#and she said yes. and the lady running the kid’s craft corner thing was like ‘great you’re doing a craft now’

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

I love learning ASL it’s so good. Makes me happy to learn it. I’m so glad my university has classes for it with professors actually steeped in Deaf culture.

[awkwardwithapause263]

Spoilers for Episode 7 of Mayfair Witches if you haven’t watched.

I was right when I said his boss was involved and many someones were right when they voted yes on the poll about whether Rowan was pregnant.

Is Lasher going to possess Rowan’s baby? Is the ancient prophecy to bring forth him in a physical body? What’s gonna happen to her once she fulfills this prophecy? Will Lasher let her be killed like he did with Antha and Deirdre? Will he kill her?

I’m sorry but I still wouldn’t summon Lasher to avenge Tessa. She got herself into that situation and I wouldn’t condemn myself to whatever Lasher has planned.

But I guess Rowan feels responsible because she didn’t wait for everyone else like she was suppose to(effectively getting herself into the situation she’s now in and the consequences that’ll no doubt follow.) and she didn’t killed them all when she did go in(also I feel like she couldn’t wait because they were about to burn Tessa alive.)

I hope the family realizes Lasher sacrificed Tessa for his end goal(as he has no doubt sacrificed many over the centuries.)

What was that lady talking about woman to woman? I know Tessa said it first, but she’s a kid and did that woman really think killing her would do any real damage to the Mayfairs? They’d still have money and influence (the very thing that caused that woman to lose her job). If anything killing her would turn all that money and influence toward them in a worst way and anyways losing her job and her insurance was greed not witchcraft

I hope Keith is running in fear for his life. I was like good that’s what you get bitch. I wouldn’t want to be him when Rowan catches up to him.

It looks like Ciprien is going to touch the mask from episode one. Maybe we’ll finally see what happened. What Cortland did and how Patrick died.

Is Ciprien going to be wiped from the record? Or did they splice the scenes of the blind secretary and Odette together to make it seem like it’s something it’s not?

Seems like Jojo is going to find out what’s up with Cortland and maybe what’s going on overall.

I wouldn’t take Lasher’s hand if it was the only way out of any situation. I mean like him but I also wouldn’t I want anyone to go with him.

Maybe add more.

Don’t like the fact Dolly Jean told Cortland Rowan’s pregnant. That wasn’t her business.

I find the fact Cortland keeps calling Rowan cher aggravating. 

If Arlo had survived he would have gotten a rude awakening when he found out law enforcement and other companies/corporations/entities use witches. Even if they don’t and woman still succeed it just means they more than likely put in 3x the more/better work than their male counterparts.

Do you call the corners? Motherfucker was talking about the craft.

Does Lasher carry out Rowan’s wishes, will or desire? Because they keep switching terminology.

When Lasher says she let you go because you served your purpose he makes it sound like Rowan knew what would happen with the whole pregnancy thing which she certainly did not.

Ciprien should have been really concerned when his boss started talking about past chapters killing agents that intervened. He should have flung himself out the the passenger side. I don’t think he would have gotten too hurt according to him they weren’t going that fast.

His boss is a hypocrite.

Did Rowan mess with Cortland’s ALS? Because if she did that would parallel with Louis messing with Daniel’s Parkinson’s

[embearsilly]

Hello! Call me Anarchy Anon! Take your time with this please. Can you maybe do a c! SBI + platonic husbands that are all exploring the nether and they find "The NetherVoid" Also find the "Quartress" Then Tommy drags Tubbo and Ranboo to the "Quartress" to steal stuff, but Blaze Empress reader caches them and about to send blaze guards, but Philza (first one to realize the trio was gone) stopped reader and reader recognized Phil [because he is a old and good friend of hers] {Season 4 Lore}

Don’t Steal From The Empress

Ooooooooh, this is such a cool idea! Also, hello new anon, could I have your pronouns please! I changed it up a bit. Hope its to your liking.

Pronouns - She/her

Warnings - slight explicit language, small mention of nsfw (just saying that someone got busy and nothing else)

The sickening humid air flowed around the crimson dimension. The heat is almost unbearable unless you are used to it.

Loud footsteps rang out around the blonde as he ran through the large nether fortress, two pairs following close behind.

“Tommy! Wait up!” The ram hybrid called after the blonde haired boy. Ranboo followed after the two, close behind his husband, Tubbo.

The blonde skillfully weaved around the monsters which roamed the hall of the fortress, the other two struggling to keep up.

After around a few minutes of non-stop running the blonde boy finally came to a halt. Tubbo was the first to reach Tommy while Ranboo was huffing and puffing behind them, trying to catch his breath.

“Tommy,” Tubbo paused, letting out a huge breath of air before he continued, “where are we going.”

The blonde gave the hybrid his signature innit grin before he began to speak, “Well yesterday I was exploring the nether void and was messing around when I found something that was almost as cool as a big man here.”

Tommy began to mine away at the ground when all of a sudden he dropped down into the abyss. Ranboo let out a gasp while Tubbo looked down the hole noticing the boy falling onto a white thing down below. Tubbo glanced at Ranboo before jumping in, Ranboo following after.

When they soon were greeted with a large white fortress which they fell on top of, no it was more castle than a fortress. It’s quartz walls stood around thirty blocks tall, a tower on each corner. In the center of it stood a large castle with towers on all corners of that as well. In front of them was a beautifully crafted bridge that hung over the lava.

The two husbands looked on in awe at the castle, I mean they had seen amazing builds before but nothing like this, it was marvelous.

“What, who's is it?” Questioned the enderman. Tommy shrugged his shoulders and continued down the path leading towards the kingdom.

Tubbo noted the two guards standing at the entrance of the large doors, they were tall and looked buff.

“Tommy don’t you think this might be a tad bit dangerous,” Ranboo’s  tail flicked from side to side as he continued, “I mean what if these people aren’t friendly, we might be killed.”

Tommy let out an annoyed huff, “Has that ever stopped me before?” he questioned.

“Look, I have a plan! We sneak in there, find some shiny things, borrow them and get out of there.” Tubbo raised a brow at the ‘borrow’ part.

“Are you going to be returning what you ‘borrowed’.” Tubbo air quoted when he spoke.

“No."

“Then that’s not borrowing. It’s stealing Tommy.” Tommy rolled his eyes and glanced at the guards.

“Look, I promise nothing bad is going to happen, okay? We get I and then we get out! kapeesh?”

Ranboo and Tubbo glanced at each other, going with what the other would say.

“Okay, we're in.” Tommy pumped his fist in the air. “Let’s goooooo.”

Tommy struggled against the grip of the guard, he was much shorter than them.

“Let go of us, and we won’t tell the great Technoblade about this!” The guard only let out a small chuckle as he led Tommy to a larger room.

Behind Tommy was Ranboo and Tubbo who were being forced to go the same way as he was going.

Ranboo was panicking, his heart beat picking up to high speeds. Tubbo placed his hand on Ranboo’s shoulder, “Everything is going to be okay."

They were led into a large room, which Ranboo believed to be the throne room possibly due to the large throne which stood at the end of the room.

As they made it down the hall Ranboo began to make out the person sitting on the throne.

She stood around nine feet tall, maybe taller than that. Around her were 3 pairs of arms on either side of her, they weren’t attached to her body which made Ranboo wonder how she could move them. Around her arms were the regular blaze rods which circled around her.

Her crown looked like antlers; it was a crimson red. She was a sight to behold. Her dress.

Standing beside her throne were two guards, the one on her right had their mouth gaped open and the one on her left had a smile on their face, they stood around 9 feet.

The woman narrowed her eyes when she spotted the boys coming down the hall, standing up to her full height. She was actually thirteen feet tall, making her tower over the enderman and the others.

When they finally came to a stop the four guards kneeled in front of the empress. She glared at the three boys before drifting over to them.

Ranboo stared in awe when he made eye contact with her, she snarled, "I didn’t think that the Ender King would send one of his own kin to die, oh wait I forgot he already did that to every single one of his subjects, now the only ones left live in the overworld and here in the nether. He was too greedy, he wanted every biome and dimension in his world, he instead fucked it all up and caused a mass extinction.” her voice echoed around them.

“You talk too much, woman.” She narrowed her eyes at the blonde and growled, “You were caught stealing, and I do not-"

“We weren’t stealing, we were just borrowing.” The Empress let out a thunderous laugh.

“A thief and a liar, now what I was about to say, thieves in my kingdom are given the penalty of death.” Ranboo’s heart stopped.

“Now how would-“ she was interrupted by a loud voice, “Y/n! Stop!” The empress lifted her head trying to locate the source of the voice, when she saw it.

“Philza Minecraft,” she called out, he flew down the hall and landed in front of her, bowing his head in respect.

Phil had been brewing some potions with Techno when he noticed something was off.

“Techno. Does something seem a tad bit off to you mate?” Techno paused for a moment before shaking his head no.

“I think today has turned out to be a good day though, its been a while since we’ve had one of those.” Phil nodded before returning to brewing.

All of a sudden he let out a loud gasp making the pigeon hybrid jump slightly.

“The boys!”

“Y/n L/n, s’been a while.” he let out a small chuckle. He glanced at the boys shooting them a ‘we’ll talk when we get home’ look.

“We can talk in a few moments. I'm in the middle of something if you can’t see.” she glanced back at the boys.

Phil put his hands up in front of him, “Yeah, I noticed, but I have to interrupt you with this. I can’t let you execute them,” he let out a loud huff, “they’re mine."

The empress raised a brow, “They are your kids, I would have never known, I mean the blonde here shows no manners, and is a liar. The next one here is a ram hybrid and the other an enderman hybrid.”

“Yes, yes I know. The blonde is my son, the other two are his friends.” She let out a small chuckle, “For a moment I thought you had a way with the ladies."

“I must apologize for the three of them, if you may spare them and punish them some other way.” She raised a brow and let out a sigh.

“As long as they return what they have stolen and apologize, I will give them no punishment.” The blonde cringed slightly at the thought of apologizing to her.

The other two apologized right away while it took Tommy a bit more to get himself to apologize.

“Thank you Y/n,” Phil dipped his head for her. “We will meet again soon.” she nods a goodbye before taking her place on her throne once more.

Once they had been escorted out of the kingdom Phil had smacked all three of them on the back of the head. “What were you idiots thinking.” he placed his hand on his head, “My god you three could’ve died if I didn’t show up.”

“We had it under control.” The blonde whined, “No we didn’t.” the other two said in unison."

“You guys are supposed to have my back on these kinds of things.” Tommy let out an annoyed huff.

Let's just say that they were all grounded.

[mingoyeob-archive]

omg hey, if not done yet, can we please have 51 + jk? also take your time for part 3, no need to rush and stress about it, you're an amazing writer and good work always takes time 💜

under the oak tree drabble game ⚔️🌳 to make up for my delayed release of part 3 of under the oak tree i’ve decided to do a drabble game!

omg thank you for being so kind 🥲 I wanna end under the oak tree in a good way so I've just been pushing it off until I come up with something thats not a complete disappointment?? but I'm hoping these drabbles give you guys more time to enjoy the characters! hope you like it :)

51. “I can’t help the fact that I’m so goddamn moody all the freaking time” | jjk x reader ft yoongi | word count: 2k

The castle was eerily quiet.

Most days it would be loud with the sound of footsteps and the banging of mugs hitting wood tables followed by the clanking of cutlery. However today, no one seemed to want to make a peep; they were as quiet as a mouse. Unlike everyone else who found the lack of noise peculiar, Yoongi enjoyed it - reveled in it, flourished in it even. Nothing made him happier than being able to sit and enjoy his daily morning, afternoon and evening naps and it made studying all the damn protection spells Jungkook wanted for the castle a hell of a lot easier. But there was one thing that threatened his new paradise, a looming cloud over his glorious fantasy, the grey cloud that he called Jeon Jungkook.

Now Jungkook was never one to be in an especially chipper mood, at least not around most people that is (you on the other hand, seemed to be a completely different story). Yoongi distinctly remembers seeing baby pictures of the lad when he was just a baby with a scowl etched permanently on his face under bushy dark brows. He often found it comical. Here was this lumbering idiot, with a silver spoon practically being shoved in his mouth, the glorious savior of the kingdom, but he was walking around as if his favorite horse had died (which it hadn’t, he checked). It was really starting to get on his nerves.

“Kid, you’ve gotta stop scaring the men. I swore I saw one of them shit themselves the other day.” Yoongi said from beside Jungkook. Currently they sat side by side in the great hall, feasting on bowls of hearty beef stew, the kind with giant chunks of meat and half haphazardly chopped vegetables covered in a thick and glorious gravy. Hmm my favorite Yoongi hummed to himself, eyes slipping shut as he drank up the delicious broth with a loud slurping sound. His spoon made a loud clanging sound against his bowl when he dropped it back down, wiping his mouth to shift his gaze back over to the scowling man to his left. “You know if I were you I would be jumping for joy. You’re filthy fucking rich, whats to be sad about huh?”

Jungkook didn’t even let out his usual grunt in response, opting to continue swirling his spoon around in his stew while glaring down at it as if it had wronged him in some way. But the sudden sound of one the knights from across the hall laughing had him snapping his head up to send a growl over to the group of men which had them instantly silencing themselves, ducking down to continue silently eating their food. Yoongi watched the exchange with amusement, “Yeah you definitely need to get laid.”

Jungkook raised his hand to swing at him to which Yoongi merely stopped with a spell, not even bothering to look at him while he took another spoonful of his food. He knew Jungkook would never try to purposefully hurt him if he knew Yoongi couldn’t protect himself, so this was just considered normal playful banter between the two men. “That’s enough, Yoongi.” He mumbled angrily, dropping his fist to bang against the table. The noise gained the attention of everyone in the dining hall, but none of them dared to turn their heads to look at the commotion, afraid the Duke would redirect his anger towards them. “I can’t help the fact that I’m so goddamn moody all the freaking time.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, you know, that's what tends to happen when you don’t get any for a while.” Yoongi sighed and leaned his hand against his hand, gazing pitifully at Jungkook. He noticed the slight twinge of confusion on Jungkooks face and decided to reiterate himself, “It’s called blue balls idiot.”

Jungkook nearly choked on his spit. Yoongi was never one to mince words and this time was no different, but still his blunt words caught him off guard. “Would you keep it down!” Jungkook seethed, whipping his head around to see if anyone had overheard the topic of their conversation. It’s not like he was scared of anyone mocking him (everyone knew better than that) but still, he didn’t need the whole castle knowing that him and his wife still hadn’t had sex yet since he’d been back.

Yes, you heard him correctly. Jungkook had been back for almost three months and you and him still hadn’t even so much as touched each other intimately. Sure they had a few passionate kisses and lust filled embraces here and there which had left your neck bruised with hickies, but outside of that, neither of you had even dared roaming a hand south of the border. He didn’t know why he hadn’t tried it, perhaps it was because he wanted to make sure you were ready this time, instead of forcing himself on you like last time. He wanted to be positive that you enjoyed yourself as much as he did, wanted to bring you to new heights that made you absolutely euphoric. But until you were comfortable with him enough to let him do so, he would stick to his hand and the dirty images that he had conjured up in his head.

“I know what blue balls are, Yoongi. But I’m perfectly fine with how mine and y/n’s relationship is going.” he mumbled, glaring at the sorcerer. “And I don’t need you meddling in my love life so why don’t you just go and frolic with that stable boy like you do and leave me be.”

Yoongi let out a noise of disagreement, throwing his hands up in annoyance, “How many times do I have to tell you, me and hoseok are not frolicking or whatever the hell you’re into-” Jungkooks foot kicked his leg under the table causing him to let out a hiss but nonetheless he continued, “You can’t keep waiting for her to make the first move. Y/n is a lady and a lady from Aster at that. Those chicks never make the first move.”

Jungkook grumbled and pushed his bowl away from him then sipped at his ale in contemplation. Perhaps Yoongi was right, maybe it was time for him to make the first move. “But how can I make sure she’s ready? What if I fuck up like last time?” he questioned, not bothering to hide the genuine concern in his voice.

The sorcerer just sighed, patting Jungkook on the shoulder, “Trust me, kid. If you fucked up, she wouldn’t still be here. And judging by the noises I heard last time, I’m pretty sure she enjoyed herself.” yoongi shuddered. No more late night walks through the hall he promised himself. “Just try to do something nice for her this time. Don’t just throw her around, take it easy. Try and lighten the mood, understand?”

Jungkook was quiet for a second, the gears turning in his head. When he finally seemed to come to a conclusion, he grunted and nodded his head. The corner of Yoongi's lips tilted up in a satisfied smile and he clapped the man on the shoulder, “Thatta boy!”

Immediately after dinner, Jungkook went to the kitchen to request the finest meats, cheeses and artfully crafted desserts they had along with the sweetest wine the chef could find. The kitchen staff were practically shaken in their boots when the Duke had first walked into the room, afraid they had done something to mess up his dinner. But when they saw how shy yet dedicated the man seemed to be (despite how much he had tried to hide it) they were more than happy to help him, promising him that they would do their best. Jungkook gave them a monotonous thanks and had practically run out the room, up the steps and to the bed chamber. He had a lot to do in a short amount of time.

“I am pooped!” You groaned, complaining to Seokjin about how much work you had done today while walking through the hard stone halls of the castle. You had spent most of today working in the library, learning and going over the finances with Seokjin so you could finally start taking on more of your ‘wifely duties’ and relieving him of some of the burden. “I’m still not sure how the conversion from pences to shillings works. Or is it shillings to pences? Ah, oh well.”

Seokjin merely rolled his eyes as he walked beside you, hands clasped behind his back in his usual gentlemanly fashion. “Yes my lady you did work very hard today. I do believe it is time for you to get a good night's rest so we can start again in the morning.” You whined at his words, stopping as you finally reached the door of your bed chambers. Seokjn just let out a small chuckle at your over the top theatrics, “Have a goodnight Y/n.”

You had returned his well wishes, sending him a beaming smile and wave as he walked back down the hallway. Once he was out of sight you turned back towards the door hand reaching out to grasp the knob. But before you got a chance to even touch the brass door handle, the mahogany swung open in front of you, your tall husband's looming figure instantly coming into sight. “Oh hello!” you greeted, surprised by the fact that he seemed to be waiting for your arrival.

Jungkook just stared at you, is he blushing? You asked yourself. The man didn’t say anything, just stepped out of the way and gestured for you to enter. You thought the whole exchange was weird and cautiously stepped around him, not expecting the sight that awaited you.

You let out a gasp, hand flying up to cover your mouth in shock as you surveyed the room. Almost every inch of the place was covered in the most beautiful and fragrant rose petals, the room lit up from the fireplace he had going across the room. Delicious food and desserts covered the tables so much of it that you had no idea how he expected you to finish it all. “Jungkook, what is all this?” you said, whipping around to look at him as he continued to stand by the entrance, stiff as a board.

He ducked his head, hands coming up to fidget as he nervously looked around the room. “Do you like it?” he asked, finally daring to meet your gaze. “I had Yoongi help me. He said you might like all this...or whatever.”

Your irises were practically lit up with admiration, eyes shining with pure undulated joy. You couldn’t believe he had done all of this for you. “Of course I like it! I mean- I love it! But what did I do to deserve this?”

Jungkook just furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, finally crossing the room to cradle your cheek and stare into your eyes affectionately. “What do you mean deserve this? I love you, y/n. I would give you the whole world if I could.”

His words had your eyes tearing up and you brought a hand up to gently hold the one he had placed on your cheek. Your head turned, placing a peck against the calloused skin of his palm as you returned his gaze, letting your eyes show just how thankful you were. “Jungkook...I love you too.” you whispered, watching as his face seemed to light up with your confession.

The rest of the night was spent dining on the luxurious food the kitchen had prepared, mouths full as you whispered sweet nothings to each other and spilled all of your darkest secrets and happiest moments. And despite the fact that the two of you still hadn’t managed to find your way to the bed or explored the rest of each other's bodies that had laid untouched by one another for quite some time, Jungkook couldn’t find himself to care. He was happy enough to be here at this moment, with you.

Blue balls be damned

[ihaveafandom-problem554]

Hamiltots 2

"Honey! you've met Alexander, right?" Washington shouts from the reading center. "Yes, he's adorable.. and troublesome. He made a lot of friends on his first day.." Martha says while cleaning the tables over at the crafting table. "He helps Lafayette a lot- What!" George glared at his wife from across the room. "I said one thing about him."

"And that will be it."

"Oh please... Why'd you mention him?"

"He....He almost started a fight with Jefferson. He also called Lafayette 'Laffy' "

" Reason one, of why I called him troublesome... We really have to keep an eye on him. I don't want any fights between the thre- two" Martha says quickly trying to cover her mistake by coughing. "Three?"

"I said two George, did you sleep well?" Martha questions while walking over to her husband, placing a kiss on his forehead. "I should be asking you that question. But yes your right, I don't want him to get hurt.."

A couple hours later...

Hercules and Madison were the first to enter, greeting the two adults. Madison went over to his little spot in the reading center as Hercules goes over to the play center where all the toys were.

A couple minutes passed before Mrs. Martha heard a small knock on the door.

"Oh Alex!" Says the startled woman. "Where's Mom?.."

"Work." Alex blankly stares at Mrs. Martha. "Ok... Um come in.." Alex rushes in hoping to see Jefferson, but had a rush of disappointment when he only saw a book hiding someone's face. Another rush of disappointment when the hair wasn't large and poofy.

"ALEX!" Alexander turns his head around to see Hercules inviting him to the play with him.

JAMES MADISON'S POV yaay!!!

I slowly look up from my book to see the new kid run off to Mulligan. I sigh in relief, I don't want to meet anyone I don't recognize without Angelica first. She's better at meeting people than me.. I just get really shaky, and I forget how to speak.

"You ok honey?" I jump in fear. " Oh dear, sorry I didn't mean to startle you.." I look to see Mrs. Martha putting her hand on my head to calm me. "Yeah, I'm ok... Thank you for asking."

She smiles in awe. "Of course honey." She goes back to replace a some of the books.

I'm really surprised she doesn't have any kids... She's so nice and gentle. Always looking after  everyone, maybe that's why she owns the daycare.

I grabbed my blankie and put it over my head, letting the warmth hug around me. No matter how hot or cold it was, I will have my blankie with me. I don't know what I'll do without it.

40 minutes later

"Tu vas devoir lui dire les règles. S'il ne les suit pas, je le ferai-" I listen to the sound of a boy speaking french. "Ouais ouais peu importe. Je vais lui expliquer." Someone sassed back.

I'm taking the guess it was Lafayette, judging by Hercules and the new kid's reaction when he got closer to them.

Sugar.. If he's here, then...

I feel a shadow above me. I'm praying its Angelica, I'd do anything if it's her.

I take a peek. Poofy hair.. ok 50% chance..

It's not done.. 20% chance..

I look down.. It's not her favorite shoe's she said she'd wear today... -20% chance..

Fancy magenta shirt... -80%...

Hands are crossed and their foot is tapping... -99%- oh what's the point. Ladies and Gentleman, here we are, a pink loving, poofy hair southerner, troublemaker... please, you simply must meet Thomas, THOMAS-

He knocks on my book "Thomas Jefferson's home~ Now open up!" He takes the book out of my hands and places it on the floor, then looks back at me with a smug look, waiting for his 'good morning'.

"Good morning Jefferson...." I whisper, not wanting to be loud. "Louder" He demands. "Good morning Jefferson..." I say a little louder. " Come on louder than that.."

"Good morning Jefferson."

"If there was a scale on how loud people spoke, you would be at -10,000" he says removing my blankie out of my face as it falls. I look down, not knowing what to do, I smile.

"Why are you smiling?" He questions. "O-oh uhh, I-I... I don't know... I-I didn't know what to do.."

"Yeah, your pretty sad.." he says sitting next to me.

This is like a routine for us. If Angelica doesn't come first, I have to say Good morning to Jefferson, 'loudly' then read him a book 'loudly' until Angelica comes. When she does, we walk around the classroom and greet everyone, but if Angelica comes first, I have to recite the alphabet 2 times, loud enough for her to hear, then read on of the level two books out loud to her until Jefferson comes. When he comes we go around the classroom to help the adults, but I have to ask. Luckily he gets carried away and he does most of the talking.  

They claim it's to help me out of my shyness, I don't think I'm shy... I just... don't like to talk to people a lot..or be around people a lot... or look them in the eyes... sometimes they look really scary...Sometimes I feel like crying.... I just want to hide under a blanket and read with my blankie. I like that. Ooo! with Ice cream too! Sometimes with Apple pie with a bit of whip cream on it!-

"I don't know why your smiling, but I wanna know!" Jefferson jumps. "Oh I-I was just thinking about reading under a blanket- et w-w-ith Ic-Ice cream"

He looks at me, with this huge smile. His eyes are also lighting up. "Oh I love to do that with Laffy! When it's the summer we hide in under the loft bed I told you about, and-and we take all the ice cream or-or Macaroni and cheese Right? and-and we play all types of games in there. It's so fun" He says throwing his hands in the air then falling back in the bean bag giggling loudly. I giggle too. I love to see him in a giggly fit or excited for the littlest things, it's so cute.

"Ooo what do you do?" He says sitting himself up. "Oh! well um- I- When I'm alone I g-go to the Kitchen-en t-to find-" I try my best to look him in the eye, but when I do, he.. looks so interested... I never really looked him in the eyes while I'm talking to him. Has he always looked like that? "I try to f-find the best t-type of Ic-Ice cream, then I rush over to the bedroom and hide under my blanket and start reading the book I-I was reading for a while now..."

"The book where the girl saves the pig and the pig becomes really famous for some reason." He says cocking his head to the side. " Oh I also started reading it yesterday."

I don't know what I'm feeling but I think I'm doing the thing Hercules does when he's happy.. "Wait really!" I spoke a little louder than usual. "D-Do you like it!? Cause I do! I really hope you like it!-"

Third POV

Mrs. Martha is star struck at how "Loud" James was speaking, she didn't even notice Maria tugging on the ends of her dress. "Oh! Maria deary, what's- James apologize to her now!" Her voice switching quickly from a kitten to a lion in a split second scared both Maria and James.

"H-huh?"

"Not you Madison, I'm talking to Reynolds"

"O-oh ok" ending with a harsh cough, he turns back to Jefferson to who was bouncing in the bean bag for some reason.

"I didn't do anything to her. She's just a baby." he says playing with scissors. Mrs. Martha leans down to Maria. "What did he do now, sweetheart.."

Maria was on the verge of tears " Whe-When I was picking up m-my paper he dropped, I turned around and saw him go-going to cut my Hair!"

"No. I. Wasn't." He protested from across the room.

"Yes-Yes he did. Yesterday he-he said m-my h-air w-was t-too-"

"Calm down honey.." Mrs. Martha picks up Maria who was now crying out of fear. "Reynolds go over to the corner." He makes this inhumanly noise before getting up to the corner. " And put those scissors down now!"

Maria tugs on Mrs. Martha's necklace trying to grab her attention. "yes sweetheart?"

Maria leans in her and whispers.. " d-don't t-tell him I-I said t-th-this b-b-ut" Maria looks up to see if James was looking. "h-he sai-d h-he would cut m-y li-lips i-if I-I t-attled o-on him a-again" Maria trying her best not to cry out loud covers her mouth immediately.

Mrs. Martha almost freaked out but quickly gained posture to calm down Maria. She gave her husband the 'we need to talk' look. Washington noded strenly, then turned around sharply to rethink his actions this morning wondering if he did something wrong.

A little later more kids came in

" Mr. Washington... you need help with anything?" George looked down at his desk to see Jefferson trying to peek at his work. "You didn't need help yesterday, so what about today?" Washington smiles and pats Jefferson on the head. " We have new books, I think I might need help putting the 'Level 1' stickers on them."  

Jefferson immediately lights up. " Yeah! I can do that! Where are they?"

"The back room.." Jefferson ran over to the back room in insinat. "Don't start any fights!" he hears Washington shout at him. What does he mean by that?.. I mean if jammy is in there I won't start a fight with him... Or Laffy.. Angie.. she's a different story..

As opens the door slowly opens the door, thoughts still going to his head....That is... until he looks up.....

Alexander and Laurens stare at the poofy haired kid for a bit until Alex breaks the silence. "Ew, Get out."

"No! you get out! your not supposed to be here!!" Jefferson points at them, Laurens hides behind Alex as he does the talking. "Nuh-uh your not supposed to be here, annoying babies aren't allowed-"

"Alex! we don't say that to friends." Mr. Washington walked in with a large handful of books and labled stickers. How did he open the door- no idea.

"He's not my friend.."

"Alexander!" Jefferson goes up to hug Mr. Washington's leg. "He-He called me a stupid, poofy idiot."

"DID NOT-"

"YEAH HE DIDN'T SAY THAT-" Laurens finally pitches in. Jefferson glares at both of them. "Yes he did Mr. Washington-n-n...." He whines with a very dramatic pouty expression with large puppy eyes.  " I don't know if he actually said that, but you still need to apologize for calling him a-"

"But I don't want to..." Alex whines. "It not the matter if you want to or not, it's a must Alexander-"

"But why???" He complains once more.

"Alexander.." He says more sternly. Alex whimpers before turning Jefferson who had a fat smug smile on his face. "I'm sorry ...I guess"

"That's better, now I'm gonna leave you guys here for a bit, I will come back I just need to finish some paperwork." Washington says putting the books and stickers on the table. "All you have to do is to put the sticker on bottom right corner, right next to the opening." He shows them an example and tells them to do the same. "Good! Now Don't start any fights or you will stop helping me." He warns.

The three boys nod and smile until he leaves. "Why are you two here!" Jefferson spoke first. "I asked Mr. Washington if me, Laurens, Hercules, and Laffy can help him." ( A/N: I swear he's playing with fire...) "So Herc and-"

"Call him Laffy one more time, I will give you a paper cut" Jefferson threatens holding up a book.

Alexander mouth got closed by Laurens who shook his head and whispered. "He's done it before, it was big too. He once did it to Mr. Washington when he told him no." Alexander gave Laurens an annoyed look before staring back at Jefferson who sat down and grabbed a couple books and stickers.

...

"Where's Laffy?"

"What?" Laurens picks his head up from the book he was trying to read. "You said Laffy asked to help too, Where is he?" Jefferson says, sounding more like a demand than a question. Alexander rolls his eyes. " yeah he's with Herc and Mrs. Mar-"

"IT'S YOUR FAVORITE SCHUYLAR!-"

"Don't have one." Jefferson smirked. Angelica playfully tackled Jefferson on to the floor. " OW! GELICA!" Angelica flipped her puffy hair and looked down at Jefferson with sass. " First, You didn't greet me today. Now your helping without me!"

"I thought you were with Jemmy!"

"We finish greeting people in about two to three minutes and you know that Mr." Jefferson sticks his tongue out at Angelica before laughing it off.

"Oh that's Angelica, Peggy's older sister. We like to call her Angie but Jefferson's different so he calls her Gelica." Laurens whispers. Alex nods, he remembers her from the reading center incident. She's pretty... and scary

Angelica looks up. "Oh! I didn't know you two where here. You boys had a nice morning?" she smiles.

"Yep! Are you helping us?" Laurens jumps. "Yeah! I was trying to convince Jammy to come but he said he wanted to stay in the Reading center with his blankie..." Angelica sits down in between Alexander and Jefferson.

Alexander thought it would be nice to start a conversation with her but Laurens wanted to talk to him.

"Lexi, HamHam, Hammy, Ham, Alex, exy-"

"Laurens, what are you doing?" Laurens smiles when he finally got his attention. He also has one of the stickers on his forehead-

"I just wanted to name all the nicknames I have for you." Alex smiles wide. "You forgot dunce." Ok Alex's smiles fades into a scowl.

"Jeffy! That's mean!" Angelica protested. "That's the point.." He boops Angelica's nose, making it difficult to keep her scowl.

"Well I think, one of his nicknames should be cutie~" She says booping Alex's nose. Causing the short boy to have a small hint of blush creep across his face.

"Ew, Gelica I thought you had a good nickname for him. Not a lie."

"Jeffy, what is wrong with you." Angelica's hair whipped Alex's face as she scolds Jefferson who only smiled brightly.

"He did nothing wrong, you mother-" "Call that again you bit-" "Oh you wanna fuc-"

"Jefferson hunny! Come here now!" They hear Mrs. Martha call. Jefferson got out of his seat to see what was wrong. The other three got nosey and followed.

As they walked out of the back room Jefferson fell backward due to someone running into him. "OW WH- Oh Jam-"

When Jefferson picked up James' head, he saw tears coming down his cheeks. Jefferson starts to worry. "Hey Jemmy." Jefferson hugs him hoping it'll slow his hard crying. "He started crying when I came back inside. I tried asking him what happened but he just started to cry harder." Mrs. Martha kneels down trying to help both the boys up.

"Jemmy..." Jefferson cups Madison's face and squishes it a little as he does a pouty face. He does this with Lafayette when he's sad. A small smile appears on his face but it doesn't stop the tears from flowing.

"Wha happen?" He finally asks. Madison leans in for a hug as he cries harder.

"I-I can't find my Blankie!"

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - “Tricked and Treated” (Rated G)

Summary: Aziraphale and Adam bump into an intriguing man and his son while out Trick or Treating. Of course, it is Halloween, and nothing is quite what it seems ... (3415 words)

Notes: This is one of two stories I wrote for A Big Spooky Fan Zine. Be sure to check the rest of the collection for some amazing spooky works from other wonderful fandom creators :)

Read on AO3.

Knock-knock-knock-knock!

“Trick or Treat! Smell my feet! Give me somethin’ good to eat! If you don’t, I don’t care. I’VE GOT PURPLE UNDERWEAR!!”

The chorus of tinny voices dissolves into giggles as a multitude of pint-sized monsters, ghouls, and superheroes wait for the door to open. If it doesn’t … they won’t do anything. Not a one of them is older than nine, and their parents are standing a few feet behind them. But the song is tradition, even if they do tweak the lyrics a bit every year.

Last year, the preferred modifier for underwear had been ‘dirty’, and even though that isn’t age-inappropriate, per se, the parents are thrilled the quorum decided upon a color this year instead.

The group falls silent when they hear heavy footsteps approach from the opposite side. The brass knob turns, and the door pulls in. The children know what to expect, but still, they take a tentative step backward. It’s an old house, but a familiar one; that always has carved pumpkins on the patio at Halloween and handmade wreaths on the door at Christmas. A house that generations of children have run up to on October 31sts past and knocked on its door. Those children grew up and bring their children here to visit the same bubbly lady who never seems to age, always has a smile on her face, and a tray of homemade caramel apples wrapped in wax paper at the ready.

The door creaks open.

The children gasp in anticipation.

Then, she is revealed: a red-haired woman in a flowing, floral kaftan beneath a cozy pink peacoat steps out with her gentleman behind her, dressed in olive drab and menacingly pointing, of all things, his right index finger, as if he thinks it will protect him from the beasties gracing their porch. The woman looks at the crowd of masks and made-up faces surrounding her and gasps in mock fear.

“My goodness!” she says, putting a hand to her mouth. “Look at all these frightful goblins and ghouls at my door tonight! I don’t suppose any of you like caramel apples, hmm?”

“I do! I do!” Hands shoot up, eager to be seen. The woman smiles.

“Mr. Shadwell! Put your finger away and bring me that tray!” she scolds, grabbing up apples on their sturdy wooden sticks when they come her way and handing them out one at a time, receiving a grateful and excited, “Thank you!” with each one.

“I do believe everyone’s parent is present,” she says with a glance towards the ring of adults manning her garden gate, “but if they’re not, you let them know that these apples came from Tracy Shadwell’s own kitchen, so they’re safe to eat.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the kids answer obediently. Most everyone in the neighborhood knows Mrs. Shadwell and her famous caramel apples. For those who don’t, she ties a pink tag at the base of each stick with her name and telephone number embossed on it in gold, should anyone want to verify.

And while she hands out her wares, she looks over each child and comments on their costume – the hand-crafted along with the store-bought – with nothing but the highest praise. As the crowd thins, two boys approach, patiently awaiting their turns. Mrs. Shadwell spots the first of the boys and hands him two caramel apples. She knows him - and his chaperone - very well.

“Why, Adam Young!” she coos at the boy dressed in white satin brocade. “What a stunning costume! Another one from your grandfather’s collection?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replies proudly. “French Revolution era. I’m a political prisoner, about to get my head chopped off!” He drags a finger across his throat in a slicing motion, tilting his head to one side and sticking out his tongue for greater emphasis. His eyes pop as he remembers the best part. “Look! Here’s my head!” He fishes around in his candy bag and pulls out a childishly executed but morbid prop - a bleeding papier-mache head on a stick. It vaguely resembles Adam, having the same hair color and skin tone, but drenched in fake blood and with X’s over the eyes. “I wanted to slather blood all over my neck, but my grandfather said no.”

“I can understand why!” Tracy chuckles. “That costume must be expensive! It looks quite handsome on you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Shadwell,” Adam says with a dignified bow.

“You’re very welcome.” Her gaze lands on the boy standing beside him. “And you! Another scary vampire!” The corners of her mouth tug down as she struggles for a name. “I can’t seem to recall your name, dear. Would you be so kind as to help an old lady out?”

“I’m Warlock,” the boy says, speaking with a pronounced lisp and spitting his consonants, courtesy of the plastic fangs crowding his mouth.

“Here you go, Warlock.” Mrs. Shadwell hands him two apples as well. It wouldn’t be right to give him only one since he’s seen Adam get two. Besides, thanks to her husband’s help, she has a whole army of apples sitting in her kitchen, waiting to be doled out. “Thank you for stopping by so I could see your costume. Give your parents my fondest regards.”

“Yesh, ma’am,” the boy slurs, trying his best not to spit again. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The boys wave politely as Mrs. Shadwell closes her door. They turn together, stepping down from the porch, eyeing one another’s costume as if the two of them are catwalk rivals.

“That belongsth to your grandpa?” Warlock asks, looking Adam’s shimmery outfit up and down.

“Yup.” Adam holds his head high and gives the boy a spin so he can view it from all sides. “Your costume is cool, too. Did your parents buy it? Or did someone make it for you?”

“It’sth vintage,” Warlock explains, tongue tripping over his teeth. “It wasth my father’s when he wasth a boy.” He holds the ends of his cape out wide, flapping the wings it creates.

“Awesome!”

“That’s right, Warlock,” a tall man says, receiving both children when they reach the wooden gate. “It belonged to your ancient, elderly father.”

The man standing beside him chuckles, reaching a hand out to Adam as the boy walks through.

“Well, despite its interminable old age, it really is a smashing costume, Mr….”

“Crowley,” Warlock’s father supplies, extending a hand in greeting. “Anthony J. Crowley.”

“Aziraphale,” Adam’s grandfather answers, taking Crowley’s hand and shaking it. “Aziraphale Fell. This is my grandson, Adam.”

Crowley nods at the boy who is less concerned with the subject of adults’ names as he is with comparing his haul with that of the boy beside him.

“I believe we’ve lost them!” Aziraphale laughs as Adam and Warlock dive into their sacks.

“Bound to happen,” Crowley concurs. “We’re nowhere near as entertaining as chocolate. At least, I’m not. Not to be rude or anything but aren’t you a little young to be a grandfather?”

Aziraphale grins hard enough to make his cheeks ache. “That’s very kind of you to say, but I am much older than you might think.” He narrows his eyes at the man tousling his son’s black hair - suspicious considering his own hair is red. Flame red. Of course, that could come from a bottle. Not that Aziraphale is judging. It looks rather fetching on him. “Forgive my saying so, but I don’t think I’ve seen you or your son around here before.”

“Is that so strange?” Crowley asks, his grin growing tight, but not terribly.

It seems Aziraphale may not be the first person of the evening to mention it.

“No, not really. But we’re a tiny hamlet. Everyone here knows everyone else.” Aziraphale leans in a companionable inch. “All their secrets, too.”

“Ah, well, we’re not from around here,” Crowley admits with a sheepish grin.

“Gotcha.” Aziraphale winks. “It’s no secret that we’re one of the few neighborhoods around that gives out full-sized candy bars by the handful and real popcorn balls – not that stale, store-bought crud.” Crowley’s lips quirk, in shame it seems, and Aziraphale rushes to elaborate. “Not that we mind visitors!” he says, waving his hands as if to wipe away any doubt. “As long as the children have a pleasant time, that’s all we care about. It’s nice to see some new blood around here.”

Crowley stares at Aziraphale, his face blank for a second. His lower lip quivers. He sputters, then he laughs out loud (harder than necessary, Aziraphale feels).

“What?” Aziraphale asks self-consciously.

“Nothing,” Crowley says, reining in his laughter with a snort that Aziraphale can’t help but find adorable. “It’s just been a while since I’ve heard that term. But to be honest, we’re here strictly to socialize. We don’t eat candy.”

Adam, totally engrossed in his conversation with Warlock, catches that last part. His head snaps up, jaw dropping to the ground, utter disbelief written on his face.

“Don’t eat it?” he moans with regret on his new friend’s behalf. “Why not?”

“I’m on a special diet,” Warlock says, looking down at his pregnant bag of sweets.

“A special diet?” Aziraphale looks from Warlock to his father.

“I adopted Warlock from a hospital overseas,” Crowley explains, distracted momentarily by a new wave of Trick-or-Treaters headed their way. “He has a rare blood-borne illness that they were ill-equipped to handle.”

“But … is he okay now?” Aziraphale gazes at the boy’s face, particularly his large, sleepy eyes, dark circles underneath made all the more prominent by his pale skin. Crowley watches the way Aziraphale looks at his son, examining him with an expression of genuine concern, and smiles.

“There is no cure, but we’re managing it the best we can.” Crowley puts a hand on Warlock’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “It helps when you don’t have to worry about trivial things like money. Heartbreaking for those parents in dire straits who don’t have an excess of disposable income. A lot of tough choices to be made when you find yourself in that position.”

“Aren’t you the lucky one?” Aziraphale teases, knocking Crowley playfully on the shoulder.

“It’s old money,” Crowley replies, that sheepish smile from before making a comeback. “I like putting it to good use.”

Aziraphale looks up when Crowley does and meets his eyes – boundless amber eyes that catch the surrounding street lights and flickering Jack-O-Lantern candles in a mesmerizing way, as if with a single blink he could read Aziraphale’s mind.

Or hypnotize him into doing his bidding.

They don’t look human. Snake-ish, more like - slit pupils and all. They can’t be real. They have to be contact lenses. Fake or not, there’s something about them that makes Aziraphale shiver. Crowley notices, grinning devilishly. Aziraphale laughs.

He’s letting the magic of the evening get to him.

Or the magic of this charming man.

From the corner of his eye, Aziraphale catches Adam yawn. He fishes his watch out of his pocket and checks the time.

“Oh my goodness!” he exclaims. “Look at that! When did it get so late?”

“We’re not going home now, are we?” Adam asks, whining the way tired children do while fighting back a yawn.

“I’m afraid so, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “You’re just about dead on your feet, and I can’t carry you all the way back to the house. Besides, I promised your mother and father I’d have you tucked in before they got home.

“We’d better be heading out as well,” Crowley says, wrapping an arm around his son’s thin shoulders and holding him close.

“Do we have to?” Warlock asks, sulking into his father’s embrace.

“I’m afraid so.”

“All right.” Warlock turns to Adam, who yawns again, shaking his head to dislodge the exhaustion from his brain. “It was nice meeting you, Adam.”

“It was nice meeting you, too,” Adam says.

“Do you guys …?” Aziraphale starts, not eager to see this captivating man disappear so quickly. “I know you said you aren’t from around here, but …”

“We’re in Mayfair,” Crowley says, anticipating Aziraphale’s question. “About two hours give or take, as the bat flies.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale casts his eyes down dejectedly. “That’s quite a distance to travel for conversation and candy you can’t eat.”

“We’re also visiting family. Family that we’ve been looking into visiting more often, maybe even moving closer to, so who knows? You could be seeing us around?”

Aziraphale nods because if that question implies what Aziraphale hopes it does, the answer is definitely yes.

“Who knows?” he echoes, hoping Crowley catches on to the fact that he’s flirting. It’s been a while, and he was never very good at it to begin with. “We might end up neighbors.”

“Maybe,” Crowley says, the word a vague promise but a promise nonetheless. It leaves Aziraphale with the feeling that if those plans to move fall through, he may still see Crowley again. “I could take you out for a bite?”

Aziraphale smiles, cheeks flushing red and not from the chill in the autumn air.

“I’ll take you up on that.” Aziraphale reaches into his pocket and pulls out his business card. “You can reach me at this number. I have a bookshop in Soho. I’m there most of the time … even if the sign on the door says closed.”

Crowley takes it, slipping it from between Aziraphale’s fingers and sliding it into his inside breast pocket. “Clever of you, really. Who wants to be bothered by a bunch of busybody customers anyhow?” He smooths down the front of his jacket, patting the pocket keeping Aziraphale’s business card safe.

That subtle touch of his palm to the spot makes Aziraphale tingly inside.

“Here …” Warlock, watching the exchange between the two men, holds out his bag of candy to Adam “… I want you to have this.”

Adam’s eyes grow big as saucers, his face lighting up at the offer of a sack of sweets as big as his own. “No way! Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Warlock says with a sad, one-shoulder shrug. “I wasth gonna hafta throw it out anyway.”

Adam looks up at Aziraphale, eyes pleading. “Can I?”

“I don’t see why not. It would be rude to turn down such a generous gift.”

“Yes, it would,” Adam agrees, reaching for the bag and taking it reverently. “Thank you, Warlock.”

“Don’t make yourself sick eating all that candy in one night,” Crowley says.

“Oh, I won’t!” Adam assures him. “I’m going to share it with my three best friends! Hey! If you come back, I can introduce you!”

“You would do that?” Warlock asks.

“Of course! There’s always room for one more in our group.”

“Now, you see, you must come back,” Aziraphale says when he’d meant to say ‘We’ll see, boys. We’ll see.’ He doesn’t want to appear pushy. He doesn’t regret it an inch, though, when he notices the new look in Crowley’s eyes - the one that says he’s prepared to move heaven and earth to make that happen.

If it’s because of the promise of new friends for Warlock or to see him again, however, remains to be seen.

“I guess we will,” Crowley responds.

“Have a safe evening, Mr. Crowley. Warlock.” Aziraphale raises a hand and waves good-bye, backing away, pulling Adam along with him.

“And you as well, Mr. Fell. Adam.” Crowley waves back, turning down the street with Warlock in tow.

Crowley and Warlock weave through several pods of children racing up to houses and knocking noisily on doors. They walk against the flow of revelers, ending in a dark street with no lamps lit, no decorations on the porches, no Trick-or-Treaters anywhere to be seen.

“Did you have a good time?” Crowley asks.

“Yesh.” Warlock reaches up and spits out the false teeth that had been covering his fangs, glad to be rid of them at long last. “That was a blast! Adam and his granddad are really nice. Don’t you think they’re really nice?” Warlock asks, vibrating with the enthusiasm of … well, an eight-year-old on Halloween.

“Yes,” Crowley agrees, turning one last time, using his supernatural vision to find the man and his grandson walking down the street. Crowley doesn’t believe for a minute that Aziraphale is that boy’s grandfather, but he couldn’t get a read on him … as in he couldn’t read Aziraphale’s mind like he can with other humans. Adam’s neither, which makes the two of them that much more enticing.

Aziraphale looks over his shoulder and bites his lip as if he knows he’s being watched. Crowley eyes the dent his teeth make in his skin, lingering on it and licking his lips. If his heart were still beating in his chest, it would be racing out of control by now. “They were great. With any luck, we’ll be seeing them again.” Crowley puts a hand over the pocket with the business card hidden inside and smiles. “So,” he says, clapping his hands in front of him, “are you ready to give it another try?”

“Yes.” Warlock sounds confident, but he looks ready to puke. “It’s just … I’m not as good at it as you are.”

“It takes practice,” Crowley says, and with a snap of his fingers (which is entirely unnecessary - he does it solely for dramatic effect), he changes - shrinks down, sprouts wings, keeping only his serpentine eyes and a tuft of his red hair.

Crowley transforms effortlessly.

Warlock manages the feat with a little less finesse and a frantic snapping of fingers, but even though he’s only done it about a dozen times, he makes a handsome young bat. Father and son circle the neighborhood once to stretch their leathery wings and then rise high into the air. From this height, they can see everything, the whole of London stretched out beneath them. Crowley manages to spot Aziraphale and Adam one last time, then heads towards the ocean, disappearing into the night.

***

“Here we are, Adam,” Aziraphale says, opening the door to the Young house and ushering his charge inside. “If you hurry, get yourself washed up and into your nighttime clothes, you can sort your candy until your parents get home.”

“Can I have a piece or two?” Adam asks, gripping hard to the handles of his bags. “Or seven?”

“Three,” Aziraphale counters.

“Five?” Adam negotiates hopefully.

Aziraphale bobs his head back and forth, taking his time on purpose.

“Four,” he decides. “Final offer.”

“Deal!” Adam takes it. No need to tempt fate any further. He races off towards the staircase, burdened by roughly sixteen pounds of sugar weighing down his arms, but stops at the bottom step. He looks at Aziraphale thoughtfully for a moment before he speaks.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“Warlock and his dad … they’re vampires, aren’t they?”

Aziraphale smiles to himself and nods. Crowley and Warlock are as much humans as he and Adam. Aziraphale is an angel, tasked by the Almighty Herself to care for the Antichrist, ensure he never comes into his power and brings about the end of the world. He’s been on the lookout for demons since Adam was born.

Which should make striking up a conversation with a vampire inadvisable.

But Aziraphale doesn’t believe Crowley meant to do them any harm. He didn’t come across as the dangerous sort of evil. For one thing, he didn’t seem to recognize Aziraphale and Adam for what they are at all. And a vampire adopting a son? Aziraphale has never heard of such a thing. Vampires tend to be opportunists. What could Crowley possibly have to gain by doing that? Still, Aziraphale can’t let his guard down, not for a minute. He isn’t sure what Crowley was trying to pull, but he hopes he gets the chance to find out. “Yes, I believe they are.”

“Cool,” Adam says with an awe-consumed grin. “I hope we see them again.”

Aziraphale pictures Crowley in his mind: his fair skin, his steep nose, his red hair, and his snake-ish eyes. Aziraphale has seen his share of demons, but they’ve all been wretched. Not Crowley. Crowley takes pride in his appearance, that’s for sure. It reminds Aziraphale of the sad state of his wings. He must groom them as soon as time permits.

“So do I, Adam,” he says, planning for later tonight when young Adam is asleep. Wing grooming is a messy business, one he’d prefer to do in private. “So do I.”

[atomic-taco-muffin]

The Lost Princess Chapter 70

Warnings: Me, skipping to saving Aqua b/c the anticipation was killing me, also fluff/angst

Rating: SFW

In the Badlands on the outskirts of the Keyblade Graveyard, Marluxia and Larxene stood atop thirteen pillars of earth.

“So, why are you back?” Marluxia asked. 

“Nice way to greet your old partner in crime,” Larxene said. Marluxia gave a small laugh at the title. “So, why do you think the old geezer took us back? He must know we backstabbed the Organization when Xemnas and Muki were running it.”

“Xehanort doesn't care about you or me. To him, we're nothing but empty husks. The old Organization was the same. Xehanort needs thirteen vessels to hold his essence. And let’s not forget him wanting that Spirit.” 

“Which one? There’s like 4 of them.” 

“You know which one.” 

“Oh. Her. But that girl has slipped through our hands multiple times. There’s no way she’ll submit. Especially with that pathetic team of hers. So, you up for another coup?” Larxene gave him a coy smile. 

“Oh, please. You couldn't do it last time. You gotta play it smart, like me,” someone said. They looked over to another pillar, where a man with blond hair was holding a large sitar.

“What?! You're not smart!” Larxene said. 

“Well, you heard what Marly said. I don't have to be smart,” Demyx smirked. 

“Or capable, or likeable, or attractive. A cereal bowl would make a better vessel.” Demyx tuned his sitar strings while Larxene roasted him.

“Whoa now, you are WAY out of line. I am extremely imposing...when I want to be. Which is, admittedly, almost never,” he said. 

“Why haven't you gone to any worlds? Are you slacking?” 

“'Course not. I got benched.” 

“Huh?

“Saïx brought Vexen on board. They must be planning to use replicas,” Marluxia said. 

“Those windup toys?” 

“Oh, no. The replicas are way more real than you remember. I mean, one stole my spot!” Larxene burst into laughter. (her laugh is so hot! fight me!)

“OF COURSE it stole your spot. You're dumb as a brick,” she said. 

“Har-dee-har,” Demyx said. 

“Vexen's latest replicas are no mere puppets. The Riku replica we used in Castle Oblivion was just a prototype. The next replica, the one crafted from Sora's memories, was real enough to join our ranks. And Vexen claims the new ones will be human in every way. If he ever finishes them,” Marluxia said. 

“Oh... The thing is...I kinda told Sora and his nitwits that we're ready. My bad,” Larxene said. 

“Let them believe as such.” A dark corridor opened to reveal Queen Muki. 

“Ugh. Muki,” Larxene said. 

“If they think that we have all thirteen darknesses, then they will panic. And panic leads to a lack of preparation,” Muki said. 

“Yeah, totally,” Demyx said. 

“Why is thing a member again?” Larxene asked as she pointed to Demyx. 

“Hey now! Pointing is rude.” 

“The first six members of the original Organization were all apprentices to Ansem the Wise, and the seventh and eighth members joined thereafter. The thirteenth member was Roxas, a Keyblade wielder. So. What about you? How do you suppose Xemnas and I chose numbers nine through twelve?” Muki said. 

“Because our hearts are über powerful,” Larxene said. 

“Wrong. You have been brought together for another purpose.” 

“What? So that we can rot away on the bottom rung?” someone asked. A man with short blond hair and multiple earrings appeared on the pillar adjacent to Demyx.

“You're in too? What is this, Organization Rehash?” Larxene sighed. 

“I happen to play an important role. No one ‘benched’ me,” Luxord said. 

“You were listening? So not cool,” Demyx said. 

“One must hold one's cards as long as necessary.” 

“What ‘important role’? That stupid box that Xigbar claims is real, but won't tell us a thing about? And what’s the deal with this ‘Princess’?” Larxene asked.

“You'll just have to ask Xigbar that,” Luxord said as he played with his cards. “Now then, Your Majesty, what is this ‘purpose’? You didn't invite us back for old times' sake.”

“You four are going to reveal your greatest secret: the ancient Keyblade legacy that slumbers within you,” Muki said. They each reacted with surprise and skepticism as Muki gave a breathy, hyena-like laugh.

In the Woods of Twilight Town, just outside the Old Mansion, a corridor of darkness appeared and Lady Elena strolled out of it, followed by Ansem the Wise. From behind a tree, Hayner, Pence and Olette watched.

“It's about time!” Pence said.

“Look! There’s mom!” Olette said. 

“Heeey, shut it! C'mon,” Hayner said. He moved ahead as the two skulk behind him. As Ansem the Wise and Elena walk into the courtyard, the trio peeked out from behind the gate. Ansem the Wise stopped just before the entrance door, forcing Elena to turn around.

“What now?” she asked. Ansem the Wise looked up to the curtained window.

“Please. I have created enough victims,” he said.

“Yes, you have. All the children sacrificed in the name of your research... So make things right,” Elena said. 

“I told you I did not take her. Her disappearance was why I put a stop to the research.”

“And that makes you honorable? You used Roxas and Naminé and threw them away. I doubt there's a merciful bone in your body. You took the girl, and hid her. Now, show me the data you are hiding here.” 

“Roxas and Naminé... If there is any reason that I still draw breath, it is to atone for what I did to them. But, would your daughter want to see this?” 

“She’s already seen enough. Along with my other kids.” Olette and Pence gasped. 

“She’s talking about us,” Pence said. 

“And Roxas,” Olette said. 

“Yeah,” Hayner said. 

“That man needs us,” Olette said. 

“Right. And we need to get that Negaverse thing out of mom,” Hayner said.

“Yeah,” Pence said. 

“If you do find the girl, what is it that you expect will happen?” Ansem the Wise asked. 

“The child's memory holds a mystery to unravel--one concerning the battle we seek between light and darkness. You know something and that... is why you stopped the experiments,” Elena said. 

“You are completely deluded, M’Lady.” 

“We shall soon see.” She grabbed Ansem the Wise's shoulder and pushed him toward the door before Pence popped in.

“Yoo-hoo!” he said. Elena stopped. “'Scuse meee!”

Elena whirled around at this interruption.

“Pence, what are you doing here?” she growled. 

“Oh, well, I'm looking for a friend who used to live here.” 

“You live here. Unless your father moved somewhere else, then it’s not working.” Pence’s distraction enabled Olette to run inside the courtyard.

“But mom...” Pence stalled as he stepped closer. 

“No, no, no! Not one more step. Get out!” Elena said. As she walked toward Pence, Olette rushed and grabbed Ansem the Wise.

“This way!” she whispered. Elena spun around, seeing Ansem the Wise escaping as Hayner ran in, attempting to jump kick her from behind.

“Oi!” he cried. Elena summoned Anti-Nyx and it caught Hayner with its paws. “...or not!”

“Hayner!” Pence cried. Anti-Nyx tossed Hayner at the brick wall of the courtyard but a strange white blob curled around him and cushioned the blow. He bounced to the ground safely. More white blobs flew through the air from behind corners, like wispy trails. They surrounded Elena and Anti-Nyx, revealing themselves as Dusk Nobodies.

“The squiggly things?” Pence asked. It uncurled from Hayner as he sat up in disbelief.

“They...protected me,” he said. Pence grabbed Hayner's arm.

“Hayner! Get a move on!” he said. 

“Oh... Okay.” Pence helped Hayner up and the two ran back to the Woods. Elena focused her attention on the Dusks.

“I serve the Organization. This is treason,” she sneered. “I see what is happening. Have it your way then.” 

Olette and Ansem the Wise escaped to the Underground and Hayner and Pence caught up.

“Are you guys okay?” Olette asked as the two boys caught their breath. 

“Yeah, I think,” Hayner said. 

“Nobody knows the twists and turns of Twilight Town better than us,” Pence said. 

“You are Roxas's friends. And Lady Elena’s children,” Ansem the Wise said. 

“That's right. So you know him, too?” Hayner said. 

“Oh yes. Quite well.” 

“Pay dirt. Guess it was worth staking out our house after all, because this guy here is what I call a lead,” Pence said. He reached into his pocket and took out the photo of them together with Roxas.

“That's the only proof we have that Roxas was our friend,” Olette said. 

“Tell us about him. We wanna know him better,” Hayner said. 

“My dear master. You are safe,” a cloaked man said as he appeared behind them. 

“Who's there?” Hayner asked. They whirled around, seeing the scientist with blond hair.

“Even, is that you? So...those Nobodies were your doing,” Ansem the Wise said. The wispy blobs floated in behind Vexen and became Dusks again. Their appearance unsettled the trio. However, Vexen bowed his head.

“I have been waiting for this. Gave up a normal life in order to plant myself in the Organization. And when I heard Xehanort had gone looking for you, I realized it was my chance to find you as well. For you see, I, too, wish to atone. I also want to protect the royal bloodline,” he said. 

“Royal bloodline?” Pence asked. 

“I see. If it’s (Y/N) you’re protecting then I shall help you,” Ansem the Wise said. 

“Huh?!” Hayner, Pence, and Olette asked. 

“Not just her,” Vexen said. 

~~~~

You and your team flew in the Gummi Ship, not knowing where to go next. Sora's Gummiphone started to ring and Jiminy leapt into his shoulder as he pulled it out.

“Sora, somebody's callin' us on the Gummiphone,” Jiminy said. You and the others walked to Sora's chair and Sora answered the call. Dale appeared on the screen way too close to the camera.

“We got baaad news,” he said. 

“Huh?” Sora asked. Chip yanked Dale away from the camera.

“We totally lost contact with the King and Riku! They're all on their own in the realm of darkness!” he said. 

“Whaaat?!” you and your team asked. 

“See? I knew I shoulda gone!” Sora said. 

“Chip, how do we get to 'em?” you asked. 

“NOW we can ask?” 

“It's not like we can use that big old door anymore. It's completely gone,” Goofy said. 

“Yeah, we closed it after beating Ansem’s Negaverse,” Donald said. 

“And we certainly can't ask the King or Riku,” Vanitas said. 

“'Cause you wouldn't LET me ask,” Sora said. Dale pushed Chip out of the way.

“Only King Mickey can open a door to the realm of darkness,” he said. 

“Huh?” you and your team asked. Chip pushed Dale away and Jiminy hopped down.

“It's because he has a special Keyblade of darkness. He figured out how to make it open the way,” Chip said. 

“Oh...” Sora sighed. 

“Gawrsh, what'll we do then?” Goofy asked. You and the others groaned. 

“May my heart be our guiding key. It'll show us the way,” Sora said. He stood and summoned the Keyblade, aiming it ahead of him. The tip glowed and a portal opened outside the ship.

“A gate!” you and your team said. Sora put away the Keyblade.

“But where does it lead?” Celina asked. 

“It doesn't matter! Go!” Roxy said.

“Hurry, Sora!” Rumi said. 

“Okay,” Sora said. He sat at the controls and piloted the ship through the wormhole, the portal closing behind you all with a ripple. The bright warm sun shined down on the sandy beaches of the Destiny Islands. You and your team walked  along the seashore.

“Why do you think that gate took us here?” you asked. Walking further down the beach, Sora came upon a Keyblade in the sand, the teeth of the blade forming the shape of an 'E'. Sora knelt down and picked it up.

“A Keyblade?” Vanitas asked. 

“It looks so old,” Yui said. 

“It looks familiar,” Celina said. Sora held it in both hands, looking it over.

“How did it end up here?” he asked. 

“Hmm, maybe it's another guiding key,” Goofy said. 

“Sure, but to guide us where?” Sora aimed it forward and a beam erupted from the blade, striking a corner of the beach where a tree met a rockface. The area glowed, revealing a door. You and your rushed over to it.

“A door!” you said. 

“Let’s go,” Donald said. Sora closed his eyes, steeling himself.

“Not you guys,” he said. 

“Huh?” you and your team asked. 

“Well, (Y/N) and Celina can come I guess.”

“Hell yeah, we’re coming!” you said.

“We understand, but we don't want you goin' someplace dangerous on your own,” Goofy said. 

“Thanks, guys. But we'll be fine. We'll make sure Riku and the King are safe. Trust us,” Sora said. 

“Besides, I know the Realm of Darkness better than you guys,” Celina said. You, Sora, and Celina smiled and the others exchanged concerned looks. They nodded softly to each other.

“You promise to be good?” Vanitas asked. 

“And come home nice and safe?” Goofy asked. 

“Right,” you, Sora, and Celina said. The three of you turned around and entered the Secret Place. In the Dark World...

“Riku, look!” Mickey said. The Demon Tower wriggled in the air, bending over and twisting into Riku, knocking the Keyblade from his arms. It dissipated when it hits the sand.

“Riku!” Mickey gasped. The swarm of Heartless knocked Mickey off his feet and he also dropped his Keyblade, consumed by the swarm. Riku lifted himself up.

“Mickey!” he cried. The Demon Tower coalesced under swirling winds into an orb of darkness before Riku's very eyes. Purple fragments gathered within the orb, pushing out of it. The bubble burst and a dark figure leapt out landing on the gray sand. King Mickey watched from his prison in the orb as the dark figure walked toward his Keyblade, picking it up.

“This Keyblade...” Mickey gasped at the familiar voice. 

“Is it her?” he asked. The darkness peeled away at the woman, revealing blue hair.

“Mickey...” she said as she turned, revealing her yellow eyes. “You're too late.” 

“Aqua?” Riku asked. 

“You abandoned me, that's what. Left me in this shadow prison for more than a decade, knowing what it would do to me...Celina was here with me but even she left.” 

‘Celina? Who’s Celina?’ Riku thought.

“I'm sorry. It's all my fault,” Mickey said. Anti-Aqua turned and walked to the shoreline.

“I reached this shore after endless wandering. Waited forever for help to arrive. But no one ever came,” she said as she walked over the water. “I lost my Keyblade. Had no means of fighting my way back through the Heartless. You should have known I was stranded. Do you have any idea how lonely it is here? How frightening it is to have no one?”

Riku clenched his fist in the sand.

“All that's left in my heart is misery and despair...and now, you can share it!” Anti-Aqua said. Riku walked toward her.

“There's no need. Got my own,” he said. In Riku's heart, a version of Riku from the past wearing the dark clothes of his possessed self walked to his side, the Riku Replica. In his hand he held a special Keyblade, the Way to the Dawn. He looked over at Riku and smirked, before vanishing into particles of light. Riku clenched his fist again and summoned his Keyblade, walking over the water after Aqua. The orb holding Mickey floated over the water between them, becoming a swirling mass of Shadow Heartless once more. He struck at the swirling mass, sending Shadows flying left and right. The Demon Tower took on a purple aura and splashed downward, the Heartless's eyes glowing red, as Anti-Aqua appeared, raising the Keyblade in her hands.

“Enough!” she cried. She summoned large icy spikes, sending them careening toward Riku, before releasing the Demon Tower once again. Riku landed back on the water, breathing heavily.

“Sora...(Y/N)...” he said. A light shined from above and a door appeared, the same door from the Destiny Islands. You, Sora, and Celina soared in, landing with a splash on the water.

“We made it!” you smiled. Celina looked at you and noticed that you had a keyblade in your hand. 

(yes, it’s Ira’s Keyblade)

“(Y/N), look,” she said. You looked at your hand and saw that there was your father’s Keyblade in your hands. 

“Wow...” you said. Riku smiled and dispelled his Keyblade as the Demon Tower swirled in front of you all. The four of you held your arms out together, emanating a brilliant white light. Above, three colorful Keyblades and Celina’s trident, Unicornis, Nightmare's End, and Mirage Split joined together to form a giant three-handled blade. The four of you lifted your arms, raising the powerful Keyblade and trident, which glowed with a warm light. The four of your threw your arms forward and the light washed over the Demon Tower, dispersing the Shadows inside. They released Mickey from their hold, sending him falling to the beach with a shout. Riku rushed over to him and Anti-Aqua raced after him. She raised the Keyblade as Riku summoned his just in time but you stopped Ant-Aqua before she could attack. The blades clashed, sending up a gigantic splash. As the misting water fell away, you were holding back Aqua's Keyblade from Riku, sparks flying from the blades' contact. Riku stood with his mouth agape. Anti-Aqua leapt backward. You looked back at Riku, giving him a reassuring smile, which Riku returned. Sora and Celina ran over to you to give you a helping hand. 

“How, (Y/N)?” Riku asked. 

“No idea! But I ain’t questioning it!” you said. 

“Watch over the King. We've got this,” Sora said. 

“Okay,” Riku said. He rushed back to Mickey as You, Sora, and Celina dispelled the Master's Defender in favor of your and Sora’s own Keyblades to face down Anti-Aqua. She teleported over the water, sending a strike of dark energy in the four of yours direction. She spiraled on the water, summoning a dark Blizzard spell. Two identical clones appeared wielding the same spell, closing in on Sora. They release shards of ice that whiz by your, Celina, and Sora's head, just missing the three of you, before encircling the three of you in a glowing snowflake. The three of you narrowly dodged, but was struck by an icicle. The three of you ran forward, but Anti-Aqua teleported three times in succession, causing three of you to miss with each strike. For a moment, the three of you saw no one on the water, waiting with bated breath, but then the three of you turned your heads. She walked slowly away from you three.

“Shouldn't have abandoned me...” she said. Celina took a risky move and ran towards Aqua.

“Celina!” you and Sora cried. Celina grabbed Anti-Aqua and crashed her lips onto hers. 

“Huh?!” you and the others asked, surprised. Anti-Aqua melted in the kiss and felt the darkness melt away from her. A beam of light surrounded you all and you were all brought back to the Realm of Light. Aqua broke the kiss and looked around. 

“Are these...the Destiny Islands?” she asked. 

“That’s right,” you said. Aqua looked over and saw you. 

“(Y/N)...” she said.

“Hi, auntie,” you smiled. She ran over to you and got a good look at you. 

“My have you grown!” she said. You gave a small chuckle and wrapped her in a hug. 

“I missed you so much!” you said. 

“Me too,” she said. After catching up with everyone else, you and the others went to go find Ventus. 

To be continued...

[cecilspeaks]

169 - The Whittler

Let us go then, you and I When the evening is spread out Against the sky And pick up some Dell Taco for dinner. Welcome to Night Vale.

Beyond our town, past the Sand Wastes, in the Scrublands, sits the old general store. An oaken cabin style A-frame with boxed windows and a covered patio. On the porch there sits a swinging bench and upon that bench sits an elderly man, his face crumpled like a discarded letter, his eyes like tire tracks hidden beneath the shady brim of a straw cowboy hat. The old man holds a block of Elmwood the size of a potato in his right hand, and in his left, a carving jack. He whittles away at the knot of food, shaving off small corners, making detailed lines and indentations. The wood is all his world. And this world is quiet in his lap, on his bench, on his patio, before his general store amid the Scrublands past the Sand Wastes, which curl about Night Vale like the gentle but calloused hands of a father holding a newborn. As the old man whittles, he whistles sad songs with no words. But all those who hear the notes know they are bout loss. That they are about loneliness. But no one hears those notes. Not yet. No one sees the old whittler, nor his general store far out in an uninhabited stretch of desert. Not yet. If they did, they would wonder how an old general store, which was not there yesterday, was suddenly here today, a shop that by all accounts had weathered decades of abusive heat, wind, and isolation. They would hear his sad song, and the universal language of wistful sorrow would hide from them their understanding of time.

Let’s have a look now at sports. This Saturday night, the Night Vale High School Scorpions basketball team begins the district tournament. The Scorpions, having finished the season 18-2, earned the number 1 seat this year, but face some tough competition in their bracket. In the first round, they must battle another basketball team. This is logical, because most basketball tournaments feature other basketball teams. But the other basketball team is considered weaker than the Night Vale Scorpions, because a series of accumulated numbers indicates this is so. Should the Scorpions make it out of the first round and into the semi-finals, they would likely battle the number 4 seed, Nature. A tougher matchup to be sure, as Nature is unpredictable and ubiquitous. Nature’s style of play is best described as capricious and random, sometimes showcasing an array of flashy skills like sunny days, crystalline lakes, and otters. But Nature is a lockdown defensive force with effective momentum stoppers like lightning, quicksand, and poison ivy.

And in the finals, the favorites to compete for the title are Night Vale High School versus themselves, perhaps the toughest battle of them all, as each player must confront their harmful secrets, painful pasts, and darkest nightmares. Themselves are able to match the pace and power of Night Vale’s offensive and defensive sets, and we expect an excellent game. Good luck, Scorpions!  

Most days the Scrublands are absent of humans, unapproachable and hostile. Today is not most days, as a line of Night Vale citizens has formed outside of the general store to see the old whittler and his wood menagerie. Parents ask for photos of their children with his work, and he only whistles and nods nearly imperceptibly. It could almost be interpreted as a slight twitch of the neck, rather than an affirming nod, but interpretations grow liberal when want is high.

Fathers and mothers snap pictures on their phones of children accepting gifts of wood figurines from the old man. The kids stare into the thin black ellipses that pass for his eyes, searching for the charming smile of elderly approval. But instead, seeing every single constellation of the night sky inside slits as thin as thistles and as black as tar. The historic expansion of the universe cannot be fully understood in words or even human thought, but it can be comprehended in the eyes of the tanned, wrinkled stranger.

The old whittler does not charge a penny for any of his work. He does not smile nor accept the many thank-yous coaxed out of the young ones by their manner-minded handlers. Nor does he accept requests. Children have many mascots, heroes, and cartoons that they love to possess via keepsake totems, and they repeatedly ask the old man for whittled representations of their favorite things, like Pokemon characters or one of Pixar’s anthropomorphic cars, or even Ted Allen, host of Food Network’s long running cooking competition “Chopped”. But the old whittler only carves what he carves. And he carves tiny horses, little cowboys, old-timey wagons, armadillos, tigers, tractors, almost anything you can think of. He finishes his sculpture of a koala bear and hands it to Amber Akinyi, who looks at her husband Wilson Levy, who is holding their sobbing, screaming 16-month-old baby Flora. The couple smiles together, never knowing that this balsa koala is everything they could have ever wanted beyond a loving family. Wilson begins to cry at the simple beauty of this craft. Amber begins to cry at the feeling of being understood, and young Flora stops crying as she fawns over the 6-inch tall antipodean marsupial, cartoonishly gnawing on a eucalyptus leaf.

The whittler also carves people. Small human figures, yes, like firefighters and ballerinas and clowns, but also actual people. Harrison Kip told the old man he wished to be happier in his own skin, and the old whittler grabbed Harrison’s cheeks and brought Harrison’s round, soft face before his own crinkled countenance, and Harrison screamed. He screamed in fear of what the old man was about to do. He also screamed in joyous anticipation, and the two screams were discordant like adjacent keys pressed simultaneously on a church organ. The old whittler pressed his knife against Harrison’s chin and began to pull the blade back, using the force of his thumb and the trunk of his forefinger. He repeated throughout Harrison’s assenting and defiant shouts, and after a few moments, Harrison stopped yelling and stood. His jaw squarer, his nose thinner and longer, his shoulders broader. And Harrison smiled.

Soon, the whittler began carving houses, roads, and city buildings. They were larger than the koala, much larger, for they were full-sized renditions of these things. He sliced and sawed away at block after block of red oak, hackberry and peachwood, forming new arteries of city travel, whole blocks of residences, and even cultural landmarks and venues. And the town of Night Vale, in a single late morning, began to expand into the distant and uninhabitable Scrublands of our desert.

Let’s have a look now at horoscopes. Gemini. Bury yourself in your work today, Gemini. Pile that garbage high and rest your weary head beneath its odorous, but comforting weight. Cancer. No more Mr. Nice Guy, Cancer. Today you are Mrs. Disinterested Lady. Get out there and be uninvolved in everything. Leo. You’re the talk of the town, Leo. Word after word is about you, and it is juicy! Like a rare steak, like a blood orange. Juicy like 2008 coutoure. Whew! You should hear what they’re saying. Virgo. You are not what you seem to be, Virgo. You seem to be a blackberry shrub, overreaching and prickly. But really you are a human, squishy and small. Continue to be the thorny fruit-bearing bush, though. Libra. You seek balance, Libra, but you are as lopsided as wealth disparity graph in an economist’s classroom. Share your worth, distribute your value fairly and compassionately, Libra, for the villagers are sharpening their tools. Scorpio. Hey Steve, love you pal! 

Sagittarius. Your (-) [0:10:42] in relationships is going to be your downfall, Sagittarius. You’re an obsidian monolith, towering over everyone, absorbing all light, except the faint reflection of those who want to know what glows inside your stony façade. You don’t have to be a diamond, Sagittarius, or even quartz. Just try for salt lick, OK? I think you can achieve that. 

Capricorn. Oh the games you play, Capricorn, you wicked little sea goat! You naughty caprine ocean dweller with your horns and scales, vexing us with your riddles and labyrinthian logic! The stars offer no advice for you, Capricorn, only envious praise. Aquarius. Put your money where your mouth is, but wash that money first, Aquarius. It’s been in so many other people’s mouths, ever since we added Jolly Ranchers as legal currency. Pisces. You’re swimming upstream, Pisces. Figuratively speaking, of course. I mean you are a human who does not need to actually swim upstream for food or a mate. Get out of the metaphorical stream and avoid the damage you’re going to do to your body and soul. Except for you, Tim. You’re a woodchuck, who is literally swimming upstream. I don’t like you, Tim, because you are eating my tulips. You can drown. Aries. Fake it til you pretend to make it, Aries. Taurus. Don’t hide your feelings, Taurus! Frame them! Display them ostentatiously on the wall. Mount them on plinths behind velvet robed (-) [0:12:33]. Curate an exhibit of your feelings, Taurus. Charge admission.

And now the news. The Night Vale City Council deliberated today on whether the old whittler in front of the old general store in the Scrublands was friend or foe to our town. Those voices arguing in favor of the old man celebrated the huge municipal expansion he was creating so quickly onto undeveloped land. 

“This new infrastructure would have taken us dozens of years and millions of dollars to deploy, and he has accomplished it all in half day!” these voices said in unison. “Plus,” they added, “he whittled a little army man for my kid, a bracelet for my wife, and a sweater for our cat. It’s everything we ever wanted!”

The dissenting voices, and they were few, could only argue that he failed to acquire proper permits for any of this construction, let alone an outdoor vendor’s license which is mandatory even for giveaways. Excepting restaurant samples, marketing promotions, and military dispersion of chemtrails. The many-voiced, uni-bodied creature that is the City Council, huffed in nearly unanimous support for this old man. His sad whistling, his prolific whittling, and his beneficence to our city. “Did you see?” said there of the voices, “that inside the general store there’s everything you could ever need. Cans, boxes, shelves, counters! Walls. It’s amazing. Everything is craved from a single block of wood, and it’s all connected! No glue or bolts or rivets anywhere.” “He’s a deft hand,” concurred four other voices. “How does he even find single blocks of wood that huge?” wondered a solo voice aloud. “Whatever!” the entire City Council roared in unison. “That old man is a superb whittler!”

And now financial news. [hysterical laughter Ha ha hahahaha hahaha every-everything’s fine! It’s just dandy! Uh, thank you for asking.

And now back to our top story. Out in the Scrublands, an entire wooden suburb has grown from the withered hands and sharp knife of the old whittler, who has for the first time today, moved from the porch of his general store. He stands now upon a stage, a round platform on the center of a great amphitheater, which he personally carved deep into the cracked, red rock of the desert floor. The people of Night Vale gather and sit on wood plank rows, which curve in a semi-circle around the old man on the stage. Each person in attendance holds in their hands a whittled object given to them as they entered the audience space. The items are all different, esoteric, and unique, each item and unexpected gift of the whittler. Each item the very thing they have always wanted, even if it was never what they thought they wanted. They hold gently their presents, protecting them with their very lives. The whittler, with his straw hat still shading his keyhole eyes and riverbend mouth, stands before the people of Night Vale who sit in an arena of his own making, each cradling a beloved statuette of his own making. The old man reaches out and takes the hand of his bride. She, of course, is of his own making as well. She is craved of weeping cedar. Her veil, though entirely wood, is somehow translucent, and her sorrowful eyes are faintly visible behind the intricate work of the whittler’s blade. The old man whistles once again, and the crowd whistles along with him. They know the song now. It lives in them like longing, like blood. Like a soul. They know every word of the wordless (-) [0:16:51], and the notes of loneliness spread across the Scrublands to the mountains’ edge and echo back in the key of hope, with a lilt of contentment and satisfaction. They will only be happy when he is happy and he is, indeed, happy. As the whittler clutches the hand of his newly carved betrothed, the clouds part, revealing the happiest thing of all: The weather.

[“Embroidery Stars” by Carrie Elkin http://carrieelkin.com/]

Into the Scrublands I went, myself already as happy as I could ever be for I was with my own true love, my husband. I journeyed to see the whittler for myself, as an effort of journalism, a chronicler of interesting events. I wanted for nothing. My happiness cannot be improved. Or so I believed.

When I arrived, the whittler more than 100 feet a way, and through a mass of thousands, greeted me with a nod so unobtrusive, I believed it to be a trick of the eye. But from the distance, I could see the whole of the universe in those dark eyes under dark shadow, behind the final violet of sunset. I knew he meant me.

Carlos and I stepped to the podium, and the old man opened his palm to reveal an original carving just for me. I had hoped it was a Nintendo Switch, but it was a [sea plane] [0:23:05]. Carlos, like a child on Santa’s lap, cooed and asked the old man for a superconductive supercollider. And the old whittler, his burlap cheeks heavy with gravity and history, reached into the breast pocket of his (-) shirt and handed Carlos a tiny wooden rose. Carlos hugged his rose to his chest, and I my (sea plane). The whittler took the hand again off his bride and gazed upon her, her veiled eyes met by his boundless stare. They stood like that for more than an hour, not speaking. The only sounds were the cicadas chirping and the crowd whistling.

But the tune faded, and soon only the cicadas cut through the silence of a still desert twilight. And one of us, Larry Leroy, stood and walked on to the stage. He touched the old man’s shoulder. The old man did not turn. He did not speak. He collapsed into black ash. Then his bride, then the seats beneath us, it all gave way to crumbling nothing. Then the buildings and roads and even the general store turned into ash. Finally, every one of our object dissipated, like Eurydice almost free from Hades. A gentle cool breeze arrived to sweep our hope away.

We returned home, wordless, with occasional whistles of the whittler’s tune, once again in a sad and lonesome key. Our cherished gifts, we told ourselves, were nothing more than baubles, ephemera, however blessed or magical. They were mere things, not love, not family, not true love, they were objects, toys. Props. Distractions. They were everything we have ever wanted, because we could hold them, see them, touch them. We can no longer do that, but we can remember what it was like. The rough of the wood against the soft of our hand.

Stay tuned next for our new game show: “Name all the nouns!”

And as always, good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Give a man and a fish and he’ll wonder what your deal is. Teach a man to fish and he’ll ask you once again to please leave him alone.

[bbrandy2002]

Happy Birthday Burnsy!

@burnsoslow​

Burns,

You probably don't remember this, but the first time I ever talked to you was a reply to your comment on my fic, The Breakfast Club, in early July. I'm not sure what possessed you to reach out to me a week later in chats but, you did and its been one wild and crazy ride since then. You've certainly come a long way since we were new and mulling over those earlier stories-or in your case-Heavier Things, Chapter 1 (YOU ARE STILL WRITING THAT...LOL) . And while you have sooooo many friends here, for some reason you chose me to be your Tumbler Bestie. I hope you know you are so much more than that though ... you're my sister, my twinsie, a truly good friend. You've inspired me in ways you'll never know. I have watched you grow in your craft and reach an unprecedented level of talent that is evidenced in the quality of your work and through the amount of enthusiastic readers who can't wait for you to post the next epic chapter. You did it all through a tremendous amount of hard work, lot of tears and because you have a likeness that draws people to you. You're just truly an incredibly, special person who possesses a certain spark that makes this crazy place even better. And I think I tell you enough, but you really are one of the best writers in this fandom. And as you say to me all the time, I'm gonna say to you ... I'm one proud TBFF!! I can't thank you enough for all the late night laughs, bull sessions, real talks, 6 hour chats about nothing, letting me know when I'm being a dumbass or just being there when things get really, really tough. The fic I wrote isn't anything special and definitely could have been better, however I hope in some small way it captures the essence of our crazy friendship. Keep growing and shining and being your amazing self.

Love you my friend and Happy Birthday!!

Brandy

**You asked for Drake, Alyssa, Riley and Liam shenanigans. I don't know if this will be what you were expecting, but its what I came up with after 20 different versions. You'll recognize some of this as inside jokes or dialogue and situations from your own stories (yep, I stole them...lol). This is wacky and crazy and makes no sense. Okay Im shutting up now.

Thank you @sirbeepsalot for gutting the hell out of this on Monday night and @emceesynonymroll for SO MUCH of your help and suggestions. Also to my lovely pre-readers/keep me saners @jessiembruno and @loveellamae

Song Inspiration: You're Still The One by Shania Twain. **Drakes final dialogue will come from these lyrics.

Alyssa pulled her black mini-van through the palace gates, running over a cone and nearly taking out Michael, the security guard, in the process. Her hair was swept up into a very messy bun and her sunglasses were perched atop her head. She was wearing a blue, faded Bears sweatshirt, black leggings with a small hole in the crotch, and a mismatched pair of flip-flops -- both were for the left foot. Unable to find a close parking space, she double-parked her van in two handicapped-accessible spaces. She checked her reflection in the rear view mirror and wiped away the smudges of mascara that had run below her eyes. 

She was hurt and mad as hell, yet waited until, 'DIRRTY’, finished on the radio before shutting the van off and tossing the keys in her oversized mom purse. Alyssa’s dainty fingers fumbled hastily as she tried to release the lock on her seatbelt with no luck. "You son of a bitch! Let me go!"

After pulling and tugging, twisting and karate chopping at it as hard as she could, she finally freed herself.

“HAHA! MOTHERFUCKER! GOTCHA!”

Alyssa snatched her purse and cell phone before she swung the door open, hopped out, and kicked the door shut. Still mumbling obscenities, she walked a few paces before turning back around and hitting the van’s hood with her swinging purse. “Fucking hold me hostage like that again and I’m driving your ass into a ravine!” 

Everyone who knows Alyssa Walker would say she is generally a fun, loving, and sociable little woman. She’s a devoted wife who has been married to the man of her dreams for several years and a wonderful mother to their children. She's very successful professionally, having served as the Royal Education Director for 8 years. A social butterfly of sorts, she’s been known to give Maxwell a run for his money, in regards to being considered the life of any party. On most days, Alyssa is typically outgoing and joyful.

Today is not one of those days.

Her flip flops were barely hanging on as she trudged across the lawn that led to the palace gardens,  thoughts of her morning crossed her mind. 

For every single birthday since marrying Drake, she would wake up to the smell of bacon, scrambled eggs, and french toast wafting through the cabin. She would lay in bed and pretend to sleep until Drake and the kids burst in with a tray full of freshly prepared foods, a hot cup of coffee, and a glass of orange juice. They would shower her with kisses and hugs, sing Happy Birthday, and then wait anxiously as Alyssa took the first bite to see if their mother approved of the time and effort they put into making her birthday morning special. When she finished, like clockwork, Drake would send the kids outside with the eldest child and give Alyssa a gift that only he could give her; one that required the skilled use of his lips, hands, and the colossus that was his … well … colossus.

Except, there were no bacon, eggs, or french toast. There were no kids jumping on the bed to wish her a happy birthday and fighting over which one hugged her first. Drake did not send the kids away when she finished her breakfast nor had she risen from the bed barely able to walk from the most mind-blowing sex she’d ever had. 

None of the things she expected happened. 

When Alyssa woke up this morning no one was home. All she found was a letter by the coffee pot from Drake, telling her the kids went with Maxwell for the day and that he would see her after work. To make things worse, her 20 attempts to call him that morning went straight to voicemail.

Drake had been working late and acting shady for months, telling her he was helping Liam take care of some horses they were preparing for next month's derby. Lately, she was beginning to wonder if there was something more he wasn’t telling her.

Now she was late for her luncheon with Riley.

As Alyssa rounded the corner that entered the gardens, she saw Riley on the patio arranging a tray of fresh fruit and sandwiches on the table. An array of metallic birthday balloons danced and bounced from the chairs with the changing breeze. Alyssa frowned with resentment towards her best friend of over 20 years. Bitch is still in her 30s.

Riley’s focus was averted when she heard the sound of rustling leaves behind her. She turned on her heels and said, “Happy 40th Birthday, Old Lady!” Her cheery voice trailed off when she caught sight of her disheveled friend. 

“Lyss? What the hell happened to you? You look like shit.”

Alyssa strode past Riley and threw her purse on the ground beside a chair before she slumped down into it.

Riley furrowed her brows with a snicker. “Bad day?”

Alyssa reached for a strawberry and dipped the entire berry, stem and all, into a dish of melted chocolate before leaving behind a trail of droplets from the dish to her mouth. As she chewed, she mewled. “Ma life if ofer!”

Riley scrunched up her face and arched back in an attempt to avoid the spittle of food that sprayed from her friend’s full mouth. She sighed heavily, grabbed a napkin, and wiped away the chunks of fruit-and-chocolate-mixed saliva that landed on her arm. “Oookaay, what’s going on? Why is your life over?”

Alyssa threw the stem on her plate and leaned forward into the table, gesticulating dramatically. “He didn’t tell me happy birthday, Ri! There was no breakfast, there was no spoiling, there was no fucking, colossus dick! There was nothing!”

“Who? Drake?”

“No, fucking Santa Clause! Of course Drake.”

Riley bit into her sandwich as Alyssa complained about Drake’s lack of attentiveness over the past few months. It wasn't the first time her friend had mentioned this to her; however, judging by how upset she was and the fact that she was dressed like a $2 hooker, she knew it was really serious now. 

Alyssa continued to point out how Drake was always working and, supposedly, was helping Liam out with the horses too. When he returned home each night, his clothes were sweaty and dirty but never smelled like horse shit. To make things worse, the sex had dwindled. Alyssa could give up a lot of things in life, but Drake's dick was not one of them.

“I know he’s cheating, Ri,” she lamented, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

“Nooo.”

“YES! He’s found another woman … someone younger, sluttier, who hasn't popped out a bunch of kids!”

Riley scoffed. “Lyss, everyone knows Drake worships the ground you walk on. I’m sure there is a good reason why he hasn’t paid as much attention to you lately.”

“But he KNOWS I’m needy and clingy and desperate for love!” she wailed.

Riley lifted the napkin from her lap and tossed it on the table. Her friend was a hot mess -- a more than usual hot mess -- and she wanted to help. She stood and walked around the table to her grieved friend and grabbed her tiny hand. “Come on.”

Alyssa’s weepy eyes stared up at her in confusion before she let out a small sniffle. “Where are we going?”

“We are going to the stables. You said he is there today, so let's go talk to him.”

Alyssa sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I’m not going, Ri. He needs to come to me!”

Riley began pulling on her friend's arm, but Alyssa was not being very cooperative with her efforts. “Get your ass out of the chair, Lyss, and go get your man.”

Alyssa pulled back harder. “Get off me, you skank ass ho!”

Riley continued to tug at her, surprised there was so much strength in such a little body. “Bitch, I will drag your ass and this chair all the way to the stables!” 

“I’d like to see you try, dumbass!”

With a hard jerk from Riley, Alyssa’s chair tipped over and she landed on the ground. Her resolve never once faded. While Riley continued to tug at her arm, Alyssa reached over and grabbed her broken flip flop and began smacking vigorously back at her. 

Riley immediately let go of her and stumbled backwards. “You have gone insane!” she groaned. “I tried to help you and, if this is how you’re gonna act, leave me out of it!” She turned to walk away and glanced back quickly. “You know the way out.”

“Ri … wait.” Alyssa called out softly to her.

Riley stopped and quirked her brow with a huff. “What?”

“Can palace security take us down? You know my ass ain’t walking that far.”

Riley called for a guard to take the 30-second drive to the stables. Both girls hopped off the cart and entered the empty barn. Riley called out for members of the stable staff while Alyssa’s eyes roamed the perimeter for her husband.

“Your Majesty? Did you need something?”

Riley turned to face the man in charge as he walked around the corner wiping his hands off with an old cloth. Before she could acknowledge him, Alyssa popped in front of her, nearly knocking her over.

“Eric!! Where’s Drake?”

The Queen smiled at the stable manager. “Eric, we’re looking for Drake.”

He looked between the two women, confusion etched across his face. “Is he supposed to be here, ma’am?”

Riley looked at Alyssa, who looked like she was ready to snap at his question, then back to Eric. “Um … yes. He told Mrs. Walker here that he would be helping in the stables today.”

“Hell … I’d say its been a good --” Eric paused to calculate before turning his attention back to the women. “--three  … maybe four weeks since I last saw Walker here. Came down with King Liam to take the newest horse, Driam, out for a ride … it made me real hard ma’am”

“Hold the fuck up!” Alyssa yelled with one hand on her hip and the other covering her forehead. “He told me he has been helping out here for the last several months. Is that not true?”

Eric, realizing what is going on, backed up defensively. He could sense this was not something he wanted to be a part of. “Nope. I'm not getting in the middle of your marital woes, Ms. Alyssa.” I just want in the middle of your husbands.

Alyssa approached him and aggressively poked at his chest. “Oh, you are in so far in the middle of my woes now, Ricky boy! So drop the bros before hoes bullshit and spill what you know.”

Riley grabbed both of Alyssa's shoulders from behind and pulled her aside. “It’s not his fault, Lyss. Plus … I think Eric’s the ho in this case”

Alyssa shrugged her away and began to pace back and forth frantically. “I’m seeing sounds, Ri. I am seeing fucking sounds all over this bitch!”

“Oh God, Lyss! No!  Don’t look at the sounds ... Don’t look at the sounds” She turned her frantic friend around to face her, squeezing her arms soothingly. “Look at me.”

Alyssa’s lips quivered as she stared back at her best friend. “I’ve lost him, Ri. I’ve lost him.”

“No, you haven’t.”

Alyssa sniffled through her tears and wiped her nose on her shirt sleeve. “Can me and the kids live with you now that I’m a single mother with a cheating ass husband?”

Riley pulled her into a hug, rubbing comfortingly along her back. “Of course you can, but maybe we should talk to Liam first.”

Lyss wiped her tear-stained face on Riley's shoulder and pulled back. “Liam loves me. He won’t care if I stay with you.”

Riley smiled with a nod. “Yes, he does love you, but Drake loves you too and you know that. There has to be a good explanation for everything.”

“Then why did he lie? He’s never lied to me, Ri.”

Riley gave her friend a sympathetic frown and shrugged. “I don’t know, girl, but let’s find out”

Palace security was once again summoned to haul the girls back to the palace.

Liam was in his office taking part in a video conference with Queen Elizabeth when his door burst open.

“WHERE IS MY HUSBAND?!”

His eyes went wide as he cut them to the flash of Alyssa barging in and stopping behind him at his desk; Riley was just a step behind her. Liam’s face flushed as he looked back at the camera and apologized for the interruption.

“Alyssa, dear,” he whispered. “Now is not a good time.” He motioned to the video feed on his laptop.

Alyssa turned to the laptop with the 106-year-old Queen’s face still illuminating from it. “Turn the hearing aid down, Lizzie! Unless you know where Drake is, this conversation doesn’t concern you!”

“ALYSSA!!” Liam stood, towering over her petite frame. “Are you coming for your King?” (had to put that in there lol).

“Liam, she's had a rough day and, remember, we love Alyssa,” Riley interjected with an innocent smile.

“We do, but she can’t just barge in here while I’m working!”

Alyssa grabbed his tie and yanked him down closer to her face. “Please, just tell me you know where Drake is. He said he was working for you and he’s not. He didn’t tell me happy birthday, he didn’t make my breakfast, and he didn’t fuck my brains out this morning!”

“Oh My!”

Alyssa turned back to the laptop. “I thought I told you to turn your hearing aid down, you old coot!”

Liam’s hands covered his face in embarrassment as he fell back into his chair. 

Alyssa crouched down in front of Liam and pulled his hands from his face. “Real talk, Li. Did you or did you not ask Drake to work for you?”

He stared at her for a moment with a deer-in-the-headlights look. He knew exactly where his best friend was and what he was doing -- he had known for months -- but he couldn’t tell her that. 

Nervous, Liam knew there was one way to solve this problem. He reached over to his intercom and pressed the call button. “Bastien.”

A split second later, the door to Liam’s office opened and the head guard entered. “Your Majesty?” he said as he bowed.

“Yes, could you see Alyssa and my wife out, please.”

Exasperated with Liam's request, Alyssa stood back up and eyed Bastien with a steely glare. “I’m not afraid of this bitch! He’s the one who raised the man whore my husband became with all his hookers and shit. My children are fatherless now because of you!”

Refusing to leave, Alyssa plopped down on Liam’s lap and gripped the armrests of his chair tightly with both hands. Her bony ass caused him to yelp as it dug into the muscles of his thigh. She reached for Liam’s scotch  and took a sip before leaning down so that her face could be picked up by the camera.

“Alright, Liz, help a fellow girl out here! You have a lot of experience with a cheating ass spouse and son … should I rip his big, beautiful nuts off? Orrrr … just take it up the ass like you did?"

The Queen of England clutched her chest with an exasperated expression. "Little lady … your behavior is simply prudish and insulting. I highly suggest you learn proper etiquette when addressing me … and, as for your husband, I can see why the poor man's eyes have roamed with such an immoral and, need I dare say, crazed woman such as yourself for a wife."

"Conversation over, bitch!" Alyssa threw the rest of Liam’s drink at the screen, hoping it drenched the queen and slammed the laptop shut.

"God Dammit!" Liam yelled out while he wrapped his arms around her from behind before standing up and handing her off to his guard.

With Bastien holding Alyssa in his arms, her little legs dangling and kicking at his shins, Riley took action.

The Queen grabbed her friend's feet, which were now bare from her crumbled flip flops, and tried with all her might to pull her back.

"You’re gonna break her hip, Bastien! She's an old, feeble woman now! She could have osteoporosis or the menopause!”

Giving their best efforts to escape, including Alyssa's teeth being firmly sunk into Bastien’s upper arm, neither were able to overpower his strength. 

While carrying Alyssa and dragging Riley -- who was still holding onto her friends legs -- Bastien was able to get the two of them out of Liam's office and into the main corridor.

Alyssa followed Riley back to her quarters, where she was given a pair of flip-flops and new leggings from Riley’s 12-year-old daughter’s closet. The hole in the crotch of her leggings had completely blown out during the struggle with Bastien. There were still no answers or replies from Drake, and Alyssa was beginning to feel utterly hopeless. 

Alyssa started to raid the royal couple’s liquor cabinet, happy to swipe a bottle of Balkan vodka, when Riley had an idea. She snapped her fingers with a sly grin. “I know someone who can help us find Drake.”

“Who?” 

The ladies left the quarters and walked downstairs to the ballroom. Once inside, Alyssa took a hard swig of vodka and eyed the utility closet Riley stopped in front of with a questioning look. 

The Queen gave four quick knocks followed by two slow ones and the door unlocked. Mara had been working out of this closet for years, having been fired after a fall out with Alyssa during a costume ball that nearly got her killed. The former guard walked in there during that ball and just never came back out. Riley and Bastien were the only two people who knew about this and told no one -- Bastien purely for comical reasons and Riley for a certain skill the woman possessed.

Alyssa was surprised to find the woman hiding out there after all these years. "I thought you fired her ass! I nearly got a traumatic brain injury and hearing loss from her incompetence!" 

"Shhh!" Riley pulled her friend inside, peeking around the ballroom to ensure no one was looking, and shut the door quickly. 

Riley explained how Liam revoked her cell phone pinging privileges with the guards before the costume ball all those years ago. Apparently, he wasn't too keen on her stalking the entire cast of Friends. He did what he had to do when a restraining order from Matthew Perry came across his desk. Mara, however, was still able to ping into anyone’s phone, thus, the Queen allowed her to stay.

“That's amazing,” Alyssa remarked. She pursed her lips as she scanned the tight space of the closet. “Can she find … maybe … Dwayne Johnson?”

Riley nodded. “Bitch can find anyone.” She looked to Mara, who was sitting at her desk, and winked with approval.

“Okay,” Alyssa clapped and leaned over Mara’s shoulder. “Let’s find him … I wanna know where Drake is!”

Within several seconds, an unfamiliar address popped up on the screen. It was close to the Walker cabin but still not somewhere Alyssa knew of.

She reached for a pen and a pad of paper from Mara’s desk and started to write down the location. “I can’t believe he lied to me this whole time! I must be really stupid for him to think he could actually get away with this.” Alyssa tossed the pen back on the desk and ripped the sheet of paper off the pad. “They’re gonna write a country song about me, Ri,” she cried. “Poppa’s in the graveyard and Momma’s in the pen! I just need a shotgun and for my damn dog to run away and I’ve got a hit!”

The two snuck out of the utility closet and ran to Alyssa’s van. Alyssa pulled the ticket for double parking in handicapped spaces from her wiper blade and threw it in her glove box with the rest of her parking tickets.  Riley shoveled away the piles of empty, diet coke cans and cheese whisps bags from the passenger seat  into the parking lot when she opened her door. 

Alyssa squealed her tires as she burned rubber down the palace drive, taking out the same cone again, nearly running down Michael again, and driving straight through the lowered arm of the security gate.

“WOOOO!” Riley yelled as they sped through the streets of Cordonia into the countryside. “This is just like old times in college, huh, Lyss?”

“I suppose. We’re just not high as fuck.” Alyssa raised her eyebrows and grinned slyly with an all too familiar gleam in her eyes that Riley recognized immediately. “Say … grab my purse, Ri.”

“Oh God! I know that look. We're gonna get smashed aren't we?"  Riley extended her arm behind the driver's seat. Alyssa reached into the side pocket of her purse and pulled out the rolled up, clear baggie and tossed it to her friend.

Unrolling the bag, Riley began to bounce in her seat with anticipation of smoking weed for the first time in 15 years. The excitement quickly faded.

“Um, Lyss?”

“Hmm?”

“I know I haven’t smoked pot in a while, but this looks like a bag of carrot sticks.”

“Give me that, dumbass!” Alyssa glanced over and snatched the bag. She held the bag over the steering wheel and examined it for herself. “Well fuck!! Looks like one of my kids had a really interesting snack yesterday at school. Oh well”

After a twenty-minute drive from the palace into a forested section of Cordonia, Alyssa and Riley stopped in front of a long gravel road. Riley double-checked the address on the van’s GPS with what was written on the paper.

“It says this is it. Look’s kind of desolate,” Riley mused, not sure where the isolated road would lead.

Alyssa turned the steering wheel of her van, probably a little too tipsy to drive considering she had consumed a quarter of a bottle of vodka (that the author of this story forgot about). They made it there, nonetheless, and no one was hurt. Never drink and drive!!

Lush, plentiful trees and a wooden fence lined the gravel road that seemed to lead to nowhere until they came upon a clear view of Lake Cordonia. Drake’s truck was sitting in front of a large wooden cabin with a huge, flat yard and one of the most stunning views of the lake either woman had seen anywhere. Alyssa tried to keep it together ... until she didn’t. When she saw Drake standing on the front porch, casually drinking a beer, shirtless and wiping his forehead with his denim shirt, she skidded the van into park next to his truck. 

Drake’s eyes widened when he saw his wife get out of the van wielding an ice scraper in one hand and a tire iron in the other, a look of pure hell in her eyes. 

He took a small step back. He hadn’t seen her like this since a drunken Olivia grabbed his ass at a Beaumont Bash two years ago. Drake waved his hands in front of her defensively. “Baby girl … wh … what’s going on right now?”

“Don’t you baby girl me!” Alyssa threw the ice scraper and Drake ducked just in time as it flew over his head.

Drake had no idea what the hell she was so pissed off about, but she was approaching him quickly and twirling the tire iron in her hands. He jumped over the railing of the porch and took off running around the side of the house. As he rounded the rear corner of the home, he ran directly into Riley, who was waiting to block him. The plan was a good one -- it really was -- but her thin frame was no match against the much larger Drake. With a hard thud, Riley fell backward, which caused his body to trip over her and land face down on the ground.

Drake rolled over on his back and shook his head in an attempt to get the daze out of his frazzled brain. There she was, standing over him, holding the tire iron like a bat, ready to pounce him without a second thought.

“Baby! Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“You … you’re a cheater and a liar!”

Drake went to sit up but laid back down when Alyssa flinched the hardened steel at him. “The fuck you talking about, Lyssa?”

With months of building suspicions and hurt, Alyssa took a long, deep breath and let it all out with a wail.

“I’m talking about the late nights, the shady-as-shit lies you have spewed to me over and over again. I’m talking about you missing out on dinners, coming home and falling on the bed without a word to anyone. I’m talking about only having sex with me every other day and forgetting my birthday. Now, me and the kids have to live with Liam, who hates me now because I told Queen Elizabeth she got fucked in the ass! It’s because I’m old now, isn’t it? You wanna be a Bastien and have bunga bunga sex parties with skank ass whores who have big boobies and wear their panties around their ankles! And … I just can’t compete, Drake … I just can’t.”

Drake held his hand up to block any sudden swings in his direction. “Can I get up?”

Alyssa nodded her head before she turned away from him and dropped the tire iron to the ground. “Just tell why, dammit?” she whimpered. “Was I not enough?!”

“Not enough? NOT ENOUGH?!!” He quickly rose to his feet, twisted her around and brought her flush against his hard body. With tears in his eyes, he kissed the top of her head, his thick hands sunken into her lush, brown hair.  He was barely able to mutter a single word. He was visibly shaken and broken by her accusations and that she held those feelings about herself for so long.

With both hands now on the sides of her face, he tilted her head so that she was looking directly at him. “Alyssa!” he sobbed softly. “Don’t you dare ever say you aren’t enough for me … ever! You’re literally my whole world. In every single life, in any alternate universe … I choose you every single time. And you wanna know what I’ve been doing? Look!” He turned her around to face the house.

“This is what I’ve been doing all those months! I built it, with my bare hands, just for you, for your birthday. I wanted you to have a bigger home so you could get out of that small cabin and have the view and the yard you always dreamt of. I wasn’t cheating and I didn't forget your birthday.  I just wanted you to have everything you deserve”

Alyssa gave Drake a quizzical look. “But … you’re terrible at woodworking.”

Drake chuckled. “Maybe I love you enough I learned.”

Alyssa sunk to her knees, not to give a blow job, but realization and understanding of the last few months had set in. She stared up at the beautiful, two-story log cabin that had every bit of her husband’s heart and soul for her in it and wept. “Drake.” Her voice was raspy and full of guilt. “I’m so, so sorry.’

He crouched down behind her and wrapped his loving arms around Alyssa before placing a gentle nip at her ear. “You've nothing to be sorry for. I guess I gave you plenty of reasons to think that, but I was crunched for time and wanted to surprise you. Just hope you like it.”

“It’s magnificent … and it’s our home?”

“It's our home. Happy Birthday, Baby girl.”

Drake and Alyssa checked on Riley, who was still knocked out cold. After assisting her and giving her a moment to collect herself, Alyssa thanked her friend for all of her help and gave her the keys to the van to return home in.

Drake showed his wife around their new cabin, pointing out the lowered cabinets in the kitchen that would be easier for her to reach. He had built her a library where she could work from and read without the noise and chaos of a house full of children running around. She was thrilled over the balcony that sat just off their bedroom, overlooking the lake and featuring private jacuzzi tub where they could relax together and, of course, have sex in.

Drake took her outside and walked down to the lake, where he had  put a gazebo in overlooking the water and ushered her to the center of it. 

“Drake! This is amazing. How did you know I wanted this?”

He drew her closer to him and kissed the tip of her nose. “I know everything about you, Lyssa … there’s nothing I wouldn’t give you.”

She smiled up at him lovingly. “And I love you so much for it.”

He reached for one of her tiny hands, brought it to his chest, and wrapped his other arm around her back. With very little room between them, he kissed her lips tenderly. “Dance with me, Alyssa.”

Alyssa gave him a knowing look with a grin. “Drake Walker doesn’t like to dance.”

He began to sway with her to music that wasn’t there, but he felt it in his heart. “Drake Walker will always dance with his girl.” Kissing her once more, they began to slowly dance together and Alyssa had never felt more alive or loved in her life. He has that effect on her--always had and always will.

He spun her in a twirl and pulled her tiny body back into his own. “Ya know, Lyssa … when I first saw you, I saw love.”

Drake reached down and lifted the bottom of her sweatshirt over her head and tossed it on a nearby bench. He caressed her cheek and trailed a gentle line down her neck and across her shoulder. “And the first time you touched me, Baby Girl ...I felt love.”

His lips found that sweet spot just behind her ear before he whispered to her. “And after all this time ...”

Drake’s thumb grazed across her bottom lip before he stared into the blue eyes of his yesterday, today, and forever. “You’re still the one I love.”

What happens next? .......

[three-drink-amy]

All the Shine of a Thousand Spotlights

masterlist - AO3

Chapter Five - There Was Something in the Air That Night

I walked onto the stage, clutching my cup of tea tightly. The cast that was required for the day was already gathered and were chatting amongst themselves. I set my things down on the table off Stage Left. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed Jamie caught up in conversation with one of the actresses in the show, Laoghaire MacKenzie. I closed my eyes, shaking my head slightly, trying to ignore the impulse that immediately came to mind. 

“So you’re really Scottish?” I heard her ask. 

“Yes.” 

“My parents are Scottish!” she said excitedly. 

“Nice. Have ye ever been to Scotland?” I tried not to look in the general direction of their conversation, pretending instead to be checking my email before rehearsal started in earnest. 

“Oh, no. My parents were both born there though,” she replied. 

“Ah,” he said shortly. “Seems like I’d have a lot to talk about wi’ yer parents, then.” I choked back a laugh, covering it as a cough and finally gave into the urge to glance over. Jamie was walking away from her and onto stage. 

I followed him, calling everyone’s attention. “Let’s get started, people!” Opening my script, I turned to the right page. “Act One, Scene Five today,” I reminded them. The blocking was completed last week, now was seeing how it all worked. 

Jamie fell back by the bookshelf downstage and stared at his script intently. I found myself more and more often watching him as he worked on his craft. It was captivating to me to see how someone getting their first big role adjusted to it. Granted, almost everything he did was captivating to me, one way or another. It was a terrible spot to be in, but here I was. I backed off the stage, walking down to sit in the front and gestured for Joe to start. 

I watched as the words I’d been enthralled by were blended with the directions I’d provided and the actors’ own decisions. I treasured the magic of watching a show come together, of being able to watch a scene play out and mentally put a check mark by it, knowing it was completed enough to move onto another scene. John and I — and I suppose, Marilyn — had cast plays together a few times. I knew we were good at it. But watching the actors gel together and become something of their own while adopting their characters was always a thrill. I made notes as I watched it play out — things to correct, lines to emphasize, blocking to tighten. It was routine to me, and yet somehow still unique. I loved this part of it — watching it all come together, bit by bit. 

After hours of hard work, we finally broke for lunch. There would be more scenes to go through after lunch. I needed more caffeine and my favorite soup from the deli a few blocks away. I ran in, disappointed by the long line. Releasing a sigh, I resigned myself to wait. I wanted that damn soup. 

* * *

Jamie watched Claire leave as lunch time finally approached. He walked slowly out of the theater, deciding to find somewhere to eat on his own. By the time he was out on the street, he’d decided what sounded good. It had only been a few weeks ago that he’d found the place, just a few blocks from the theater. As he made his way there, his mind was on the way the morning had turned out. He kept hearing Claire’s notes in his mind as he waited for the next walk sign to turn. 

As it always did, thinking on Claire’s directions somehow morphed into just thinking about Claire. It was terrible, and was certainly part of the reason he was reluctant to take the role in the first place. Second only to his fears of accusations and rumors. But then there was Claire, the gorgeous, smart, funny woman who was basically his boss now. And he knew exactly what she looked like when she fell apart. Nothing could happen — he reminded himself of that daily — but it didn’t mean there wasn’t a part of him that wanted it to. 

He opened the door to the deli, trying to shake Claire from his mind. Jamie would have laughed to himself if he wasn’t so surprised by the fact that Claire was standing in line, two people ahead of him. “Claire?” he asked, unable to pretend she wasn’t there. 

She turned around, looking past the people between them. A smile crossed her face and he hated himself for how much he felt it. Claire stepped out of line, letting the two people between them go ahead of her. “You like this place?” she asked. 

He nodded, looking around. “I’ve only been here a few times, but they’ve the best pastrami sandwich I’ve ever had.” 

Her nose wrinkled at his meal choice. “Really? That’s your go-to?” 

Jamie shrugged. “Why no’? It’s good.” 

“I guess if that’s what you like.” She turned back to look toward the counter. 

Jamie couldn’t let the conversation die. It was the first one they’d had in a long time that wasn’t somewhat related to the play. “Well, what’s yer go-to, then?” 

Claire turned back, a small grin on her face. “Their soup. It’s delicious.” 

“To each their own, I suppose.” 

“You’re not a soup person?” 

He shook his head. “Nah.” 

“What if you’re sick?” she pressed. 

One brow raised thoughtfully. “Perhaps if I’m sick, I’ll eat it. But I’m just no’ much of a soup person.” 

“Okay, so what do you eat if you’re stuck inside on a cold, rainy, Scottish day?” 

Jamie let out a loud laugh. “I dinna ken. A sandwich?” he replied with a shrug. “I dinna usually let the weather determine what I’m eating.” 

“Hmm.” Her face was towards the front again, as if she needed to decide what to get. “So, this pastrami sandwich,” she continued, “anything special about it?” 

“No pickle,” Jamie told her. “But other than that, no. Just a normal sandwich. And a side of chips. I’m no’ that fancy. Perhaps, one day, if I’ve been on Broadway for years and years, I’ll get a more pretentious order,” he teased. 

Claire whipped back around and shot him a look. She knew he was kidding, he could tell by the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know how soup is pretentious.” 

“Is it a bisque?” he joked. 

“You’re impossible.” 

Claire stepped up to the counter when it was her turn to order. He stood a respectful distance back, even if he wanted to stand right next to her like they were together. At one point, she leaned closer to the register, talking in a smaller voice. The cashier nodded, glancing quickly at the line behind Claire. Paying and restashing her wallet, Claire held her hand out for the bag with her ready-to-go soup in it. She thanked the cashier and turned around. Giving Jamie a small smile, she walked out of the deli, most likely going right back to the theater. 

Jamie stepped forward to order and the cashier handed him a plastic number. He looked down at it with a confused expression. “That lady in front of you already placed and paid for your order,” she explained. “This is your number.” Jamie’s mouth hung open as he tried to process what she was saying. The woman cleared her throat and gestured for him to move aside. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, walking over toward the pick up spot. He glanced out the door, waiting to see if Claire was lingering. She wasn’t. It didn’t really make sense why she’d pay for him. Either way, he was touched by the gesture, even if it did nothing to ease the way he felt about her. Adding unnecessary generosity to the list of her qualities, he waited for his number to be called. 

Jamie quickly ate his lunch at the deli, wishing he could think of anything but Claire. He couldn’t help but wonder if she ever had the same problems he did. Did she ever think of the night they’d spent together? Did she ever wonder what would have happened if it had been a different play he’d been auditioning for? Did she ever talk to him and then examine it all later? Rolling his eyes at himself, he took another bite of his sandwich. 

No, she probably didn’t do any of that. He got the distinct feeling that Claire wasn’t as pathetic as he was. She was a damn professional and had acted as such the entire time of production. It was only him that imagined that her praise was just for him. It was only him that pictured joining her after a day at the theater and spending the evening together. He needed to move past it, but it was nearly impossible when he spent all day with her. One day, he’d be able to move on. Well, hopefully. But today, he was still caught up in how easy it was to be around her. In how delightful it was to hear her laugh. In the way his stomach clenched at the memory of her in his arms. 

As he threw away the remnants of his lunch, he tried to start building the facade he’d need to go back and face her again. 

* * *

Production continued and I was pleased with how things were progressing. There were plenty of long days that sometimes stretched into the night, but we were all determined to get things right. Straight shows had less production time than musicals (for obvious reasons), but I was ready to use each available minute we had to get things perfect. 

The cast, however, was not necessarily in agreement. 

I could see it in their eyes on days when I’d kept them too long, run them too ragged, repeated a scene too many times. I never apologized for it, because in the end, it would make us better. But, there was the soft part of me that wondered what they thought of me on those days. Would they all go out and berate me? Would I be called a stick in the mud or accused of having one up my arse? I’d heard those comments and worse. And while I never enjoyed hearing it, I knew that they could bitch all they wanted because when opening night came, I’d have them in tip top shape whether they wanted it or not. 

One Friday, in the early evening, I could tell the cast was getting drained. It wasn’t in my nature to care all that much, but for some reason, I did. I shortened the schedule from two scenes to the one we were working on. As soon as we finished it, I allowed them all to leave for the weekend. I’d justify it to myself with the reminder of other things I had to work on. A director’s job was more than just overseeing rehearsals, after all. 

I watched them all talking as they readied to leave. Gathering my things, I prepared to return to my office, but I was stopped as I packed my bag. 

“Claire,” Jamie said as he approached me, “I ken we’re done for the day, but I was hoping to ask ye a few questions about the script if ye had time.” 

Looking over at him, I nodded. “Of course. Wrapping up early was more for everyone else’s benefit.” 

“Ah, that’s kind of ye,” he commented. I smiled, pretending like I didn’t take it to heart. Pointing to his script, I reminded him of why he walked over. He shuffled it open to the page he wanted. “Okay, so in this scene — I was working on it and it just felt a bit...off.” 

“How so?” 

He started to explain what he wanted to be able to do and I was caught in another bout of being in awe of him. All actors found a way to connect to their characters, but watching Jamie work was just mesmerizing. The ideas he had and the way he wanted to do this monologue were brilliant. I felt myself nod along as he continued to elaborate on the scene. 

“How does that sound?” he asked, his face a bit nervous. 

I tilted my head, looking at him. “I think it sounds like you have a really good handle on your character,” I told him honestly. 

“Really?” 

I smiled and nodded insistently. “Yes, really.” 

A shy smile crossed his face. “Thank you. There was another scene I wanted to discuss wi’ ye.” He flipped pages quickly. “Alright, this one where he’s by himself at home, going over the revelation from the scene before. I’ve been doing it one way until the other night a different line jumped out at me and I thought of it from a different perspective. It changed everything to me.” 

“Okay. So how do you want to do it?” 

He looked at me, passion behind his eyes as he started to explain his new interpretation. Midway through his explanation, he was interrupted. 

“Jamie!” Laoghaire called, running onstage to grab his arm. He looked over at her with a stunned expression. “Since we’re off early, a bunch of us decided we’re going to go to a club. You should come with us!” she exclaimed, pulling his arm, trying to get him further from me. 

“I’m actually trying to go over some scenes right now,” Jamie told her, gesturing to his script and me. Laoghaire shot me a look. I knew she wasn’t my biggest fan. She couldn’t do anything about it, though, because I held her career in the palm of my hand. 

“Okay, well when you’re done, you should come meet us,” she insisted, playfully tugging on his arm. I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible. Jamie was nothing to me but one of the actors in my play. That’s all anyone needed to know. Laoghaire shouldn’t be bothering me so much. 

“Sorry, but no. I appreciate the offer, but it doesna really sound like my thing,” Jamie brushed off, trying to get his arm back. 

“Come on, you have to!” she whined. 

“He said no. And I rather thought no meant no,” I interjected. Grimacing at myself, I glanced over at Jamie but saw an amused expression on his face he was desperately trying and failing to hide. Laoghaire stared at me for a moment — glared, really. “Sorry, we’re just trying to get something accomplished here.” 

She let go of Jamie’s arm with a huff. “Sorry to interrupt,” she replied in a formal tone. The girl was halfway off the stage when she turned back. “Jamie, maybe when you’re done here, you’ll reconsider. I’ll text you where we’re going.” 

He rolled his eyes at his script. “Aye,” he called back without looking at her. When the door closed behind her, he released a sigh. “Sorry about that,” he said in a small voice. 

“Don’t worry about it. So, you were saying how you wanted to do that second monologue.”

“Aye,” he reminded himself. His eyes closed for a second, recentering himself. “Okay, so I was thinking…” he trailed off for a moment. Looking at me, he had a question in his eyes. “Do ye think I could just show ye what I was thinking instead of explaining it?” 

I took a step back, gesturing for him to take the stage. “Of course. Please do.” 

“Great,” he said as he stepped into place. I watched as he took a moment to get back into character. He was transformed in front of me. Words were coming out of his mouth but he was no longer Jamie; he was Peter. Following the directions already set for the scene, he acted out the monologue, this time with a new take on it. I found myself captivated, even more than usual when I watched him. It was an emotional scene and he was taking it to new heights. 

The monologue was interrupted by a loud notification from my phone. I cringed, holding my hand up in apology. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” I grabbed my phone and looked down. “Oh, my food is on its way.” 

“Ye ordered in?” 

“Yeah, I have more work to do. It’s easier to just do it here. I won’t get distracted as easily by my TV,” I reasoned. 

Jamie laughed. “I suppose that makes sense.” He walked closer to me. “Would ye mind if I ordered something here as well? I have some other parts I wanted to ask yer advice on.” He took a deep breath. “I ken ye have other stuff to work on, though.” 

“Jamie, you have the weekend off. We don’t have to go over everything right now. You’re allowed to go enjoy your weekend. You’ll only get so many of them before it’s 8 shows in 7 days,” I reminded him. 

“I ken that, but I’d rather have my questions answered so that I can be rehearsing the way I should be,” he explained. My eyes widened slightly as I looked at him. “Is that stupid of me to say?” 

I shook my head, no words coming to mind for a moment. “No,” I said in a small voice. “It’s just…” I tried to think of how to explain it. “It’s just been a while since I worked with someone who was so excited about it all. You know? I mean, take Joe for example. Joe loves what he does and you can see that, but he’s been doing it forever. I haven’t had someone in a while — maybe ever, actually — who asked my opinions on their performance and visibly put so much effort into it.” 

“Sorry,” he replied sheepishly. 

I reached out, grabbing his arm. “Jamie, that’s not a bad thing at all! It’s admirable. You’re taking it all so seriously and working your arse off and it’s wonderful.” 

He nodded, understanding what I meant. “I dinna want to squander the chance ye’ve given me.” 

“You’re not, I promise you. Nor will I think you’re squandering it if you take a weekend to just relax,” I assured him. 

“I still would rather get things down, if that’s alright wi’ ye. I can go, though, if ye’d rather work on yer other things or just have some time to yerself. I can –” 

“Jamie,” I interrupted him, “it’s fine. You’re welcome to stay.” 

He smiled, nodding at me. “Thank ye.” Pulling out his phone, he pointed to it. “I’ll, uh, take a minute to order something, if that’s alright.” 

I laughed lightly. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He clicked away on his phone before placing it back in his pocket. We workshopped scenes until both our orders had arrived. Jamie was ready to spread out on the stage and eat, but I motioned for him to follow me back to my office. I liked to eat at a table if ever possible. 

We sat on either side of my desk and I pointedly ignored the other work I needed to be doing. Conversation flowed easily between us. But then again, it always did. We talked about the play. About the cast. About John’s easily excitable spirit when it came to Broadway. We talked about everything. Everything except us. 

“What made you want to become an actor?” I asked, verging dangerously close into personal territory. 

A sheepish look crossed Jamie’s face. “Ye’ll make fun of me.” 

“No, I will not!” 

He sighed deeply, like he was about to say something he’d regret. “Okay, so when I was 15-years-old, a tour of Mamma Mia came to Edinburgh and my sister demanded I had to go wi’ her.” 

My mouth flattened into a line as I nodded for him to continue. 

His eyes narrowed at me briefly. “So, ridiculous as the show is, I was in awe of it all. They looked like they were having the time of their lives and I wanted to do that too.” 

“Mamma Mia is a fine show,” I told him. “It’s just surprising to me that that was the show that did it.” 

He shrugged. “So ye’ve seen it, then?” 

“I grew up on Broadway. I’ve seen everything.” 

A grin spread across his face, like he’d found a new challenge. “Okay, then what’s yer favorite show?” 

“Musical or straight show?” 

His eyebrows raised. “Both.” 

I felt the corner of my mouth tug into a small smile. “Straight show is A Raisin in the Sun.” I could answer that easily. 

“And yer favorite musical?” His grin widened. I knew he could sense my hesitance. 

I sighed dramatically, not wanting to answer. More than one person had teased me when I told them my true answer. He raised one brow at me. “Fine. It’s Phantom.” 

A laugh escaped him, though I knew he was trying to hold it back. “Why are ye so ashamed of that?” 

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Because as a part of the Broadway world, I feel like I’m supposed to have a more sophisticated choice.” 

“So, then, why Phantom?” he asked, a grin still on his face. 

“Well, it was one of the first musicals I ever saw. I was maybe 12 and something about the Phantom was just captivating. I think it might have been the mask. I think it awakened something within me.” 

Jamie laughed loudly. “Wow. So let’s say ye’re at a masquerade party. Are ye just wildly turned on the whole time?” 

I laughed in surprise at his question. It was a dangerous turn in conversation, to be sure, but I didn’t hate it. “Well thankfully, I’ve never been invited to a masquerade party. That could be a hairy situation.” 

He shook his head, continuing to laugh. “I’ll give ye this, it is a verra entertaining show. And that soundtrack. “Music of the Night” is so good.” 

“I always liked “Think of Me,” personally.” I swallowed, cursing myself. The song seemed a bit too poignant at the moment. Just looking at him across my desk, one line rang through my head. Don’t think about the way things might have been. 

Jamie nodded, a polite smile still on his face. “Aye. That’s a good one as well.” His expression almost seemed strained. 

For the first time, I considered what he might think of our situation. Shaking my head to myself, I was reminded of his reaction to knowing me. I cleared my throat, trying to get past this moment I’d accidentally gotten myself into. “What about you? What are your favorites? Mamma Mia?” I asked, teasing him. 

It got the desired effect. He laughed a bit, shaking his head. “Nah.” 

“So what are they?” 

“My favorite straight show is Much Ado About Nothing.” 

“Really?” 

“It’s Shakespeare! Tis just a classic. And no’ as depressing as any of the dramas,” he reasoned. 

I nodded slightly. “I’m surprised as a Scot you’re not saying the Scottish Play.” 

“And potentially curse us? We’re in a theater!” He chuckled. “As for my favorite musical…” He tapped his chin, thinking. “Do I have to have seen it?” 

“You can’t say Hamilton if you haven’t seen it!” I declared. 

He laughed. “How did ye ken that was what I meant.” I just raised an eyebrow. His eyes narrowed in my direction. “Have ye seen it?” 

I fought a smile as I leaned back in my chair. “Yes. I actually saw it Off-Broadway.” He glared at me, shaking his head. “You’re the one who asked!” I couldn’t help but make him a bit more irritated with me. “And then I saw it a couple of times on Broadway as well,” I informed him, following up with a small snicker. 

“Ye’re the worst,” he informed me. “What are ye going to say next, that ye’re close friends with Lin-Manuel Miranda?” 

I laughed loudly, leaning forward. “I wish. He seems like a cool guy. Sadly, no, we’re not friends. Although, I did meet him once.” 

Jamie’s glare returned. “Let me guess, at the Tony’s.” 

I nodded happily. “Yes, in fact.” I took a sip of my water. “You never said what your favorite musical is. If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to assume it’s Mamma Mia.” 

“Ah, yes. It’s actually Rent.” 

I smiled fondly as I leaned back in my chair. “A classic for certain. You can’t really beat “Seasons of Love.”” 

He nodded his agreement. “Aye. Ye missed it the other day when we broke out into it in the green room.” 

My eyes went wide. “You’re kidding.” 

Jamie shook his head. “No, I’m no’. And I can tell ye, myself included, that there’s a reason some of us are no’ in a musical right now,” he informed me with a guffaw. 

“Can you make this organically happen again when I’m around?” I practically pleaded. “I would love to witness some trainwreck like that.” He laughed, but I grew a bit serious. “Those types of fun moments never seem to happen when I’m around.” When I finally looked up at him, he had an almost sympathetic expression on his face. “Don’t worry, I know it’s because they don’t like me.” 

“They like ye,” he tried. 

“Jamie, you don’t have to –” 

“No, they do. They’re just a bit scared of ye,” he explained. My eyebrows rose. “Ye’re pretty much their boss, though.” 

“So, you’re saying I’m the scary bitch boss?” 

“I wouldna say that. Tis more like the boss ye’re intimidated by, but have an immense respect for.” Looking at him, I could see the earnestness on his face. “It’s clear ye ken what ye’re doing and that ye’re no’ afraid to ask what ye want. They’re afraid of pissing ye off.” 

“What about you?” 

Jamie locked eyes with me. I could feel something between us, but I couldn’t name it. “That immense respect sounds about right.” 

I felt the warmth of his statement, a small smile spreading on my face. “But are you afraid of me?” 

“Do you think I’d be sitting here if I was?” He sighed as he sat back in his chair. “I’m perhaps a bit afraid that at some point, ye’ll realize ye made the wrong choice casting a no name and ye’ll want Bradley Cooper.” 

I laughed. “That’s one thing you don’t have to be afraid of, Jamie. I promise you that.” 

He smiled, looking down at his clasped hands in his lap. “So what’s yer favorite part of a show?” 

I knew my answer, but it seemed a bit cliche. “Opening Night,” I told him. He could sense there was more and nodded for me to continue. “It’s when everything’s come together. The play has been cast. The lighting cues are set. The music is selected. The costumes are finished. The blocking is done. The rehearsals are over. And it’s time to see if it’s all come together in the right way. It’s terrifying in a way, but so exhilarating. Seeing it all fall into place — the months of planning it — and suddenly, it’s there. People are seeing it and hopefully enjoying it. It’s what I love most about directing. Getting to the part where it’s not just all in my head.” 

An impressed look crossed his face. “I like that answer. Soon enough ye’ll be there again.” 

I nodded thoughtfully. “What about you? What’s your favorite part of a show?” 

“The curtain call,” he told me without hesitation. I raised one brow. “Ye just see how happy they all are. They did it, usually with no big disasters. And they come together and seem genuinely thrilled to be there. It’s the first time ye get to see them as people and no’ just their characters, ye ken?” I smiled as I nodded. “I canna say why, but I’ve just always loved to watch the curtain calls.” 

“I could see as an actor why that would be your favorite.” I tilted my head a bit, looking at him. “You’re almost there too.” 

He took a deep breath, nodding at me. His wrist turned and he took a glance at his watch. “Shit,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Claire. I’ve kept ye from yer work and now it’s late.” 

I looked at my own watch and found he was right. I’d have probably been home by now if I’d eaten by myself. We’d gotten caught up in conversation and chatted for hours without really realizing it. I hated how comfortable it all felt. It shouldn’t be this easy with the person I couldn’t be with. I shook my head at him. “It’s okay. There are other days for it.” I sat forward to throw away my takeout box. “And this wasn’t totally unpleasant.” 

Jamie grinned, seeing through my comment. “Well, I should get going.” 

“If you wait just a moment, I’ll walk out with you,” I told him as I packed up my bag. Some of my work I could do at home this weekend. He waited by the door til I was ready to go. We walked side by side, but far enough apart that our hands wouldn’t accidentally touch. Just in case, I pulled my hand up and held it on the crossbody strap of my bag. 

When we got outside, I turned to lock up. The janitorial squad was long gone. That should have been my indicator that Jamie and I had stayed too long. We had been oblivious to anything that wasn’t us. I tried to ignore what that could mean. It means nothing, I insisted mentally. 

“Do ye, uh, need any help getting home,” Jamie offered. 

“I have successfully done so every other day of my adult life, but thank you,” I teased. He blushed a bit, shaking his head. “I appreciate the offer,” I added. “Besides, your home is a lot further away.” 

His eyes landed on mine, holding my gaze for a moment. And I’d done it. I’d acknowledged the fact that I knew where he lived. The entire time we’d been working together, we’d done our best to pretend that night had never happened. But my comment brought it all back and I could see it in his eyes. I’d broken the unsaid rule. 

“Ye live somewhere verra nice, don’t ye?” he asked, his tone light. I was thankful for his ability to just sidestep that moment. 

“I don’t know,” I avoided. “Is Central Park West nice?” 

 He shook his head with a small laugh. “Perhaps.” His eyes rolled a bit. “Christ, ye probably thought my place was a dump.” 

I stared at him for a moment. He was breaking the unsaid rule, too. “I didn’t,” I promised him. His eyes lingered on me longer than I was expecting. I took a deep breath. “Besides, if we’d have gone to my place, the jig would have been up pretty fast.” 

“What, do ye have yer name in lights across yer flat?” he teased. 

“Thankfully, I’m not quite that conceited.” 

“Would it have been yer Tony Award wi’ yer name carved in it then?” he pressed, somehow reading my mind. 

“Perhaps.” 

“I would imagine it’s prominently displayed.” 

“Perhaps,” I repeated. 

“As it should be.” He swallowed harshly. “Then, I suppose it’s a good thing we didna go there.” His eyes were on his feet now. My breath drew short at his comment. Maybe he didn’t regret it after all. I knew I didn’t, even after all the awkwardness. 

“I suppose,” I whispered. 

Our eyes met again and held. There were so many things I wanted to say. So many things I wanted to ask him. I couldn’t. And he couldn’t answer them. I didn’t know how he felt, but the feeling of his eyes watching me brought back that spark I’d felt that night. The same spark I’d felt several times since then, but only in his presence. 

Finally, he cleared his throat. “It’s late. You should be getting home.” 

I wanted more than anything to invite him home with me. But yet again, I couldn’t. Instead, I just nodded. “Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “Goodnight, Jamie.” 

“Goodnight, Claire.”

Next chapter

[justaghostingon]

The Proposal: The Second Attempt

Note: Don is the worst third wheel in the world

Kodya tugged at the edge of the tee-shirt Don had lent him until his own clothes dried out. It was too small, but it was better than nothing. At least he still had the ring, now hidden in the picnic basket he carried over his arm.

Gyrus grinned at him. “So where to now?” He gestured to the redbrick street before them, his back to the treacherous lake.

“I was planning on taking a walk through the beach town.” Kodya shifted the picnic basket so he could walk easier. “You remember how I used to come back here to visit you after you saved me?”

“Every day of summer!” Gyrus laughed, eyes twinkling at the memory. “You were so young back then! Like a puppy following me around.”

“I grew up!” Kodya scowled.

“Yeah but it took you a few years.” Gyrus jabbed a playful finger at Kodya’s chest.

Kodya rolled his eyes as he caught Gyrus’s hand in his own. “Anyways,” he said as he linked their fingers. “We really got to know each other on this street. I think I fell in love with you here. So I thought we should walk down it again together.”

“Oh Kodya,” Gyrus’s expression melted. He leaned forward. Kodya leaned down and...

“Kodya! Gyrus!” Don cried out, causing them both to jump a part.

“What is it Don?” Gyrus asked through gritted teeth.

“It seems my car won’t start.” Don rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “Could you give me a lift?”

Gyrus looked ready to bite his head off, so Kodya quickly cut in. “There’s a car shop up the street a bit where I used to work in college. If you ask for Bronzo, he’ll give you a jump for sure.” He gave Don his most reassuring smile.

“Is there?” Don laughed. “It's been so long since I last wandered around this area. Would you mind showing me the way? I’ll be discreet.”

Now the last thing Kodya wanted to do was let Don follow him around while he was trying to romance Gyrus, but Don had done so much for them already...

“Sure,” he said, a fake smile on his lips.

“We’ll get you there in record speed,” Gyrus added through his teeth.

-------------------

Walking down the street hand in hand with Gyrus brought back a flood of memories. There was the ice cream parlor where he had insisted on paying for Gyrus’s ice cream as “thanks” for something or another but was really just an excuse to treat him. The odds and ends clothing shop Gyrus had dragged him to make fun of the ridiculous hats and dare each other to try them on. That loose brick he’d fallen over and landed face first into the baking competition’s prize pies.

It had been the first time he heard Gyrus laugh, and that musical sound had been worth all the angry Moms and a lifetime banishment from all statewide baking competitions. He caught Gyrus’s eye and pointed towards it, “Do you remember...?

“Oops!” Don tripped over the brick, giving a little jump before finding his footing. “They really need to get that fixed don’t they?” He grinned at Kodya and Gyrus.

“Don...” Gyrus sighed. “What happened to being discreet?”

“Oh right, right,” Don waved his hand. “Don’t worry! You’ll never know I’m here!” He gave them a thumbs up and wandered over to the ice cream parlor’s window.

Kodya frowned as he watched Don strike up a conversation with a young woman and her son right in front of the door. “Do you want some ice cream?” he offered Gyrus half-heartedly. Don shifted slightly to the right, so that it was now impossible to get in without being drawn into conversation.

“I think I’ll pass,” Gyrus shot a dark look at Don’s one man barricade. When he realized Kodya was watching him, he quirked an eyebrow and patted the picnic basket teasingly. “No point in eating sweets before the big meal.”

“Of course,” Kodya smiled. Gyrus pulled him forward, towards the hat shop. “Why don’t we go in there again?” He smiled. “Remember that ridiculous peacock one you bet me to wear?”

“Only after you made me wear that bright green circus hat!” Kodya laughed and allowed Gyrus to pull him along. It would be fun to go inside again, and who knows, maybe he could even...

“Gyrus!” Don called from his place beside the lady and her son. “You’ll never believe it! This woman is from Washington D.C! Isn’t that where you did your internship?”

“Oh for the love of...” Gyrus grit his teeth into a forced smile as he turned to Don. “It’s a big city, I’m sure she’s never been to the part I was in.”

“Now, now!” Don laughed as he beckoned Gyrus over with one finger. “No need to be shy! I’m sure everyone’s heard of NASA!” He practically shouted the last word. Kodya winced. Here it comes.

The little boy stopped eating his ice cream to stare at Gyrus with wide eyes. “You’ve been to space?” he asked, eyes wide as saucers.

A space fan. Of course he is, thought Kodya. Gyrus’s shoulders sagged as he replied. “Yes.”

“Really?” The boy exclaimed, uncaring of how his ice cream dripped all over the red bricks of the street. “Tell me everything!” His mother put a hand on his shoulder.

“Neil stop bothering the man,” she started to say.

“Oh its no bother at all!” Don replied, “Right Gyrus?” The boy peaked up at Gyrus, eyes shining.

Gyrus glanced up at Kodya, eyes filled with guilt. “Go on,” Kodya gave him a slight nudge. “I know how much you like showing off to kids.”

Gyrus pulled away reluctantly and began to launch into his, “I was in space” story. The boy and his mother were hanging on to every word, but Kodya, who had heard it a hundred times, found he couldn’t concentrate. His attention was caught by a street performer setting up shop on the corner.

An idea began to form in the back of Kodya’s mind. On his first date, he and Gyrus had danced together to a street performer on that exact corner. He placed the picnic basket on the ground and quietly broke off from the conversation. Everyone else was too absorbed in Gyrus’s story to notice as he drifted over to the street performer and whispered a song in his ear.

The player nodded, and Kodya grinned.

The melody started off faint as Gyrus’s story drew to a close, but Kodya saw his ears prick up. “I know this song!” Gyrus exclaimed to the confused mother and son, lifting his head and looking around for its source.

Kodya grinned as he stepped forward to offer Gyrus his hand. “Can I have this dance?” Gyrus took his hand and beamed. “Excuse us,” Kodya smiled at the woman and her son, and left them standing bewildered beside Don.

They spun together, laughing as the music washed over them. Their feet moving in a familiar rhythm. They must have looked ridiculous, neither of them were very good dancers, but Kodya couldn’t bring himself to care.

All last notes of the song began to fade away, leaving only the two of them, swaying in each other's arms. Gyrus pulled him close, cheeks a flame, and everything was perfect.

“Gyrus,” he murmured, Gyrus looked up at him through his bangs, expectant.

“Are you saying I don’t know how to play?” the street musician shouted. Gyrus and Kodya jumped.

“Of course not!” Don held up his hands in defense. “Only that perhaps you should tune your instrument a bit more, for its own sake.”

“Who do you think you are?” the street musician snarled. Oh no. Kodya thought. Don don’t you dare.

Don shrugged. “Just a fellow enthusiast of the fine craft of music,” he said like he wasn’t going to follow it with an incredibly long lecture on his experience in a moderately popular band in his youth.

Gyrus nudged Kodya with his shoulder and put a finger to his lips. Quietly he began to back away. Bending down to grab the picnic basket, Kodya cast one look back at Don, still fighting with the street performer. Then he pulled himself upright and took off running after Gyrus, picnic basket bouncing on his arm.

----------------------

Gyrus finally stopped at the entrance to the Dunes park. He leaned over, hands on his knees, panting. “Good idea Kodya,” he said with a grin. “A street musician was the perfect way to distract Don.”

“S-sure,” Kodya replied, not sure how to point out that wasn’t his plan at all. He almost felt bad for Don, who now had to look for the car shop himself, but then he remembered all the trouble he caused, and all sympathy evaporated.

“So where to next?” Gyrus asked as he pulled himself upright. “I’m assuming you’ve got a place you want to eat that,” he added, eyeing the picnic basket with a look of hunger.

Kodya felt his own stomach growl. “Actually you lead us to the right area, I was going to have a picnic at...”

“The ugly tree,” Gyrus finished for him, a wistful smile on his lips. “Where we had our first dinner date.”

“You got it!” Kodya hoisted the picnic basket higher. “What do you say when we get there and get eating?”

The tree wasn’t too far into the park, just up a dune with a clear view of the lake below. It was empty, except for a few Canadian geese milling about nearby. Kodya and Gyrus quickly set up the blanket. Then Gyrus reclined while Kodya fiddled with the basket.

“I could help you know,” Gyrus laughed, but Kodya pulled it close to his chest and shook his head.

“I’ve got it,” he insisted. And I don’t want you to find the ring by mistake, he added mentally.

“If you say so,” Gyrus chuckled, leaning back.

Kodya reached in the basket, fishing around for the first course. He found it near the bottom. It felt slightly wet, and for a second he panicked, until he realized it was just the leftover water from the ring’s box. Was water bad for rings? He wished he’d paid more attention when the shop teacher in high school had talked about gold. It hadn’t mattered to cars, so he hadn’t bothered to remember.

He shook his head and pulled out the box of Mandu. No time to worry about that now. He passed it over to Gyrus with a grin. “First course, good sir,” he said in his most over the top British accent.

“Mandu!” Gyrus grabbed the box with eager hands. Then he stopped, and gave a slight bow. “Why thank you, kind sir.”

“You’ve got the accent wrong,” Kodya laughed as Gyrus stuffed a Mandu in his mouth, crumbs falling everywhere.

“Better than yours,” Gyrus shot back, crumbs spraying around him. Kodya grinned as he bit into his own Mandu. It tasted like Gyrus, just like always.

They finished off the Mandu in silence, enjoying the food and each other’s company. When they’d each had their three, Kodya moved to pick up the box and put it back in the basket. He noticed something odd. An extra Mandu was laying in the bottom, untouched.

“I thought I only bought six,” he murmured as he pulled it out.

“Maybe the shopkeeper thought you were cute and slipped you an extra,” Gyrus offered, leaning forward on his arms.

Kodya rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. She had to be ancient.”

“There you go then.” Gyrus clutched his chest. “You naughty boy! Breaking elderly hearts left and right! Should I be jealous?” He fluttered his lashes.

“Shut up!” Kodya gave him a light shove. Gyrus bounced back, wide grin entirely unrepentant. Kodya held out the Mandu to him. “Here, take it.”

“Oh I couldn’t take a declaration of love from you Kodya! Have you no pity for the poor old woman who made it just for you?” Gyrus sighed in mock disappointment.

Kodya felt his cheeks burn as he shoved the Mandu in Gyrus’s face. “Just take it. It's your favorite.” Gyrus blinked, hand coming up to take the Mandu from Kodya.

“There’s another solution to this problem,” he grinned. Opening his mouth wide, he bit the Mandu in half, and then held the rest up to Kodya a smirk on his lips. “Share?”

Kodya narrowed his eyes. If that was how they were gonna play it...He reached up to grab Gyrus’s wrist, pulling him forward. Not breaking eye contact, he pulled Gyrus’s Mandu covered fingers up, opening his mouth...

Smack! A large weight slammed into his head, knocking him sideways. He gasped for breath as pain blossomed behind his skull. He shook his head, vision swimming, to see a great brown blob standing between him and Gyrus.

What?

The blob gave a great “Honk!” as it threw back it’s head and swallowed the leftover Mandu whole. Kodya blinked again, vision returning in time to see the Canadian goose and two of its friends dive at a helpless Gyrus.

Gyrus gave a shriek and tried to bat them off, kicking one in the chest and hitting another, but it did no good. There were too many converging, beaks pecking at all exposed skin. Kodya gave a scream of rage and threw himself over Gyrus, punching a goose solidly in the beak. It fell back, but quickly shook off the hit.

What are these things even made of? Kodya thought as two more dove at his head. Gyrus landed a kick on one and sent it reeling backwards. He pulled himself up and looked over Kodya’s shoulder, eyes blown wide.

“The picnic basket!” he cried. Kodya whirled around to see two fat geese attempting to fly off with it. The ring! Kodya thought, diving after it. His fingers clasped on the edge, and he tightened his grip, splinters digging into his hands.

The birds shrieked at the added weight, tugging harder at the handle. Kodya refused to let go, to lose the ring to two Canadian geese of all things. The basket strained between them, woven handle straining and breaking, one strand at a time, until it snapped completely. The momentum sent the birds catapulting into the air, and Kodya backwards onto the grass.

Sensing weakness, the birds converged on his helpless form. He swung the picnic basket blindly, left and right. Then Gyrus was beside him. “Jump!” he yelled.

Kodya jumped, and Gyrus pulled up the blanket, tossing it on a whole flock of fat geese. They struggled and fought beneath it, trying to figure out a way out. Gyrus wasted no time. He grabbed Kodya’s hand and ran through the open spot the blanket attack had left in the ranks of the enemy.

The geese gave chase, and Kodya ran down, hand in hand with Gyrus, swinging the picnic basket at any geese that got too close. As the long road back to the safety of their car loomed before him, Kodya realized dully he had missed yet another chance to propose.

[parkerparts]

Nothing Scarier Than a Broken Heart

“You’re a gift to the world, Harley,” Peter sighed, burrowing closer to Harley. His cider mug, cupped in his hands, seared Harley’s skin, but he welcomed the warmth.

“I don’t really care about the world, I just care about you.”

“Bold words from a man who told me he wanted to fix the world. Seems like that man would care a lot about the world.”

“What if I told you that you are my world?”

Parkner Halloween Week 2019 Day Two: Spiders, Scary Stories, “I feel like I’m being watched.”

Read on AO3 here.

The click of a flashlight is accompanied by a bright, blinding light that causes Abbie to cringe and Morgan to shriek, half in discomfort, half in delight. Abbie grabs a corner of a blanket, folds it a couple of times, and places it over the bright light, effectively dimming it and giving it a scary, red glow from the color of the crimson blanket.

“There we go,” Abbie says, flashing a grin at the younger girl. It’s Abbie and Morgan’s fall break at school, and Pepper drove them all out to the lakeside cabin to spend the long weekend. Morgan and Abbie set up camp in Morgan’s tent in the backyard, the sound of the wind howling all around them. “Now, what were we going to do, Lady Morguna?”

“You were going to tell me a scary story,” the young girl replies, sitting cross-legged across from Abbie.

“That’s right.” Abbie places the flashlight on the ground face up, letting it cast its light and form long shadows against the walls of the tent. “Once upon a time there was a boy. He was a mechanic, which means he fixed things. He was really good at what he did, but he was very ambitious and never satisfied with just fixing things. He wanted to fix the world.”

Morgan props her chin up with her hand, staring at Abbie with dark, shining eyes. “What was his name?”

Abbie smiles sadly. “Harley. His name was Harley Keener.”

Of course, only the people who actually knew him called him Harley. Most people knew him as Junior. Once, that “Junior” stood for Harley Keener Junior, the son in the spitting image of a man who ran away from his family. Over time, it came to stand for The Mechanic Junior, the mentee of a legend who crash landed in Rose Hill on a snowy winter night.

Junior fixed things. He fixed cars, washing machines, lawn mowers, ovens, bicycles, tricycles, motorcycles, and once, even a unicycle that belonged to Dave Davis, who stubbornly refused to learn how to ride a bicycle or drive a car.

Every summer, a jet landed in a clearing in the woods behind the gas station. Little boys and girls like to run out and watch as Junior, sometimes accompanied by his sister, boarded the jet and took off.

The jet would eventually land in New York, on the grounds of a sprawling, high-tech compound that housed the world’s most famous, yet most controversial, heroes. Junior had never officially met any of them, save The Mechanic Senior. As soon as he arrived, Junior holed himself away in the expanse of laboratory space and got to work.

You see, Junior had a plan, a vision, a dream. He didn’t want to just fix things. He wanted to fix the world.

One summer, when Junior was seventeen and done with the formalities of high school, he locked himself in the labs and made a silent vow to himself to never leave. However, the universe had other plans for him, and these other plans came in the form of Peter Parker.

“I feel like I’m being watched,” Junior muttered aloud, fingertips buried deep in the recesses of metal and wire and electricity and something more like magic.

“You are.” Junior violently ripped his hands free at the unwarranted voice, eyes darting around. The sound of his pocketknife sliding out of its sheath and clicking open reverberated around the sterile room. “Don’t be scared. It’s just me.”

“Show yourself.” Junior swallowed a scream when a body dropped from the ceiling, landing gracefully at his feet in a catlike manner.

“You must be the other kid Mr. Stark talks about all the time. Junior, right? Or was it Tudor? Luther? I wasn’t really paying attention to him. I sort of had a stab wound in my stomach when I called him on the way here. But that was like four hours ago! I’m okay now. I’m Peter Parker, by the way. MJ says I talk a lot, so I’m sorry if I’m bothering you or something like that. I should really stop talking.”

Junior stared at the outstretched hand, let his eyes travel to the boy’s pale, glowing face as he talked a mile a minute, traced the swoosh of his freshly-washed hair, still damp. Before he even registered what he was doing, he placed his hand in the other boy’s. “It’s Harley, actually. Nice to meet you, Peter Parker.”

The gesture seemed to effectively shut the other boy up for more than just a breath. He stared at their joined hands, which should have been moving up and down but instead just held on tightly, but then his eyes wandered up to meet Harley’s gaze, and the world stopped moving for all of half a second. “Oh. Yeah, it’s nice to meet you, Harley.”

Morgan raises her hand like she’s in school. Abbie calls on her with the uptight air of an elementary school teacher. “Yes, Morgan?”

“That’s Harley and Petey, right? Mommy told me they were Daddy’s other kids, that they were my brothers, but I wouldn’t remember them.”

Abbie has to close her eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath before answering. “Yeah. That’s Harley and Peter, your brothers.”

Morgan’s dark eyes pierce through Abbie’s delicate demeanor, like she can see all of the pain buried underneath, and that’s why she just nods. “Tell me more.”

Abbie always finishes what she starts, so she hides her shaking hands beneath her legs and pushes on.

Peter Parker had a vision, and it looked a lot like Harley’s: Harley wanted to fix the world; Peter wanted to save it. They helped each other do just that.

Peter, with his signature sheer genius and emotional intelligence, helped Harley channel his energy into what matters. Within half a decade, they made remarkable progress, accomplishing what only the bright-eyed generation of young geniuses can accomplish. In return, Harley crafted an armor of iron and flies around New York, the country, the world with Peter, doing all they could to save make sure people lived.

In the process of fixing and saving the world, Peter Parker and Harley Keener fell in love.

It started with the little things, as the big things always do. Catching the other staring while working in the labs, not-so subtle touches while working together, saving each other day after day.

It was a cold day in October, back in New York for Peter’s last semester of high school. The door to the lab hissed open, and in slipped Peter with two cups of apple cider and a weary smile. “Rough day?”

Peter shrugged, but the way he collapsed into the nearest chair, said a lot. “You could say that. Could you take over patrol tonight? I know it’s my turn, but I have this huge essay for English due tomorrow, and I’ve barely started. And by barely started, I mean I made the document, but it’s blank and haunting me.”

Harley laughed as he stood and made his way to where Peter was curled up. He settled in the spaces Peter’s body didn’t and tried to get comfortable as he draped the blanket over them. “Of course I will. I’d do anything for you, you know that?”

“You’re a gift to the world, Harley,” Peter sighed, burrowing closer to Harley. His cider mug, cupped in his hands, seared Harley’s skin, but he welcomed the warmth.

“I don’t really care about the world, I just care about you.”

“Bold words from a man who told me he wanted to fix the world. Seems like that man would care a lot about the world.”

“What if I told you that you are my world?”

Peter burst out laughing, cider sloshing dangerously in the mug. “That’s awful, Harley. Truly awful.”

“You love me anyway.” Harley hid his smile in his own mug as Peter flushed.

“Yeah. I love you anyway.”

“This doesn’t sound like a scary story to me,” Morgan pointed out.

Abbie just ruffled her hair and pulled the girl closer. “The best scary stories don’t start out scary. They’re happy at first, and then they become horrible. That’s what makes them so terrifying.”

Morgan sighed, but she still had a light smile plastered on her face, so Abbie knew she wasn’t actually bored. “Can we just get to the scary part now?”

The scariest thing about love was that it never lasted.

When Peter didn’t show up in the labs one afternoon after school, Harley got worried and emerged from the labs for the first time in weeks for something other than patrol, but Peter was nowhere to be found. “FRIDAY, where’s Peter?”

“Mr. Parker is not on the premises. Would you like to call him?”

“Yes.” FRIDAY redirected the call to his phone, which he clutched tightly to his ear, ignoring the stuttering of his heart.

“Junior? This is May.”

May’s warm voice did nothing to calm him. “Hi, May. Where’s Peter?”

“He’s sleeping. He wasn’t feeling well today and stayed home from school.” Peter was Spider-Man. No simple illness was supposed to be able to bring him down, which meant whatever was afflicting him was serious business.

“Oh. Sorry to hear that. Will you tell him I called?”

“Of course. Take care, Junior.”

“You too, May.” Harley ended the call with trembling fingers and retreated back to his section of the labs with a sinking heart.

Hour later, or maybe days, FRIDAY says, “Mr. Parker has entered the labs and is heading your way.”

Harley pulled himself away from his task and stared at the door. After a few moments, it opened, revealing a tired-looking Peter in his favorite pajama pants and one of Harley’s shirts. “Harley?”

“Hey, sweetie. What are you doing here?”

Peter burst into tears. “I’m dying.”

“This isn’t scary. It’s sad.”

“Patience, oh tiny demon.” Morgan giggles. “The fright is yet to come.”

The story is so cliche. It’s the perfect tragedy of love and death and shattered hope, and it makes Abbie want to vomit as she tells it, but Morgan’s looking up at her, enthralled, so she pushes on.

Peter was dying of radiation poisoning. The spider bite left radiation in his DNA, in his blood. The symptoms of it had been subtle at first, barely noticeable, but it had been nearly three years since he was bitten, and the rate at which he was dying sped up enough to cause alarm. The diagnosis from Bruce -- who worked in the same labs that Harley did, so he had no idea how he missed that -- came in that morning.

“Four months?” Harley asked, holding a shaking, sobbing Peter in his own weakening arms. “That’s plenty of time to find a cure.”

Everyone knew those were empty words, but an empty promise was better than letting an empty heartbreak consume them both.

Harley did work on a cure, alongside Peter himself, Bruce, Tony, and any other doctor or scientist Tony brought in. It was the first collaborative project Harley had ever done, aside from whatever he did with Peter, whose soul was so intertwined with Harley’s that it had never really felt like a group project at all, but rather shared ideas and genius. The only difference between Harley and everyone else working on the cure was that he had hope.

“Harley?” He hardly looked up when Peter woke up from the couch he had collapsed on while waiting for Harley to finish his work. He had claimed it would only be ten minutes, but that was ten hours ago, and the early risers of the team were starting to trickle in.

“Yes, honey?” Harley felt Peter’s presence creep closer, felt the fatigue rolling off the other boy in waves. “You should go upstairs, get some sleep.”

Peter’s arms wrapped around his waist, his cold fingers nipping at Harley’s skin, even through his lab coat. “You should too. You look exhausted.”

Harley sighed, marking his place in his readthrough of the data from the latest tests, and whirled around to face Peter. “Have you seen yourself?”

“I look like I’m dying because I am. You look like you’re dying because you are. If you keep up like this, you are going to kill yourself.”

“Peter, I have to keep working.”

“Working on what? Harley, in nine weeks, give or take, I will be dead. I want to spend what time I have alive with my boyfriend, who insists on spending every hour of every day in these freaking labs. It used to be fun down here, when we would create and make to our heart’s content, but now it’s all tests and pitying looks and empty promises.”

“They’re not empty.”

Peter screams out of frustration then, startling Harley out of his sleep-deprived daze and drawing the glares of the few people in the room. “Nine weeks, maybe less, to find a cure for radiation poisoning? You’re mad.”

“Peter, I have to at least try. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I didn’t do everything I could to fix this.”

“You haven’t left this lab in weeks. You haven’t eaten in days. You haven’t slept in days either. You haven’t patrolled once since I got the diagnosis. You haven’t done anything at all. Once upon a time, I met a boy who wanted to fix the world. What happened to him?”

“He fell in love.” Harley reached out to cup Peter’s face, shining with rage and disappointment and concern and heartbreak. “You are my world, Peter. I have to fix you.”

The fight left Peter in a single breath, and his shoulders fell. “Okay. Fine. Just promise me something.”

“What is it?”

“You’re my world too, Harley, and all I’ve ever wanted to do was save the world. Let me save you from yourself.”

“Okay.”

It wasn’t easy. They still got into fights about it, but Harley left the lab more, went on patrols with Peter, spent some time with his boyfriend, who grew weaker with every passing day. In return, Peter submitted to the tests and the spark of hope in Harley’s eyes that refused to die.

Then Peter died, and with him, all of Harley’s hope.

Harley Keener fixed things, but he wasn’t even able to fix the one thing that mattered most to him. How was he supposed to be able to fix the world?

That doesn’t mean he stopped trying. He tried his best to carry on with his dream, with Peter’s dream. He ran away from New York, and although he knew Peter cared a lot about New York, about his home, Harley was never able to step foot in the area again. He roamed the world, doing what he could, but he never felt like it was enough. Peter always made him feel like he was enough. God, he missed Peter so much that it hurt to breathe most days, but he carried on and tried his best to live.

They say he’s still out there, that sometimes, when you’re in need, you’ll find yourself visited by a knight in shining iron armor.

“The End,” Abbie sighs, switching off the flashlight. The harsh shadows and red glare in the tent disappear, leaving only the faint, warm glow of the single electric lantern in between their two sleeping bags.

“That’s so sad,” Morgan says, squeezing Abbie’s hand in both of her own. “So what’s what happened to Petey and Harley?”

“Yeah. Your mom or dad ever tell you anything about them?”

“Daddy doesn’t really like talking about them. I think it makes him sad. Mommy mentions them sometimes, but I never knew what happened to them.”

“Well, that’s their story.”

“It’s a sad story. It was a very nice story, but you said you would tell me a scary story.”

Abbie laughs gently, as she helps Morgan zip up her sleeping bag. “I’m sorry, baby. I forgot. Maybe next time?”

“It’s okay. I like it when you tell me stories, even if they’re not very scary but very very sad.”

Abbie smiles fondly. Morgan is still young, but one day, she’d understand. Abbie hopes that day was very far away because she doesn’t want to imagine her little sister’s heart broken, shattered. There’s nothing scarier than a broken heart, than the pain of loving someone. the scariest thing in the world is to watch the people you love get hurt or slip away or die, knowing you can do nothing about it. “Goodnight, Morgan.”

“Night, Abbie.”

Abbie reaches over and switches off the electric lamp. In the silence and the darkness, she takes a moment to collect herself, allows a few of the tears she had held in to escape. It’s been years since Peter died and Harley disappeared, but she feels their absence deeply every day.

“Abbie?” She sniffles quietly and wipes her face before replying.

“Yes, Morgan?”

“I feel like I’m being watched.” Abbie sits up and listened hard, to the world outside their little tent, their safe haven. There, amongst the chirping crickets and the rippling water, was a familiar sound.

“Don’t worry. It’s just the Iron Knight. Want to tell him goodnight?”

Morgan quietly giggles. “Goodnight, Harley.”

The pain in Abbie’s chest intensifies, and for a moment, she can’t breathe, blinded by the tears that threaten to fall whenever she misses Harley the most. “Goodnight, Harley,” she repeats.

Within moments, Morgan’s asleep again. Abbie too lies back down, but she keeps listening intently to the quiet whine of a repulsor hovering just outside the entrance to their tent. When she’s on the brink of sleep, she hears a quiet blast of acceleration and listens as the sound of the repulsor fades away.

[artemismoon12writes]

Title: The Other Debate

Daltonfic Big Bang 2020: Week 1, Day 5: Dobry Hall 

“That is foolishness!”  “We have precedence!” “What gives you the right?” “Quiet!”

“Ladies, we have the great debate on our hands.” Casey Lambert said. “I wish it hadn’t come to this, but here we are.”

Her heeled boots clacked in unison with the knitting needles she smacked into her hands. Long brown hair fell over her shoulders, painting an impressive figure as she stalked in front of the assembled girls. They had commandeered the main floor English classroom with permission of the staff for this discussion. Simply put, this had gone on for long enough.

“We cannot both be The Craft Club.” Casey declared. “And I think Craft Club should keep the name.”

The uproar was instant. Girls sprang out of their chairs, yelling over one another in disagreement.

“That is foolishness!” “But we’re the Craft Club!” “We have precedence!” “What gives you the right?” “Quiet!”

Katherine Rivers was the last one to shout, sitting down primly and adjusting her pearl arrowhead pin. She was the picture of demure manners, like she hadn’t raised her voice at all. “I believe Casey was speaking?”

“You are just defending her because you’re just pissed ‘Bitch n’ Stitch’ wasn’t approved of a change of name, so now you’re trying to make us change our club; when we’ve existed far longer than your little sewing circle.” Elizabeth “Liz” Dunning said to her fellow Senior and Royal. She was incensed, the Craft Club girls by her side touching her shoulders to keep her from rising against the Other Craft Club.

“Yes,” Casey admitted, “I am upset ‘Bitch n’ Stitch’ wasn’t approved, but let’s be honest, Craft Club wasn’t a club for years because sewing was still an optional class in the 80s. If they hadn’t updated the curriculum we wouldn’t be here.”

“So we pre-date you,” Liz said firmly, crossing her arms. “We keep the name.”

“It’s only fair, I mean, you even know that if you tried to change your name first.” Jackie Blake said, supporting the apparently first Craft Club. Sadie Moore and Kerry Jeffords nodded next to her.

“Because Bitch n’ Stitch was an awesome name! Imagine the Club Sweaters we could wear around and no one could tell us it was inappropriate!” Lucy said, her current Lolita top hat pin in her lap, tying ribbons even as they spoke. Nothing could stop the redhead from keeping the craft in that particular craft club.

“In needlepoint even.” Ophelia, one of the freshman said supportively. Others agreed. “Like a pillow that says ‘Fuck this House’.”

Casey coughed, “As entertaining as it would have been, we were told it was inappropriate though. So with that *frankly amazing* name off the table, I think we should hold claim to the name because it’s more suitable for a Craft Club. We can’t call it an Arts and Crafts club because frankly, most of what we do is textile arts, but we have enough variety of materials with Lucy bringing in plastic braiding that I cannot in good conscious label us to a single medium. The practice of crafting is frankly ours, and we deserve the name.”

Liz frowned. She and the Craft Club were not buying it. “But your other name wasn’t specific; and we need the broadness afforded by Craft Club to keep us from getting dinged by the administration. You guys know damn well religious organizations aren’t allowed on campus, and we’re on the borderline with allowing everyone under the umbrella. I mean, if we called it, like? The Wiccan Society that would be wrong. It’s not like, a strictly magic club, or, hell, I’m in it for the herbology!”

“Which I appreciate, that book from Anke Bialas was great.” Kerry interjected, a soft smile on her face. Liz smiled back and patted her hand.

“Yeah, I may be a Witch, but not everyone in the club is,” Sadie said in that reasonable tone of hers; she fiddled with the beads and stones around her neck as she spoke. “If we called it something other than Craft Club, we’d run the risk of the teachers reading into things that simply aren’t a part of club activities. Like, I don’t bring my candles to club, and we certainly have never used an Ouija board- but imagine the admin taking some of that the wrong way?”

“I mean we only skate by because of the broadness of the club name.” Jackie continued. “And again, we predate you.”

“We also do regular crafts as well,” Kerry said thoughtfully, “I mean, I’ve done enough calligraphy for Sadie’s grimmore project. Does that not count?”

“I thought you might say that, so I provided a list of alternatives.” Casey said, crossing the large blackboard and urging Ophelia up. “Phee, read out the alternatives.”

Ophelia scrolled through the tablate, reading them off one by one as Casey wrote them on the board in blocky uppercase with a chalk marker.

“Magic, Myth, and Mana. The Otherworld Collective. Herbs n’ Friends. Oujia-Betta-Don’t. Dodgy Dobry Dudettes. Alternative Thoughts United.”

“That was my idea.” Katherine said, to no one in particular.

“The Sundown Halloweentown 2 Watch Party. Wands for a Better Tomorrow. Save a Horse, Ride a Broomstick. And of course, The Other Craft Club.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or impressed.” Jackie said stunned as the entire list was lain out in front of them.

“Bit of both?” Sadie asked.

“What the hell?” Liz finished the trio of thought as the rest of the Craft Club mumbled amongst themselves.

“I like the idea of you all officially just being ‘The Other Craft Club’.” Lucy said, “You can keep the name but we can tell each other apart.”

“No way in hell. If anyone is the other club it’s you.” Liz snapped at the implications towards her girls.

The arguing began again in a cacophony of noise. Everyone was on their feet again, bits of sage, thread, and glitter scattered across the floor as Craft Club projects were upset across the desks and chairs. It took a while for Casey and Liz to come to a consensus between one another, tugging the other to a corner of the room to argue away from the noise of their clubs. Only after that did they calm the crowd.

“That’s it. We’re going to vote. Which club uses which name? We’ll use Casey and my name’s to indicate the original Craft Club, to avoid the confusion we’re all trying to solve by being here today. On the line next to it, write what you think the new name should be for each club. Clearly, only one club will walk out with a new name.” Liz said, passing out slips of paper.

There was grumbling, muttering of how Arts and Crafts Club sounded like something for children. Another said it was unfair that there was a huge list staring them in the face of options for their club, but none for the cheaters. Each mumble was silenced with a glare from the respective Club Rep.

At the end each vote was counted up from the top hat they were collected in. Liz and Casey tallied each paper on the board as they read out the suggestion, and the vote for the original club. The numbers bounced up and down until they reached the last slip. Casey put the final tally on the board, and scowled. Liz groaned.

“Okay, which one of you idiots put ‘Both’ and won’t let us just have a fucking tiebreaker?” Casey asked, holding up the offending slip which hadn’t seemed like an issue until they got to the end.

Unfortunately it seems both clubs were even in membership, fifteen members each. But Casey and Liz hadn’t thought it would be an issue for voting, because there were only twenty-nine girls in the room.

Laura Bancroft shrugged. Her feet rested on the top of the desk, uncaring about the fox she had just released back into the henhouse. “It’s funny. Why should we change the name?”

“I will end you.” Casey glared.

“Are you kidding me Bancroft?!” Liz had to leave the room as Laura burst out laughing, refusing to apologize to either Club Rep as they stood at a standstill.

And thus, the Craft Club and the Craft Club continued to be known as The Craft Club and the Craft Club. Maybe they should have just switched names? 

---

(ENDNOTE: Space on Discord is to be credited with “Bitch n’ Stitch’ as a Club Name. Ophelia and Kerry are both OCs, but I have used Ophelia before.)

[julietandcinderellavocaloid]

Determined Alice Chapter 6

Big Al woke Meiko just as the train came to a halt in the Capital. Together they snuck out of the cart and blended into the background before anyone else could notice that they were there.

The Capital was, without a doubt, the nicest place Meiko had ever been. With the buildings themselves emitting light, technology that had existed for years now but Lady Zora never bothered to have it installed outside of her precious Capital, it was as bright as day in the never-ending night of winter. Most buildings were cream-colored, and the mirrors on the corners not only reflected the light but also the warmth. Even though she was outside, Meiko and Big Al began to warm up enough to remove their coats.

Machines designed to shovel the snow off the streets passed through hourly, leaving both the red brick roads and charcoal sidewalks clear. Smaller shops that sold things such as clothing and food had shorter buildings but larger display windows. Meiko's eyes lingered on a pair of gloves for a moment or two before she jogged back towards Big Al as to not lose him.

As they advanced the busy streets, Big Al and Meiko searched for a place they could talk and plot in private.

"A motel?" Meiko suggested.

Big Al shook his head. "No point since we will only need it for an hour."

"We don't even have a plan yet, not to mention any idea when we'll need to act it out."

"Just because we have money to spend doesn't mean we need to spend it."

"Spoken like a true dad. I still can't believe you had all of it on you when we fell from the craft."

"As if you didn't keep your wallet on you too."

"Yeah, but I only have my money, not the whole team's."

Big Al didn't respond. Meiko shrugged and began thinking of other places the two could talk without fear of being overheard. When an idea finally came to her, Meiko shoved aside her smug satisfaction so Big Al would listen to her before deciding whether or not she had a good suggestion.

"Do you think there are any karaoke places nearby?" she asked as she pretended to pull lint from her sleeve.

"Now is not the time for fun and games, Sakine," Big Al answered, no longer using Meiko's first name as he did the night before.

"I was only wondering if those walls are really as soundproof as I hear they are," Meiko casually commented. She shifted her gaze towards Big Al to see him studying her. "After all, there are a lot of people who love to sing but can't sing to save their lives. This way, those singers can have their fun, and nobody has to suffer."

"Now that you mention it," Big Al muttered in response, "that is something I would like to know whether it's fact or fiction."

It took all Meiko's willpower to hide her pride of Big Al considering her idea. Getting too excited would give the impression she wasn't as mature about the matter as she ought. However, that didn't stop Meiko from internally placing the accomplishment on a shelf and having a mini victory dance inside her head.

They had to ask around, but eventually Meiko and Big Al found a karaoke studio. Either the rumors of soundproof walls were true, or the place was dead. Regardless, it took only a few minutes to rent a room for an hour, settle inside, and begin plotting.

"There aren't a lot of guards," Meiko repeated the lad from the night before, "but they make up for the low numbers by being some of the best."

Big Al scratched his chin. "How do you know what that kid told you was true?"

Biting her lip, Meiko admitted, "I don't, but we can still work with it. For all we could know, we'll be going up against the best of the best. They are expecting us, after all. Better to prepare for such a challenge and hope these men aren't as much an obstacle as we anticipate them to be. As for quantity . . . You wouldn't happen to have any smoke bombs on you in case of an emergency, would you?"

"This isn't a spy story."

"So that's a no then?"

"No, it's a yes, but I would much rather you not depend on smokescreens as if they're really that effective."

"Fine. How about we just locate every exit and mark every escape route possible?"

"Now you're getting it." Big Al pulled a tablet from his shirt pocket – Meiko didn't even know he was carrying it – and lied it on the table between them, the hologram karaoke song selection scrolling just above. Activating the tablet, logging onto a program, and searching through a list of files, Big Al opened a 3D blueprint and circled the portion on which he wanted Meiko to focus.

"This is the underground prison," he pointed out, and Meiko leaned in to get a closer look. "Our man should be kept somewhere in the middle."

"To make a breakout all the more difficult."

"Exactly." Big Al zoomed in to the middle of the court. "This right here is where the executions take place. So from here to here, guards are going to be leading our man away from the belly of the prison to right outside the doors. We're going to let them do the hard part for us."

"Or we were before I got us knocked out of our hovercraft," Meiko muttered. She expected Big Al to agree with her and remind her how much this was all her fault. Only he did no such thing.

"How do you think you and I are going to get out of there while the rest of our guys are swooping in, grabbing what they want, and flying away before anyone can think to give chase?"

Meiko was surprised Big Al asked her a question, a question in which she was given the opportunity to find a solution to the problem. For a moment, Meiko couldn't think. Then she overcame her initial shock and began to ponder possible ways out.

"We need to get close to our guy," she stated softly then repeated with confidence. "If we're close to him, our squad can grab us while they're snatching him up."

Raising a brow, Big Al replied, "Not a bad idea, except how are we going to get close to him in the first place? It's not as if anyone is simply going to let us go up to him and walk him towards his own execution."

"I have some suggestions, but that's going to have to require researching a bit further and calculating the possibilities and odds of us so much as coming close to pulling this off without our heads scheduled to land on the chopping block next."

Big Al spun the blueprints around and stared at certain parts of it. Turning his tablet off, the blueprints vanishing as a result, he turned to Meiko and said, "I'm going to need you to be ready to run towards the exits at all times. If something were to go wrong, you need to get as far away and as fast away as possible. Don't try to be a hero."

It felt as if a balloon popped inside of Meiko's chest. What? I thought I was proving myself. I thought he was finally beginning to trust me. Why is he pushing me aside now?

This time, Meiko didn't lash out or argue. Past experiences proved how futile this was. Yet that didn't stop her from asking, "Why?"

"If we get captured, we will be tortured," Big Al bluntly answered. Before Meiko could respond, he added, "You might not know a lot, but you know how to find us. You know where one of our locations is hidden. We can't let anyone else know. That's not a risk worth taking."

Trying with little success to hide the bitterness from her voice, Meiko snarled, "So you can withstand being tortured, but not me?"

Without hesitating, Big Al replied, "They won't be able to torture me. Not with the fake tooth filled with poison that will kill me instantly if I break it and swallow its contents. You, however, haven't had our Last Resort placed in the back of your mouth. With this mission, nobody would have thought you would need it."

Meiko began balling her fingers into fists, but for a different reason now. If things went wrong, Big Al would commit suicide. She, in turn, would have to run away and hope the enemy doesn't find and capture her. This wasn't the rescue mission it was supposed to be when she had been assigned. Thanks to her foolishness, this was now a mission of life or death.

In order to avoid suspicion, Meiko and Big Al waited out the hour until they left the karaoke room. They spent the last five minutes hyping themselves up, pretending that they just spent the past sixty minutes singing at the top of their lungs and not planning to crash an execution. If anyone suspected anything off about this duo of customers, nobody showed it.

"Looks like we should have gotten a motel after all," Meiko muttered as she and Big Al left the karaoke in search of someplace to spend the night. They had their idea, but they still needed to work out the kinks. The execution was early the next morning, and they needed their plan ready with enough time to prepare.

Big Al swore, prompting Meiko to add, "Hey, the karaoke room wasn't that expensive. Adding a motel room to the expenses won't hurt our pockets too badly."

"No," Big Al corrected, and Meiko stopped at his voice. He stood in front of the tablet store, eyes locked on the window.

Frowning, Meiko drew closer to see at what Big Al was staring. It was a news report, and Meiko froze when she read the headline. It was her turn to swear.

REBEL GROUP CAPTURED. POSSIBLE EXECUTION WITHOUT TRIAL.

With the headline under the reporter, an image of the rebels appeared beside her head. Meiko didn't hear the words. All she did was stare at the image.

It was her and Big Al's legion.

[avengerscompound]

The Big City

The Big Guy:  A Bruce Banner Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bruce Banner x F!Reader

Word Count:  1898

Warnings:  Slight Angst, Fluff, Pregnancy, Smut (F|M, Vaginal sex)

Synopsis:  Meeting the big green guy wasn’t exactly a normal day, you didn’t expect it to you leading a life on the run and keeping your child’s nature from the world.

The Big City

A lot happened after the Hulk left you in that warehouse.

It took less than five minutes for the army to find you.  They held you for two weeks trying to get information from you.  You stuck to your story.  Bruce Banner had been door knocking looking for work.  You’d hired him to help sort out your gallery.  The two of you had started a relationship.  You didn’t know about the Hulk.  You knew he was in trouble but not what kind.

After the two weeks, they’d let you go again but they kept watching you.  You were worried about them finding out about your daughter.  So after two weeks of pretending you didn’t know what was going on and faking a routine that they could predict, you used it to run.

It was not exactly easy being a fugitive and pregnant.  You needed medical care and you couldn’t rely on anyone.  Not to mention your skill set was far from marketable.  You had managed to cross the border into Canada with no problem.  In Canada, you went remote and ended up having your daughter in a small, rural hospital with documents faking your own identity.  So not only did her birth certificate not have her father’s name on it, it didn’t have your name either.

You named her Beatrix and for the next year, you kept moving.  You’d pause for a while only to get a whiff of the army and move again.  After two years of running, they stopped chasing.  You settled where you were.  That happened to be in a small beachside Australian town.  Your passport said you were Canadian and had a name that wasn’t yours.  Bea was Bea though her last name had changed.  She was small and smart.  Learning things at a much faster level than average children.

When you read about the incident in Manhattan where two monsters attacked each other, the photos made it clear that one was the Hulk.  It said one had been killed while the other had fled.  You were not sure which was which and for months you mourned.  Time waits for no man though, and you had a daughter who didn’t know why you were suddenly so upset and needed you to not completely fall apart.

So you raised your little Australian girl by the beach.  Moving on with your life.  You took up art again, selling it at markets on the weekend.  During the week you worked in a craft store.  You feared to send Bea to childcare, but so far so good.  After a year she had an Australian accent and had no idea who her family was.

Then, aliens attacked New York.  6 people made a stand and one of them was the Hulk.  It had felt like your heart had stopped when you’d first seen that flash of green on the screen.  Slowly more photos came out along with stories of him saving people and fighting aliens.

You scoured the news about it trying to figure out where he was after.  If he’d run again.  If this had changed things.  If you were safe.  For a while, there was no word at all.  He just seemed to vanish again.  You kept your eyes on the news hoping it was just a case of him keeping a low profile.  Tony Stark was talking about the group under the title the Avengers, but apart from the fact that you knew Thor left Earth and Tony returned to LA you had no idea where the others in the group went.

The next few months seemed to bring with it a series of large events.  Tony’s house was destroyed and he returned to New York.  Captain America had some incident in DC involving government secrets and Helicarriers being crashed into the heart of the city.

When the dust cleared the Stark Tower had been rebranded and you finally knew where you would find Bruce.   You packed up your home.  Sold your things and left for New York City.

The problem was, you hadn’t really thought out very well what you’d do when you got there.  You had booked a hotel.  That part was fine.  Temporarily.  You thought you could just show up at the tower and ask to see him and they’d let you in.  It didn’t really occur to you that the man you had known was now a celebrity and you couldn’t get anywhere near him.  All your pleading at the front desk landed on deaf ears.  They weren’t interested in your claims.  They were interested in keeping the fangirls away from the Avengers.

You tried calling.  Emailing.  You didn’t want to draw too much attention to yourself though because you were still worried about the government taking Bea from you.

It started to feel hopeless.  You were chewing through your money and nothing was working out.  You took Beatrix with you to the tower with one last hope maybe this time.

“Not you again.  Just leave.”  The receptionist snaps as soon as he sees you.

“If you could just listen,”  You plead.

“Please don’t make me call security when you’re with your little girl.”  The man says.

You sigh and turn around and a familiar looking man in a purple t-shirt comes strolling through the foyer with a Starbucks cup in his hand.  You pick up Beatrix and rush over to him.  “Mister… Hawk… Arrow … guy… person.”  You babble as you rush over to him.

He gives you a confused look but doesn’t break stride.  “Sorry.  I’m kinda late.  Do you want an autograph?  You probably should have learned my name.”

“Sorry, Agent Barton.”  The receptionist says chasing after you.  “Look, Miss.  I told you already.  Security!”

“Hey!  No need for that, Garry.  Let her talk.”  Clint says stopping and looking at you.

Now you have someone who might actually help, you’re not sure what to say.  “Umm… so this is Bea.”  You say, bouncing your three-year-old on your hip.

“Oh shit.  Is she mine?”  Clint asks looking wildly around the room.

“What?”  You scoff.  “No.”

“Tony’s?”  He presses.  “Sorry, ma’am.  If she’s a Stark there’s actual legal protocol you have to go through.”

“She’s not a Stark.”  You say.  You look down at Bea and glance around the room.  “Hey, sweetie.  Can you show the man your trick?  Just your eyes.”

She scrunches up her face.  “You said not to.”

“It’s okay.  Just this once.”  You press.

She looks up at Clint.  Her pupils dilate, blowing out her iris and as it readjusted where was brown was now an iridescent green.

“Holy shit!”  Clint gasps nearly spitting out a mouthful of coffee.  “Okay.  Right.  Sorry.  I guess… I guess you should both come with me.”

He leads you to the elevator and you put Beatrix back down.  “So how did… that is… Bruce doesn’t seem like the one-night stand type.”

“No.  It wasn’t.  We lived together.  And then they came for him.”  You say, running your hand through Beatrix’s hair.

“And he doesn’t know?”  Clint asks.

You shake your head.  “Hulk does.  I told him to keep it a secret.”

Clint stares at you, his eyes close to bugging out of his head.  He goes to say something shakes his head and closes his mouth.  The elevator doors open and he leads you inside.  “He should be in his lab.”

“He has a lab.”  You say to yourself.  Clint looks at you with his brow furrowed but doesn’t say anything.

You come around a corner and see him through a glass wall.  He’s moving around a lab, opening up screens and pressing buttons before moving to something else.  You suddenly get very nervous.  What if he doesn’t want to see you.  What if he rejects you both.

Clint just strides down the corridor and bursts through the door.  “Hey, Bruce.  Got a visitor for you.”

He looks up slightly startled like he’d been off in another world.  “What?”  He asks and looks over at you.  It’s like time stops.  He stares at you with his mouth open while you stand frozen.  He whispers your name and then rushes to you, wrapping you in his arms.   “Oh my god. I didn’t think I’d ever… I tried to find you but… how did you?”

You run your hands through his hair.  “It’s okay.  I’m here.”

He looks into your eyes for a moment, holding you like he’s worried you’ll disappear.  He reaches up and runs his hand along your jaw before leaning in and kissing you.  It’s tentative, to begin with.  Still not sure of where you both stand now.  When you return it, it deepens quickly.  He becomes frantic and passionate.  His tongue darts over your lips.

“Eww… mommy.”  Beatrix whines beside you.

“Yeah right, kid.  That’s a bit much.”  Clint adds.

Bruce pulls away from you and looks down at his daughter like he’s just realized she’s there.  “Who - who is this?”

“That’s Bea.  Beatrix.  Bruce.  She’s yours.”  You explain.

He stumbles back from you his hand on his heart.  “What?  How?  But we were…”

“Bruce.”  You say calmly walking after him.  “You stay with me.  We need to address this.”

Clint picks up Bea.  “I don’t think this is a good idea, lady.  We should get out of here.”

You wave him away.  “It’s fine.”  You say.  “Big guy.  I mean it.  You stay where you are.  Bruce has to hear this.”

Bruce’s hand opens and closes on his chest.  “Is she?  Does she?”

You cup his jaw and look into his eyes.  “Bruce.  Look at me.”  You say.  His eyes dart everywhere.  “She’s your daughter and if you don’t want anything to do with her I can’t force you.  But I know that’s not you.”

He looks into your eyes and then at the little girl in Clint’s arms.  “She’s healthy?  You’re both okay?”

“Maybe you two should have this conversation where there is coffee?  I can take care of Bea?”  Clint suggests.

Bruce took you to his apartment and you both sat on the couch drinking tea as you told him about everything that had happened since you last saw him.  He told you about him too.  Living in South America.  The fight in Harlem.  Moving to India.  The battle for Manhattan.  You then told him about Beatrix.

“So she has it?”  He asks, looking as scared as you’ve ever seen him.

“Yes, but it’s different.  She doesn’t become another person.  And it’s not because she’s angry.  She just randomly decides to do it sometimes.  I have thankfully managed to get her to stop doing it in public.”  You explain.

“So she’s okay?  I didn’t curse her?”  He asks.

“No.  She’s fine.  She’s a healthy 3-year-old.”  You say.

“Can I meet her?”  He asks.

You smile and rub his thigh.  “I’d love that.  I want you to know her.  To be her dad.”

“JARVIS, can you tell Clint he’s safe to come back?”  He says.

“Right away, Doctor Banner.”  A male voice says filling the room and making you jump.

Clint returns leading Beatrix in the door.  “Hey Bea, come here.”  You say.

She runs over to you in that waddle that small children do and falls into your arms.  “Bea, this man is …”  You look up at Bruce not sure what to say.

He smiles softly at the little girl.  “I’m your dad.”  He says.

// NEXT

[roaminginspiration]

The Empty Space Next to Me

Thank you for all your kind comments. Hope chapter 2 will live up to your expectations.

chap 1 (x) /  chap 3 (x) / chap 4 (x) / chap 5 (x) / chap 6 (x) / chap 7 (x) / chap 8 (x) / chap 9 (x) / chap 10 (x)

____________________________________

Chapter 2

Lying on the grass still damp from the dew and staring back quizzically at the familiar pair of gorgeous emerald eyes above him, Steve finds himself at a loss for words or explanations.

A warm tongue appears out of nowhere and sluggishly runs across his face. He looks sideways at the dog leaning over the side of his face.

Her features relax and she smiles.

“Looks like you got your kiss after all,” she jokes then motions to the dog to move away. “Come on, Riley.”

He doesn’t know what to think right now but he can see Natasha genuinely doesn’t recognize him. Or is it really Natasha? His emotions might have made him jump the gun. But before he allows disappointment to take hold of him and brushes hope away, he needs to investigate and find out who that woman is.

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head vehemently and gets on his feet. “I thought —”

“No harm done,” she brushes it off with a wave of the hand. “Are you here to have a room?”

He pats his hands over the back of his arms and looks up at her with a slightly surprised expression. Then he remembers…the guesthouse.

“Yes,” he trails off. “I haven’t made any reservation, though.”

It makes her smile. “We don’t do this, here. It’s not like we need to, anyway. It’s pretty quiet around here, you’ll get to see.”

A bird endorses it by singing loudly across the quiet meadow.

“Follow me?” she asks.

For her? Anywhere across the entire universe. He opens the door of the car and reaches for his bag. They head towards the porch where the paint on the fence is crackled all over; the wooden floor moans loudly as he steps on it. There is a wicker bench with a small round side table next to it. A few plant pots are lying at the end of the fence and along the floor against it.

She opens the door in a creaking sound and he is not surprised when he catches sight of the paper pinned on it which reads a handyman is wanted.

The atmosphere is inside is slightly different: old but in a quaint and cozy way. She goes straight up the stairs, down a long hall.

“This is Mrs. Miller’s room,” she points casually a door as she walks past it. “Lovely lady, although a little too outspoken for my sanity. Don’t worry about making noise, she’s a heavy sleeper.”

She finally stops to the last door and opens it. A bright room with light blue wallpaper, a King Size bed with a predominant navy-blue handmade quilt lying across the end of it — “quite fitting”, he thinks ironically.

“Breakfast is at 8. Dinner is at 7,” she recites with natural easiness as he steps inside and looks around. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” she adds.

He spins his head around with a mildly disconcerted expression. Part of him is afraid of losing her again; the other half is anxious to keep her in his sight, always.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

He gazes her intently. The scene feels bittersweet.

“Steve,” he answers. Steve will be enough for now.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us, Steve.”

“Thank you…,” he pauses.

Natasha smiles at him. “Katherine,” she says.

He nods to himself and watches her close the door of his room before disappearing.

He’s missing her again ten minutes later but represses the urge to go downstairs as he fears she will definitely label him a creep if he does.

He paces around the room instead of trying to make sense of the whole situation.

His patience comes to an end two hours later and he goes down to the living room. He finds an elderly woman sitting on the sofa in the patio, drinking herbal tea.

The woman, with elegant and soft features, witnesses of her beauty in her youth, and grey hair styled in a pixie haircut, takes her eyes off her book and probes him with a smile in the corner of her mouth.

“Hello, handsome,” she says assertively.

He pauses behind the armchair across from her.

“Pretty sure he has a name, Eliza,” her approaching voice echoes from another room. Natasha —Katherine— walks in, carrying a tray with a teapot. She pours him a cup as he sits down in the armchair.

The elderly woman shrugs nonchalantly. “I doubt it’ll be as spot-on.”

“My name is Steve,” he says quickly as Katherine pours more tea into the woman’s mug.

Eliza raises an eyebrow and shoots a winning look at her. “Didn’t I tell you so?”

He laughs nervously. Two pairs of eyes look in his direction.

The woman stretches her hand out to him.

“You’ll have to excuse me, we don’t get many people around here, and those who have preceded you weren’t such a riveting sight. My name’s Eliza Miller, as you might have guessed by now, I’m a blunt, grumpy retired woman, too old for societal manners imposed by our rigorous Republican government, itself born from the English Empire.”

Eliza eyes him intently. He blinks then reaches over to shake her hand.

Katherine rolls her eyes and quickly fills in the awkward silence. “She’s kidding.”

“I presume the tea is in sign of protest?” he comments with a smile.

“Well,” Eliza says as she holds her mug. “The English did leave some good things behind.”

She then turns to look up at Katherine still standing beside her. “I like him. Can we keep him?”

__________________________________

“You’ve lived here for long?” he asks Eliza over dinner.

The three of them are gathered around the large rectangle table. He is sitting across from Katherine, while Eliza is at the head next to them.

“I grew up here,” Eliza answers. “When I married Robert, I made him move here with me. He left the city for me, and I’m sure he was grateful to me for it although he was too stubborn to admit it.”

He and Katherine smile. “I’m not one of those delusional, blind to the truth, sentimental people, though. This poor house is slowly falling apart and there’s too much that needs to be done. I’m thankful to have Katherine to help.”

Katherine smiles sheepishly. “Anyone would like more pasta?” she asks.

“Katherine doesn’t like to be praised.”

“That’s because I would rather have a pay raise,” she teases.

“And I told you sweetie that I can only pay you with compliments. So please do accept them gracefully.”

Steve and Katherine chuckle.

“After the second Snap, I was all alone here, and Katherine’s arrival was like a blessing for the business. And in my life.”

He takes mental notes of this valuable piece of information. He wants to ask more but he somewhat feels Katherine is keeping an eye on him.

After dinner, he gets up and thanks the ladies for their company. While Katherine goes to tidy up the kitchen, he purloins her butter knife and hides it behind his back before rushing upstairs.

Back in his room, he uses his phone to scan the object for fingerprints and sends it to Friday. Now it is only a matter of hours before he gets the results. He sits on the edge of the bed and breathes out heavily.

He dreads the outcome of the situation.

He does not find sleep that night.

The next morning, he is down for breakfast slightly before 8. He sits at the kitchen and watches Katherine as she is turning off the coffee machine. She is wearing black jeans with a white top and an open checked shirt on top of it.

She flips around at the sound of the stool, grabs the jug of coffee, puts a mug in front of him before pouring the hot liquid in it.

“Good morning, Mr. Intense.” She says with a smile.

“Steve,” he answers.

Katherine props her shoulder on the counter and leans on her chin. He almost burns his tongue sipping the coffee.

“I know, but I like Mr. Intense better.” She eyes him intently. “So what did you come here for? I take it it’s not to discover the area.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Why not?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know…a hunch. Also your car and your shiny shoes. You don’t look like the type of person who’s come for a budget break.”

“I came here to find someone,” he says.

She looks intrigued and her eyes seem to light up. “Friend? Family?”

“Both. It’s complicated,” he pauses. “Perhaps you can help?”

Katherine smiles earnestly and stands back up straight. “I won’t be of much help. I’m not the best-suited person.”

“Because you’re new in the area?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” she laughs nervously. “It’s a long and weird story.”

“I’ve got time,” he says with an earnest gaze.

“I…,” she begins, scratching the inside of her lower arm. “I woke up in the middle of the woods without any memory. Since it was after the Second Snap, it was assumed that I was one of the dusted. A few bills were put around but nobody came forward. I needed a job and I was told about this place. And voilà.”

She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She is so anxious to avoid eye contact she doesn’t notice his eyes are gleaming.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs softly. “It mustn’t have been easy.”

He knows he has been right to believe it is her all along. His eyes can recognize her anywhere, even when hers don’t recognize him back.

“It happens. The sheriff said my relatives probably moved elsewhere during the five-year gap but I doubt it. I think I’ve always been alone.”

He furrows his brows.

“Why?”

She diligently wipes the sink with the sponge. “Because they would have come back for me right after the Second Snap. They would have tried everything in their power to find me.”

He wants to reach for her hand and hold it. He wants to pull her in and kiss her ardently for every second he has missed her. He wants her to feel loved and wanted.

“That’s why I was a Jane Doe,” she finishes, turning back to him with a perfectly crafted smile. “Except Jane was boring, so I went for Katherine instead. Katherine Doe.”

“How do you feel about not knowing who you were? You didn’t try to go and look for answers yourself?”

She turns her attention back on the pancake pan.

“I don’t consider myself unlucky. There are sadder stories — we are all dealing with it in our own ways. I like it here. Maybe I was not much of a traveler in my former life. Maybe I am just where I belong.”

She smiles and serves the hot pancakes with syrup and Eliza calls her name upstairs. He watches her leave the kitchen and hers her footsteps on the creaking staircase.

His phone beeps inside his pocket. He takes it out and freezes as he looks at the screen. His eyes fill up with tears and he buries his chin into his palm, as the dripping faucet fills in the silence in the kitchen.

FINGERPRINT SCAN: 100% MATCH

“It has been cleansed and made anew before departing,” Red Skulls said and he misunderstood the meaning of the words. Her soul has not departed to another dimension, it had already left Vormir when he got there.

Katherine uses the old red Chevy to go and run some errands. Riley barking outside a couple of hours later informs him that she has returned.

When she steps in with her grocery bag, she seems to shine brighter. He has no doubt that the woman standing here is his teammate, his loyal friend, and the girl he loves.

He clears his throat nervously. “Can we talk?”

She looks at him with a candid smile — he can see how Katherine’s smiles are different from Natasha. He can see how her eyes no longer carry the sorrow that haunted Nat’s. Her soul is lighter indeed. Relieved. Released from a heavy burden.

“Sure. Do you mind accompanying as I take Riley for a walk?”

He nods. They walk in silence for many minutes until they reach a large lake whose surface glitters under the sunlight. Finding the right words turn out to be more difficult than he thought, regardless of the two hours he had to get prepared.

She is patiently waiting, watching Riley run ahead then back with the same enthusiasm and energy.

“I said before that I came here to find someone,” he begins. “And I have found that person. It’s you.”

He pauses and turns to face her. She eyes him with a puzzled look.

“I know who you are. And I know how you got here.”

She probes him for a while and her eyes fill up with tears.

“Your name is Natasha Romanoff and you’re an Avenger,” he breathes out. “And you are my friend.”

Her red hair shines under the warm sunlight.

“Maybe there is confusion. I doubt I’m an Avenger.”

He looks at her with an unwavering expression. “You are. And you saved us all. We won because of you. You were never one of the dusted and I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. We were sure we had lost you forever.”

She puts her hand over her stomach. “Ok. That is a lot to take in.” She looks at her surroundings as if she’s feeling it fade away in front of her.

“Why did I wake up here, then?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

She insists to know how everything happened. Steve goes through the painful events of Vormir and her noble sacrifice. She listens with great attention and heightened emotions which, he notices, wane shortly after. It seems to him she is bottling up everything and storing it as far away from her as possible.

She says she wants to go back to the house. The whole walk back, she doesn’t a word and he watches her with muffled concern out of the corner of his eye. When they make it back inside, she rushes to her room upstairs and stays in there for hours.

When he goes to the dining room for dinner, the meal is ready but she is absent. Eliza says she went to bed early — she seems unaware of the whole situation.

After dinner, he walks past her room and stands there for a minute, hesitant to knock. He respects her decision and goes to his bed with a sullen heart.

The next morning, he finds her playing with Riley outside. She seems to be her lively and carefree self again. He comes out to speak to her.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m ok, I guess.”

He nods.

“The arrangements can be made in a matter of hours to go back to the compound.”

She stops playing with the dog. “I don’t want to go to the compound.”

“Of course, I understand. I can book you a hotel if you’re not comfortable to—”

“I don’t want to go back there,” she corrects in a decisive voice.

“But it’s your home. I think it will do you good to see everyone and Clint. It will help you remember.”

“Well that’s the ting,” she says. “I don’t think I’ll remember, and I’m saying this beyond the whole outer space Soul Stone magic involved. I don’t want to remember.”

He walks down the stairs of the porch. “What? Why?”

She sighs and looks at him. “Look at me. Look at my life. I am nothing like the super spy the world knows. I’m a completely different person. Romanoff…she scares me.”

“You’re a hero. You died to save half the Universe. We never would have won without you.”  

“And I some googling and read the files. She has done terrible things,” she pauses, “I have done terrible things.”

“And you have done everything to make up for it,” he defends her. He has witnessed Natasha buy her redemption on too many occasions to let it be overlooked by anyone — even herself. “You worked hard to become a better person.”

“Exactly,” she retorts. “From what you’ve told me all I ever wanted was to wipe off the red on my ledger and I paid the price for it to happen. And now it seems the Universe has given me a second chance, a clean slate. So tell me, Rogers, why would I want to go back to battling my old demons? I paid my due and was offered a new start. This is why I woke up here —not in New York— so far away from the avenging world. I’m sure you can see it, too, how it cannot be a coincidence.”

It’s true — he’s been wondering the same thing since he got here.

“We don’t know how the Soul stone works,” he attempts with a noticeable lack of certainty.

“I deserve peace, now. Call it my retirement,” she finishes.

Honking echoes from the path and a tall, dark man with lean figure steps out of the car and beams at her.

“Kate,” the man calls her with a wave.

She heads off towards him.

“Natasha,” Steve whispers.

She shoots him a hard look. “It’s Katherine, now.”

She turns around with a flipped expression. She walks up to the man with a serene smile. As she comes up to him, he leans in and plants a kiss on her lips with she receives in a routine way.

Both depart, leaving Steve as his world shatters around him.