said yes," said April excitedly

In the first floor Albert discusses with Wendy

So uh ... I was wondering ... if you can go out in the garden tomorrow to talk about your family, Wendy? " 

"Yeah, why not," she says 

Albert jumped for joy and went down the stairs. But Dipper, down the stairs, had heard the conversations.

Later, that day, in the lair of the sewers, the turtles examine the painting which analyzes all the places where the strange disappearances of goods took place everywhere in the new ones. 

"So, there were robberies at a Mom and Pop store at a Palmart and all they took was electronic stuff?" Leo asked to the resident brain of their group. 

"Apparently, all the activity seems to be mostly activated around these areas," Donnie analyzed. 

"So, what are we going to do, we still have no idea where they are hiding!" shouted Raph for the moment that a group of punks had taken over. 

While Raph was raging, Mikey entered the kitchen lab with a pizza on his hands, "Who wants special jelly candies, insects and garlic pizza!"

All gave the pizza disgusted looks. "People who are crazy enough risk death," Raph leaned. 

Mikey had a very irritated look, "Very funny, so what are you doing?"

"We are looking at the sources for all stolen objects, which you should be part of!" Donnie said with irritation.

Raph intervenes, "Mikey is part of planning? Hilarious!"

"What about that old warehouse on 8th Street?" Mikey asked. 

"We've already looked at the warehouse," Donnie told Mikey. 

"So, how do we know that the purple dragons are not the ones who did that?"

"Because those shit piles were smart enough to pull something like this." retorted Raph. 

"Wait, that makes no sense, why did not I see that before?" Asked Leo

while his brothers look at him strangely. 

"Oh, great, he lost it," said Raph. 

"What are you talking about Leo?" Asked Donnie. 

"Thoughtfully, we and the cops checked all their hiding places, but someone steals technology." 

"so what ?" Raph asked, thinking that Leo had finally broken.

"And if they return to the hiding places after checking them!"

"What do you mean brothero? Mikey asked. 

"I say that after the research, they come back right away and we are not wiser because we have already checked them!" 

"Do you mean they use the same hiding places that have been searched by the authorities?" asked impassive Raph.

"It has a point if we have already searched them, we would not know they are using these hiding places because they seemed abandoned," Donnie said, supporting Leo's theory. 

"It's a possibility," said a voice from the boys, revealing to be Splinter.

Raph seemed rather confused, "Really Sensei, no disrespect, but how in the world would these purple thugs be so smart?" 

"We do not fully understand our enemies, some are like meerkats, who stay in their habitat and leave only for temperate reasons, others might look like hermit crabs, they leave to a new shell of time in time, "said Splinter wisely. 

"Ok," Mikey said, not really understanding what his father had said. 

"What I'm saying is that although Leonardo has a good theory, we should not be too sure if the purple dragons choose to stay in the same hiding place or if they are behind the disappearances." explained Splinter.

"Well, I could use all the reported crimes to determine more precisely where the stolen technology might be hiding," Donnie suggested to the group.

"Ok, while Donnie does that, Mikey and Raph can join me for a patrol in search of the hiding place." Leo planned for a strategy. 

Raph was on board with the plan and Mikey was all excited, "Great, I can not wait! COWABUNGA!" 

Everyone was looking at Mikey with their eyes. "Cowabunga? Really guy?" asked impassive Raph.

"What I need is something to be my slogan." 

Raph said sarcastically, "So you got it in the book Catchphrases for Dummies?"

Leo then had another suggestion, "Maybe we should also have April's Tag to work with the light?" 

Raph then gave a quick response in a rude tone, "No Tag, she's with her new friends who are doing all that crap drags!" 

The turtles gave Raph a smile on their face, "It looks like someone is a little jealous because his 'girlfriend' has human friends!" 

Raph cried irritably, "Shut up, it's not that, it's ..." 

"Hi guys." Right away, April entered the room with a worried look on her face.

"April?!" Says the turtles. 

"What's wrong with April? Why are not you with your friends?" Leo asked April. 

April sighed, "Guys, we have a problem." 

Mikey was quick to answer, "Do you need a new bra because of another growth spurt?" 

April blushed furiously as Raph slapped his head. "Oww, was it for fun?" 

"Did you say April?" Raph asked while watching Mikey. 

"It's really about my friends, ten girls, their brother and their neighbor," April asked. 

"Donnie's worst fear?" Raph taunted his geek brother. 

"Very funny !" Donnie said ironically. 

April then takes out a newspaper from her backpack and shows it to the turtles. 

"Oh my god," said Leo. 

"Shit." Said Raph shocked. 

"Well, it's bad." Donnie said worried. 

"Cool, there will be a new pizzeria!" Mikey excited. 

Each of the brothers rolled their eyes, but are concerned that there is now a $ 100,000 bonus on their heads and most New Yorkers will look for them. 

April continued, "And apparently, my friends are also participating in the contest."

"Well, that puts a damper on the plan." Raph supposed. 

"I think maybe you should stay down for a while until it all ends," suggested April. 

The Turtles considered that the options of choice were weak and waited for the heat to decrease. But if they do, more and more people will be stolen, or come out and risk being caught on camera or in a trap. 

"Sensei, what do you think should be a good approach?" Leo asked, hoping to ask his sensei for wisdom. 

"So basically, do the opposite of what Mikey does," Raph joked. 

"In rude terms yes." 

"Hey!" Mikey said offended. 

Leo thought of another idea: "And April, maybe you could get your friends away from where we are." 

"Okay, I'll try but most of them are determined to find you guys." 

Raph intervened, "Then give them false information about our locations, and if not, call us by T-Phone if they are in our area." 

"Okay." 

"Great, now let's move the ninjas!" Leo ordered. 

The Turtles will gather their weapons and begin to leave until Master Splinter stops them. 

April asked, "Something is wrong sensei?" 

"Yes, I feel that your brothers can be seen but he can become an ally."

"Do not worry master, we will not be seen!" Mikey said without any worries. 

"All right, now let's go!" They cross one of the tunnels and start navigating on one of the hidden exits.

As night falls, John plays Rayman 3 where he is in The Bog of Murk . He wanted to show his friends if the Hoddlums Stumbleboom can go down alone.

"And then someone to a plan? Asked Wendy

" That's it ! I think I know what they eat it's a monster "says a brilliant idea from Moketo 

" Oh yeah ! Asked the others except John

"That's it I got it! John shouted. But when it was hovering in the air, Rayman got shot and died in the water "NOOOOOON! WHORE ! "

Suddenly someone knocked on the door. It was Albert and his brother. "Hey guys, what are you doing? Asked Albert

"We discover what they like to eat, it's a monster" says Tambry

In the girls' room, Mabel spoke with her little pig "Ok Waddle we are going to prepare the operation Monster city" Waddle does not understand but he soot

As for Moketo, he spoke with Tambry's snake, "that will be our walk. Do not worry, Amikuto. I promise to come back to play Mario Kart with you. I love you my friend

But the snake who read the third volume of Naruto, mounted his head

"Hey, you speak with Tambry's snake! Says Thompson, smiling

"No, shut your mouth! Moketo said angrily

" This is so cute ! Thompson continued

"You saw it your shit! Moketo runs behind Thompson to silence him.

"Ok I think everyone is here and where is Moketo and Thompson? Asked Albert

But Soos intervenes "friends, or are you going? "

"At the pizzeria to eat pizza" says Dipper

" Oh ok. Good luck, guys, "said Soos

Thompson tried to run in front of the exit, but Albert blocked his way. "Moketo and Thompson, stop fighting. Otherwise, you would stay at Moss and Kirb! It's clear ?! "

"Stop Albert, it's good they understood the massage" says Wendy

"Ok but not 10:30! Kirb shouted

Meanwhile at the Loud's house, the kids were preparing everything to chase the monsters while Lori was going down to talk to their parents.

"So, are you okay if we go every ten to Spunk E. Pigeons tonight with our neighbors?" Ment Lori.

"Of course, but why do you all want to go to a pizzeria?" Lynn Sr. asked her daughter.

"She's right, we usually need a lot of bribes to get everyone to the same place," Rita said suspiciously of her children's sudden agreement.

"We just need something to do this Saturday, we have nothing to do." Lori still.

"Okay, but not 10 hours later and you're all on time," Rita told her daughter in a strict voice and her face hard as steel.

"Okay, let's go!"

Very quickly, April and Lincoln and her sisters were out and went to Vanzilla.

"So where should we start first?" Lori asked April, his brother and sisters.

"Well, I'd like a slice of pepperoni with a stuffed crust and ..." Leni was trying to tell her big sister.

"We're not going to eat pizza, Leni," Lincoln said.

"I think we should start looking in 5th Avenue," says April.

"Very good." Lori said he drove the Vanzilla out of the alley and hoping to find one of the monsters.

Lola just shouted, "$ 100,000 is coming!"

While everyone was clapping, April had secretly her T-Phone on the speaker all the time.

"It's good guys, they're leaving," said Albert, "you have to follow them. But before, little music "he puts the radio to put a music to his friends" NEW YORK, NEW YORK by FRANK SINATRA 1977

All we moaned “seriously, Albert?” Asked John

"Ok I'm going to change my music," said Albert and he changed the music and he puts Digital Underground - The Humpty Dance 1990 and his friends love it

In another part of Manhattan, the turtles listened on the T-Phone.

"Ok, guys, you know what to do," Leo asked.

"Yeah," said Raph.

"Certainly," Donnie said.

"Of course not." Mikey confused.

"Ugh, go in the opposite direction of one and the Loud sisters and their neighbors and try to stay in the shadows."

"Can do!" Mikey exclaimed.

The four brothers leave from building to building, planning to catch the Loud behind the disappearances once and for all.

Meanwhile, in a nightclub, there were members of Purple Dragon in a discussion.

"All right boys, you all know why we are here, are not they ?!" said the group leader.

"yes because monsters hurt your ass?"

"Exactly, they always interfere with our plans and we did not even see them, it's like they're not even human!" he said bitterly in his tone.

"So, what are we going to do with this problem, boss?" asked one of the thugs.

"All the members of our faction are walking in the alleys, they like to appear in the dark and everything else, so they would probably be there!"

The thugs nodded and began to catch an assortment of weapons. "Do you expect if they come here?"

"In case you did not notice Nelson, there are other people here in this Club who are not Purple Dragons, they would not want to make a scene, right? Asked the chef.

"Good point but what about the warehouse?"

"They might suspect it if we use the warehouse."

"Yeah, but we leave him helpless, do not we?"

"Do not worry, any clues they find have already been removed."

"No matter what you say, Dragon-Face," said Nelson.

"Well, now to other things, do you remember those two trainees?"

"Do you mean the two juvenile delinquents of high school?"

"Yeah, bring them a minute."

"Ok, Dragon Face."

"Douglas, leave the beginners!" He told the guy who was guarding the door.

"Okay." He opened the doors and two people entered the club. One of them was a tall, dark-haired 16-year-old boy wearing a black t-shirt and a gray sweater.

The other was a 14-year-old girl who had a black spot and a purple lock on her hair. "Has anyone ever been drunk and died here?" questioned the girl.

"But why would an Angel have asked that?" Casey asked.

"My name is supposed to be ironic."

"Casey and Angel, I heard good words about you two." said Dragon Face.

"Yeah, what do you want?" asked Casey.

"Watch out what you say Jones!" said Nelson with irritation.

"It's ok, Nelson," said Nelson Face Nelson said. "Now both of you are about to become Purple Dragons in their own right."

The two teens really did not know what to say. But Casey seemed a little suspicious.

"You only have to do three more tests and you are officially members!"

"So, what are the three trials?" Angel asked.

"You will see, for now, just sit until later." He then takes out 2 pocket knives. "In the meantime, you won them."

"Are we supposed to bite our teeth with these things?" Angel asked.

"We have all of these, not going home and waiting for our orders the next time we see you."

"Very good." Both are out of the club.

Nelson did not seem to agree with them. "Boss, kid Casey seems a bit disrespectful."

"I know and I also know you do not like the kid, but the boss seems pretty close to him so try."

"Ugh, okay, but do not accidents happen around his hood part?"

"Noted."

Meanwhile, the turtles were outside the warehouse waiting for someone to enter the warehouse and Raph was losing patience, "Good glorious leader when are they showing up?"

"They'll show up," Leo was patient.

Raph and Donnie seem rather bored to death. Mikey, meanwhile, was gaffing on a pole: "Yo guys, look how boomy is this boom!"

"Mikey, I really do not do that," Donnie warns his brother. 

"Why ?"

"Because it breaks any moment and you can break your head, or make it more broken than it already is!" Now, get out of this damn thing! He asked as he went on the pole to catch Mikey and he threw it back to the roof, but the post made a crackling noise, "crump"

The post broke in two and Raph and he started to fall to the ground. The pole breaks and Raph falls into a garbage truck

"Sorry not to try to catch you Raph!" shouted Mikey, hoping his brother was crazy.

Before Raph could comment, the truck's engine started: "Are you kidding?" Raph asked angrily, and the truck left carrying Raph with him.

"Dude, today is not Raph's day." Mikey commented on the events that occurred.

"Come on, we have to go get him." Leo ordered Mikey and Donnie to jump after the truck.

The truck rolled at a very fast pace.

Meanwhile, April, the Louds and the others were near Central Park, having set everything up.

"Ok, did everyone install the cameras?" Lori asked the group.

"Yes, we all have our disposable cameras including Luan's video camera," says Lincoln. "These monsters are going to have a close-up today!"

"Psssh, forget the false ghost hunters, imagine a crowd of people who cheer us as we showed them the monsters!" Said Lola with green in her eyes.

"I still think it's pretty dangerous," Lisa says, ignoring rumors of monsters.

"Come on Lisa, with that money, we could finally have another room!" Lincoln said trying to excite his sisters.

Ok, guys as soon as we filmed it's creatures, we'll be able to win the $ 100,000! Albert shouted

"Yeah great idea Albert!” Jean shouted, "and how do you want the movies?"

"Miss in profile ..."

"And you stop sending SMS!” Squeezie shouted

Luna then looked to April "So April, what will you make money since you help us?"

"Oh, I'll probably put it in the bank, it'll help my family save for my college in the future." At that moment, April's phone vibrated in search of Leo's text. "Oh no." April gasped with surprise and concern.

Lincoln saw April's worried look: "What's April?"

April hesitated to answer: "Nothing, it's just ... I'll be right back!"

She runs away leaving Lincoln and Luna confused. Lincoln, however, saw that April had dropped his notebook, "Luna, April dropped her notebook!"

"I guess she dropped it when she took out her phone."

Lincoln thought of wanting to gracefully return the notepad to his crush: "So maybe I should go make it!"

Luna raised an eyebrow, "And I hope she'll kiss you, brother?"

Lincoln was nervous and had a broad smile on his face, "Pfft, of course not, I just want to do a selfless act, that's all!"

Luna did not buy it. She would be the only one with Lori, Leni and Luan, who would be most worried about her only brother. But she is content to play: "Do not bother little brother." Lincoln nodded and left to follow April

Dipper approached him: "Do you want me to go with you? "

"If you want, Dipper," said Lincoln, "you four, do you want to come?"

Marc returned to Lynn, then returned to Lincoln, Waddle, Irving, Mabel, and Dipper. "No go 'y guys," says Marc "I'm going to stay with my brother, Squeezie, Lynn and my brother's friends"

"Okay see you later, Marc," Lincoln said.

Lincoln and the kids ran to follow April

The other girls did not seem to notice because they seemed to be starting the plan again. But John had an idea "maybe I should ..." But he's bothered by the sound of the helicopter.

"Why is there a helicopter landing in the park? Asked Robbie.

"I do not know, but we must go see! Said Albert, "here is my plan. John, Wendy, Thompson and Tambry are going to hide in the tree while Marc ... "Then he saw that Marc disappeared" ok. While me, the sisters of Lincoln, Moketo, Squeezie and Alice are going to follow the helicopter "

All bowed their heads and ran

Soon, behind the big tree, John Wendy, Tambry and Thompson waited for Albert and the others to arrive in front of the big lake. But Wendy saw a creature with giant horns next to her head and three others upstairs. She had one eye, she was pink-white with a dark pink cape.

"But it's Pyronica! Yelled Wendy, "How did she get to New York City ?! "

"You mean, you know her. Thompson and Tambry remember her,” says Wendy

"Here is my plan. First, go around the lake, then we'll kill her. "Thompson and Tambry approved the idea except John.

Robbie, Albert, Alice, Moketo Squeezie and Lincoln's sisters were hidden behind the hot dog stand.

"I know that one," said Robbie, "this is one of the creatures that Dipper fought.

"Robbie," said Alice

Perido? Not Perido. Bayonetta...

Robbie. ROBBIE! Alice shouted

"What!” Robbie shouted

"Lu ... Luna and her sisters approach her"

When they saw the sisters Loud approached Pyronica and the four men with weapons. "Who are you?" Says the creature, seeing these girls

"Are you the creature trying to kill Robbie? What is your name? "Asked Lola

"My name is Pyronica and no, I did not kill your Robbie"

Robbie runs in front of the sisters of Lincoln "You are stupid! Why did you get out of your stamp ?! Robbie shouted.

But they saw something moving in the lake and someone jumped Pyronica. It was Wendy "PYRONICA! Wendy shouted

Pyronica used her power but too late. Wendy threw herself on her. She hit it ten times on the creature.

"DO NOT STAY PLACE THE IMBECILE, PULL! Pyronica ordered his men.

His men aimed at Wendy's head. But the latter began to shout "GO TO KILL ME! "

"Stop fighting both! John said running. Wendy, Albert and the others, saw that John is shirtless and even Thompson. As for Tambry, she wore the top of John and Thompson's clothes

" And you who are you ? Pyronica asked.

"My name is John, John Christivoirien and I see you have met Squeezie, Moketo and Alice"

Pyronica smiled a little. She tries to use her fireball, but are phone rang "two minutes" says Pyronica "yes! Four people ! Well, then shoot them! What? Four children and a little pig ?! Alright, let them pass I said ... let them go, finished "

"Four children? Albert said

"I think it's Dipper, Lincoln, Mabel, Waddle and Irving," says Moketo 

"All right, the pose is over. Ahhhhh! Jean shouted, running to three of Pyronica's men. The three men shot Jean, but he dodged the bullets and rushed towards them punched them.

"The pines? The little children of Stanford? Pyronica thought she called the solda sound: "Foolish are the grandchildren of Ford! Dipper and Mabel »

"PYRONICA! John shouted and ran in front of her to give him the neck of grace. But this one dodged sent him the ball of fire to John.

Meanwhile, Lincoln, Irving Dipper, Dandinou and Mabel ran to warn April to return his notebook. But he stopped and they saw a soldier wearing a gas mask and his eyes were red.

"Excuse me sir, we want to go!" Said Dipper

"Stop! The soldier shouted

"But what if ..." Irving said. But he stopped talking. He remembers this man "I remember you! You are one of those soldiers when you capture civilians in the basement of the subway! "

" You know him?” Asked Dipper

" Uh no "

"Listen to me sir, we're a little squeeze," says Lincoln

"Stop right there! The soldier shouted

"Okay," said Mabel, "we just want to shoot monsters in the park."

"I have four civilians in front of the playground entrance. Please advise," he said, calling someone with his walkie-talkie

But Irving released a weapon in his pocket

"Irving, what are you doing? You are crazy ! Dipper shouted

"Do not worry, I'm not going to kill him," Irving said with a smiley face

"Sir, there are four children and a little pig," said the soldier "but ... yes, sire"

then he turns off his walkie talkie "kids, you can move on. The children walked past him, but Irving tugged on the soldier's head and fell to the ground

"Irving, did you become sick or what ?! Mabel shouted

“Wait, guys. I did not kill him I just fall asleep with a non-lethal weapon: it means no kils »

"So what did he do with him? Mabel asked.

"We have to stay here for the watch, Lincoln, you're going to get April, then tell him what's going on here," Dipper said. 

"All right," says Lincoln

Soon, April arrived at the old playground, "Ok guys, I'm here!" Two of his brothers, Leo and Mikey, fell from the trees around the playground. "Donnie, you too! "

"Is it you April?" Donnie asked in a slightly shaky voice.

"Yes, Donnie no Loud girls did not follow me!" Leo replied.

Donnie came out of hiding and was relieved.

"Are you lost, Raph ?!" April seemed very concerned.

"Yeah, but it was not my fault!" Mikey said by instinct.

April had fumbled with disappointment, "What am I going to do with you guys?"

Mikey was about to give a literal answer, but Donnie stopped him, "DO NOT DO IT!"

April shook her head at the difficult situation of her brothers, all unaware that a certain guy was looking at them: "giant turtles ?! April found them ?! Lincoln thought and was panicked. He was ready to run to his sisters, then he accidentally stepped on a twig.

"And crump," said Lincoln

April and the turtles spotted Lincoln on the side of the building, "Lincoln ?!"

Lincoln tried to run away but a bola quickly closed that idea. Leo then came right in front of Lincoln, "You're just a kid!"

"AAAAHHHHH" Lincoln yelled back panicking about it until he fainted.

"Oh no," April said, worried that Lincoln spotted her turtles.

To be continued…

Notes from the author: So now Lincoln has spotted the turtles, how is he going to interact with them? Will Raph be safe? How will purple dragons capture their enemies? Stay tuned for Part 2. So, this is the first official chapter. Casey and Angel will make more appearances later.

[starspangledbanner27]

**CHAPTER UPDATE – Chapter 5 posted**

Fandom: Saving Mr. Banks (AU)

Description: AU take on the movie, exploring what might have happened if the author of the Mary Poppins books had been someone very different from P. L. Travers.  For Carrie Schultz, the chance to collaborate with Walt Disney Studios to bring Mary Poppins from the page to the screen is a dream come true.  However, matters grow complicated when animated penguins prove to be a point of contention, a friendly working relationship turns into more than she bargained for, and Carrie struggles to prevent Walt’s team from discovering her own hidden afflictions.

Characters: Carolina “Carrie” Schultz (OC), Don DaGradi, Walt Disney, Richard M. Sherman, Robert B. Sherman, Ralph

Rating: T

Genre: Drama/Romance

Language: English

Read on Fanfiction.net, AO3, Wattpad, Quotev, or below.

From the beginning on Fanfiction.net, AO3, Wattpad, or Quotev.

A special thank-you to my mom, who, after reading chapters 3 and 4, suggested a few minor additions and changes in wording.  And, as always, thank you to my readers!  I hope you enjoy this chapter.  

~~~~~~

Chapter 5

As I emerged from Walt’s office, Tommie looked up and smiled.  “Well, hello again!  Did you have a nice chat?  I hope Walt didn’t talk your ears off.”

I smiled back.  “It went very well, thank you.”

“Good.  Oh, and I apologize for the state of Walt’s office.  I keep telling him to clean it out, but he’s come up with this elaborate excuse for why he has to have all that clutter on display.”  She shook her head.  “Honestly, that man.”  

I laughed.  “He certainly is a force of nature.”

She raised her eyebrows.  “I’ll say.”  I laughed again, and she smiled.  “Anyway, I believe Don’s out there waiting for you.”

“Thanks; I’ll go meet him.”

“All right then.  You have a nice day, Carrie.”

“You too.”

Sure enough, I returned to the reception room to find Don sitting on the couch, waiting for me as promised.  When he saw me coming, he immediately sprang to his feet. “Hey!  How’d it go?”

“It went well,” I replied.  “You were right; Walt’s not nearly as intimidating once you meet him.”

He grinned.  “Good.  Well, in that case, let’s get to work!”

As we passed the reception desk, Dolly looked up from the pile of papers she was sifting through.  “Are you guys headed off now?”

“Yeah, we’re going over to the rehearsal room,” Don said.

“All right.  I’ll be there in a few minutes with refreshments.”  She turned to me.  “It was nice to meet you, Carrie!  I hope you enjoy your time here.”

“Thank you; I’m sure I will,” I replied with a smile. Then Don opened the door for me once again, and I exited the reception room with him close behind.

We headed down the hall together—me with my purse clutched tightly in my hands, Don with my jacket over one arm and the other swinging at his side.  I found myself watching him out of the corner of my eye, noticing the relaxed, easy grace with which he carried himself.  His stride was brisk and fluid, with just a hint of swagger—not so much as to seem arrogant, but enough to lend him an air of appealing self-assurance.  He whistled a little as we walked, and I smiled to myself when I recognized the tune as “Heigh-Ho” from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.  At last, after several seconds, he spoke.

“Now, most days, Dick and Bob and I will probably be here working by the time you arrive, so you’ll have to find your own way to the rehearsal room.  It’s not that hard, though—just come in the front door and up the stairs like we did earlier, and then down this hall and make a left.  And of course, if you have any trouble, just ask one of the other employees; they’ll be happy to help.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“No problem.”  He tucked his free hand casually into his pocket.  “So, you ever been to Los Angeles before?”

“No; actually, this is the first time I’ve been in California at all.”

“Ah.  And how do you like it?”

“It’s lovely . . . although quite a bit warmer than I’m used to.”

He laughed.  “Well, don’t worry—what we lack in cool weather, we make up for in air conditioning.”

I smiled.  “That’s a relief.”

We strode along in silence for another few moments before Don resumed the conversation.  “So, your first time in L.A.; think you’ll do any sightseeing while you’re here?”

I shrugged.  “We’ll see.  I mean, first things first—we have a movie to make.”

“Well, we’re off work on the weekends.  Maybe then you’ll get to check out the city some.”

“Maybe.”

By that time, we had reached a place where the main hallway branched off to the left.  “This is where you turn,” Don said, pointing.  We rounded the corner and headed down a smaller corridor, at the end of which was a pair of glass doors with REHEARSAL ROOM printed on them.  On the handle of one door hung a sign that read, “Please be quiet. Rehearsal in progress”—with, of course, a picture of Mickey Mouse, smiling and waving, right in the middle. When we arrived at the end of the hall, Don reached out to grab the handle of one of the doors.  “And this,” he said, grinning, “is where the magic happens.”  He swung open the door and gestured for me to walk through.

Together we entered a large, airy room with a long table in the center, where the Sherman brothers were seated.  They must have been waiting for us to arrive, because when we entered, they looked up and promptly rose from their chairs.  “She’s back!” Bob exclaimed with a smile.

“Nice to know I’ve been missed,” Don remarked, but there was laughter in his voice.

“So, how’d the meeting with Walt go?” Dick inquired.

“Very well; thank you for asking,” I replied, unsure whether I ought to remain standing or take a seat at the table.  Just as I was about to ask, Don spoke again.

“You guys got everything set up?”

“Yeah, just about,” Bob replied, “except we couldn’t find the pencils.  Did you move them?”

Don’s brow furrowed slightly.  “No, they should be on the desk.”

While they continued their discussion, I lingered a few steps away, taking in my surroundings.  Sunlight streamed through the windows, which, thanks to the mild morning weather, had been thrown open to welcome the fresh breeze that was now gently fluttering the blinds.  In one corner of the room stood a console piano; in another corner, a snare drum; and on the wall between them, a three-seat couch with a wooden coffee table.  The other three walls were lined with music-related paraphernalia, as well as a desk, two small corner tables, and several large rolling cork boards with various pencil sketches—some in black and white, others in color—thumbtacked onto them.  

“Carrie?”

I returned my attention to the three men.  “Yes?”

Don gestured to himself and the Sherman brothers.  “We were thinking we’d start by reading through the script together.  It’s not quite finished yet, but it should give you some idea of where we’re at right now and what we still have to work on.”

I nodded.  “All right, that sounds good.”

He gave a nod of satisfaction.  “Great.  In that case . . .” he pulled out a chair and thumped the back of it lightly, “. . . would you care to have a seat?”

“Yes, that’d be wonderful.”  I came over, sat down, and allowed him to slide me towards the table. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replied with a smile.  This trio, it seemed, were always smiling—wide, merry, heartfelt grins that I found irresistibly contagious.  

As the men seated themselves around the table, the door opened and Dolly entered the room, pushing a cart laden with sweet treats. “Here comes the food!” she announced as she parked the cart beside the table.  

“Wow!” I exclaimed.  “What is all this?”

Don grinned.  “That, my dear Carrie, is what keeps us alive—especially on days like this, when we have a whole script to get through.”

“Mmm!”  Dick licked his lips hungrily.  “What’s on the menu today, Dolly?”

She grinned.  “Well, for starters, I have donuts . . .”

“Ooh!” the three men chorused.

“. . . and chocolate chip cookies . . .”

“Yum!”

“. . . and, last but not least, the grand finale—ta-da!” Dolly proudly held up a large round platter with different-colored Jell-O squares arranged in piles around the rim—and in the center, a single block of red Jell-O shaped like Mickey Mouse’s head, with candy decorations for a face.   

“Oh, how charming!” I exclaimed with delight.  “He looks almost too good to eat!  Almost.”

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Dolly,” Dick remarked with a grin.

Dolly placed the Jell-O platter on the table ceremoniously, then clasped her hands and looked around at the four of us.  “Well, then, is there anything else I can get you?”

Don shook his head.  “I think we’re all set.  Thank you, Dolly!”

“Yes, thank you!” Dick, Bob, and I echoed.

“You’re quite welcome!”  She gave a gratified nod.  “See you all later, then!  Have fun!” And with that, she exited the room, pushing the cart along in front of her.

After she left, Don clapped his hands together eagerly. “All right, now does everyone have a pencil and a copy of the script?”

Dick glanced around the table.  “Looks like it.”

“Great, then let’s get started.”  We all opened our scripts to the first page.  Don reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out a pair of black-rimmed glasses, and slid them onto his face. “Ready?” he asked.  The rest of us nodded and looked down at our scripts. Don cleared his throat slightly and glanced in my direction, which I took to mean that I should begin reading.

“‘Scene one, ext.’” ‘Ext.’? What on earth does that mean? I wondered.  Extreme?  Extra? Neither made sense.  Extended, perhaps?  

Just then, I noticed that Don was reading the rest of the scene heading. My face reddened as I realized my mistake—he hadn’t meant for me to read the script; he’d cleared his throat because he was preparing to read it.  Despite my embarrassment, I raised a hand to stop him. “Excuse me—I’m sorry, what is ‘ext.’?”

“Oh, exterior,” he explained.  “It means the scene takes place outside.”

“Oh, I see.  Thank you.” 

I returned my gaze to the script and waited for him to resume.  But instead he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask—did you want to do the reading?”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed.  “I mean, of course, if you want me to, I wouldn’t mind; but I didn’t mean to read over you, if that’s what you’re saying.” 

Bob smiled reassuringly.  “Carrie, relax; there’s no harm done.”

“Of course not,” Don agreed.  “Here, why don’t you read the scene heading, and then we’ll all take turns from there?”

“All right.”  I cleared my throat.  “‘Scene one, exterior, 17 Cherry Tree Lane, London, day.  Bert, a one-man band, plays to a small gathering outside the gates to the park.  Bert says . . .’”  I looked around the table.  “Um, who’s reading for Bert?”

“I can be Bert,” Don offered.  He turned to the other two men.  “Guys, shall we give it a whirl?”  Without further explanation, they all jumped up from their seats and headed to the other side of the room. 

“Wait—what’s happening?” I asked, completely bewildered. As if in answer to my question, the Sherman brothers positioned themselves at the piano, and Dick began pounding out a tune. 

“‘All right, ladies ’n’ gents!’” Don announced, reading from the script in a Cockney accent.  “‘Comical poems suitable for the occasion, extemporized and thought up before your very eyes.  All right . . . here we go!’”  On his cue, Dick and Bob began to sing:

“Room here for everyone,

Gather around!

The constable’s responstable—

Now how does that sound?” 

Meanwhile, Don continued his Bert act; and I couldn't help giggling at the way he threw himself into it with large gestures, exaggerated facial expressions, and a droll, comical air.  He walked up to an imaginary lady and pretended to tip his hat as the brothers sang:

“’Ello, Miss Lark; 

I've got one for you!”

Dick stopped playing for a moment so that the rhyme could be spoken without music.  “Miss Lark . . . likes to walk . . . in the park . . . with Andrew!”

A quick glance at the script informed me that Andrew was Miss Lark's Yorkie, which fact was confirmed when Don bent down to pet an invisible dog.  “Hello, Andrew!” he greeted it, then stood back up for the next verse:

“Ah, Mrs. Cory, 

A story for you:

Your daughters was shorter than you,

But they grew!”

I smiled involuntarily as all three men widened their eyes in amazement at the prodigious growth of Mrs. Cory’s daughters. 

Then Dick began to play again; but this time the music changed from jaunty and playful to quiet and mysterious.  Don looked down at the script and read, “‘A light wind arises, and Bert’s attention is suddenly drawn away.  The onlookers glance at each other in confusion as he gazes up at the sky, as if he knows a secret.’”  With that, Dick and Bob sang:

“Dear Miss Persimmon . . .

Wind’s in the east, 

Mist comin’ in, 

Like somethin’ is brewin’,

About to begin. 

Can't put me finger

On what lies in store, 

But I feel what's to ’appen

All ’appened before.”

With a final flourish from Dick, the song ended, and the trio looked over at me expectantly.  Laughing, I gave them a round of ecstatic applause.  

“I love it!” I exclaimed.  “Are they all like this?”

“Well, we do have a few slower ones in mind; but basically, yeah, that’s the idea,” Bob replied.

“Well, I can’t wait to hear the rest of them. Keep up the good work.”  I gave a nod of admiration.  Beaming, the three men returned to their seats at the table.

“All right,” Don said, “shall we continue?”

~~~~~

We did, indeed, read through the entire script that day. We also went through the whole plate of donuts, half the cookies, and all but a few squares of Jell-O; so when it came time for lunch, we were too full to even think about eating anything more. However, Bob was starting to shift uncomfortably in his seat; and Dick, noticing this, suggested we take a break. Everyone readily agreed.  

The four of us stood up to stretch our legs, and I noticed Bob wincing slightly as he rose from his chair.  He caught his breath in a soft, pained gasp, then quickly regained his composure, exhaling slowly.  Dick saw this as well and cleared his throat.  “Say, Bob, why don’t we head over to our office for a bit?  I have an idea for one of the songs that I want to run by you, but, ah, I don’t want to spoil the surprise for Carrie here.”  

Bob stared at his brother for a few seconds.  Dick stared back, and I sensed an unspoken conversation pass between them.  At last, Bob nodded.  “All right. As long as that’s okay with you guys?” He glanced questioningly at Don and me.

“No problem; take as much time as you need,” Don said. “We’re more than halfway through the script already, so we’ll just finish reading it when you guys get back.”

With a grateful nod, Bob took his cane and limped to the door with Dick following close behind.  Don and I watched them go; and as soon as the door closed behind them, I turned to him.  “Don, may I ask a question?”

He nodded.  “Yeah, of course.  What is it?”

We sat back down in our chairs, and I took a deep breath before speaking again.  “I don’t mean to be rude, but I was just wondering . . . what’s wrong with Bob’s leg?”

“He got shot,” Don replied solemnly.  

“Oh . . . I’m sorry,” I said quietly.  “How did it happen?”

“Combat wound.  He was a soldier in World War II.”

“World War II?” I asked incredulously.  “That’s surprising; he doesn’t seem old enough to have been in the army back then.”

“He was very young when he joined—seventeen, if I remember correctly,” Don explained.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”  Noticing the concern on my face, he continued.  “We don’t talk about it much around here.  Bob doesn’t like to be pitied.”

I smiled wryly.  “I can relate to that.”

Don sighed.  “Most of us here agree that Bob’s a little too tough for his own good. Fortunately, Dick knows his brother’s limits, and he knows how to persuade Bob to take a break when he needs it . . . like you saw just now.”

“It was very artfully done,” I agreed.  “Reminds me of my sister.”

Don chuckled, but then a look of discomfort crossed his face, and he tugged at his collar slightly.  “Hey, Carrie, does it seem hot in here to you?”

I thought for a moment.  “Well, I hadn’t noticed; but now that you mention it, yes, it is a little warm.”

Don glanced at the windows, which were still open. “Must be heating up outside.  I’d better shut the windows.”  After doing so, he returned to the table, fanning himself with one hand.  He pulled out his chair to sit down, but hesitated, looking up at me with a question in his eyes.  “Would you be offended if I . . .” he gestured to his suit jacket.

“Oh—no, of course not!” I exclaimed.  “Please, I wouldn’t want you to overheat.”

“Thank you.”  With deft fingers, he unbuttoned his jacket, slipped it off, and hung it on the back of his chair.  He then proceeded to roll up his sleeves and loosen his necktie slightly, and suddenly I felt rather overheated myself.

At last Don sat down again.  This time, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head, a friendly smile curving his lips.  “So . . . tell me about yourself.”

“Uh . . .” I faltered, “well, what do you want to know?”

He shrugged.  “I dunno; anything.  What do you do when you’re not writing?”

I thought for a moment.  “Well, I mostly spend time with my sister—help her around the house and stuff.  And I play piano,” I added, casting a longing glance at the one in the corner. 

Don raised his eyebrows.  “Really?  Are you good at it?”

“People say I am,” I replied modestly. 

“Well then, you ought to try that one out sometime.” He nodded towards the very instrument I’d been gazing at a second ago. 

“Really?” I asked incredulously.  “You don't think the Shermans would mind?”

He grinned.  “I guarantee they wouldn’t.  In fact, I’m sure they’d love to hear you play.”  He brought one hand out from behind his head to scratch the side of his nose.  “So, you have a sister.  Any other family?”

“Uh, no . . . not anymore. Our parents died several years ago.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

“Yeah.”  I stared down at the table.  “Our mom passed away from pneumonia, and Dad . . . well, six months later, we lost him too. The doctor said it was the grief that did it.”

Don was silent for a few seconds; then he spoke. “Wow, that . . . that must have been hard.”

“Yeah, it was.”  I shook my head and looked back up at him, trying to regain my casual, upbeat tone.  “So now it’s just me and my sister, Samantha . . . and her husband, James.  The two of them rented a place for a while after they got married, and I stayed at home with our parents . . . but then once Dad died, Sam and I talked it over and decided there wasn’t much point in my having that big house all to myself.  So in the end, Sam and James moved in, and we’ve all been living together ever since.”

“And how does that work out for you?” he inquired.

“Pretty well, for the most part,” I replied. “The house itself is basically divided in two.  They live in the main portion, which has the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen, plus two bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs.  And then right inside the front entrance, there’s this door; and when you open it, you’ll find a separate flight of stairs that leads to a bedroom, a bathroom, and an office, all partitioned off from the rest of the house. That’s where I work and sleep.”

Don nodded, then looked off to the side, biting his lower lip thoughtfully.  After a few seconds, he looked back at me.  “So, you’re not married?”

I blushed.  “No.  I mean—that’s correct; I’m not married.”

An expression I couldn’t quite name flickered across his face for the briefest of moments before he looked downward and began fiddling with a pen.  “Interesting,” he murmured.  “Just never found the right one?”

I sighed.  “More like I never really got around to looking for the right one. Just . . . too much going on, I suppose.”

He nodded.  “I know what you mean.”

“What about you?” I asked.  “Are you married?  Or . . . anything?”  Why our conversation had steered in this direction, I wasn’t sure; but since it had, I figured I might as well ask.  Friendly curiosity and the like.

“Uh, no . . . no, I’m not.”

“Hmm,” I said as my stomach did a little flip-flop. I swallowed.  “And the Sherman brothers?”

He nodded, grinning.  “They’re both married, with kids.  You should meet their families sometime; they’re really great.”

I smiled.  “I’ll bet.”

Another pause ensued; then he spoke again.  “So, are you enjoying your first day here so far?”

“Yes, very much,” I replied, nodding eagerly.

He smiled.  “Good. I know it’s probably a little overwhelming to read through the entire script first thing, but I promise what comes next will be a lot more fun.”

“Oh, I’m already having fun!” I exclaimed.  “Just being here is a dream come true for me!” Don’s eyes sparkled with mirth, which led me to clear my throat and lower my gaze self-consciously.  “I know that sounds corny.  It’s probably what you guys hear from every starry-eyed newcomer, right?”

He shook his head.  “It’s not corny at all.  Being here is a dream come true—for all of us. And it doesn’t go away.”  

I gave him a grateful smile.  “So . . . tell me more about Mr. Disney.”

“Ah-ah!  ‘Walt,’ remember?” he corrected me gently.

“Right—sorry.  I’m still getting used to that.”

He chuckled again.  “That’s okay.  What do you want to know about him?”

“Well . . . what is he really like?  I mean, as a boss?  What’s it like to work for him?”

Don smiled.  “Wonderful, for the most part.  Walt’s kind of like an uncle to us all.  He wants us to enjoy what we do here.  He encourages creativity, he values our ideas, and he also cares about what goes on in our personal lives.”

“So, essentially, he’s the perfect boss,” I said.

Don raised an eyebrow wryly.  “Well . . . nobody’s perfect.”

“Oh?”

He sighed.  “Walt is a . . . tough critic.  Which is good, in a way, because that’s the type of person it takes to run a moviemaking business.  But it’s always hard when we pour ourselves into something only to have him take one look at it and say it’s not good enough.  And then it’s back to the drawing board to work our, uh . . .”

“Rear ends off?” I supplied.

He laughed.  “Yeah, pretty much.  Don’t get me wrong; he really is a great guy . . . but there are some days when he’ll come and talk to you about whatever project you’re working on, and then he’ll leave the room and you’ll wonder if you just had a conversation with Attila the Hun.”

“Oh . . . I see.”

We both fell silent for a few seconds; then I spoke. “You know, I should probably warn you—I tend to be somewhat of a tough critic myself.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.  “You?  Really?”

I laughed.  “You don’t believe me?”

“Well, it’s just . . . you don’t really seem like the type.”

“Oh, I can be a lot feistier than anyone would think.” I grinned mischievously, eliciting yet another laugh from him.  “But,” I continued, “in all seriousness, I know you guys have been working hard on this, so I’ll try to keep my criticisms to a minimum.”

“What?  No, don’t do that.”

I stared at him, surprised.  “Why not?”  

“Well, the whole reason you’re here is to give us your feedback on this project—so if you don’t let us know what you’re thinking, that pretty much defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

I raised an eyebrow.  “You really want to know everything I’m thinking?”

“Well . . . yeah.  I mean, that is why we’re doing this.”

I held his gaze for a few seconds, then shrugged my shoulders with mock nonchalance.  “All right. Let’s see . . . first of all, the Banks’s address should be referred to as ‘Number 17 Cherry Tree Lane,’ not just ‘17.’  The tape measure Mary Poppins uses to measure the children should be a roll tape, not a ruler.  The comment Ellen makes about the family needing a zookeeper—I think ‘ruddy zookeeper’ would be better.  ‘Bloomin’ zookeeper’ sounds awkward with the two oo’s.  And, frankly, I think the whole exchange between the market sellers and the nannies should be cut; it takes up several minutes’ worth of screen time without really adding anything to the story.”  I smirked a little when I saw that Don’s eyes had widened and his mouth had dropped open slightly.  “I told you I’m a tough critic.”

He blinked.  “Wow . . . yeah.  You weren’t kidding.”

“Are you having second thoughts?”

He looked off to the side, thinking.  Then, after several moments, he met my gaze again. “No,” he said.  “I still think you should give us whatever suggestions you have. But you should also understand that we might not be able to carry out every single one.”

I nodded.  “I understand that.”

“All right, then we have a deal.”

After that, we fell into silence again.  I gazed absentmindedly through the glass doors and down the hallway until I felt Don’s eyes on me.  I turned my head and, sure enough, caught him watching me, sizing me up. “What are you thinking?”  I asked.

He stared at me for another second before answering. “I don’t know, it’s just . . . somehow I get the feeling you’re a little more than what we bargained for.”

“Is that bad?”

His lips curved upwards slightly, just enough for his dimples to show.  “No,” he replied.  “No, I think it’s exactly what we need.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

But just as he was about to answer, the door opened, and we looked up to see Dick and Bob enter the room.  “We’re back!” Dick announced.

“Great!”  Don sat up a little straighter, ready to get back to business; and, reluctantly, I followed suit, wishing we’d had a few more minutes so I could have heard what he was going to say.

“I see you guys closed the windows,” Dick remarked. “Good call.  Dolly said the temperature outside is getting up into the eighties.”

As he passed by Don’s chair, Bob leaned over and murmured, “Sorry about that.”

Don shook his head.  “Not a problem.”

Once the brothers took their seats, Don cleared his throat.  “Well, shall we continue?”  The other three of us nodded.  “Who’s reading?” he asked.

“I think it was my turn,” Dick replied.  He glanced at each of us.  “Everyone ready?”

“Mm-hmm,” we assented.

“All right then, let’s see . . . ah, here we are. ‘Scene 9—The Streets of London . . .’”

As Dick read, I found my thoughts drifting back to the conversation I’d had with Don while the Shermans were out of the room. Eventually, without really knowing why I did so, I glanced up from my script to look at him.  Though his eyes were on the script, it seemed that his mind was elsewhere; then, suddenly, he looked up at me.  Our eyes met for but a moment before we returned them to our scripts—yet in that one moment, something passed between us, leaving the air crackling and my heart racing as I began to suspect that I, too, had gotten more than what I’d bargained for.

~~~~~

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