#or I was meandering on saying they were finished and haven’t done their sketches

[quibbs126]

Heya! Can you do Dark Choco Cookie and Cotton Cookie child?

So I originally misread Cotton as Cotton Candy (especially since not everyone includes the Cookie part of the name), and I’m not doing Dark Choco/Cotton, so Dark Choco/Cotton Candy it is

Anyways, this is Bubble Choco Cookie

So Bubble Choco here is somewhere in his teens, and he’s an avid poet. However he does not want anyone to read his poems, and will make sure you don’t touch his poetry journal. They’re mostly edgy or sad and they aren’t the best, but it’s how he expresses himself. He’ll just pull out his journal and pencil at random times and start writing

When he was younger, he used to be a lot more cheerful and bubbly, but as he entered his teen years, he started to act more rebellious and “dark”. He never quite gave up his fashion sense though, with his main changes just being that he wears some darker shades

He is also very fond of chocolate, specifically the aerated kind

Okay I’m gonna be honest, I don’t have much for him other than the poet angle. I just kind of decided to finally start drawing him

I also recognize that he has very little of Dark Choco in his character, as well as design, but that’s in part because of the way I envisioned this ship. For one thing, it’s in Ovenbreak so no Dark Cacao Kingdom here, Dark Choco probably just lives with Cotton Candy, and also, it’s a wholesome ship, their kid doesn’t need that much angst. And he’s a poet instead of a fighter, and if he doesn’t want to fight, I don’t see any reason for Dark Choco to teach him; Cotton Candy doesn’t seem to live in an area that requires much sword fighting or the like

Anyways, on to design stuff

So Bubble Choco is based on aerated chocolate, since it’s like a really light chocolate, and cotton candy is also light (I’m talking weight btw). Also, I’ve eaten this kind of chocolate before (I quite enjoy Aero bars), and I quite like it

I think another name I was considering was Air Choco, since it’s closer to the actual name of the ingredient, but Bubble Choco works better as a name

Aerated chocolate:

So as I said earlier, I kind of made him for the sake of making him and doing more of these, so there wasn’t a super big amount of thought out into him. I do still like how he turned out though

All I really had to go on initially was the poet angle (I didn’t even reread my old notes), and I wasn’t really sure where to go with his personality until I started tweaking his expression. He was also originally going to be a girl but somewhere in development I decided “eh, why not have him be a boy?” and there you have it

I also knew I wanted him to have black poofy hair with things in it. It was originally more of a curved line in between the ends, but I changed it when I looked at Cotton Candy’s hair more. Though I kind of wish I had kept it now. There was also an old concept I mad ages ago that also had that hair, but it was longer. Don’t know why it’s this current length

After doing the hair, I wasn’t really sure what to do with the outfit, and I kind of just made something up as I went. He’s got the poofy ends of his jacket because of the whole “bubble” thing. I wanted to give him more poofy stuff

His colors are brown and light green become the Aero bars I usually see are regular chocolate (brown) and mint (light green). The pink was added to there’d be a little more color variation

As for the thing in his eye, it’s because of Cotton Candy’s heart eyes and me liking to put stuff in the eyes in place of that. Bubble Choco’s eye thing is supposed to be a sort of reference to Dark Choco with his star, though I didn’t bother to curve it out. And as I realize now, the eye I chose is also his missing eye and the star eye of the SoD. I’d like to claim that was intentional, but it wasn’t

And anyways yeah, there you have it. Bubble Choco. Don’t really have much else to say other than I hope you enjoyed him

[itsclydebitches]

Okay then. Here we go. If he was doing this—and Someone help him, he was doing this—then Crowley would be further damned if he didn’t do it right.

“Sorry,” Anathema said. She set her teacup down. “But are you asking my permission to court Aziraphale?”

“Uh... might be. Yeah.”

She didn’t have to use that tone. Like the request was ridiculous or something. Aizraphale was old-fashioned, even by an immortal’s standards, and as such Crowley had spent the last week recalling, reviewing, and trying to implement every human romance ritual his angel had ever made heart eyes at over the millennia. What Crowley had ended up with was a room flooded with notes and the realization that most of this stuff just wasn’t on the table for them. Well it was, yes. Literally. On the table. His table back at the apartment was, as established, currently covered in the fruits of his labor. No literal fruits though. Apples might send the wrong message given their history and besides, if he wanted to impress his angel with food he’d pick up an opera cake or something equally decadent—

Crowley stared. Across her own, stupidly clean table Anathema stared back.

“I might be panicking,” he said.

“Yeah. Picked up on that.”

Wasn’t that supposed to help? The whole ‘I see you’ nonsense that humans were always harping on about? Instead Anathema’s gaze just made Crowley’s skin go all itchy; fueled the desire to turn into a snake and find somewhere warm to hide. The look did jump-start his brain though. Linear thoughts. Right. He could do that.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley explained, speaking slow and precise entirely for his own benefit, “Is old. All our other friends? Dead. Family,” his eyes jumped to Above and for a moment his burning rage eclipsed the itch. “I’m not asking those bastards for permission.”

“Do you need permission?” From confused to forceful in a heartbeat. Anathema leaned her arms onto the table, nearly knocking her teacup off and slamming their heads together. “I mean c’mon, Crowley. It’s the twenty-first century. Aziraphale is a grown man! Er, angel. You know what I mean. He doesn’t need anyone’s permission to date—and neither do you.” She rapped her knuckles three times against the wood. “There’s a difference between old-fashioned and outdated.”

For the first time in a week Crowley smiled. “Yeah I know, but...try telling him that.”

Anathema continued to look at him in that skin-crawling way. Crowley kicked her shin. “I’m not saying he’s logical! Just that he’ll appreciate it.”

“Appreciate me giving you permission to date him?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I’m in no way a parent or guardian or even a relation?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I’ve only known you two a few years?”

“Yes!”

“Crowley, that’s—”

“Satan save us, book girl, would you just say yes!?”

Anathema laughed, a startled sound that burst right out of her. She picked her cup back up. “You’re an idiot if you think I haven’t been saying ‘yes’ since you walked in, Crowley. I never needed convincing, but that outburst seals it. You two really are perfect for each other. Look. I'm only getting sappy once, so pay attention. I'd do anything for you two, including giving you something you want but I don't think you need. That's fine. You have it, and I hope to Heaven, or Hell, or wherever that you both receive all the happiness this world has to give.”

It should have been a touching moment. Might of been, if Crowley hadn’t accidentally set the edge of the table on fire the moment she'd finished. That happened sometimes. Totally natural for a demon. Not that Crowley had ever seen it happen to another or bothered to ask them about it, but he knew it was true. Because otherwise this was just a thing that happened to him, when he was embarrassed, and that just couldn’t stand.

Never-mind. The real takeaway here was that wooden tables burned spectacularly and Anathema was a peach in a crisis. While Crowley cursed and tried (and failed) to picture a table sans flames, Anathema calmly bent beneath the kitchen sink and retrieved a fire extinguisher. Moments later the flames had disappeared via the magic of human invention, their little sit-down was covered in foam, and despite the kindly expression, Crowley got the distinct impression that Anathema would have liked to take that extinguisher and brain him with it.

“So,” Crowley said.

“So.” Anathema agreed. Her lips were twitching.

“I’m just gonna...” and he thumbed at the door, lanky legs meandering backwards. Anathema let him go with both a smile and a glare. The tally then: three hours of her wasted time, a hefty dose of buffoonery from him, one permission secured, one damaged table, scorched teacup, and a cottage that would smell of smoke for the rest of the day, at least.

All in all, it could have gone a lot worse.

He was three miles into the trip back to London when his phone buzzed, a text from Anathema with, ‘at least you’re still hot,’ complete with emojis. It made him snort. Then laugh out loud. Then finally relax into the driver’s seat, the Bentley curving around him in comfort. It was absurd to ask for permission, particularly from someone who, in the grand scheme of their lives, Crowley barely even knew.

He found he was happy to have it regardless.

Probably slightly less so, however, if he’d known that Anathema had texted Aziraphale shortly after him. Just to say that Crowley would be there by nightfall, he had something to tell him... and perhaps Aziraphale should insist on having that conversation somewhere other than the bookshop. Why? Oh, no reason. Just something-something-precious books and fire.

From then until 8:00pm Anathema’s phone was blowing up with rather frantic texts. She ignored it in favor of surveying the damage done to her kitchen, wondering if she could carve the table into something a bit more interesting, using scorch marks to her advantage.

Anathema was just pulling out a pencil to sketch possibilities when her phone went suspiciously silent. After a full minute, she smiled.

Good. They’d figure it out.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Lunch Buddy: Chapter One

Masterlist

Next Chapter>>

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they'll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter One: Oblivious

Chapter Word Count: 2612

Tldr A/N: I don’t do tags (sorry!), this is a ‘slice of life’ I write when the mood strikes so updates will come when they come, this is set shortly after the first “Avengers” movie and any canon that pops up will likely be different so keep an open mind, Reader (or OFC, depending on your preference) is female/bisexual/plus-sized because it’s important to parts of the story but otherwise remains undefined.

(Long) A/N: This is weird(ish), but I'm posting it, because I've been writing bits and pieces for this thing for over a year now and I keep chickening out of posting it. So I'm doing it! First off, a few general warnings: this (to me) still counts as reader-insert since I haven't ascribed a detailed physical look or name to the POV character but I do know some extra things about her. Those being: female, bisexual, plus-sized, asocial. That's it for actual set details and I mention them because they will come up in the story. Also, this is written in first-person past tense. I'm sorry if any of that bugs anybody (I know some people are very 1st person averse) but it's just the way I wanted to write it. I can't honestly say it's self-insert but I can (and should) say it's pretty self-indulgent.

Secondly: this is a 'slice of life' type thing that I write bits and bobs for on occasion. Since I've been adding to it for over a year I have kind of a meandering story and a lot of little pieces that add up to something I enjoy. I'm just trying to finish this first arc so I'll just say for the time being it is Reader(or OFC) & Steve friendship but it's eventually going to be Steve/Reader (or OFC) and we'll see how it goes from there. I aim to update every other week but, again, this is the one thing I have that is for pure relaxing so we shall see. I will not be tagging for this fic. Sorry! I’m way too forgetful and this doesn’t have a planned schedule, so there’s no way I can trust myself to be an actual Adult and do something that responsible.

Thirdly: This is after the first Avengers movie but I have already altered parts of CA:TWS to fit in with what I'm doing. I'll explain it as I go, just keep an open mind.

Stupidly: I have a thing for Oblivious!Reader. It never fails to amuse me to think of different ways for a character to go 'wait, *that* guy?!' Idk why, but sorry not sorry.

  I had a routine.

I actually had several, but one of my most sacred involved my lunch break. After half a day of staring at papers and screens, I took an hour to fortify myself for another half day of staring at papers and screens. By…staring at paper and screens. But this was by my choice, at least, and done in a nice, airy café, with a good drink (and sometimes snack) nearby.

I’d been coming to the same shop for almost two years, ever since I got my job just a block or so over, and I rarely missed visiting it on a weekday. Even a fucking alien invasion didn’t chase me off for long– people still had to eat and businesses still had to run. As soon as the infrastructure was back to (mostly) functioning, I was back to doing what I did in every way.

I had noticed when some of the other regulars stopped coming around (I really hoped they had just decided to go somewhere else and that they hadn’t gotten caught up in that nightmare) and I also started to notice some new regulars. One of them was a jerk and I only noticed her as much as it took to avoid her. There were a few people who just came in to get drinks and left right away. Then there was one guy who ended up causing a bit of a stir.

I really only noticed him the first time because he was attractive enough to literally turn heads. Even some of the guys I had assumed were straight took a peek and whispered to themselves. And he wasn’t unaware– his cheeks flushed and he ducked his head and I was pretty sure three people fell in love with him on the spot.

It was funny, but aside from noticing he was attractive and was very nice to the cashiers, I went back to ignoring him. I only had so long in a lunch break and I wasn’t the type to introduce myself to strangers, no matter how cute they were.

So, we simply existed in the same general space at the same general time for a couple of months. He became a regular and also found ways to disguise himself– hats and glasses, and jackets with the lapels turned up. It was funny to me because it seemed like such a movie star thing to do, but even funnier was that, when he remembered to do it, it worked. He drew eyes from strangers less and less the more he figured out how to hide himself, and the other regulars got used to him being around. Just from basic interactions I knew his name was Steve, he tipped well, he was always very polite to the people working, and he liked to sit down with a sketchbook and a cup of coffee. That was about all the ‘interaction’ we had and it was fine.

Until one day.

My headphones were in and I didn’t notice him standing nearby until he leaned closer. I yanked out one of the earbuds and straightened up to see what it was he wanted. He went from concerned to contrite in what could have been a new record. “Oh I’m sorry; I didn’t see–”

“It’s okay,” I said and pulled out the other one so I could give him my full attention. “What do you need?” I surreptitiously checked myself to make sure he wasn’t coming over to tell me about an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction.

“I was just wondering…” He extended an arm to the (very full, I just realized) shop. “There’s nowhere else to sit and your table is so large, could I sit here? I promise I’ll be quiet.”

“It’s not like I’d hear you anyway,” I said and he smiled. I quickly pulled my bag off the chair next to him and pushed it out.

“Thank you,” he said, I nodded, and we went back to our solitary activities.

After that, though, if he ever saw me in the shop he would give me a friendly nod or say hi if I didn’t have any headphones in. I responded in kind, but we otherwise left each other alone. Except that busy periods hit and, given that one interaction, I seemed to be his go-to. We left each other alone and he seemed just as fine with that as I felt about it. It was nice– technically could it count as socializing? It sort of felt like it, but it was my favorite kind of socializing: respecting each others’ boundaries.

AKA: Leaving each other the fuck alone.

It was great.

Except he eventually started to get a little more friendly; subtly, and slowly. Like the day he asked for my name.

“I just feel like I should know who I’m apologizing to every time I take over your space,” he said.

“You’re a big guy, but you’re not that big,” I said. But I told him my name. Then, weirdly, he just…went back to his sketchbook.

I stared at him for a second. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t really do this ‘meeting people’ thing that often, but don’t you normally give your name when someone else gives you theirs?”

He blinked and stared at me. “You don’t–” He stopped himself. “I didn’t tell you?”

“No,” I said. “I’d remember if you told me. And I’d remember if you told me and I forgot, because I would never, ever bring up your name or anyone else’s name ever again.”

He laughed, and looked startled by it. I was a little startled too, but he recovered pretty quick. “How do I know you’re not just covering for the fact that you forgot?” he teased.

“I am excellent at remembering when I should know someone’s name and deftly avoiding any chance at using it,” I said.

He chuckled, but he did say, “It’s Steve. Steve Rogers.”

I wrote ‘Steve’ in the front cover of my notebook, and expected to forget all about it.

~

I didn’t. Steve was friendly in an unobtrusive way. His greetings were warm and genuine and he was honestly pleasant to be around. I knew nothing of him but his name, that he liked to draw, and that people liked to gawk at him.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” one of the employees commented as she cleaned a nearby table.

“Uh…I guess so?” I pulled out a headphone just in case and sure enough, she stood and faced me and looked me up and down.

“How is he?” she asked.

I flinched, because seriously, what the fuck? “Um, he’s just some guy I sometimes share a table with. I don’t– I’m not– I don’t ever see him outside of here.”

“Oh I know; I didn’t mean it like that,” she said and grimaced. “And I didn’t mean that like– I just mean…is he nice?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t sit anywhere near him if he wasn’t,” I said. “I have no patience for douchebags.”

She smiled. “Nobody should,” she agreed. “Just, a guy like him…you sort of hope he’s nice, you know?”

“I…guess,” I said. I didn’t really know what to say to that. “I’m definitely not into him, if that’s what you were worried about?” She stared at me blankly so I tried to figure out a non-awkward way to say ‘fucking go for it.’ “He’s a nice guy and you seem nice, so don’t worry about me, just ask him. Even if he’s not into you he’s the sort of guy who wouldn’t be a dick about it.”

“Oh. Oh, no!” She laughed and waved. “I have a boyfriend, so I’m not– no, but, uh, thanks.”

“Oh.” Then why was she so– well, maybe she just liked seeing a pretty guy like that also be a good guy. God only knew the world needed more men who weren't jerks. I didn’t get to find out though, because she got called away by her co-worker and I went back to my notebook and my headphones. Why was everyone suddenly so social?

~

“What are you listening to?”

I shrugged. “Just my library on shuffle; nothing really cohesive.”

He chuckled and went back to doing what he did. Today it was fitting in stealing bites of his two strawberry croissants while he sketched.

It was a little strange for me, but I was getting used to Steve asking questions out of the blue. He was a nice guy and I didn’t want to be a jerk, that was part of it, but he also seemed to know when it was okay to talk to me and how far he could go. If I ever really didn’t want human interaction he somehow clued into it and would sit quietly. If I was open to it, he kept the conversations light and just something we both did in the background. Several weeks into this strange lunchtime camaraderie I accepted that some days he was there, some days he wasn’t, but it was just a nice easy thing we both slipped in and out of as time went on.

I was realizing I never really asked a lot of questions though. I cleared my throat. “Do you work around here?” I asked.

“No,” he said, smiling at his drawing as he worked on it. “I work…well, I’m sort of ‘on call’ I guess you could say,” he said. “My schedule is really irregular. I like to come here just to get out of my apartment from time to time.”

“That sounds nice,” I said.

“And you?” he asked.

“Yeah, I work in the area,” I said. “I like to get away from my desk and out of the office for at least a little bit. So I come here and just relax for an hour before I finish out the day.”

“That sounds healthy,” he commented. Before I could figure out if he was being sarcastic, he snapped his head up and waved his hand. “I didn’t mean– shit; I’m sorry,” he said and put his pen down. “That sounded bad. I meant it sincerely though. I have a lot of friends who are…workaholics, I guess you’d say.”

“Yeah, I do my fair share of overtime, but I definitely prefer not to,” I said. I thought about asking him what he did, but then he’d probably ask what I did, and I didn’t want to talk about it. It was fine– paid the bills and that was always a good thing, I just hated watching people feel like they had to feign interest in my bullshit. So we settled back into silence. And it was good.

~

“Um…excuse me?”

I looked up and so did Steve. The kid was looking right at him though, and I went back to looking at my book. I did keep an ear open, though, because I was nosy. Steve asked the kid’s name and I heard nothing, but when I glanced, Steve was scribbling something on a piece of paper.

His name.

I squinted, because he was signing an autograph, really?

Suddenly the woman’s comments, about hoping that ‘a guy like him’ was nice, made a lot more sense. Also the ‘movie star disguise’ thing. Was he actually a movie star? He hung out here way too much for that to be true, but I was baffled. Steve went back to his sketchbook like nothing was wrong or weird and I tried to figure out how to Google a tall blond buff guy named ‘Steve’ while somehow not getting stuck with a bunch of porn. Ugh; what was his last name again…

“You know you can just ask me.”

I looked up from my fruitless search. He smiled patiently, but he looked…tired.

Well then.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I asked, but I didn’t have all day. When I looked at my phone again, I realized I barely had five minutes. “We’ll see how many lunch breaks it takes me to figure it out.”

He let out a surprised little laugh, and then he smiled for real. “How many do you think it’ll take?”

“Hmm.” I tapped my chin. “If it takes more than three, I’ll buy your coffee.”

“If it takes less, I’ll buy yours,” he said, we shook on it, and I packed up to leave.

“By the way– this one doesn’t count,” I said and skipped out to his protests.

~

There were a lot of blond buff guys who did porn.

So I maybe got a little distracted.

“Jesus.”

I leaned my head back and shut off the screen at the same time. “You’re blond and your name is Steve; I don’t have a whole lot to go on. Also, he had most of his clothes on.”

“He wasn’t going to,” Steve chuckled and sat back in his seat. “Should I try a latte? I also heard mochas were good.”

“If you really wanted to take advantage you’d go for the frozen drinks.”

He made a face like a five-year-old. It was so ridiculous I had to laugh. “I’m not sure about cold coffee,” he said.

“Ah, not even iced coffee?” I waved my sadly-not-iced drink around and took a long sip. “You’re missing out.”

“I’ll just take your word for it.” He glanced at the menu, and then back at me. “Next time then?”

I stared him down. “This is only lunch break number one.”

“Two.”

“One.”

He was grinning and I stuck my tongue out at him. “I’m gonna add ‘stubborn brat’ to my search parameters,” I said. And I did. He laughed at me.

~

There was only so much internet searching I could do before I got a little bored.

“Do you want to just give up now?”

“Never,” I said and swiped at my game. “I just need a little downtime. This is my lunch break after all; I’d rather have fun and relax before getting back to work.” I cleared the stage and looked up at him. “I’ll figure it out next time.”

“You are so strange,” he said, somehow sounding like he was laughing without actually laughing.

Search: “steve” “blond” “famous” “-porn” “douchebag”

“Hey.”

~

I didn’t get the full lunch break to try to figure it out one last time.

“Oh my god is that Captain America?”

I perked up and saw a flabbergasted gaggle of teenagers looking right at…Steve.

Steve.

Steve…

Steve Rogers.

Oh.

Holy shit.

He kept at his sketchbook, as he usually did, and I sat there and digested that information. The teenagers were too shy to approach (and as friendly as Steve was whenever people did come up to him, he never really encouraged that behavior) and so I got to sit quietly and take that in.

“Well?” he asked and looked up. At me. Like he was awaiting my judgment or something.

“Uhhh…” Whatever I thought I was going to say fled my brain and I was left with nothing. I scrambled for something. “Um…thank you for your service?” I said, eventually. He blinked and I let out a sigh. Why did I ever open my mouth nothing good ever happened. “Help me out, what do people normally say?”

He stared for a second longer and then he laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Once he settled down his eyes were bright with humor and it didn’t feel like he was being mean. It took me a little bit to realize he sounded relieved. And, like that, I felt a little more relaxed. Enough to go completely deadpan when I said, “Wow. So ungrateful.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He grinned like a total jerk. “Thanks.”

Yep, total jerk.

No wonder we got along.

Next Chapter>>

[ofsinnersandsaints]

somehwere to belong

rating: G (for now) word count: 5171 chapter: 1/2 AO3

modern au fluff including but not limited to: college!jester, fjord as the hot neighbor, caduceus and beau as the best roommates and jester fulling expecting to fall in love with the guy next door but not realizing it would feel quite like this

Fjord pushed the sandpaper along the curve of the boat, careful not to put too much pressure on the wood. A Bastille song played from his Bluetooth speaker, but he kept it low enough not to wake anyone in the neighborhood up.

He stepped away to grab the beer he’d left on the counter and the back of his neck tingled with the feeling of someone watching him and turned in time to see a small shadow duck around the door which led from the garage to the backyard.

“Someone there?”

There was a quiet shuffle and then a head popped into the open doorway. Blue hair, big eyes, sweats and a glass or something in her hands. “Oh, hi! Sorry! I didn’t want to scare you, and then you looked over, and I felt weird lurking around your yard-”

“Take a breath,” he told her with a smile, recognizing her from across the chain link fence separating his yard from hers. “You live next door, right?”

Her grin was bright as she all but skipped into the garage. “I do! I’ve seen you around.”

“I’ve seen you too. Did you need something?”

“Sugar,” she said absently, pushing what he could now see was a measuring cup into his hands as she walked towards the half finished project in the middle of his garage. “Did you build this?”

“I’m trying to,” he admitted, trying to see the boat from her eyes. It was a half finished hull and hardly the greatest thing ever built, but the shape wasn’t bad.

“It’s amazing,” she crooned, running her hands over the smoothed out wood. “You must be very smart to be able to build your own ship.”

“Boat,” he corrected more out of habit than anything else. “And not really, I just spent a lot of time around them. How much sugar did you need?”

“Can you just fill it up?” she asked, looking at him in the dim lightning. “I’m making cookies.”

Fjord glanced at the clock hanging from a stud on the other side of the garage. “At two in the morning?”

“I’m a college student.” she shrugged and turned back towards him, “What’s your excuse?”

“Nightmares.”

He blinked, not entirely certain why he’d just admitted that, and hoped to the gods the flush he could feel along his cheeks wasn’t bright enough for her to notice. “I’m going to get you some sugar.”

“Do you like sugar cookies,” she asked as she followed him into the house. He flicked on lights as he went into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he answered and pulled out a bag of sugar and filled up her cup.

“I’ll bring you some when they’re done, to thank you for the 2am sugar.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s polite,” she argued. “And we probably owe an apology for something or other.”

He looked over his shoulder at her as the granules filled the measuring cup. “Why do you say that?”

She grinned and sat on his table, legs swinging beneath her. “Because we’re a bunch of college students on half an acre who occasionally have parties and probably always have our music too loud.”

Fjord leaned back against his counter and laughed. “Y’all aren’t too bad, I’ve had worse neighbors.”

Her eyes went wide, and he wondered if she was wearing makeup or if her lashes were just that long naturally. “That’s terrible.”

“You guys clean up after yourselves and the cops haven’t been called. Least not that I can remember. I can’t say the same for every group of delinquents who has rented that house in the past couple of years.”

She shook head, blue hair falling around her eyes until she tucked it back behind her ears. “We’d never risk that, Beau has an internship and if she ever got in trouble she’d lose it.”

He thought about the handful of people he’d seen come and go from the house but couldn’t decide which might be the person she was talking about. “And Beau is?”

“The angry one.”

Fjord laughed at the descriptor, but he knew who she was talking about. She went running at least once a day, and he’d seen her more than once out in the backyard working out. “And the big guy with the pink hair?”

“Caduceus, he’s very wise and going to school for grief counseling.”

“And you?”

“I dabble in majors,” she said, clearly evading the question and making no qualms about it.

Fjord shook his head, amused despite himself. “I mean, what’s your name?”

“Oh!” She jumped off the table and ran a hand down her sweats as if it was a dress, then held out of her hand. “My name is Jester Lavorre, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Fjord,” he introduced as he shook her hand. “Nice to meet you as well.”

They stood there for a moment, just holding hands in the white light surrounded by beat up furniture and the quiet of the night. He thought it should be awkward, and if he was honest he felt a bit out of place, but her eyes were so clear, and her face had a kind of serenity he wanted to borrow for himself.

“I really want to know how you got that scar,” she said while she still held his hand, her head nodding towards the white slash above his eye. There was a softness to her voice that didn’t necessarily equate to quiet. Like she knew she pushing on a bruise but didn’t want it to hurt. “But I just came for the sugar.”

“Uh, right.” He blew out a breath and took a step back, his fingers lingering against her palm for half a second before letting go.

Jester reached out and took the cup from his hands, her skin brushing against his in a way he thought might have been intentional. There was amusement at the corner her lips and for a brief, stupid moment, he wanted to taste it. “Thank you for the sugar, Fjord. I’ll bring the cookies by tomorrow. And if we ever get too rowdy, just let us know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She headed towards the garage door, stopping and turning with her hand on the doorway. “Does the ship have a name?”

“Not yet, no.”

For the first time she looked a little nervous, but he couldn’t say why. “Well. Thanks again, good night Fjord.”

“Night, Jester.”

And for reason completely unrelated to the nightmares which had kept him up, Fjord found himself unable to settle down enough for sleep for another hour.

 Jester was curled up in an armchair when Beau found her in the library the next afternoon.

“What are you doing?” Beau asked, though it sounded a little like a command.

Jester resisted the urge to slam the sketchbook shut and instead angled it so Beau could see it.

“Is that our neighbor?”

It pleased her that Beau could easily recognize the person in the drawing, it meant she’d done at least a reasonable job. Absently she played with the stubble at his cheek. “It is.”

“When did you get close enough to him to be able to get so much detail? Or are you drawing our neighbor as that guy from your books?”

“Oskar,” Jester filled in, because for some reason it felt important to clarify. “And I met him. Our neighbor I mean. Sadly I have not met Oskar in real life.”

Beau smirked as she settled into the chair next to Jester, her phone was already in her hand but she began typing something almost immediately. Jester didn’t bother to ask what she was doing because half the time Beau couldn’t say.

Jester was ninety percent certain Beau was a spy sent to infiltrate the college, but Jester was okay being used as a cover because Beau was a pretty good friend. Instead of asking what Beau was doing, Jester looked back down at her sketch. She really, really wanted to know where he’d gotten that scar.

Had it been at sea, fending off pirates? Maybe he’d come across a damsel in an alley, cornered by thugs and he’d defended her honor?

The sigh she let out was a little wistful but it couldn’t be helped.

“His name is Fjord Tusktooth and he’s owned the house for three years,” Beau announced victoriously and then sat up straighter. “When did you get a chance to meet him this morning? We were almost late to our first classes.”

“I asked him for sugar early this morning before dawn,” Jester answered, bracing herself for Beau’s scolding.

“Jesus, Jessie. You can’t go knocking on a stranger’s doors at fuck o’clock in the morning. That’s how people get murdered.”

“But look!” Jester spread her arms out in front of her. “Not murdered!”

“It only takes once,” Beau warned as Caduceus came up to them, sitting down on the floor and immediately pulling out his carafe of tea. From a few feet away Jester could smell it, grass and something that reminded her of daisies. For all she knew it, it was probably actually daisies.

“Who is getting murdered?”

“No one,” Jester answered at the same time Beau pointed to her. “I went to visit our neighbor and Beau is worried.”

“Beau always worries,” Caduceus commented without judgement. “But there’s no reason to worry about our neighbor, he’s nice.”

Jester perked up at the possibility for information. “You’ve met him?”

“No,” Caduceus answered, the single word meandering a bit before for finishing. “But he’s got a nice vibe to him.”

Beau scoffed. Loudly.

“You think so?” Jester asked.

“Yeah, I think so. A bit sad, maybe, but I seriously doubt he’s ever murdered anyone.”

“And you can tell that just by looking at him across the fence?” Beau challenged.

“Yes.”

He said it so confidently that even Beau seemed to hesitate at arguing and Beau never hesitated to argue.

Jester considered her options. She wanted to see Fjord again, but Beau was very protective and it would be easier all around if Beau just met him. A little company now meant the possibility for more alone time later. “I’m going to bring him some of the cookies I made later, if you guys want to meet him.”

“Do we get some of the cookies?” Beau asked.

“Look in your bag,” Jester suggested, shutting her book.

Beau’s eyes lit up and dug through her backpack to find a brown paper bag with a quickly sketched comic of Beau beating up a tree who was using a bat to fight her.

“A tree using a bat?” Beau asked, gleeful. “That’s so morbid, I love it.”

Jester grinned, happy to have made her friend smile. “Did you find yours Caduceus?”

“I did. Thank you, Jester.”

“Are we done bullshitting?” Beau asked around a mouthful of cookies. “Cause I’m ready to go home.”

“We can go,” Jester answered as Caduceus stood up, unfolding his long legs and walking behind them like a tall, friendly flower.

At home they all went to their respective rooms to drop off their stuff and then migrated to the backyard. Caduceus headed towards his little garden which he’d roped and fenced off to keep out wild animals; Beau stripped off her shirt to reveal the sports bra underneath and began doing jumping jacks, warming up before she started whatever work out she had planned for the day.

Jester brought out her blanket and set it safely between Beau and Caduceus with her school books. She didn’t particularly enjoy college, but she enjoyed the environment so she put up with homework to get the rest of it.

Parties, and people, and independence.

It was nearly everything she had ever dreamed of.

With that thought in mind, she glanced at the house next door but there wasn’t a truck parked in the driveway so she knew Fjord wasn’t home.

Jester was halfway through her chapters on anatomy- maybe she’d be a doctor, who knew? -when she heard the rumble of a truck down the road and trying to be sly about it she kept her head down and glanced next door out of the corner of her eye.

The chain link fence gave her a clear view so she saw the beat up old truck Fjord drove, saw him step out of it and when he looked over and saw her, he waved.

He waved.

Stupid, Jester scolded herself. It wasn’t a declaration of love, there was no reason to get butterflies or for her heart to start skipping wildly and yet…

Jester smiled and waved back, hoping it looked friendly and not like she’d been sketching his face on and off all day.

“Want to head over now?” Caduceus asked, wrist deep in dirt. “I could bring him some carrots.”

“Oh,” Jester fumbled over her words. “No, that’s okay. He just got home, he probably doesn’t want company right away.”

“No, let’s go over now,” Beau encouraged. “I’m super buff and sweaty. I’ll be intimidating as fuck.”

Jester was hesitant but Beau was already walking towards the fence and Caduceus was wiping dirt from his palms. Resigned, Jester got up and went inside to get the bag of cookies and watched with fond exasperation as Beau hurdled over the fence and Caduceus just, walked over it.

Much shorter, it took Jester a second longer to get over but she was agile enough she didn’t get caught on anything and landed on her feet.

If Fjord saw, she hadn’t made a fool of herself.

Brushing a hand down the skirt of her sundress she followed her friends across the yard and watched as Beau banged on the back door. She hurried, so she was there when Fjord opened his door.

He looked briefly startled by the crowd, but shifted his expression quickly to a slow, easy smile. “Howdy, neighbors.”

Beau pushed her way past him and Caduceus held out two carrots Jester hadn’t seen in his hand. They were still covered in dirt.

“For you.”

“Ah,” Fjord looked at Jester who couldn’t do anything but shrug. “Thanks.”

“I’m Caduceus Clay, Jester’s friend. And the very rude person inside is Beauregard.”

“Fjord,” he said as he shook the taller man’s hand. “Would you like to come in?”

“I would love that, thank you.”

Jester watched Fjord’s face for any lingering irritation or mockery but he only looked faintly amused and that was okay; she was often amused by her friends as well.

When he turned his light green eyes on her they were laughing. “Hey, Jester.”

“Hi, Fjord.”

“Want to come in?”

“Thanks,” she smiled and walked past him, maybe a little closer than she needed to, but who could say? She held out the bag, standing a few inches away from him now. He wore jeans and a loose t-shit, bare feet.

He looked at home and comfortable; like he’d be happy to stretch out on the couch for the rest of the night and watch movies.

Naturally she thought she’d probably fit pretty well, stretched out on him, watching movies, but she blinked that thought away. “Here, the cookies I promised.”

“You didn’t have to, but I appreciate the gesture.”

She liked the way he talked. Beau tended to be clipped and blunt, and Caduceus could get lost in a sentence if given the chance, but Fjord strolled through his words like he wasn’t in any kind of hurry.

He looked down at bag, his face breaking into a grin.

“Did you draw this?” he showed the image on the bag, a tan man in a little boat riding a big wave.

“I did.”

“This is pretty good.”

“Thank you.”

They stood there in the kitchen, a funny kind of tension between them, and Jester thought he’d been about to say something when they heard from a few feet away, “Holy shit, you have a boat!”

Both she and Fjord looked over to see Beau’s head disappear through the doorway which Jester knew led into the garage.

“Beau, you really shouldn’t open doors in other people’s houses,” Jester scolded and saw, out of the corner of her eye, Caduceus slowly shut a drawer he’d likely been looking through it.

Beau was nosey, Caduceus was curious.

They were both dangerous if left alone for more than a few minutes. Not that she hadn’t drawn a dick on a wall when left without supervision, but she didn’t do it when people were in the room. She did have some common sense after all.

“It was unlocked,” Beau defended herself and then walked straight through the door.

 Fjord watched as his neighbors just walked through his house as if they’d been over a thousand times, and at his elbow Jester sighed dramatically. “I’m sorry about them.”

“I don’t mind,” he assured her, touching her shoulder. “I’m just not used to it, I guess.”

“I’ll get them out of your way,” Jester promised but he stopped her, tightening the fingers which lay on her bare shoulders.

It gave him ideas.

“Honestly, Jester. I don’t mind. I should probably get to know my neighbors anyhow.”

She bit her lip and watched him as if trying to figure out his sincerity. Eventually she nodded and took the hand on her shoulder and held it in her own. “Let’s make sure they’re not trying to find your porn stash or anything.”

He felt the tell-tale heat of a blush on his cheeks but laughed anyway because she was so effortlessly funny. “Why would I keep my porn in the garage?”

“That’s a good question,” she threw a wicked grin over her shoulder. “Where do you keep your porn?”

“Don’t keep it under your bed,” Beau recommended, apparently having overheard their conversation. “And be careful what you download from the internet. You don’t want a virus.”

“Thanks for the advice, Beau.”

“No problem.” She stood next to the unfinished boat, her clenched fists on her hips. “Why the fuck do you have a boat in your garage? Aren’t they supposed to be on the water?”

“He’s building it by himself,” Jester answered as if disappointed Beau had asked. “Isn’t that impressive?”

“Are you a sailor?”

“Used to be,” Fjord admitted slowly. He could feel Jester’s eyes on him but he distracted himself with the pink-haired man who was staring at the ground in the corner.

“It’s probably a bug,” Jester whispered. “Caduceus doesn’t like it when things get stuck in the house. He’ll just wait it out and when he can pick it up he’ll take it outside.”

“How did you find this group?”

“We found each other,” Jester answered sincerely. “Okay guys, you’re being too weird for Fjord. Let’s go back to the house.”

“That’s fair,” Caduceus said, his hand cupping something in his palm. “It was nice to meet you Mr. Fjord.”

“You don’t seem to suck,” Beau agreed and walked past him, patting him on the shoulder with enough force to knock Fjord a little off balance.

Jester held back as her friends went out the garage’s back door, rocking back and forth on her heels, grinning up at him. “They like you.”

Fjord ran a hand down the back of his head neck, “Ah. Thanks.”

“Well. Enjoy the cookies,” she grabbed his hand and produced a pen from somewhere and started scrawling on his arm. “And if you’re up in the middle of the night, and want company, I’m usually up. Have a great day, Fjord.”

He stared at her as she all but floated out into the sunlight and he looked down to see that in the few seconds she’d had her hands on him she’d managed to doodle a little shark and her number.

His skin still tingled where her fingertips had held onto him, and with a curse under his breath he reached for the sandpaper.

 Jester was painting when she got the text.

Her phone buzzed on the table next to her and she looked over, heart beating a little wild in her chest because she could only imagine one person texting to her at one am.

YOU UP?

Jester grinned at the question, and laughed at the immediate follow up text.

UNKNOWN: I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT. SORRY. I WAS JUST UP AND YOU SAID TO TEXT IF I EVER WANTED COMPANY.

UNKNOWN: THIS IS FJORD BY THE WAY.

With a grin, Jester put down her paintbrush and picked up the phone, typing out a reply.

I’M UP! I’LL HEAD OVER IN A MINUTE, HAVE YOU EATEN RECENTLY?

FJORD: NO. BUT DON’T FEEL LIKE YOU HAVE TO FEED ME EVERY TIME YOU COME OVER.

CADUCEUS COOKED A LOT OF FOOD, I’LL BRING OVER THE LEFTOVERS.

Jester grabbed some of her books so she would have something to do while she was over there, and resisted the urge to check the mirror on her way out for all of five seconds.

“Fuck it,” she murmured to herself, checking her hair in the mirror. It wasn’t bad, and she’d managed not to get any paint on herself so that was a plus, but she did grab her pale pink lipstick and put on a light coat.

She was her mother’s daughter after all.

Grabbing the vegetable stew in the Tupperware container she walked across the yard to the fence and climbed over. She walked to the open door leading to the garage but waited a second before making herself known.

He was measuring something on his counter, making a notation on the wood before putting the tiny nub of a pencil behind his ear.

Jester could imagine the whole thing painted in oil, thick textures and warm colors, his stooped shoulders and worn in jeans. She’d call it Waiting, but she couldn’t say exactly what it was he was waiting for.

She figured the door had been left open for her so she could walk right in, but something about him made her wait for the invitation. “I grew up alone,” she said from the doorway.

He looked up at her voice, his brows lowering. “Huh?”

“My mom was actress, is an actress, a fairly well known one and she was always very busy so I grew up with a nanny and a big house to myself. I’m used to the quiet and while I love Beau and Cad, sometimes I really need the quiet and that’s why I stay up night.”

Fjord shifted a little, leaning his hip against the counter and crossing his arms. “Why’d you tell me that?” the question was curious, maybe a little confused.

“Because when I came over the last time for sugar, you told me why you were up at night. It seemed only fair you to know why I was up.”

“Well, if you’re lookin’ for quiet-“

Jester shook her head, hugging her books close to her. “It’s different with you.”

He shifted his weight on his feet. “Want something to drink?”

Taking that as her invitation, Jester walked in. “Sure. I don’t really drink alcohol, but if you’ve got water or Kool-Aid, I’ll take that.”

“Kool-aid?” His grin was quick and bright, and it almost made her miss a step.

“I like sugar,” she shrugged and settled on the stool at the counter near where he was standing. “And alcohol gives me a headache.”

“Just give me a minute, I’ll rustle something up. Should I get bowls?”

“Huh?” she looked down when he pointed and she saw the plastic containers she’d forgotten she was carrying. “Oh. Right. Just spoons, I think? No sense in dirtying more dishes than necessary.”

“College students,” he laughed and went inside and came back with two bottles of water and a couple of spoons.

“What were you doing when I came in?” she asked, feeling bad he didn’t have a place to sit. “Anything I can help with?”

“I’m just doing some measurements,” he said as he took a bite of the soup. “Damn. This is good.”

“Caduceus is a really good cook, and I’m really good at baking.”

“What’s Beau good at?”

“Hitting things.” She uncapped her water. “Were you in the Navy? Is that how you were a sailor?”

“No,” he leaned an elbow on the counter as he ate out of the container and it was kind of romantic in a way, eating out of the same bowl in the low light in the middle of the night. “Sailor is a bit of a misnomer. I was a fisherman.”

Jester had seen the reality shows on TV, and while she was certain everything was overdramatized it was pretty obvious the job wasn’t an easy one. “Oh man, that’s hard work.”

“Back breaking,” he agreed. “And dangerous as fuck.”

“I’ve never done anything dangerous,” and even she could hear a decade’s worth of regret in her own voice.

“You’ve still got time.”

Jester could think of a handful of dangerous things she could right then; she could wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him, she could strip down naked, or she could tell him she’d dreamt about him the night before.

She didn’t do any of those things because she wasn’t brave enough tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

“If you want to work on your boat you can, I brought some of my homework so you don’t have to entertain me.”

“You really don’t mind? I did ask you over.”

She thought about how to phrase it, tilting her head as she did. “Company doesn’t always mean conversation. Sometimes it’s just having someone in the same room with you, close enough to touch if you need it. I don’t mind being around, if you don’t mind my being around.”

He was still leaning against the counter, his weight resting on his elbow and close enough his arm was only an inch or so away from hers. When his eyes met hers there was the distinct feeling of being knocked off her feet, the air being sucked from her lungs, despite the fact she was still sitting on the stool.

“I really, really don’t mind it Jester.”

“Cool.”

His smile was soft, “Cool.”

Another second passed where they just looked at each other and Jester wondered what the chances were of him kissing her, but instead he tapped her wrist with a couple of his fingers in a friendly gesture before walking towards the boat.

“Do you mind music?”

She felt a little unsteady, and barely resisted the urge to put her hand to her heart or her stomach. “No, go for it.”

He turned up the volume a little and Jester spread out her books and worked through the math she was forced to do in order to graduate.

She doodled in the margins more than she actually worked on the problems; flowers and birds and dicks because she liked people’s reactions when they saw them. Sweet, innocent, naive Jester drew dicks? That would teach them to underestimate people.

“I know I said we don’t have to talk, but I think it’s important for you to know that I really, really hate math.”

Fjord laughed from somewhere on the other side of the boat and he sauntered over to her. He actually sauntered, like some old school cowboy walking into a saloon. She half expected him to tip his invisible cowboy hat and say ‘Howdy ma’am.’

And didn’t that stir up all kinds of fun fantasies.

Instead he just stood next to her, maybe a little closer than was strictly necessary, and looked over her shoulder at the math she was struggling to get through.

“Yeah, that could be Greek to me for all I understand it.”

“Me too,” she sighed, shutting the book with a resounding thud. “I think I’m just going to drop out.”

His eyes briefly widened. “Of math? Aren’t there tutors or something?”

“Yes, but I meant college in general.”

It was the first time she’d said it out loud, and she held her breath waiting for his reaction.

People at school would be horrified, she had an opportunity to go to college and she was turning it down?! Walking away from an opportunity some people would kill for?

She hadn’t even told Beau or Caduceus because despite how understanding they would be, she knew it would make things different if they kept going and she stopped.

“Well, if you’re looking for someone to talk you into staying I’m the wrong guy,” he said casually but she thought she could see how carefully he was choosing his words. “I barely graduated high school and my feet barely touched solid ground for ten years after that.”

“Do you regret not going?”

“No,” he answered, and Jester believed him. “I mean, there are things about college I think I would have liked but ultimately I think it would have made me miserable.”

Jester looked down at the math book. “College makes me miserable.”

“What would you do instead?”

Jester thought about it, looking to her right where the upside down boat still needed to be finished. “I could go sailing around the world.”

Fjord laughed, a big sound that filled the room. “It’ll be a few more months before it’s done, depending on how quick I get my act together.”

She sighed dramatically and poked at the book which mocked her from it’s place on the counter. “Well, I’ll guess I’ll stay in school until it’s done.”

“You can always drop out later,” he agreed. “What would your mama say about you leaving?”

“I don’t know,” Jester winced. “She was really excited about me going to school since she never got the chance.”

“But she loves you, right? I imagine she’d be happy as long as you were happy.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “What about your family? Were they okay with you running away to sea?”

“I don’t have a family,” he said in such a matter of fact tone that Jester nearly tripped over it. “I’m an orphan.”

Jester made a quick calculation; either he was so blunt about it because he was comfortable with it, or because it was a touchy subject and he was acting like it wasn’t. “So everything you are, you did yourself. That’s pretty impressive.”

He looked a little stunned and she thought she might have seen some kind of strong emotion in his eyes but the lighting wasn’t good enough for her to put a name to it. She wasn’t sure what to say next, and he seemed equally at a loss for words.

Her phone vibrated on the counter, giving them both an excuse to walk away from the conversation.

Fjord headed back to the boat, and Jester read the text sent from Beau.

BEAU: ARE YOU HITTING ON NEIGHBOR GUY

THINKING ABOUT IT. I’M ALSO DOING HOMEWORK.

BEAU: HAVING SEX DOESN’T COUNT TOWARDS ANATOMY

Jester looked at Fjord who was squatting near the bottom-or was it the top?- of the boat and the man was so sexy it made her toes curl.

OH MAN, I TOTALLY SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF THAT.

[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.

~~~~~

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

[thehermitmj]

I keep talking about how I’m gonna do The Art for a living and not posting art or prints or whatever but -- God Damn It -- I want to think this through a little more. I want to set goals that aren’t so big I’ll definitely fail and get discouraged and quit at the gates, or whatever.

So. I know, kind of, what I want to do.

Comics, illustrations, prints. Largely passive income would be great, as I want to work on big projects (comics are huge when you haven’t made one in a while, guys, especially if you’re doing all the writing). Eventually, I want to move into animation. I think I’ll do illustrations first while I’m scripting, as those are smaller projects in comparison to comics and animation.

Prints through RedBubble sound like a good idea, but I wanna look into other shops that are similar. There was one that got permission from a bunch of IP for artists to recreate, print and profit off of the IP so long as certain rules were followed. I think I might look into that again.

Maybe I’ll make YT videos? Videos and streaming are kind of on the fence for me because I’m not... able to split focus enough? Ten dollar commission sketches sound like a good idea if I can fucking focus long enough to finish them. Maybe start small and simple...

I know my ass needs an editor and a manager now. I know I do. I want to pay them to keep my ass on track, because I KNOW that’s going to be a full time job. Someone to help me keep track of all the shit I need to do (I’ll still try, but damn, I know my brain too well by now), and someone to help me keep stories from meandering into shit they shouldn’t meander into. When I write an action-romance fic there shouldn’t be a heavy emphasis on Real Life politics (maybe) unless it’s related to the action-romance story specifically.

Sigh...

Patreon... I think I wanna do that, too, but treat it more as I think the patrons of old might’ve done it? With some adjustments? Like... When people pay to be my patrons, I want them to have agency in what I do, because they’re paying to have my works completed. But I also want to be the one to have the final say. I want to still put up WIPs, pick a subject I really want to work on, so on and so forth. But I also want the people paying for certain tiers to have an amount of say that most others don’t in the process.

Maybe I’ll have three low cost tiers that fulfill the expected Patreon flare: shout outs, behind the scenes peeks, and a thanks for supporting. Then a Mid-tier with more direct say in things: voting on projects probably being the biggest draw here. The last, high-tier will have essentially the position of Actual Patron where we collaborate together for pieces they want to see. They say something like “I want sailormoon fanart of Usagi/Serena in her princess/queen dress with wings” and I throw some thumbs together, they pick the two or three they like, and then it goes down the line to the Mid-Tier patrons who decide which thumb they like best, which gets worked on as the final product and eventually reaches the low-tier patrons so they get to see what’s been worked on and what’s coming in the future.

.... I don’t know, I kind of need to workshop that a bit and figure out the limits of the system for myself and the tiers involved. Like. Make it clear I have the final say in projects, but high-tier patrons get the most immediate input from everyone else. Maybe mid-tier patrons can get a percentage off whatever prints come out, and low-tier patrons get all the Latest News a week or two before everyone else?

*chin scratch*

... I’ve also decided that I want a few simple milestones for each media outlet I submit art to. Like... 10 new followers in two months for Tumblr, Twitter and DA once I get this ball rolling. And once I have a shop open (probably will wait to have 1000 followers total before playing with that idea too much), I’ll try for $100 every month or two and see where that goes.

General consensus from working cartoonists and comic artists is if I can keep my job and still work on art, I should. If I can use the money I make from my art to improve my art, I should. And, in the end, if I can make money, pay my bills and do art full time, I should.

This is... relieving news, because now I have more concrete goals to keep in mind, too. Pay bills being one of them. If I can focus on the smallest bill first, that’ll give me and everyone potentially involved a real scope of where we are in certain goals.

... Okay, so, let’s try and make a list of all this nonsense:

Social Media Goals:

Regular posting; small illustrations within controllable increments (every week or two? Depending on complexity)

100 new followers across all platforms (Twitter, Tumblr, DA) in two months (4-8 new small illustrations at min in relation to posting; possibly more)

Possibly stream and offer $10 sketches on stream? Maybe done once a month to keep things manageable. Funds gained here to improve quality of streams (mic/sound quality, video quality, internet connection).

Gain 1,000 followers across all platforms; revamp and advertise Patreon with $1, $5 and $10 tiers immediately available for supporters. Ideally done within 6 months; expect it done within the year, at best.

Workflow Goals:

At least 4 high quality pieces done at the end of the month; medium doesn’t matter so long as they’re all uploaded and completed.

WIP uploads on instagram? Thumbs, pencils, inks before posting the final piece? (Maybe reserve most of them for Patreon, just to have something for them from the jump.) Break up different mediums in similar, large-step ways. Post at least once a week before pieces are finished.

Friggin... queue posts to accounts if it’s at all possible. Schedule queue a week in advance.

Financial Goals:

Keep the current job, MJ, it keeps you afloat.

Once earning enough to pay for smaller bills plus $300 ish? Find a manager and/or editor to pay them to work once a week for five hours a day to keep this ship afloat. (Having both would be ideal, let’s be real.)

Once rent, bills and pay for manager and/or editor are covered, invest in prints. If Patreon is set up by this point, ask what they want. (ASK, MJ.)

The end goal of this is to eventually start a small business with me and at least four others, depending on how we expand (EX: might need a proper video editor for speed paints, stream recording edits and possible comic promos? An editor for scripts, a manager for all these projects, an assistant for long term art stuff.)

Hire a god damn accountant or something, you don’t know wtf you’re DOING, MJ. LET SOMEONE ELSE DO THIS, YOU FOOL.