#still....drama man can have a little bit of red pencil...as a treat...

[shadeswift99]

Will ye stand for the crown, or fall for the blade?

(It's about time I drew a Red King Ren! :D Reblogs appreciated.)

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

Cat-Blocked

Happy birthday ❤️ ❤️ @australet789 ❤️ ❤️ !!! I hope you’re going to like this little fic based on your Ladybug episode art!

A sincere thank you to the amazing @goblin-alchemist, who not only betaread this fic suggesting valuable adjustments, but also came up with the title and the ending!

Summary:  Lila might try and try, but no matter what her newest plot to poison Marinette’s life is, Adrien will uncover it and come to his dear friend’s rescue.

AO3 / fanfiction.net

***

‘Oh, no! My lucky pen is missing!’ Lila lamented, her lower lip trembling and eyes already wet. ‘I can’t write the math test without my lucky pen!’

‘You can borrow one of mine!’ Rose chirped, viciously pink pencil-case at the ready.

‘Nooooo,’ the Italian girl wailed. ‘That was my favorite pen! Purple, my favorite color too.’

‘Maybe you left it somewhere?’ Nathaniel supplied. ‘When was the last time you had it on you?’

Lila pursed her lips in an exaggerated manner as she considered this question. ‘I had it when I went to ask Adrien about an equation I didn’t understand. He’s so wonderful at explaining things!’ she exclaimed. 

‘You didn’t sit with us,’ Nino reminded her. 

Adrien just nodded. He watched his classmate and latest modeling partner closely, trying to figure out in time, what she was up to.

‘That’s right!’ Lila snapped her fingers. ‘I sat in Marinette’s seat. She was running late, as usual.’ The girl sent their class president a condescending look. ‘It must be soooo hard for you to get here on time with all the tasks you have with your parents at the bakery!’ She continued with faux smile. ‘I guess some of us are lucky their parents don’t expect them to work!’

Marinette growled under her breath, but she left this hidden insult without any answer. Instead she pointed to her desk. ‘I don’t see your pen here, Lila. You must have left it somewhere else.’

Lila narrowed her eyes at the girl. ‘I’m sure I left it there. I remember I stood up when you came.’

‘No pen here, Lila,’ Alya rolled her eyes.

‘Can I check?’ The Italian girl fluttered her lashes innocently and headed for Marinette and Alya’s desk, despite the fact that it contained no pens whatsoever. 

She stumbled over Marinette’s backpack, scattering all the contents on the floor.

Adrien caught a glimpse of purple as Lila opened her jacket and then he heard the clatter of a falling pen, just a bit later than the rest of Marinette’s things. He moved fast, his shoe covering the pen and kicking it deep under Nino’s seat. His seat buddy didn’t even blink as he stepped on the pen and moved it even further away, obscuring it from view for better measure. Good old Nino, he probably had no clue as to why Adrien took the pen, he just followed Adrien’s lead.

‘Oh,’ Lila sighed. ‘I’m okay. It’s nothing! I’m sorry Marinette, I stepped right into your backpack.’

‘It’s oka-’ Marinette started.

‘But look, what’s this?’ Lila gasped feeling the floor in the place where she dropped the pen just a moment earlier. ‘Isn’t it my-’

‘Lila, I found your pen!’ Nino exclaimed, turning around and bending to pick the pen that was now next to Nathaniel’s desk. 

‘No, you didn’t!’ the girl snapped. ‘It’s right he-’

‘Look!’ Nathaniel took the offensive item from Nino’s fingers. ‘It’s your lucky pen!’ he called happily.

Lila looked to Marinette, then to Adrien and Nino. She pursed her lips. Her eyes flashed with rage, before her face morphed into a well practiced elation.

‘Oh, thank you, Nino! You saved my test!’ She cast the boy a pleasant smile before going back to her seat. 

Adrien didn’t know any Italian, but he was pretty sure what Lila mumbled on the way was some extremely bad cursing.

***

‘I swear to you, I didn’t sleep a wink last night!’ Lila complained. ‘I basically moved to the bathroom.’

‘You poor thing,’ Mylene cooed. ‘Did you eat something bad?’

Lila fell silent for a moment, her gaze skipping over the audience. When she made sure Marinette was there, at the back of the crowd, she shook her head theatrically.

‘It’s not possible. I only had pastries from Dupain-Cheng’s bakery yesterday,’ she looked at her fingernails. 

‘You did not!’ Marinette stood up. ‘I was manning the counter all afternoon and I didn’t see you.’

‘Ah, I was at a photoshoot all afternoon and we got the pastries on the set,’ Lila supplied innocently. ‘They tasted a little stale, but I thought since they’re from the best bakery in Paris-’

‘You must have eaten something else, Lila. Remember, there were no pastries at the set yesterday?’ Adrien put a hand on Marinette’s shoulder as he stood by her side. ‘Father forbids them, because they can easily stain the prototypes.’

‘But I-’ Lila started.

‘Besides, if there were any pastries from Dupain-Cheng’s patisserie,’ Adrien winked at Marinette, ‘they wouldn’t have lasted long in my presence,’ he patted his belly. ‘No Dupain-Cheng treat can go stale if I can help it.’

He pretended he didn’t see Lila’s murderous gaze. It wasn’t hard since his vision was momentarily obscured by a fresh, buttery croissant that Marinette just took out of her lunchbox and offered to him. She was a true friend, knowing what he liked.

***

‘It’s not here!’ Marinette cried. ‘I definitely put it in here yesterday!’ She nervously shuffled through the contents of her backpack, trying in vain to locate the art project that was due for the day.

‘Maybe you left it on your desk at home?’ Alya asked.

‘I swear I packed it yesterday, as soon as I finished attaching the rim. I used red silk, it creases terribly if not stored in the right manner.’ Marinette was now throwing everything out of the backpack, as if the huge project could somehow hide at the bottom. ‘You know how scatterbrained I am in the morning.’ She tipped the bag upside down and shook it, but only a few cookie crumbs fell out. ‘And this is half of our grade!’ She tugged at her hair.

Adrien helped Alya to stack Marinette’s books neatly on the desk. He risked a discreet look at the last row, where Lila was busying herself with her phone, seemingly not taking satisfaction in the drama happening at the front of the class. 

‘Pssst, kid,’ he heard Plagg’s whisper from his pocket. ‘Look at her right hand.’

Adrien did as he was told. There was a fragment of silk wrapped around Lila’s ring finger, so slim, it wasn’t difficult to miss it if you weren’t looking for it. Red in color, could have been mistaken for a ribbon from afar, if it wasn’t for the ragged edge.

‘The rest is in the locker room dumpster,’ his kwami continued. ‘Wanna be the knight in shining armor?’

‘Thanks, Plagg,’ Adrien muttered under his breath.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ came a reply. ‘There’d better be cheese in this for me.’

‘You got it,’ the boy replied with the corner of his mouth.

‘Is this your project?’ A few minutes later he presented Marinette with a slightly crumpled, but still very impressive collage on French fashion of the first half of the 20th century. A bit of red silk was missing, but the work wasn’t destroyed.

The angry thump of fists wrapped in red silk from the last row was almost as satisfying as Marinette’s squeal of gratitude. But they both dimmed in comparison to the moment Marinette climbed to her toes and planted a hearty kiss on his cheek. And even Plagg’s snicker couldn’t ruin it for him. Marinette gave the best cheek kisses among his friends after all.

***

‘What do you mean by “it’s ruined”?’ Alya fixed her glasses as she inspected the contents of Marinette’s PE bag.

‘Ruined, as in it’s all holes,’ Marinette raised a pencil. At the other end dangled her PE t-shirt, or rather what was left of it. 

The rest of the class gasped in unison. The garment was barely in one piece, larger and smaller holes visible in the material. The subtle flower pattern, Marinette’s trademark signature, was barely noticeable The gymnastic shorts were in no better condition. 

Lila took the t-shirt in two fingers and tsked at the item with a sympathetic smile. ‘It looks like clothes moths,’ she noticed. ‘Look! A few of them are still there!’

‘Ew, ew, EEEEWW!’ The girls screeched. 

Marinette dropped the bag and its contents to the floor. 

‘I can’t go to classes in these,’ Marinette sniffed. 

‘I’m sorry, Marinette!’ Lila patted her shoulder compassionately. ‘I had no idea you had pest trouble at the bakery.’

‘Yeah, she has pest trouble all right,’ Plagg commented for Adrien’s ears only.

‘Tell me about it,’ Adrien sighed. His fingers were already dancing over the screen of his phone.

Marinette sat at the bench, sniffing from time to time, while other girls tried to comfort her. Lila kept at the edge of her group, her fake sympathetic smile plastered to her face. 

There was a knock on the door and Gorilla’s large head appeared in the crack. Adrien shot from his place and took the package his bodyguard brought at his request.

‘Here,’ Adrien passed it to Marinette. ‘I know it can’t replace the clothes you made yourself, but this is the best I could do on such a short notice.’

The girl watched him with the eyes of a deer caught in the headlights as Alya grabbed the package and emptied it on Marinette’s lap. The Ladyblogger whistled appreciatively.

‘A designer tank top, gym shorts, sweats and a hoodie? Nice job, Agreste,’ she praised. 

All the other girls flocked to Marinette again to inspect the garments. 

‘Gabriel brand!’ Rose exclaimed.

‘This is the newest collection. It’s not even in stores yet,’ Marinette whispered in an absent minded voice, as if the reality still hadn’t registered.

‘What?!’ Lila cried, then realized what she’d done. ‘I mean, that’s so amazing and so nice of you, Adrien.’

This time it wasn’t Adrien’s imagination that his name came from her lips as a hiss through clenched teeth. It wasn’t even a warning. It was a threat. To him or to Marinette, he couldn’t tell yet.

***

‘Well, I can’t prove anything,’ Marinette groaned, as she rubbed her ankle. ‘But I could have sworn I slipped on something on those stairs.’

Three pairs of eyes followed her line of sight to the very empty steps. Nino and Alya shrugged, ready to brush it off as yet another example of Marinette’s clumsiness. But Adrien thought he saw a fresh stain, a bit wet patch on a step, that might have been occupied by something slippery. And hadn’t he seen Lila ostentatiously devouring a banana at lunch table? He had lost his appetite in an instant.

‘Can you walk?’ Alya crouched next to her friend. ‘Classes start in a minute or so.’

Marinette gave her a brave little smile and pulled herself up against the railing. She winced when the hurt ankle took her weight, but she just clenched her teeth and set out for their next class, in something between a limp and a hop to save the aching leg, with Alya as her crutch substitute.

‘Oh, no, Marinette! You fell down the stairs?!’ Lila lamented. She pushed herself from the wall she’d been leaning on and jogged to the four of them. ‘You have to be more careful or you might seriously hurt yourself one day.’

Marinette grumbled something under her breath, as she hopped on, but Adrien saw that now not only her teeth, but also her fists were clenched.

‘I know a great orthopedist from when I got hurt saving Jagged’s kitten,’ the Italian girl babbled happily. ‘I could get you a visit if you want to.’

‘I thought you got tinnitus then?’ Nino tilted his head.

‘Yes, of course. But the jet blast was so powerful it knocked me off my feet. The doctors said I could have lost my leg,’ Lila fluttered her lashes and puckered her lips. ‘That orthopedist was a lifesaver!’ She proceeded to grab Adrien’s arm and smiled sweetly at him. ‘And if you ever need a visit, you just have to ask!’

Lila’s breath reeked of bananas making Adrien’s stomach twist into a tight knot. There was a very flat banana peel stuck in her purse, looking just like a peel might look like after someone slipped on it. 

Adrien disengaged himself from Lila’s grip. ‘Hey, Marinette, wait!’ He called. ‘I don’t think you should use that leg now.’

Marinette and Alya stopped, their brows raised in confusion.

‘Let’s take you to the nurse’s office, shall we?’ he announced and then without further ado wrapped Marinette’s hands around his neck and lifted her princess style, just like he had done tens of times as Chat Noir. She was as light as a feather and despite her initial uneasiness, she relaxed in his arms pretty quickly.

‘Okay?’ he asked and she nodded. ‘Great, then off we go. Agreste Taxi at your service!’ He winked and took off to the aforementioned destination.

He didn’t fight the sly smirk upon hearing Lila’s angry thump behind him. He carried Marinette around the school for the rest of the day, even after her ankle got better. After all, what were good friends for?

***

Adrien would be lying if he’d said he didn’t like his self appointed role as Marinette’s protector. He kept close to his good friend ready to ruin every scheme and disprove every lie Lila had been cooking, and in those rare cases when he was too late, he did his best to take care of Marinette in a way that would not only be enjoyable, but also a subtle (or not) jab at their nemesis. 

His role had a few unexpected advantages, like having to carry Marinette princess style on more than one occasion, or getting plenty of “thank you” croissants and quiches. The cheek kisses were also a nice bonus.

It’d been a week since Lila’s last attempt at sabotaging Marinette and it seemed like maybe she finally got the memo. Adrien reluctantly relaxed and he was slowly getting used to the fact that his protection services weren’t needed. Lila kept as far from Marinette as she could, not giving him even a shadow of a chance to come to the rescue. She settled for giving him the stink eye every now and then.

Yet his protective mode was still on. He still swept the corridors for potential dangers before his friend left the classroom. He still kept an eye on her locker and her backpack just in case someone wanted to tamper with them. He had to stop himself before giving Lila the “I’m watching you” treatment.

And now his *protect Marinette* senses were screaming at him *DANGER*DANGER* in big red letters. He left his post at Marinette’s side for just one lousy break and it turned out to be the opportunity Lila had been waiting for. Adrien saw her approaching Marinette at the other end of the corridor. He broke into sprint hoping he’d get there in time to stop any “accident” or “mishap” that Lila had in store.

‘Hey, Marinette! Can I-’ Lila started.

Adrien sucked in the air as he gasped for breath, wrapping himself around Marinette in a protective hug.

‘What the-,’ Marinette mumbled confused, from somewhere close to his chest. ‘Adrien?’

‘Did you just hiss at me?’ Lila asked accusingly. 

‘Are you purring?’ Marinette whispered to his sternum.

He didn’t even know how to address those questions, so he looked around searching for rescue. What he didn’t take into consideration was that his sprint had attracted the attention of nearly everyone in the hall. Jaws dropped. Fingers pointed. Gasps were heard. A ripple of murmurs spread through school like wildfire through dry grass.

‘Dude,’ Nino breathed out, standing beside an equally shocked Alya, ‘just a friend?’

[readyouagain]

The Hating Game: Epilogue

It’s a red dress kind of day. It’s Friday afternoon. I’m sitting in my office at Bexley & Gamin and I can see my reflection in my floor-to-ceiling window. Outwardly I look remarkably corporate, but on the inside I’m forever an immature little weirdo. I cross my legs and begin to play the Mirror Game with myself. The Staring Game. Even a whispered How You Doing Game. It’s just not the same without my opponent. It’s been a shitty day. I spent the afternoon fighting a valiant battle against Mr. Bexley over electronic distribution royalties, and then I found out that there’s a bug in our latest e-library app.   I’m so tired I can feel my own skeleton. I need to be lying on my perfect couch but it’s not going to happen tonight. It’s so quiet I can hear the fluorescent tubes buzzing. The elevator bings. Whoever’s just arrived on the tenth floor needs to be kept out of my office so I can get the hell out of here. Scott, our executive officer, is a pretty good gatekeeper. I can hear muffled conversation, and then there’s a rap on the door. There’s only one person in the world who can put so much short, sharp love into a single knock. “Come in,” I say. The door swings open and there he is.

Joshua Templeman is dressed in black. Everything, from his underwear to his cufflinks to his tie, is ink-black midnight. He enjoys the drama of it on a Friday, sliding into people’s office doorways like Dracula just as they’re loosening their ties and thinking about their weekends. All he needs is some devil horns and a pitchfork. I feel vaguely bad for whoever he’s been terrorizing today. He leans against the doorjamb and we’re playing the Staring Game for a minute until his dark navy eyes spark. “Shortcake,” he breathes like he can’t believe I’m real. “I missed you so bad.” My. Heart. Bursts. I stand up and go to him. He picks me up off the ground, kissing my jaw, my cheekbones, his fingers stroking my nape. He turns me in a circle and I cross my ankles prettily. The tiredness falls out through my feet and dissolves. He’s here, and I’m lit up. It’s the kind of light that never fades. People in the opposite building might be able to see us. Motorists at the traffic lights below can probably make out the silhouette of a ridiculously large man twirling around a ridiculously small woman. During one slow revolution I catch sight of Helen and Mr. Bexley, standing near Scott’s desk. They’re all looking at us like we’re the most gorgeously silly couple in the world. It’s accurate. We are. Helen glances at Mr. Bexley with a wry expression, and I swear I see a little moment of connection between them. I’ve been suspecting it more and more. I know love-hate when I see it. I speak into Josh’s neck. “I hate not being able to stare at your pretty face all day.” I breathe in his addictive, perfect scent. Deciduous trees in the sun. Evergreen trees in the snow. A pencil sharpened to a razor point, pressing into fresh white paper. “It’s against HR policy to stare at your corporate rival all day.” I hug him harder. “Whose HR policy?” “One of them, I’m sure. I’ll look it up.” Josh sets me down and kisses my cheek again. Once he starts, he can’t stop. In the elevator I’ll wipe off my Flamethrower lipstick so I can get my proper hello kiss. If I’m lucky he’ll hit the emergency stop button, although we’ve been pissing off the security guards with that. I treat myself to a nice squeeze of his torso before I remember the door is ajar. “Who have you made cry today, Overlord?” At the Sanderson Christmas party, I overheard his nickname and had to laugh. He earned it. “Nobody,” he tells me with adorable sincerity and a blink. “Not a single person. I’m a changed man.” I’m trying to teach him how to be more approachable. More understanding. More like me. At the first Sanderson Christmas party, I stood alone and awkward for an excruciating two minutes, during which time I was the subject of speculation. I felt like the word how was said a lot. I could hear their drunk, high-pitched whispers. She looks normal. Sweet. So small! How does she cope with that…monster?  We should rescue her. Maybe he keeps her chained in this basement. I waved like a dork to show that I was not shackled and was there on my own free will. They shrank back, then fell totally silent as their chief financial officer, aka the Overlord, approached me with a glass of wine. His eyes were soft with tenderness and my heart stopped beating until he restarted it with a kiss. The Overlord snuggled me into his side, fitting us together just right. Hard and soft. Darkness and light. Good cop, bad cop. I registered the jaws dropping. He’s smiling! He’s the Overlord, he calls them his Underlings, but I can see the little signs that he’s getting better at this. At a lot of things, actually. “Did you remember your dad’s present?” “Yep. We’d better get going if we’re going to make the party. Mindy and Patrick have been texting me obsessively. Don’t be late, don’t be late.” He’s sarcastic but I know how much this means to him. I give his arm a stroke and a squeeze. “We won’t be late.” I can’t lie on the couch tonight because I’m needed in Port Worth. I’m Josh’s little lucky charm. When I’m there, he and his dad don’t fight. Luckily for them both, I’m always there. “Got quite a collection by now, Shortcake,” Josh says, looking at the rows of Matchbox cars on the shelf behind me. He forgets our hurry and takes a red Volkswagen beetle out of his pocket, sliding it into one of the gaps. “My toys have given me a reputation for being quirky and approachable.” “No one would guess this strawberry-sweet exterior hides a complete hard-ass.” “I learned from the master. I’m known for being firm but fair.” “Mmm. Tell me more.” He loves sitting at my desk to look at everything I surround myself with, and he lowers himself down into my chair like it’s a milkmaid stool. His eyes are lit with a creepy kind of devotion as he looks at the castle of books against the wall, and the Smurf hiding in one of the battlements. He finds my bottle of perfume and smells the lid as he strokes my computer mouse. “That’s where you’ve been,” he says in a scolding tone to the cardigan slung on the back of my chair. He folds it into a bread-slice square on his knee. I’ve turned him into such a total freak. I’m an even bigger freak when I visit his office. I once touched the speed dial button on his phone marked SHORTCAKE just to make my cell phone ring. Then I was jealous of myself. That’s a sensation I feel a lot. How am I living this life? How did I win so much? Like he can read my mind, Josh picks up the framed photograph on my desk. It’s us together in the strawberry fields. Our eyes are summer bright, and I am sitting between his legs leaning back against him. Around us is a carpet of green, studded with red. The picture is a tiny bit crooked because my dad was a little overexcited by the secret he was keeping. Five minutes after this photo was taken, Josh said, “Hey, it’s an old Smurf in the dirt.” He knew nothing would make me drop to the ground faster. I scratched frantically through the leaves. Where? Where? What I found in the vines at Sky Diamonds Strawberries was a Tiffany blue box. Then I realized he was kneeling down, too. Lucy blue. True-love blue. Even as he squeaked the box open and began to speak, I was dimly aware of cheering from the house. My parents were spying from the office window. After I brushed the squashed berries from the back of his T-shirt, I learned that Josh had become an expert in diamonds. Carat, cut, color, clarity. He shivered with delight as he described staring at imperfections through a loupe. I could just imagine his laser eyes crumbling stones to ash. The way he tells it, he searched through a pile of worthless pebbles until he found something worthy of my tiny finger. I tell him it’s too big, too much, too perfect. He just laughs and says, I know, then makes me forget whether we’re still talking about a diamond. I think my cheeks are going pink right now. When he looks me in the eye, he smirks. He’s definitely a mind reader. “We need a vacation,” he decides, his finger straightening the terracotta tile I use as a coaster. I got that tile in Tuscany. “I’m taking you back. Cheese and wine and sleeping in the sun.” His eyes follow the line of my dress down my body. “Red dresses and champagne and carbohydrates.” A pause, and there’s a little vulnerability in his expression now. “I didn’t go crazy and dream it all, did I?” “I have frequently assured you that I’m real.” I take his hand in mine and use it to pinch my forearm. “I was there for every incredible second. I always will be. Now, quit talking about carbohydrates. You’re turning me on.” He laughs. “We’d better get out of here.” He grabs my coat and walks out to chat with Helen and Mr. Bexley. I log off and lock away the stack of slush pile manuscripts I’ve been reading as my own little treat. I lock my door and just watch his reflection bounce around off the slick, glossy surfaces that make up level ten. The only thing better than having one Josh is having a hundred. I look at the plaque on my office door as I lock it. It says, Chief Operating Officer, and usually it has me grinning like a dork. But right now, I’m smiling over something else. The gold ring on Joshua Templeman’s left hand has set off a shower of firework sparkles in this huge black prism. Each time I focus on one particular reflection, it fractures and doubles. It’s a kaleidoscope of his love around me now. There are a hundred gold rings. A thousand. It’s still not enough. I want to spin around while they circle me like fireflies. That’s how he makes me feel, every day of ours lives. It’s wonderful. It’s primal. It’s nothing short of a miracle. My name is Lucy Templeman.

[esthete-god]

Alain Delon's farewell letter to Romy Schneider

Farewell My Puppelé  

“I watch you sleep. I’m with you, by your bedside. You’re wearing a long black tunic and red embroidery on the bodice. These are flowers, I think, but I do not look at them. I will say goodbye, the longest farewell, my Puppelé. That’s how I called you. It meant “little doll” in German. I do not watch the flowers, but your face and I think you’re beautiful, and never, perhaps you have been so beautiful. I also think this is the first time in my life – and yours – I see you calm and soothed. You’re so quiet, you are so fine , how beautiful you are. Looks like a hand, gently wiped your face all the tensions, all anxieties of misfortune. 

I watch you sleep. They tell me that you’re dead. I think of you, of me, of us. What am I guilty of? We ask ourselves this question before a being that is loved and still love that one. This feeling fills you, and then flows back and then we say that one is not guilty, no, but responsible … I am. Because of me, what is your heart in Paris the other night, stopped beating. Because of me because it was there twenty-five years and I had been chosen to be your partner in “Christine”. You came to Vienna and I waited, in Paris, with a bouquet of flowers in his arms I did not know how to hold. But the film’s producers told me: “When it come down from the bridge, you will advance to her and offer these flowers.” I waited with my flowers, like a fool, mixed with a horde of photographers. You’re down. I stepped forward. You said to your mother, “Who is this boy?”. She answered you: “It must be Alain Delon, your partner … “. And then nothing, no thunderbolt, no. And then I went to Vienna where we were shooting the film. And then I fell madly in love with you. And you fell in love with me. Often, we asked ourselves one to another issue of love, “Who fell in love the first, you or me?”. We counted ‘One, two, three! “And we answered:” Neither you nor I! Together “. My God, we were young, and as we were happy. At the end of the film, I said, “Come live with me in France” and already you told me: “I want to live near you, in France.” Do you remember when? Your family, your parents, furious. And throughout Austria, Germany, who all treated me … usurper, the kidnapper, who accused me of removing the “Empress”! Me, a French, who did not speak a word of German. And you, Puppelé, who did not speak a word of French. 

We loved without words, in the beginning. We looked and we had some laughs. Puppelé … And I was “Grandpa”. After a few months, I did not speak German yet but you spoke French so well and we played at the theater in France. Visconti was the staging. He told us that we resembled and we had, between the eyebrows, the same V that wrinkled, anger, fear of life and anxiety. He called it the “V of Rembrandt” because, he said, that this painter had “V” on his self portraits. I watch you sleep. “The V of Rembrandt” is deleted … You have no fear. You are no longer frightened. You’re more alert. You are no longer hunted. The hunt is over and you rest. 

I look at you again and again. I know you so well and so strong. I know who you are and why you died. Your character, as they say. I reply, ‘other’, the character of Romy was her character. That’s it. Leave me alone. You were violent because you were right. A child who soon became a star, too soon. So, on one side, whims, tantrums and moods of a child, always justified, of course, but with unpredictable reactions, on the other hand, the professional authority. Yes, but there are children who do not really know how it plays with. With that. And why. In this contradiction, through this breach, rush anxiety and unhappiness. When one is Romy Schneider, and we have the sensitivity and temperament in flower of life, on edge, which was yours. How to explain who you were and who we are, “actors”. How to tell them to keep playing, “Interpreter” to be what we are not really crazy and we become lost. To stand, roughly, how they say it is so difficult, that there should such a strong character, such a balance … But this balance, how to find it in this world of ours, our jugglers, clowns, trapeze artists of the circus whose projectors we bask in glory? You said: “I can not do anything in life, but all the movies …”. No, the “others” can not understand that. That the more we become a great actor and it is awkward to live. Garbo, Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth … And you. And I cried, while you rest and I weep beside you, no, no, no, this business is not a terrible business woman. I know because the man I’m the one who is best known thee, who brought you the better understood. Because he is an actor, too. We were of the same race, my Puppelé, we spoke the same language. But I am a man. They can not understand us, “other”. The actors, yes. The “other” are not. It’s inexplicable. And when you’re a woman, like you, they may not realize that they can die of “it.” They say you were a myth. Of course … But yes … But the “myth”, he knows he is just that. A facade. A reflection. Appearance. he is king, prince, hero, Sissi, Mrs. Haneau, the seagull … But he goes home, the myth, at night. So it is that Romy, just a woman with a life misunderstood, poorly received, poorly written in newspapers, assailed and hunted. So he wears, the myth, in his solitude. This anxiety. And the more he understands, and he falls, to more or less repeated doses, in the beatitudes of alcohol and tranquilizers. It becomes habit, then sets, then necessity. Then it is irreplaceable and the heart, worn out, stops because he is too tired to fight. It was too battered and shaken, his heart was only that of a woman in the evening, sitting over a glass … 

They say that desperation that you caused the death of David you killed her. No, they are mistaken. Did he not kill her. There you have completed. True that you said to Lawrence, and your last wonderful companion: “I feel like I get to the end of the tunnel.” True that you wanted to live, you would have liked to live. Nevertheless true that you came out of the woods on Saturday at dawn. You were only to know when your heart is broken, that this was the true end of the tunnel. 

I write at random. Without notice. My Puppelé, if aggressive, if scratched. You never could accept and understand the game of women’s work that you had chosen public and you loved. You did not understand that you were a public figure and it was so important. You refused the game, any game that exposes profession. You felt attacked, breakthrough, broken into your privacy. You were always on your guard, like a hunted animal, “forced” as they say a deer. And you knew that fate, with one hand, t’ôtait what gave you the other. 

We lived more than five years, one near each other. You with me. Me with you. Together. Then life … Our life, which nobody’s business, has separated us. But we were called. Often. Yes, that’s exactly right: we embarked on “appeals”. Then, in 1968, it was “The Pool”. We found ourselves, to work. I went looking for you in Germany. I met David, your son. 

After our movie, you’re my sister, I am your brother. Everything is clean and clear of us. More passion. Better than that: our friendship blood, likeness and words. And then your life and your ways, unhappiness and anxiety, the anxiety … They will say, “other”, “What an actress! What actress! “. They do not know that you are the actress, cinema, because you are in your life that you and pays dearly. They do not understand the drama of your life reflect upon the screen later in your roles. They can not guess that you are “good” and “brilliant”, the movies, because you live the tragedy at hand, and you are upsetting because you light up the reflection of your personal dramas. And you do not radiated because they burn you. Oh! Puppelé this work my pain! Do I have lived with you or next to you? 

Until the death of David, yet there is “the trade” that you held your head above water. Then David left … And the business was no longer sufficient. So I was not surprised when I learned that you also worry was gone. What was I surprised? Your non-suicide. But your heart is cracked, no. I said: “That was the end of the tunnel.” 

I watch you sleep. Wolfie, your brother, and Lawrence enter the room. I speak with Wolfie. We remember this house I had in the countryside. Of Dobermans that made you so afraid. We remember again … That was twenty-five years ago, in Bavaria, in a small village. Wolfie was fourteen, my twenty-three and twenty thou. We laughed when we announced the visit of the President of Fan Club Romy Schneider in France. We have seen it happen a great girl, with glasses, shy, and named Bernadette. When we returned to Paris, we have called him. She became our secretary for six years. It is always mine, for twenty-two years now. I watch you sleep. Yesterday you were still alive. It was night. You said to Lawrence, as you return home: “Go to bed. I’ll join him earlier. I rest a bit with David, listening to music. ” You said that every night … You wanted to be alone with the memory of your dead child before bed. You sat. You took the paper and a pencil and you started to make drawings. For Sarah. You were drawing for your little girl, when your heart has hurt so much, suddenly … So beautiful. Beautiful, rich, famous, that you ought to be more? Peace, a little happiness. 

I watch you sleep. I’m alone again. I say you loved me. I loved you. I have made you a French, a French star. Of that, yes, I feel responsible. And this country that you loved, for my sake, became yours. France. So, Wolfie decided – Lawrence and told him that you wanted it – you’d stay here and that you should rest forever in the land of France. A Boissy. Where, in a few days, your son, David, will join you. In a small village where you had just received the keys of a house. There, you wanted to live near Lawrence, near Sarah, thy daughter. There, you will sleep forever. In France. Closer to home, close to me. 

I took care of you left Boissy, to relieve Laurent and your family. But I do not go to church or the cemetery. Wolfie and Laurent understand me. You, I ask you to forgive me. You know I would not be able to protect yourself from this crowd, this storm, so eager to “show” and made you so afraid, that you tremble. Forgive me. I’ll see you tomorrow, and we are alone. 

My Puppelé, I look at you again and again. I want to devour all of my eyes, and tell you again and again that you’ve never been so beautiful and calm. Rest. I’m here. I learned a little German, with you. Ich liebe dich. I love you. I love you my Puppelé. ” 

Alain Delon

[k-drabblings]

letters to you (pt. 2)

KIM TAEHYUNG (V) X READER Type | Genre: slice of life au | fluff/angst Word Count: 1738 A/N: it’s been hard finding time to update in general but i have a soft spot for this fic! hope you enjoy. 

One

After Taehyung's first visit, we managed to keep in touch until somewhere around early springtime. The Kakao messages got increasingly sparse as he got closer to his mysterious debut date and college examinations loomed over my head as I entered my final year of high school.  The flutters I had felt were long forgotten in lieu of books and essays. 

It wasn't until summer that I was reminded of Taehyung. Auntie Kim came barging into our house bright and early with excited shouts of his debut. 

I was already awake, studying my butt off upstairs in the lovely solitude of my room. 

"He's releasing the album tomorrow! Tomorrow! My Taehyungie is finally debuting!" 

My heart couldn't help but stir a little at his name, as if it was remembering an old habit. I hesitantly reached for my phone, wondering if it would be out of place to send him a congratulatory message.

[07:55AM] To: Taehyung Grats, superstar. It's about time.

To my surprise, the reply came instantly.

[07:55AM] From: Taehyung Dont tell me my mom woke u all up this early to tell u...  [07:55AM] From: Taehyung But thats just like her isnt it [07:56AM] From: Taehyung Goddamn shes embarrassing [07:56AM] From: Taehyung But thx ;)

I smiled, heart skipping a little faster, but I decided to play it cool and leave him hanging. It didn't necessarily warrant a response anyway. 

It was more than two hours later into my reading when my phone buzzed.

[10:13AM] From: Taehyung Im coming home for a few days next month.

[10:13AM] From: Taehyung Excited to see me? ;)

My stomach suddenly twisted into a knot, butterflies I hadn't felt for months threatening to creep back. Goddamn him and his flirty winking emoticons. 

[10:21AM] To: Taehyung Not really 

[10:21AM] To: Taehyung But you can come anyway I guess

I wondered if I had waited an ample enough amount of time to not look so desperately eager to answer him. Childish, I know, but I couldn’t help it.  I returned to my studies with a renewed energy, suddenly feeling empowered by the thought of having something to look forward to.

Taehyung looked so different that it was hard to believe only two seasons had passed since I last saw him. He was the slightest bit less lanky and his hair was dyed blonde. God, who would have thought he'd look so good with Barbie hair? I stared at him in silence for a few moments before giving him an awkward wave.

"Y/N!"

I could have sworn his voice got deeper, but I didn't have time to mull over the thought really as he scooped me into a big embrace. It knocked the wind out of me -- in a good way. "Nice to see you too, Taehyung," I mumbled into his chest. He smelled like laundry with a hint of musk.  It was strange seeing him in shorts and a tee, legs and arms so bare. Had he always been so tan? 

It was our mother's ideas to catch up over lunch, and although my books were practically screaming at me, I decided to be a little careless and enjoy some time with my long lost friend. It seemed like Taehyung always brought out the irresponsible side of me.

"So how've you been?" Taehyung asked expectantly.

I had never been a fan of small talk, but there was no other way to really begin the conversation. "Alright, I guess. Studying mostly. Actually, only studying.."

"Ah, so once I left, you were no longer a genius."

I couldn't help but crack a smile. 

"No boyfriend?" 

"My textbooks are my boyfriends." I sighed, feeling the nervous guilt of ditching my studies gnawing away at me. I was so determined to get top scores, go to one of the top universities in Seoul, and then the world would be my oyster. It was somewhat reckless to be here comfortably chatting the time away with Taehyung.

He smirked. "Wow, what a player. Didn't think you were like that, Y/N." 

I rolled my eyes before a chuckle escaped my lips. "Enough about my boring life. I bet yours has been crazy exciting. With your debut, and... shows... and singing?" It was too obvious I didn't know anything about the idol lifestyle.

"Yes. Shows and singing. Hit the nail right on the head," he joked. There was a brief pause before he sighed. "It's actually more like crazy busy than crazy exciting." I watched his still-beautiful fingers run through his dyed locks. "But yeah on top of shows and singing, it's a lot of promotions right now... We're trying to win Rookie of the Year and just get ourselves more out there... Grow our fanbase, you know?"

He sounded so desperate for a moment that I almost reached out to touch his hand in comfort. I didn't know anything really, but I could tell he worked his ass off every day, and he was hoping more than anything that his efforts would pay off in the end. I could sympathize with that -- we were kind of in the same boat when I thought of it like that, and it was comforting.

"How long are you here for this time?" I asked timidly. 

"Three days." A loud sigh left his lips. "I know, short as fuck." He was biting his lip nervously, eyes wandering for few seconds before landing on mine. "And I know you're probably busy as hell, but couldn't you make some time for your fave Kpop idol?" A cheeky grin broke out onto his face, and I was instantly reminded of the Taehyung I had grown so comfortable with last winter. And just like that, it was so easy to fall back into his trap.

My books were neglected as I spent the next few days with Taehyung. It was like we had fallen back into our old habits -- going to the cafe in the morning, watching I Hear Your Voice or some other drama in the afternoon, and driving to the mountains or downtown in the evening. 

He still took his coffee much too sweet. And with the way he comfortably settled in next to me besides the couch, shoulder to shoulder, it was like nothing had changed. By the second day, it felt like he had never even left.

I loved the drives the most. The skies were clear and starry, and with the wind blowing through my hair, going anywhere felt like an adventure. The scenic view of town from the cliffs was different now that it was summer. It was so green and lush, as if the colors had all become more vibrant now that he was back. The days were longer and warm, so we spent more time outside. He treated me to ice cream every day because he was "now a working man," as he called it. 

"I missed this," he announced with a sigh, laying back into the grass.

"Hm?" I absentmindedly continued to poke around for the cake bits in my ice cream.

"Just chilling around like this. With you."

The last two words were said so nonchalantly, but they resonated so deeply in my silly heart that my entire body tensed up. 

"You're leaving tomorrow, Taehyung." Was I saying it to remind him... or myself?

He rose from his position and gestured towards the car. "It's good though. You need to study anyway." He grinned. "Genius or nerd, whichever you are, I'm sure you still need to get back to your books. The college exams are in a few months, aren't they?" 

I hadn’t known, but he had overheard my mother yelling at me the previous morning for spending all day with him. It hadn't stopped him from distracting me all day today though.

I nodded, swallowing nervously. I didn't want to think about my looming tests and their gravity on my future outlook. With Taehyung, I could enjoy a reprieve from it all. I didn't want him to leave.

"You'll be fine," he murmured softly, hand messily patting my head. "We'll both work hard, and we'll see each other again before we know it."

My eyes were hopeful as I looked up at his golden face. "When's the next time you'll be back?" He wasn't even gone yet, and I was already looking forward to our reunion.

"Hopefully the holidays." His mumbles were laced with uncertainty, and he tried to give me a reassuring smile. "I'll try to keep in touch, Y/N. Much more than last time."

The way he wrapped his arm around my shoulder made me almost believe he would keep his promise.

He didn't. It was only a few days after he returned to Seoul that the texts stopped coming. I wasn't surprised. From what I heard from Auntie Kim, his group was getting ready for their comeback, and I wasn't in a position to chase for replies either. I was frantically catching up with what I missed, but it didn't help that I'd occasionally get distracted by the thoughts of him already forgetting me.

The leaves turned from green to yellow, oranges, and reds before turning brown and withering off. My birthday passed uneventfully with a casual text from Taehyung. I traded in loose shorts for leggings and sweats, and pulled out my winter gear from the back of the closet. Other than my clothes, however, nothing changed much. Day in and day out, my nose was buried in textbooks, my hand deathly sore from writing notes.

It felt unreal when the examination day finally came. I woke up like any other day, but instead of heading to the school library with books in tow, I headed there with only a few last minute notes and a pencil case. Basically every other kid in my year was walking down the streets with me, hearts nervously thumping as we all knew the test we faced would determine our future.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I was reminded to turn it off. But at the sight of the familiar name that hadn't graced my screen in months, my heart fluttered.

[08:16AM] From: Taehyung Good luck genius

It was nice to think that he was somewhere in the capital city thinking about me this early in the morning. 

With a happy heart, I powered down my mobile device. Perhaps this exam would be my ticket to Seoul, a little closer to Taehyung.

[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.

~~~~~

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

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

[constant-calum]

Watercolors (Brandon Arreaga) ~ Chapter Twelve:  Pollock

Summary:   17 year old Amina Parker was far from a blank canvas, but he still managed to make a finger painting with her love.

A/N:  I lowkey despise this story now.  Oops!

WARNING:  Mention of pregnancy and abortion

Part Eleven    Part Thirteen

Amina hated that Halloween was on a Wednesday this year. There was something so badass about getting dressed up in a costume and showing off to everyone in the neighborhood while she took her sister trick-or-treating.  On a Wednesday, however, Amina had too much homework to be able to participate in her favorite tradition.

As she sat in the lunchroom on Wednesday afternoon, she pouted in her tuna salad.  She realized how ridiculous and childish she must have looked, but she couldn’t help it.  All she was looking forward to was dressing up, and she couldn’t even do that.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Edwin asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

Zane sighed. “She’s sad that she can’t dress up for Halloween this year. That’s a big deal for the Parkers.”

“I take my sister trick-or-treating every single year. But since it’s a stupid Wednesday, I have too much work for the first time ever.” Amina sighed. “It’s frustrating more than anything.”

“Fuck work,” Nick stated bluntly. “You should go out and have fun on your Halloween. Especially if it’s a tradition you look forward to.”

Amina felt like she was overreacting to the situation, but she couldn’t help her emotions. “I really can’t. College applications are becoming all too real, and I have so much homework.”

Brandon placed a warm hand around Amina’s shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze. Amina could feel herself relaxing even the tiniest bit. She immediately wondered when Brandon became a source of comfort for her.

“I’m sorry that you can’t go through with your tradition, Amina,” Brandon looked as though he was genuinely upset for his friend.

Amina nodded, which everyone took as the end of the topic. Looking across the table, Amina noticed Zion staring directly at her. She was about to ask him what the problem was until she realized just what he was so focused on. It was Brandon’s arm...that hadn’t moved from its resting place on Amina’s shoulder. Zion finally met Amina’s eye, smirking slightly.

Amina found it impossible to calm down her racing heart, unsure if it was from the physical contact or from the embarrassment of such a public display of affection. She tried to snap herself out of it. If it were Nick, Amina would not have thought twice about it. For some reason, it was different with Brandon.

A loud ringtone interrupted the comfortable chatter of the lunch table. After a few seconds, everyone realized its owner was Brandon, who got up from the table to take the call. Upset at the sudden lack of warmth surrounding her, she decided to lean her head into Nick’s shoulder, who wrapped an arm around her without skipping a beat.

.           .            .

Amina didn’t know how she beat Brandon to the art room after school. It was slightly concerning seeing as he had art last period, and tended to just stay there until Amina arrived. Amina just brushed it off, taking a seat on Brandon’s stool even though she knew he would make a fuss the minute he got there.

As if being summoned by someone else taking his place, Brandon walked through the door the minute that Amina’s butt touched the wood. His eyes were red and puffy, dripping with raw emotion. His steps were slow and uneven, as if he was unable to focus on the act of walking. Amina had seen Brandon emotional quite a few times, and it seemed as though every time he got worse.

“B, what happened?” Amina stood quickly, crossing the room until she stood right in front of her friend. “Are you okay?”

Brandon just sniffled, displacing his glasses in the process of wiping his eyes. Amina didn’t know what else to do but grab his free hand and lead him to sit down. Brandon immediately slumped onto his stool, looking as miserable as ever.

“Talk to me, Brandon. I can’t stand to see you like this.”

Brandon’s framed eyes met Amina’s, taking a deep breath before beginning to speak. “It’s Valerie,” he began. “She’s pregnant again now, with this one night stand’s baby. She’s keeping it.”

A piece of Amina’s heart broke for her friend. At a loss for words, she stumbled over what to do or say. Getting over an ex is hard; getting over an ex who aborted your baby is even harder; getting over an ex who aborted your baby and is now pregnant again is nearly impossible.

“I don’t even know why I’m so upset,” Brandon chuckled bitterly. “It’s not like I’m not over her. And I’m not the father of this new baby. It just...it just hurts for some reason. Not even in a ‘she kept this rando’s baby and not mine’ way. But more of a...I don’t even know. I feel like shit.”

Amina smoothed a hand over Brandon’s dark curls, secretly loving how soft they felt under her fingertips. “What do I always say?”

“I’m allowed to feel however I feel,” Brandon mumbled, reminiscent of a toddler reciting rules back to their parent.

“Exactly. It’s okay if you’re upset. It’s okay if you’re upset and you don’t know why. I’ll be here no matter what.”

“I guess there’s too much baby drama for a 17-year-old like me.”

“It’s not even my drama and it’s too much for me.”

Brandon looked up at Amina from his seated position. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Even though Amina could tell he was still devastated, there was a grateful twinkle in his eye.

“Thank you,” he began. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Probably turn into a ball of sadness and die,” Amina joked, causing Brandon to chuckle.

“You’re probably right. I’d have any bit of sadness or drama and I would just combust. Or just make super angsty art about it.”

“That sounds like a much more positive outlet.”

Brandon continued to look up at the girl in front of him, this time with a smile on his face and dry eyes. Amina couldn’t stop herself from running a hand through his hair once more. The two didn’t speak, but they didn’t have to. They both simply enjoyed the moment.

It was Amina who decided to break the momentary silence. “You know you could always make art about this. Write Valerie’s name in super big pretty letters, then just splatter paint all over it.”

“I think my art is a little more sophisticated than that.”

“Of course it is, Mr. I’m-going-to-RISD (Rhode Island School of Design),” Amina chuckled. “But maybe it will help.”

Brandon thought for a moment before finally nodding slowly. He instructed Amina to grab a few tubes of paint and two smocks from the supply closet. She did so giddily, pointing out how she never got to paint and was excited to do so. Brandon just watched her bounce around the room with a lazy smile on his face.

Amina tossed Brandon his smock before attempting to put hers on by herself. She frowned when her short arms couldn’t reach the tie behind her do.

“Brandon? Can you tie this for me?”

The boy did as told, walking over to his friend and securing the tie around her waist.  He let the tips of his fingers linger on the small of her back, and smiled slightly when Amina shivered.  When she turned to face him, he clapped his hands together.

“Alright, let’s do this,”  he grabbed a piece of paper and spread it out on the table in front of them.  “So normally, I would outline the name in pencil, and then paint over it, but I’m impatient today.  What color should her name be?”

Amina shrugged.  “Maybe we should do something bright.  Then we can put darker splatters on it.”

“Alright, how about orange?”

The way Amina turned her nose up at the color made Brandon chuckle loudly. He watched as the girl picked up each individual color, inspecting the tube like they were in competition with each other. Eventually, she pulled out the yellow, smiling brightly.

“I think we have our winner!”

The two worked meticulously, watching each other as they alternated between broad strokes of the brush and short flicks. Within an hour the two were done. Amina stepped back to admire the masterpiece she and her friend had worked to creative. As she inspected the whole scope of the work, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Brandon?” Amina managed in between her fits of laughter. “This looks like shit.”

This made Brandon’s indifferent exterior crack as he exploded into laughter. “Mimi, what did we do?!”

“I don’t know! I thought it would look good.”

Brandon placed a hand on each knee, doubled over with the force of his laughs. “It literally looks like a baby vomited on a piece of paper, smeared it, and called it art.”

“I know. It’s pretty terrible,” Amina rubbed her hairline with the back of her paint-covered hand. “At least we did it together right? And don’t you feel better?”

“I definitely do feel better.”

“That’s what matters,” Amina beamed.

The two were quiet as they began to clean up, washing dirty hands and brushes and hanging up their smocks. By the time they were done, the only evidence of their work was the paint smeared paper lying on the center of the table.

“Should I throw this monstrosity out?” Amina asked, still smiling down at their shared work.

Brandon hesitated before picking the painting up and holding it out in front of him. “Nah, I think I’ll keep it.

Amina was slightly surprised that Brandon would even want it, and was a little hurt when she realized that it still had Valerie’s name on it. That’s what it all boiled down to—Brandon and Valerie.

“Okay, well I’m pretty sure my mom is here,” Amina sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, B.”

“Of course. I’ll see you.”

Brandon waved as Amina left the room, still admiring the piece of work that the two created. Something about it warmed his heart, no matter how terrible it was. He smiled to himself.

“Oh, I’m totally framing this.”

.        .         .

As a compromise for not going trick or treating, Amina’s mother let her man the door for the entirety of Halloween Night. It wasn’t ideal for Amina to be curled up with a calculus textbook in one hand and a bowl of candy in the other, but she was happy to do something to celebrate the holiday.

After spending a few hours gushing over little kids and cute costumes, Amina closed the door for what she thought would be the last time. It was already 9:30 on a school night; no one would let their kids out this late. Her sock-covered feet turned away from the door and began to trek up the stairs until she heard the doorbell ring.

Groaning, Amina turned on her heels, picking up the candy bowl on the way. She flung the door open aggressively, obviously annoyed with this last minute group of children. What she didn’t expect was to see six familiar faces beaming at her.

“Trick-or-treat!” They all said in unison, making Amina break out into a wild smile.

Amina didn’t know if she was happier that her friends had come to see her, or that they were all dressed up in various costumes: Nick was a vampire, Edwin a werewolf, Austin was Ash from Pokémon, Zane was Number 4 from Codename Kids Next Door, Zion looked like some underground rapper, and Brandon was Spider-Man.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” Amina started. “But damn am I glad you did. You’re all getting your picture taken.”

“Of course we had to do this,” Austin leaned on the door frame. “It’s Halloween. If you can’t go out and enjoy it, we’re going to bring the fun to you.”

Amina beamed. “Well thank you.”

“Thank Nick,” Zane replied. “It was all his idea. He even planned everyone’s costumes.”

Nick looked bashful, shrugging slightly. “It was nothing.”

Amina was speechless as she went down the line to hug each of her friends. When she got to Nick last, she hugged him extra tight. Nick did the same, clutching Amina close as if he were to never let her go.

“Thank you guys, seriously. This means a lot.”

Zion scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um, not to be headass, but can we have some candy? Like we are here to trick-or-treat after all.”

Amina chuckled, passing around the candy bowl to everyone. She didn’t miss Austin taking at least six Kit-Kats, but decided not to say anything in effort to preserve the fun.

After a few minutes of the group talking and laughing in the doorway of Amina’s home, Zane declared she was tired, which was instantly met with agreement from the rest of the boys.

“Wait, before you go,” Amina interrupted. “We have to take a picture.”

Although reluctant, the group eventually settled into an appropriate formation, and with a count of three, they were done.

As everyone began to say their goodbyes, Amina found herself pulling Nick close once again, unable to begin to show her gratitude for making her night better. Nick seemed to understand, though, just wordlessly holding Amina until Edwin declared that everyone had to go.

“Mimi, thank you,” Nick whispered, pulling away.

“For what?”  

“Being patient with him.”

“With who?”

Amina didn’t get an answer as the group walked away. She just stood in her doorway, confused as hell, watching her friends disperse into the nighttime.

[tutselutse]

I wrote a Cheryl x Toni thing. Bc I’m obsessed. There is background core four drama. (bc i love it)  

It's been two weeks since the Southside students started stinking up the halls, and Cheryl is not amused. She hates every last one of them and their greasy hair, tattoos and extensive use of flannel. Since Josie is still busy with her band and (ugh) flirting with Reggie, Cheryl has needed something else to do. It has taken her a bit of effort, but she has now managed to establish dominance over every student from the Southside. All it took was wearing her best clothes, a lot of well-crafted insults and in one case accidentally stepping on a foot with her stiletto heel. If no one will like her, then they can all fear her. Still, she'd much rather they weren't here at all.

Someone brushes against her in the hall as they walk past her. Gross. Cheryl debates ditching Chemistry to take a bath in the locker room. It's that sort of thing she used to say to Jason, and then he would laugh all soft and genuine and call her a drama queen. That laugh might be what she misses the most. Her heels are clicking against the floor as she walks and gives her best glare to everyone around her, so they move out of her way. Aside from one Southsider, who bravely still ignores her.

Okay, so she has bested everyone except one person. The pink haired girl. Toni. No matter what Cheryl says, Toni just grins or rolls her eyes. It's becoming quite frustrating, and Cheryl catches herself watching Toni and trying to come up with ways to bring her down.

Whenever they end up near each other, Cheryl drops a snide remark or two. And since Jughead Jones seems intent on including Toni in his ridiculous shenanigans and Betty Cooper seems intent on including Cheryl, they end up near each other more than Cheryl would like.

It becomes a nice distracton fro obsessing over Josie and Reggie. To think of something that will wipe that damn smirk off of Toni Topaz' mouth. She thinks about it at home, at school, when she goes to sleep and when she wakes up.

It's a game, and Cheryl knows she always wins. She jabs and pokes with every word she has, always accompanying it with a sickly sweet smile to cover up how hungry she is for a reaction. It's a game and it's rigged in Cheryl's favor, because one day one of her remarks will hit a sore spot, and Toni will lose. It's only a matter of time.

Mentioning the Southside or the disgusting gang aesthetic doesn't work, but something will. Calling her a poor man's Katy Perry doesn't work on Toni, but makes Kevin choke on a laugh, so Cheryl counts that in her own favor. It's the middle of class, and Toni just leans in and grabs one of Cheryl's pencils, saying since she is poor, she will have to borrow one. Having her up close is intoxicating and Cheryl searches her face for a sign that she is cracking. She finds none.

So she tries harder. She even lets Betty drag her along to the Magical Murder Mystery Tour, just to see Toni outside of her laid back school persona. It's during one of those late night investigations, at the closed down Southside high school of course, because Betty and Jughead seriously lack imagination, where she makes progress. They've split up into pairs, and Cheryl seizes the opportunity to yet again make a snide remark at Toni's expense when they are alone. They've never been alone before. It's exciting.

Toni brushes it off as always and walks into a classroom. Cheryl follows her, not really caring about what they are looking for. She makes another comment, not even thinking about what she is saying, and then Toni is right up in her face, pushing her against the wall

"What's your fucking problem with me?" she asks through her teeth. Cheryl wants to say something clever, something that makes Toni look like a fool, like Watch your temper sweetheart or What? Can't handle a little joke? But they are so close they are practically sharing oxygen and Cheryl's brain seems to be malfunctioning. Instead she just drops her gaze to Toni's lips, currently curved into a snarl. When she looks back up, Toni eyes gleam darkly and she presses herself up against Cheryl, squeezing her even tighter between her body and the wall. Then she leans in and kisses Cheryl hard.

Cheryl gasps and kisses her back. Toni grabs her wrists and pins them against the wall, while biting her bottom lip, and then pushing her tongue into her mouth. Cheryl tries not to moan. She fails a little. Toni pushes a thigh between her legs, and Cheryl hips starts moving. Her body has a crazy response to the kiss, like it has been desperate for this for so long, and getting it is making her fall apart.

Toni kisses her even harder, pressing against her and Cheryl wants more, more, more.

Then suddenly it's over, and Toni watches her with a satisfied smirk, while stepping back and letting go of her wrists. Cheryl remains leaned against the wall, fighting to catch her breath. Toni eyes her up and down and licks her lips. Cheryl knows she must look like a mess and she hates Toni for looking exactly like she did before they kissed. Ripped jeans clinging to her legs, t-shirt and leather jacket in place. Not even that ridiculous bandana around her head has moved an inch. Whereas Cheryl can feel her skirt having moved up her hips, and her lips feel swollen and messy from her lipstick.

Toni pick up her flashlight and just resumes working. Cheryl considers running out of the room, running home. She wishes she could talk to Jason. He would love her even though she just made out with a disgusting Southside Serpent. Running home would mean she lost though. And Cheryl is a winner. Maybe she looked more affected than Toni, but she was the one who was shoved against the wall. And if Toni could seem like it hadn't affected her to kiss Cheryl Blossom, then Cheryl wasn't going to be affected by kissing her.

She resumed the search, and when Toni was distracted, she fixed her lipstick. When they met up with the others, she was certain no one could tell what had happened.

***

Cheryl treats herself to some serious spa treatment that weekend. She is determined to come back to school looking even more like a goddess than usual. Which is hard, she knows, but she never backed down from a challenge. Plus, it always made her feel better to do a complete scrub of her body. She spends a lot of time thinking about what to do now. Clearly Toni is better at this game than she thought, and now it has changed. But Cheryl knows she is a catch, and since Toni is attracted to girls, a different kind of torment seems appropriate. Plus, she clearly had said something that pushed Toni over the edge, so really Cheryl had won that round.

She lets herself sink deeper into the water as her mind drifts back to the kiss. She touches her lips absentmindedly. They are still swollen and sore, but she doesn't mind it much. In fact, thinking about Toni pressing her against the wall and biting her lip is arousing her again. She wonders what it would be like to feel her hands on her body. Then she catches herself and shakes her head.

Control, Cheryl, she tells herself and starts scrubbing her legs again. It was all about control. If there was one thing Cheryl was good at, it was controlling others and their attraction to her. She crawled out of the bath and eyed herself in the mirror. She smiled wickedly. Oh yes. Game on, Toni Topaz.

***

She has perfected a way of causally looking amazing, without seeming like she tries, years ago. This Monday she puts it to good use. She has prepared herself for everything, and knows exactly what to do, to taunt Toni and make her want more. Cheryl has put on a tight skirt and her high boots and let her hair tumble in curls down her back. Her lips are a darker red than usual, and the shirt is just a tiny bit see-through.

What she isn't prepared for is her own reaction to seeing Toni, who is talking to that Sweet Pea guy, and is wearing her usual t-shirt and ripped jeans combo. Cheryl felt a wave of want hit her. She suppresses it and sashays confidently down the hall, not even looking to see if Toni noticed her.

That afternoon Betty drags them into the newspaper room to recap Friday's results. Veronica looks upset, and Cheryl feels a little urge to ask her what was up. Ugh, gross. She notices Toni eye her legs, and almost  smirks victoriously. She needs more. She needs to break her completely. To make her beg Cheryl to kiss her again.

Cheryl doesn't care much for the case, but they all seem excited about the results so she smiles at Betty and starts saying: "If you need my help again, let me know." She intends to leave just then, but before she can make her exit, Jughead's phone rings and he bolts out of the room, and then everyone starts to leave. Damn. Cheryl throws her hair over her shoulder and turns with a huff. Before she can leave, Toni looks at her and winks.

Cheryl is shocked. A part of her wants to throw herself across the room and kiss the living hell out of Toni. Another part is angry! How dare she acknowledge it happened? Like that. With a wink! Also, why does she want to kiss Toni?

The rest of the week passes like that. Whenever Cheryl gets a small reaction out of Toni, she just rolls with it and smiles like she is saying you're doing this for me? Cute. It's infuriating. She wants to win, to wind her up and break her. To throw her off her game, the way Cheryl has been thrown off hers.

On Wednesday they bump into each other in the locker room. Toni has just gotten dressed, seemingly the last person to get ready after her Gym Class. Pathetic. Cheryl is there to pick up her broche, which she managed to forget after the Vixens practiced earlier.

"So much later than everyone else," she comments, smiling as sweetly as she can, "It's okay if it's hard for you to put on jeans with so many holes in them."

Toni chuckles and wraps a flannel shirt around her hips. Honestly, why is this living cliché a part of Cheryl's life? She notices the broche not far from Toni's boots. She walks over and picks it up, ready to say something mean about her almost breaking an invaluable object, but when she stands up, Toni is right there. In her face. Smelling like soap. Cheryl swallows and tries to remember what she was going to say. Toni smiles at her, raising an eyebrow and Cheryl just loses it. She moves forward and crashes their lips together, hoping to do to Toni what had been done to her. To leave her heaving and aching for more.

Cheryl forces herself to pull back before she wants to. So she can leave Toni there with figurative blue balls. Toni eyes are darker, but she is smiling with amusement. "I knew you'd be back for more," she whispers and Cheryl feels shivers run down her spine at the word more.

Toni moves towards her slowly, again pressing Cheryl against the wall, and Cheryl downright whimpers. What the fuck? Her hands get pinned against the wall again and Toni looks at her hungrily before finally kissing her. Cheryl drops the broche and gasps as Toni licks into her mouth. For a moment she forgets where they are, who  they are. Nothing exists but their lips, tongues, the sound of their breath and the feel of hands around Cheryl's wrists.

But then Toni let's go of her wrists and places her hands on Cheryl's hips. She can feel the heat through the thin fabric of her skirt. The kiss is even hotter than last time, both girls more eager, more aware of what they want. Last time Cheryl was shocked, this time she knows she has to give as good as she gets. So she does, moving a hand to scratch at Toni's scalp and twist her fingers into that awful pink hair.

Have they ever done anything other than kiss? Cheryl doesn't remember anything else. And yet, it's too soon when Toni pulls back. She smirks at Cheryl, clearly very pleased with herself. Her eyes roam over Cheryl's body and face, and then she whispers "I bet you look gorgeous when you've been properly fucked."

"I always look gorgeous, ChaCha," Cheryl responds, hoping her makeup hides the warmth in her cheeks. She stands up straighter and brushes her hands on her skirt.

"I agree," Toni says with a smile. Ugh. Cheryl kind of hates that smile. Toni could really benefit from turning the smugness down. "We should do this again some time," she says with a wink, and then she leaves. Cheryl stares after her. What the fuck had just happened? She picks up the broche, fixes her lipstick and leaves.

***

Archie Andrews is throwing a party. Cheryl has no idea why, and frankly isn't even interested, but Josie is going (with Reggie. Ew.) and for some reason Betty Cooper invites her to come.

"We'd love it if you came, Cheryl," Betty says and looks at her with those big fish eyes, "I mean, no one knows how to party like you."

"True," Cheryl agrees. She knows Betty is attempting to woo her with flattery, but that's no reason to ignore the compliment. "You need me there to make this thing a success, but I am just not sure I have the time."

Betty actually pouts. Ew. Then Archie shows up, giving Betty a smile that can only be described as tender. Cheryl fights the urge to gag. "Cheryl, are you coming to the party? You are kind of a part of the gang now," he says and looks like an overeager dog.

"I already told Blue Sweater here that I am too busy," Cheryl says and turns on her heel and walks away. Ah, that felt good. Those two were getting way to chummy with her.

Jason would tell her she was being ridiculous. He'd tell her to make friends, and to be nicer to people. Her mother gives her a look when she comes home. Like she is disappointed, but not surprised Cheryl is on her own on a Friday. Whatever.  

That night she shows up at the party anyway. It's a power move to recline, and then show up, like she is bringing them a gift. Herself. Plus, she needs to see what Josie and Reggie are up to. She waits until she is certain they've given up on her, and then she barges through the door, throws her jacket at the nearest person (which happens to be Jughead Jones, how perfect!) and strides into the living room. Everyone stares at her, so she smiles and gives them a little wave.

Betty seems tipsy as she runs over and hands Cheryl a red cup of something and gives her a clumsy hug. There is a whole lot of Southside trashworms there as well. Weird. Archie seems in deep conversation with the Sweet Pea guy. Cheryl looks at them in confusion.

"Oh, they are kind of friends now," Betty explains with a giggle. Figures, both of them are tall and dumb.

"Fascinating," she says sarcastically and drinks from the cup. It's punch, and not a good one. But that might be because of the cheap alcohol someone has spiked it with. Oh well.

Betty just beams again. What is up with that girl?

"Cheryl!" Veronica appears. Cheryl looks her up and down. She looks like a vampire librarian in that black lace dress and the string of pearls. Uninspired as always. Her and Betty dress exactly the same, except Veronica wears colors appropriate for a funeral and Betty apparently never outgrew the colors for baby clothes. It's almost tragic.

"Hello Veronica," Cheryl fakes enthusiasm.

"You look amazing," Veronica says. Her and Betty seem to be on a mission to make her feel welcome. She is right, though. Cheryl's dress is black velvet and off the shoulders, and as always her hair is a cascade of red curls.

They talk clothes for a while, scaring off Betty who looks uncomfortable with all the designer names Veronica is dropping. It's almost a little funny. Then Veronica insist on dancing, and Cheryl follows her. She spots Josie, who is grinding on Reggie's leg. Veronica sends her a look and they both giggle. Veronica says she once spent a night out doing the same, and that Reggie will follow any pair of hips swaying near him. Cheryl shakes her head and says she hopes Josie knows what she is doing. Veronica nods and says everyone is allowed a little fun.

"You are right of course," Cheryl grins, and then they start dancing. Cheryl likes to dance. She is good at it too, and she knows it. Veronica is good too, and since they aren't competing this time, it actually ends up being fun. Well. A little anyway. Cheryl is very aware of how great they are looking right now, and she enjoys it. Veronica is grinning at Archie, who is watching them from the edge of the dance floor.

Cheryl's eyes absentmindedly scan the room of people watching them, knowing she is putting on a show. Then she sees Toni Topaz. Who's wearing an unbelievably ruined shirt, denim shorts and a pair of boots. Cheryl tears her gaze away from the shirt - that thing is more holes than fabric - and meets Toni's eyes. She is staring at Cheryl, mouth slightly open and wow. Her eyes are burning. Cheryl swings her hips and smiles playfully.

Toni responds by biting her lip. Cheryl feels a wave of victory hit her and she turns around, smiling to herself, giving Toni a view of her back. Veronica grabs her hand and spins her back around, intertwining their fingers. Cheryl looks back at Toni, who is still looking at her. Now she is leaning against the wall, with a thumb in her belt loop. They don't break eye-contact again. If dancing while knowing the boys are watching makes Cheryl feel good, there is no way of describing how it feels too dance while being eye-fucked by Toni Topaz.

Cheryl isn't sure which of them is winning this round. Because Toni wants her, it's obvious, but Cheryl wants her to stay right there, to keep watching. When did she start dancing for Toni and not herself? Cheryl finally breaks the spell and looks away. Veronica hasn't stopped making eyes at Archie, so Cheryl pulls her closer and whispers, "Just go dance with your boyfriend."

"But we're having fun," Veronica argues. Cheryl gives her a look, and Veronica lets go and runs off. When Cheryl looks back at the wall, Toni has disappeared.

Cheryl decides she needs more alcohol. She walks back to the kitchen and grabs another cup of the bearable punch. She hears angry voices from outside.

"I wanna be with you."

"Then why did you kiss my best friend?"

"You broke up with me!"

Her curiosity has just gotten the better of her, and she is about to go look when someone speaks behind her. "That was quite the show." It's Toni, leaning against the doorway, looking better than any Southsider has any right to, now wearing that gang member jacket over her clothes.

"You looked like you enjoyed it," Cheryl responds, and sends her a flirty smile. There is no reason to pretend nothing is going on between them.

"I did," Toni walks over and grabs the cup from Cheryl's hands. She takes a sip and grimaces. "That's disgusting. I could mix you something better down in the Whyte Wyrm."

Cheryl scrunches up her nose. "I'd rather not. That place is way too dirty for me."

"Am I too dirty for you?" Toni asks, and Cheryl is taken aback by the directness of the question and the earnest way Toni is looking at her.

"In theory, yes," Cheryl responds, leaning in closer and taking the cup back. She takes a slow sip.

"What about in practice?" Toni asks, placing a hand on Cheryl's and moving the cup down. The feel of her hand against her wrist makes Cheryl heart thump. Memories.

They are awfully close now, lips nearly touching. "Remind me how it works in practice," Cheryl whispers. Toni closes the small distance between them, kissing her softly. Like a test. It makes her breath hitch in her throat. Cheryl doesn't want soft. Not now. Not after the way Toni was watching her before. So she runs her tongue along Toni's bottom lip. This earns her a little whimper. Cheryl pulls back and grins. She takes Toni's hand and drags her along.

They run out to the garage, and when they've closed the door behind then, Toni runs her hands through Cheryl's hair and kisses her hungrily. They stumble further into the garage, almost knocking into some of Archie's instruments. It makes them both giggle. Cheryl feels drunk, but not from the punch, this is all Toni.

Toni, who's hands are inching up her waist, setting her body on fire. Cheryl hands are wandering too, she can't help it. Toni kneels down, pulling Cheryl with her so they are both on the floor. Cheryl pushes the leather jacket off her shoulders, and puts her hands under that thing she is wearing as a shirt. Toni shudders and kisses her harder when Cheryl trails her nails over her bare skin. She kisses Cheryl down her neck, while one hand starts starts running up and down her leg. It makes everything tingle, and Cheryl lifts the "shirt" over her head, breaking the kiss. She takes a moment to just admire Toni's exposed skin, before crawling into her lap and straddling her.

Cheryl doesn't know how long they spend sitting like this, kissing and kissing and kissing, while Toni's hands are everywhere but suddenly she is being maneuvered backwards, so she is lying on her back while Toni hovers over her, kissing her neck and moving a hand up her inner thigh. Cheryl has a small moment of panic because she has no idea what's expected in a situation like this? Is she supposed to reciprocate at the same time? Is that what two women do? Why hasn't she googled this before? She trails her own hand down Toni's side, heading towards her denim shorts.

Toni's hand comes up and stops her. She smiles and holds Cheryl's hand up between them, "Not until you cut your nails," she says with a grin, and Cheryl blushes. Toni kisses her again, and pushes the dress up her hips. Cheryl's breath hitches in her throat.

It's better than Cheryl remembers sex ever being before. Maybe because of how much she has been wanting to do this with a girl, or specifically Toni. As she moans and succumbs into the touch, she finally admits it to herself. She has wanted Toni bad for a while now. Since before they even kissed the first time. And having her now, like this, is better than she thought it would be.

She bites down on her own bottom lip when she comes, so she doesn't cry out too loudly.

Afterwards Toni remains half on top of her, and kisses her gently on the lips, then her exposed shoulder and collarbone. She looks down at Cheryl and grins that smug grin again. "I was right, you do look gorgeous after having your brains fucked out."

"I wouldn't bet on a career in smooth-talking," Cheryl responds and clicks her tongue. She's not sure why she says it. Being snarky is just her default setting, and she is feeling extra vulnerable right now. Toni's eyes drop for just a second, and then she kisses Cheryl again.

Cheryl kisses her back for a moment, but then she starts to worry if people are looking for them. She pushes Toni off and readjusts her dress. Toni looks at her in confusion. "Someone could be looking for us. You and Jugface seemed joined at the hip, and Betty has been disturbingly friendly to me lately."

"You're leaving?" Toni's brows are furrowing.

"This was fun," Cheryl says in a cheerful tone and stands up. Toni's eyes drop, and she bites her lip. She sits there in her shorts and bra and doesn't move and that's when it hits Cheryl. If she leaves now, she has won the game. Toni will be the one left with the obsession. It makes her smile. She looks at the serpent jacket on the ground, and picks it up. A fair price for besting Toni Topaz.

She puts it on as she leaves the garage and rejoins the party. There are a lot more people in the house, and the music's louder. Cheryl glances around. What the hell happened while she was getting laid? She walks into the kitchen and sees Josie and Reggie making out like they've been possessed or something. It stuns her. She has feelings for Josie. Had feelings. Has. It's confusing. The image of Toni on top of her flickers in front of her eyes. She turns on her heel and leaves.

She walks into the living room just as someone yells, "how could you?!" and then Veronica rushes past her into the kitchen and out the back door.

Cheryl looks at the people in the living room, all staring at Betty and Archie, who are standing really close. Ah. Those two are idiots. She turns around and runs after Veronica.

She finds her sitting on the ground outside, ugly crying loudly. Ugh. This is not Cheryl's forte. Jason, help me. She doesn't wanna sit on the filthy ground, but she remembers all the time Jason crawled into the closet with her, even though he hated small spaces, because she was crying. She sits down next to Veronica and places a hand on her shoulder. Veronica responds by turning around and burying her face in Cheryl's shoulder, crying harder.

" It seems I missed the drama," Cheryl says after a moment, "how unlike me."

Veronica makes a strangled noise, like a laugh is trying to escape through the sobbing. Cheryl bites down hard to keep from pulling a face. Veronica sniffles and sits up, wiping her eyes.

"Archie and Betty kissed," she says. Cheryl cringes visibly.

"When?"

"A few weeks ago. We were broken up for a few days and then he just kissed Betty." Veronica breaks into sobs again. "H-how could they d-do this to m-me?"

"They are both kind of dumb," Cheryl says bluntly, "like. Not smart at all."

"Betty is my best friend," Veronica says when she can control her voice again.

"She's not good at it," Cheryl remarks. Why is this comfort thing so hard?

"She forgave me, back when me and Archie made out at your party. But this is different. Right?" She looks like she wants confirmation, so Cheryl nods.

"Um, so different," she says "first of all, you weren't BFF at the time. Second, they weren't dating. Third, she wasn't dating that southsider." Cheryl is good at receipts.

"Oh, Jughead," Veronica says and starts crying again. She's shaking hard, so Cheryl takes off the leather jacket and wraps it around her shoulders. It seems to help her. Cheryl wraps her arm around her again and holds her a little longer.

"I'm gonna drive you home now," Cheryl suddenly says. She is surprised herself. It must be from channeling Jason.

"Okay," Veronica says weakly. They climb to their feet, and when they turn around they see Toni there. Cheryl feels relieved to see her, ashamed of before, and she has a weird urge to explain that she is helping Veronica.

"Need help?" Toni asks.

"Yeah, thanks," Cheryl nods and Toni lifts Veronica's other arm around her shoulder. They take her through the house in silence. Cheryl scares off Archie with a look. When they are outside, Cheryl asks: "How long were you watching?"

"A while," Toni says, "I've never seen you help anyone before."

"Oh."

Cheryl drives while Toni sits with Veronica in the back. When they reach the hotel and has walked her to the door, Veronica hands Cheryl the leather jacket and says "Thanks."

When she is inside the hotel, Cheryl tries to hand it to Toni. "You can wear it a bit more," Toni says with a smile, "it's kinda sexy."

"I'm sorry," Cheryl says, "I know I can be a hateful bitch."

"I've noticed," Toni replies with a smile. A smile Cheryl has started to realize is just genuine, and not smug at all. Cheryl reaches down and takes her hand.

"Let me buy you a milkshake at Pop's," she offers. Toni's smile widens. They walk hand in hand to the car. Cheryl isn't sure what this is, but she thinks she might be done with playing games for now.

[mulder-isms]

Summer in Brooklyn - Thorcid fanfic

A\N: Fic number 51 is a lucky charm! ✨

Writing this fic was a fun experience, because when you write on vacation I think it really pours into the writing that your brain is not so troubled. A hopeful fic, who would have thought. I’ve been obsessed with the idea of writing a summer camp fic, and it’s not AU, that’s right. All inside the thorcid novel!

Thank you @featherpluckn @raviolipocketoli @fashionclownn for the injury prompts, hope I used them well!

I’m really curious of what you guys are going to think because it’s completely different from everything else. Drop me a note 💕

*

“Okay, I think we have enough footage of the apartment. One last question and we can wrap it up? I’m going to the club with you to shoot the auction and street takes”

The producer and director of the King of queens series was sitting on a stool behind Shane’s crowded make-up corner. He was paired up with the camera man that seemed completely ready to finish the last shots of the day, fatigue on his face, chewing gun impatiently. Shane was in the process of overdrawing his lips and he wondered how much footage of him prepping they were going to use. Having people following him around the whole day was fun, but he was sure his house reflected him a little too well. An anthropological experience, they’ve captured all the tiny details as if he was an animal of rare habits to catch on camera, and everything was too precious to not record it.

“Living through art can be volatile sometimes I guess, music and drag performance, how do you deal with being blocked? Was there ever a time that you ran out of ideas?”

Shane chuckled nervously and looked down fumbling his brushes. He loves giving interviews because the stream of thoughts inside his head never ceases. But somehow just the word block was a bad omen, incited the feeling back again and he wanted to shake it off.

“You know, as musician, I feel protected” he paused to start his eyeliner and only continued after finishing the wing. He dropped the pencil down and turned his back to them. “Because music is beyond me. It surrounds me. Like if I’m blocked I can practice Brahms concerto until I have blisters, the work is already done, I just need to tune in. But drag comes out of me and…” he stopped taking a deep sigh, collecting the right words, gesticulating trying to summon them in thin air. “When my good friends are trying to cheer me up, I always try to remember. My life goes in a sine cosine, you know? When you’re really high you need to know there’s probably a lower point coming. Prepare for it. And when you’re low and you’re sitting like why am I doing this? You gotta know that right around the corner you’ll get inspired again”

The producer agreed pondering his advice and Shane got back to concentrating on the mirror in front of him.

*

It doesn’t matter how successful you are.

If you decide to take a break from work everybody gets worried. People are supposed to never stop the sick cycle carousel, and especially people like Shane are allegedly known for never giving up. When Shane told his dad, he furrowed the brows they both shared, asked if everything was okay financially and asked very awkwardly if Jamin was treating him right. He laughed finding it endearing. Jamin was treating him very right. It was his own soul-searching experience that his boyfriend had nothing do to with it.

Jamin’s reaction to the news wasn’t that much different from his father. I’m not going to take any drag gigs for a month. The big blue eyes widened as if they were going to fall from their orbits. He was in full disbelief but struggling to not throw him wet blankets.

“I want to believe you can, but I think after a week the withdraw is going to kick in and you’re bursting into the I’m so excited number around the house and break everything”

Shane was decided to prove them wrong, but it was way harder than he thought. After cleaning the whole apartment and catching up with errands and chores that were on hold for almost a year, there wasn’t much left to do. Jamin still had gigs booked and was doing his own clean up too. But Jamin was organized and a very active artist. He is always drawing, breaking, gluing and sewing. All at once. The kid that used to blow stuff in his house garage had his own studio and he was there all his free time. Shane worked in a complete different way. He overanalyzed his ideas working on all the outcomes and it took him a while to engage in action.

It got easier when his sister came to the rescue sent by his father. She asked him if he want to teach a kid’s band in summer camp for three weeks. His nieces were too small for summer camp, but their school was quite liberal and his sister assured him he could perform in drag once. He wasn’t totally convinced about that. Or about the whole prospect of it.

After a while marinating the idea in silence, considering all possible scenarios, he told Jamin while they were talking trough Facetime.  Shane was eating Chinese food from the box on bed in Brooklyn and used his pillow as a phone support in front of him. Jamin was in California helping Becky at work and laid down on his hotel room bed.

It took him few seconds processing the most random information he ever heard, Shane continued slurping the noodles of the chop suey until he dropped the box impatiently.

“Fuck, you’re killing me. Just say something!”

“Where is it again? Vermont?” He asked scratching his left eye in a very sleepy tone.

Shane wasn’t expecting this question so he was unsure if he got it right. “Yeaaah? I actually know the place.”

Shane bit his lower lip in anticipation putting down the box while Jamin was still looking at him, thousands of questions behind his reddish eyes.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be a good teacher to these kids, and I know, it’s a complete new world? But I have a good feeling about it? It could go wrong in so many ways though”

“It’s going to be great, Thorg. You love this stuff. Wasn’t this what you had in mind? To disconnect…it’s just that, three weeks…”

Shane face was softening. Jamin wasn’t sure of his capacity, it was something else.

“I guess I was used to have you all day for me these past days…” he confessed giving up to beat around the bush.

Shane tilted his head as if he was watching the cutest video of baby animals on YouTube.

“Come with me”

Jamin scoffed shaking his head and cleared his throat.

“I wasn’t a boy scout like you, thank you very much. I’m an indoors queen. I never got the nature call”

“At least the last days, to watch me perform with the kids…getting a tan by the lake…make out in the woods” he lured him shimming his shoulders and raising his brows repeatedly. Shane felt a shiver down his spine as the memory of their last time in the woods was coming back.

“We’ll see, I can’t promise you anything” he replied being mysterious.

Shane was focusing on his lips on the screen. He kept licking them because of the dry weather.

“I can promise you the best marshmallows you ever eaten.”

Jamin observed him embracing his knees, the sweetest smile on his face.

“You play dirty”

*

The last time Shane was in summer camp he was still a kid. And this was the first thing he realized when he stepped out of his sister’s car into Kidville’s summer camp. The place was huge and surrounded by a forest, it was way fancier than what he recalled. There were cabins for the different age groups, and a main house for dining, lounging and internet connection. No wonder kids these days didn’t know how to do anything. They would comfortably get into the wild.

The other thing Shane came to notice, was that he was surrounded by straight people. And it’s been a long time since he was exposed to so many of them. The counselors were curious about his experience on TV, and how their gay friends watch the show and how cool drag was. Carefully being condescending and observing if he was going to magically transform into a woman.

The counselor for more physical activities such as taking the kids to the woods to show them scout tricks was impressed how he still knew all the tricks. The water activities instructor invited him to help with the kids on the second day. He was rusty in the beginning, but his childhood as competitive swimmer paid off.

A week later and Shane was the kids favorite. Mister Galligan was cool, because he always let them past the time in the lake. He watched Fantasia with the band kids and talked about the history of each song.

His favorite counselor was Dana. She was the drama teacher and her husband was the coach of the baseball team in the school. She looked like Melissa McCarty but with bright red hair. It was late at night and they were at the dinner table in the main house. Shane was helping her doing the dishes, drying what she was washing with a dishcloth.

“Let me finish these. I have some chocolate cake that I sneaked in from the city. It’s in the drawer” she winked at him taking the dishcloth from Shane’s hands.

He picked the cake and sat on the table, setting a plate for her. He was eating almost a whole piece, putting his foot on the chair next to him. They were alone so he could relax.

“Oh, you can eat mine” she said joining him on the table and noticing the plate he made for her. “I bought this by impulse. Brian would sniff the chocolate from a mile”

Brian was the husband. He seemed like a nice guy but every time Shane got near him he felt like he had a mission like Miss Vida in “To wong foo”. Dana didn’t sound unhappy but their relationship was a little bit off lately from what he captured in their late-night conversations.

“You’re gorgeous. You both should eat the cake and enjoy life” he answered cutting one more slice. She observed him giggling as Shane checked Jamin’s last messages. “I was trying to go on a diet but my boyfriend is the one to ruin it. I sent a piece of this ridiculous cake to him. He is awful”

Even though everyone there knew he was gay Shane could swear Meg’s face changed every time he mentioned him.

“Oh, you haven’t showed me a picture of him yet!”

Shane searched in the mess of his cell for pic of Jamin, but he didn’t have many. The best one was taken in a sneaky way, he was sitting on the kitchen’s table staring at his laptop all concentrated. One of the few pictures that he wasn’t making any stupid faces.

“Wow, he is a stud!” she nodded while Shane zoomed the picture.

“He is. But he doesn’t know and he is always escaping from pictures, which is not fair since he is a professional photographer and he takes pictures of me all the fucking time”

She softly chuckled but with a sour taste in her mouth. She couldn’t even remember the last time Brian noticed her enough to take pictures of her.

“How long have you guys been together?” she shook off the feelings focusing on the happiness of her new friend.

“We’ve been friends for almost twelve years, but in a relationship for a year. It still sounds weird every time I think about it but I’ll get used to it eventually.”

“Brian was my high school boyfriend, my first…everything”

“Oh” Shane uttered. “That happens quite often with girls, right? You seem like you were the high school sweethearts”

“We were and somehow still are. And now our kids are becoming teenagers and ugh, sometimes it feels like we never left school”

Shane observed her grabbing a piece of cake and eating it.

“You go, girl. But it’s so good, right? The kids are so great…I don’t know if it’s because I connect with their chaotic train of thought. You get used to artificial lights you forget that there is brightness outside…”

“I would kill for some artificial lights. And make up. And glamour.” she spoke full mouth forking the cake again to retrieve another slice.

“Girl, I can arrange that in a minute. We need a makeover day. I guess…we’re always craving for new places. New platforms.”

“That’s the fuel of being an artist, right?” she shrugged and swallowed another piece, clueless about the answer for the question Shane had in mind the whole time.

*

Shane kept in touch with Jamin constantly but it wasn’t easy since they only had internet connection in the main house, and the activities drained him off a lot. He was helping the band kids, the swimming team and Dana with the costumes for her presentation. He had no idea how useful he could be in that environment.

Week two was over fast.

He was finally tanned, a darker shade and a healthy glow not just burning red serving tourist realness.  His freckles were popping out and his dreads were suffering with the different humidity. He dropped the pounds he wanted to lose just with the constant exercising.

Time was passing by so fast it surprised him. It was good to wake up and having a routine. He didn’t have a plane to catch. Opposite to people’s conceptions, the earth was way gentler than being in the clouds. At the end of each day he didn’t have tips, but the rewards were there. Every time Katie lit up getting the right note.

Week three was there.

Jamin turned down his invitation because Acid was booked the whole weekend. It was Proud month and Shane was aware he was swimming against the tide. He didn’t have high expectations he would come but he was slightly sad.  He really wanted to share this happiness with him.

“Jim, you have to go from G to E minor slowly, the tempo is not right yet. I’m going to play again and you just follow me”

Shane was with the band practicing in the main house. They had a small studio with a lovely view for the forest in a glass wall. Jim was the oldest one and the pianist, fourteen years old and seemed completely done for the day. Shane was sitting by his side showing the correct notes and he was rolling his eyes.

“Mister Galligan, can I go? All the kids already left…the art workshop will start in ten minutes and it’s across the field…”

Shane stopped playing defeated. He was being nip picky and he didn’t want to go full mode neurotic. He smiled and made a gesture for him to go.

“Thaaaaaank you!” he pleaded relieved almost running to grab his backpack. “Aren’t you coming? Today we’re having a new teacher!”

Shane didn’t seem interested collecting the sheets from them piano support but when he heard new teacher his stomach swirled, and before he turned his back a familiar voice entered the room.

“I heard Mr. Galligan was holding the band members as hostages so I came to rescue them”

Jamin was there, hands on waist, wearing classic dad bermuda shorts, backpack on his left shoulder and from what Shane noticed full of art supplies.

“Are you the assistant of Mrs. Holland? I’m Jim!” the boy offered him a hand and Jamin exchanged glances with Shane that was clearly trying to contain his excitement.

“Yeah, I’m Jamin. Please, don’t need the mister”

They greeted each other and Jim was waiting for them to walk him to the class. Shane was too hypnotized with the new assistant to react.

“Er, Jim can you wait outside some minutes while I help Mr…Galligan with the- uh, - he looked around but everything was pretty tied up.

“I’m going to give him his schedule and catching him up a bit” Shane finally reacted pushing the kid gently across the room.

He closed the door behind them and Jamin was already him pushing Shane against the door for a kiss that almost swiped his mouth off.  Jim heard the thump noise outside but continued playing with his cellphone.

Jamin’s arms were around him and his lips latched on his neck as his hands explored his lower back and pulled him grabbing hard his ass to squeeze him further against the door. Jamin was nuzzling his ear on the line of his jawline and planting small kisses, “You smell like sunscreen…and your skin is so warm. I was freezing at home…” he paused to kiss him again slowly, and when he disconnected he looked deep into his eyes, and whispered opening a huge smile, “Mr. Galligan”

Shane giggled with his arms around his shoulder.

“The only place I’m taken seriously”

Then he adjusted Jamin’s glasses that were all crooked and kept staring at him like he was going to fade away any moment.

“I had to reschedule a lot so you owe me many things, this is not for free, bitch. We have two days left for perfect marshmallows, sunlight and hopefully making out in the woods”

Shane was shaking his head feeling sorry.

“Yeaaah, about that. The woods are so guarded here they have rangers and the older kids are camping these days” he pouted. Jamin wasn’t ready to give in.

“Make it work” he demanded slapping Shane’s ass lightly and getting out of his embrace. “Your student is outside and apparently I have a class too. This is so weird”

Shane laughed exasperated. Was this really happening?

“You’re going to be fine. You’re a mysterious kid whisperer. And they’re great here. Just stay away from the Yellow group. They are the third graders and that’s the worst age, I hope my nieces and Ally never grow up”

They left the room to find Jim outside thankfully oblivious of their quick come back make out.

*

Jamin grew up in artificial places. Not that he hated nature, it was nature that provided the inspiration to create his own alternative vision of the world and himself. Acid Betty was untamed in so many levels, always strutting fierce in the wilderness of the night. He had few memories of summer camp, but growing in California and then going to London sort of shun him away from the typical American suburban rituals.

He was the assistant of the main art teacher. She was in her early twenties, typical art student with pink hair and tattoos and a lot of pretentious talk. They were teenagers and they seemed more interested in her hair and Jamin’s piercings than painting techniques. But when they started working, Jamin felt a strange fulfillment looking at their canvas, they all seemed so similar outside, but each one had a different type of stroke, the color use and drawing line. So unique and inspiring.

Jamin avoided social contact as much as he could, but sometimes it was good to remember the good in people.

The day went by fast and after the class it was lunch break and Dana showed him the place. He barely saw Shane, but his name was brought up constantly, which made him strangely proud. Dana seemed sweet and curious, but discreet. He could feel they were the first gay couple she ever interacted in a deeper level.

It was probably past 3 pm and Jamin needed to recharge his cellphone before the next group activity. Then he saw Shane’s message to meet him by the lake.

Shane: Swimming time is finished here. I’m trying to catch a fish for dinner. I have the marshmallows you bring the wood for the campfire…no sexual innuendo intended. Although, yes please.

Dana was talking to the other counselors and side eyeing Jamin. The blond and tall one with a thick beard seemed to be her husband.

Jamin: Dana is with me and she seems determined to not leave me alone. Thorg, you need to rescue me. I interacted with too many people today. I may collapse.

There was no way he was going to get rid of her so they all went to the lake together. It was their break time, but there was a small group of kids playing with a ball near the pier. Jamin eyed Shane from afar, standing up with his fishing rod and no shoes on by the shore. He was still wet from the swimming competition with the kids and his shorts and a white tank top were glued in his skin. The dreads were mostly out and a portion loose in a messy bun.

As he got closer Shane turned with a smile that was brighter than the sun. He wanted to kiss the top of his shoulder full of freckles but Dana and Brian were behind him, so he just brushed his waist.

“Hi” he warned him of his presence rubbing lightly his back. He could swear Shane was going for a kiss but he also remembered they were not alone nodding for Dana and Brian.

“How was it?” he asked curious, exchanging the glance between Jamin and Dana, but still paying attention to his grip on the fishing rod.

“Oh, it was just great! Jamin gave them Acid Betty cards and the kids couldn’t believe they are the same person”

“I can’t believe it too” added Jamin surprised with himself, and he was unconsciously rubbing Shane’s back in circles.

Brian was trying to not stare at them, as if he was watching his parents kissing.

“Shane, are these for the campfire?” Brian noticed eager the beginning of a campfire by the shore. “Honey, help me fetch some more?” he asked tilting his head for Dana. She buffed aware of his discomfort.

“Sure” she replied not excited at all.

Shane looked at Jamin and made an “ooops” face. Jamin observed the horizon and took a deep breath.

“They are so…. straight” Jamin pondered observing the lake buoys. The lake didn’t seem deep but if they were using these it probably had dangerous spots.

Shane was laughing but trying to not lose focus from the water. “I know, I thought Brian was going to faint if you get any closer…”

“But they know, right? About us? I don’t want to hide even here”

“They know” he reassured him. Jamin observed Shane furrowing his brow looking at the lake but the waters remained untroubled.

“How long have you been here?” he asked sitting down on the pier by his side. He removed his sneakers and to wet his feet. The water was freezing cold, and yet Shane was there and wearing almost nothing. He eyed his legs, the water running making a puddle on the floor.

“Maybe half an hour….” he calculated. “I used to go fishing with dad a lot. But he says I’m too impatient and my trace gets too tense.”

“Well, you can’t have all the abilities in the universe”

Shane rolled his eyes and deep sighed. He stared at the line the sky was full of colors, it looked like one of the canvas of his temporary students.

“Thank you for this. I think we really needed it”

Shane just nodded relieved and Jamin grabbed his bare calf, planting small kisses, Shane shivered with the ticklish sensation. He tasted salty and earthly. Jamin was addicted to his new taste. They stood there in silence just listening to the kids playing with the ball behind them. Shane started humming along a song, until he started the lyrics.

Percussion…strings…winds…words

There you see her

Sitting there across the way

She don’t got a lot to say

But there’s something about her

And you don’t know why

But you’re dying to try…

The Little Mermaid was one of Jamin’s favorite movies. Shane was dancing along until he looked down at Jamin and winked.

“You wanna kiss the girl”

Jamin was trying not to be completely in love with this man but it was an impossible task. Especially when he would hit on him singing The little mermaid and making a perfect impression of Sebastian’s singing voice.

“Stop trying to catch poor Flounder and come here” he grabbed Shane’s calf again.

Shane retrieved the rod giving up and sat by his side.

“You want to be my Eric?” he asked his arm around his shoulder, just like he did when Bob and Lucian were arguing in the taping of Street Meatz.

“Oh my god! You’re that crazy bird, that one that brings Ariel all the human objects!”

He said laughing hard and Shane pinched him lightly.

“Bitch!”

They heard an “Uh-hum” sound behind them and Brian and Dana were there for god knows how long.

“The wood is there but we’re leaving. We’re gathering the other counselors before we start the last activities of the day” Brian said avoiding looking at them.

“Shane, it’s getting late but the kids still want to play so you guys can take them?”

“Sure, we’re just putting these away and we’ll follow you” Shane reassured her. She looked bothered with Brian’s presence.

They left and they started packing up. Shane observed that the kids were throwing the ball quite high. Meggie threw the ball in a one high kick and it landed on the lake. She was positively scared after realizing what happened.

“Mr. Galligan can you pick it up for us?”

The other kids were on the shore ready to jump in but Jamin stopped them. The ball got stuck in some branches on the other side of the shore, in a place full of rocks and moss. Jamin observed him ready to jump in, always cocky.

“Shane, don’t you think it’s better to get the coach?”

“I was swimming back there yesterday” he scoffed jumping in.

They observed his broad strokes until he got there. Everything looked easy and the kids were anxious for him to come back. When he stopped at the shore he retrieved the ball with no effort, it wasn’t stuck, just placed in the branches nest. When he showed them the ball like a trophy Shane lost balance and his expression changed for a smile to pain. The kids gasped.

“Are you okay?!” Jamin yelled worried almost jumping in.

“Yes!” Shane answered but still not moving. “I…slipped and I think I scratched my foot in a pointy rock…” he replied looking down at the water calculating his way back.

“Do you want me to get you?”

In the middle of the question Shane was already swimming back slowly. Jamin knew it couldn’t be something so serious but he was ready to rescue him. When Shane got closer Jamin got in the water to help him. As he was walking out the trail of blood was dyeing the water red.

The kids were shocked and Meggie almost crying. Jamin asked them to make way so he could help Shane to sit on the tree trunk next by the firewood.

“I’m fine, I’m fine…there’s no need to panic. Meggie, I’m fine sweetie. It’s nothing”

“Go get the people from the nursery room. I can take care of him”

The kids followed Meggie.

“I can’t even look at it but it’s burning like…fuck!” he winced as he moved the leg and Jamin winced with him. It was a cut on the bridge of the foot. His knee was scratched too.

“How did you even do this?” Jamin noticed kneeled in front of him. “It was so fast”

“The damn moss is so slippery. When I tried to wave the ball, I lost balance and…”

Jamin was worried about Shane but somehow, he was finding it hilarious.

“Stop laughing, this hurt!” he replied annoyed and Jamin cupped his face for a peck.

“Sorry, sorry…you’re just so cocky…waving that ball like a big hero”

He side hugged him and few minutes the people from the nursery room were there.

*

Shane needed two stiches and had to use a crutch so it wouldn’t hurt to put weight on his leg. He was dismissed from the camp activities the rest of the day but Jamin wasn’t. He slept in the hammock of the main room and dreamed about performing in drag for the kids the other day. It was the best nap he took in months.

He took a long bath and come back to the main house for to meet the other counselors for dinner. He wasn’t expecting to be so distant of Jamin the whole day and they didn’t have individual rooms and Jamin’s bed was far from his. He wondered if they would have any time alone at all. After dinner, they played board games and since there was no alcohol allowed they got sugar high with milkshakes from fresh fruits. He was dying for a beer. He was a creature of the night and Jamin’s presence awake his true habits.

“How’s the foot?” Jamin asked sitting next to him on the table and caressing his thigh. His boot was wrapped in a bandage and his knee still red from the scratch. Dana observed them with a sweet smile across the table.

“I probably will have to chop it off” he joked dramatically. It was stinging but the painkiller was kicking in smoothly.

“Do you want another milkshake?” Jamin asked feeling sorry for him. Shane was looking at him as if he was the dessert he wanted to drink in.

“Um, can you find a shot of whiskey and beer?”

Jamin chuckled, his hand going inside Shane’s thigh a bit more.

“Yes? Thousands of miles from here in Brooklyn?” he replied grabbing harder and then standing giving a soft tap. He got up to get more.

Shane sighed frustrated observing his ass in those daddy shorts. Shane felt Dana’s eyes on him the whole time until she finally joined him.

“Are you okay?”

He chuckled. He got balloons of get well, flowers, and people couldn’t stop asking if he was okay apparently.

“I am in-credible. It looks more serious than it really is”

She seemed like she wanted to confess something. She was acting weird the minute Jamin arrived.

“Shane, I’m sorry I-I” she stuttered trying to find the words.

Oh boy, Here we go, he thought.

“I’m acting crazy around you and Jamin, I know I’m staring. I’m just, ugh! I miss this. The way you look at each other. You’re just so full of passion…and Brian, please don’t be bothered with him. He is awkward with people in general”

Shane didn’t know what to answer because it was the first time someone ever said this to him. He realized that all his previous relationships weren’t exactly goals for anyone. And being in a place like that the magnifying glass was on them.

“Girl, just relax… I…we just really happy that we’re here. Thank you for this. And you need to surprise Brian, you need to find each other again. Drop by tomorrow before the kids concert, let’s dress up a bit. You’ll feel renewed”

She opened a big smiled and hugged him profusely.

*

It was late and Jamin was laid on the hammock in the balcony outside, rocking it peacefully. It was a big lounging area, lit only by the stars and the light coming from the living room. Shane’s violin soloist asked him for a private rehearsal since they couldn’t practice and he was waiting him to come back. The silence was luring him to sleep. The city is always so noisy that his ears were getting used to the bucolic environment.

Jamin was sure it was almost midnight, and he was drowsy, limbs sore from the full day. He wanted Shane to come back, and just the thought of him in that pier was enough to make him warm. He felt slowly being taken by the slumber when he saw Shane’s silhouette was forming in front of him. He wondered if it was a dream, but he was very vivid leaning his crutch on the wall and indicating that he was going to join him on the hammock.

It was big but enough for the two of them but they needed to adjust positions. Shane was side laying, his hurt leg over Jamin’s as he used the free leg on on the floor to rock them slowly.

Shane started kissing his neck with no rush, as his hand traveled across his chest. Jamin deep sighed relieved and side kissing him. His hands reached for Shane’s cheek, and his fingers dug his dreads, languid caressing his scalp. Shane’s hands were clutching down his belly searching for the button of his shorts.

“I was going to ask…” Jamin was trying to talk but Shane was rubbing him over the shorts and he couldn’t even finish his thought. “There’s still people in the living room” he warned him panting heavily.

Shane wasn’t in the mood for talking and reached for Jamin’s earlobe nibbling at it. Jamin was feeling Shane’s erection growing on the side of his leg and it was making his cock twitch by the second. He missed him like crazy and he smelled so different. As if all these days in the woods changed the texture of his skin, that mix of sunscreen and his natural musk was driving him insane.

“I asked Dana to watch the door…” he whispered grinding harder on his leg.

Jamin guided his hand to grab his bulge and wiped his mouth in a kiss. Shane’s fast fingers reached for Jamin’s cock and started to pump it, he was a bit surprised with how stiff it was and giggled looking down. They could hear people talking really close to them, Shane then spit on hand and raised his brows. Jamin was always surprised how he could change from adorable to slut in a minute. When he started pumping him more precisely with the natural lube, he let go a loud grunt and Shane continued focusing on the pace and circling the tip with his thumb, making Jamin squirm a bit. The precum was already forming. Jamin was so close it was ridiculous, he needed to hold it back but Shane was definitely inspired.

“Slow down a bit, Jesus…”Jamin asked whispering inside his mouth and Shane stopped laughing and cupped his face for kiss.

“Someone has been missing me…” he teased him grinding harder on the side of his leg.

“Sit…on the armchair” he commanded trying to catch an even breath.

“For a minute I thought you were going to ask me to sit on your face” he replied giggling.

“I wish we could have time and a healthy leg for it” he raised his brows considering it.

There was an armchair in the back of the place but Shane was so comfortable where he was. But Jamin was already moving to be up. He stood up and helped him walk with the crutch to get to the chair. They both laughed of the situation.

“Horny people are determined” Shane commented skipping with one leg.

Shane landed on the chair like a rock and before he started making jokes Jamin was hovering on him kissing his chest and going down to place himself between his legs. He pulled the waistband of Shane’s black and white oversized pants and he remembered all the times they were lose on the taping of Drag Race. Shane lift his butt to help him wincing with the pain, Jamin tried to be more gentle.

“Don’t stop” Shane reassured him.

Jamin continued kissing his crotch and belly as his hand started pumping him, and Shane arched his back sliding on the chair. Jamin kissed his bruised knee and then he was holding the base of his cock to slowly taking him in. Jamin put Shane’s injured leg over his shoulder pushing him down by the hips.

“Fuck!” he let go feeling his tongue inside of him and Jamin went deeper. He tried to looked back but he couldn’t see anything. It was too late. Anyone hat would bust in would see him with legs up in the air with his boyfriend giving him a rimjob.

His voice was fading away as Jamin inserted two fingers inside of him and licking his balls, going up and down exploring his whole length. He couldn’t stop moaning and grabbed the top Jamin’s head, holding his curls like a leash, which make him finger him even harder.

Shane was panting like there wasn’t any air left in the room and he knew he was close and he knew he was getting loud.

“Choke me…” Jamin’s hand reached fast for his neck, making him knocking his head slightly against the wall. He felt sparkles running through his legs and his body curling up as he emptied himself completely in Jamin’s mouth, he didn’t retrieve, his other hand still around his neck. Jamin finally slid out of him swallowing it completely, he caressed his neck that had light red fingerprints and Shane leaned forward to kiss him and reaching for his cock.  In the motion he hurt his foot a bit when he put the leg on the ground.

“Ouch!” he complained and Jamin winced with him, and Shane cleaned what have poured from his mouth with his finger, using it lube Jamin’s cock. Jamin opened a huge smile with his dirty cleverness. He was still on his knees between Shane’s legs.

They were listening to the people in the room talking about the activities of the other day and they both started laughing, but Shane didn’t stop pumping him, and his smile quickly melted into a half open mouth full of desire.

“I can see the headlines…Gays defile summer camp, is this the America that you want?” Jamin teases standing up and pulling down his pants just enough so Shane can finish him off.

Shane takes him all in quickly and with an impressive agility sucks him enthusiastically. His foot was probably hurting like hell but he didn’t min. After a few thrusts, he came hard making Shane gag a little but he didn’t pull away. Jamie peaked at the glass window in front of him, the wind was hitting the curtains and people could easily see him. Shane continued licking him off and kissing his shaft, kissing the sides and going up and down to finish with a peck on the tip.

Jamin leaned down to kiss him already putting his pants back on again, closing his fly and helping Shane to put his pants back on. He helped him standing up and they both fixed each other’s clothes and hair, but they managed to not make much of mess. Shane was still coughing a bit and his neck had finger marks on.

“Soooorry!” Jamin said chuckling while rubbing gently his cheek and neck, Shane picked up a scarf he brought and covered his neck with it. “I think I was feeling my porn actress oats too much…” he giggled skipping-walking with one leg.

“Always cocky…” Jamin squeezed his waist helping him.

When they got back there was only Dana and two other counselors in the room. Dana exchanged a meaningful look with Shane.

“I think we lost track of time and took a nap in hammock”

He explained what nobody asked. Dana eyed Jamin’s reddish knees and he noticed avoiding their eyes meeting.

*

The kids from the band were nervous, but Shane was making sure they were going to be amazing. He was probably more nervous than them, but Jamin calmed him down.

The song chosen was “The heart asks pleasure first” from The Piano movie. There was nothing to be orchestrated but Shane stood in front of them conducting their tempo. He was wearing formal slacks and a dress shirt, drag was off the question since his leg was injured and he only brought high pumps. One classic black shoe and the other feet still in a bandage. Jamin was sitting front row observing all his crazy playing faces. Waving his maestro baton and leaning his body on the crutch. As he watched them playing and seeing the happiness exuding from Shane he knew there was nothing better to be taken away completely by something that you love. The music took Shane, and Jamin was gladly part of the notes.

When they finished everyone applauded standing up in ovation and Shane bowed to them, locking his gaze in Jamin. He had tears in his eyes.

*

Later after the camp goodbye they were sitting on the deck drinking some beers with their foot on the water. Shane put Leon Bridges on his phone playing, and the gentle guitar soaring, his cotton voice echoing.

“We don’t have this in Brooklyn…” Shane realized looking at the sunset.

“You know, you really have to continue with this. Playing for kids. Conducting. Watching you there was…incredible” he reached for his hand and Shane squeezed back. He looked down laughing and shaking his head.

“I fucked up many notes, but who cares right?” he shrugged and took one more sip. Jamin agreed and they clinked bottles. “I love you”

He uttered still looking at the sunset. It wasn’t a desperate confession or a realization. Just a reminder of simple things.

“I love you too” Jamin answered taking a sip of his beer and kissing the palm of Shane’s hand. They stayed there until the sun set down completely, all the colors melting into blue velvet. The memories still safe and vivid in their minds.

They would carry them to Brooklyn.