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dex-xe · 4 years ago

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Yo I hope ur still vibing in these hard times! It would be epic if you could write caphrey fluff for any of 9, 12, 16, 25 or 40, but anything caphrey would be fab tbh coz they're v underrated :))

Captain & Humphrey Fluff #16: “Can you please just hold me?”

Captain & Humphrey Fluff #9: “You took all the pillows so I’m using you as one.”

Captain & Humphrey Fluff #12: “Could you say that again?” “Were you not listening?” “No I was, I just like hearing your voice.”

Captain & Humphrey Fluff #25: “Your hair is really soft.”

Captain & Humphrey Fluff #40: “Why are you scared of loving?”

(Was it necessary for me to combine literally all of these into one whole fic?? Nope. Did I decide to make it difficult for myself and do it anyway?? Yes of course I did!! Anyway,, hope you enjoy this one!!)

Prompt list

Inbox

Rain cascaded down the windows of the TV room illuminated by the light from the flickering television that Alison had left on for the Captain. It was time for his daily alone time, watching war documentaries and relaxing.

He settled back into the sofa, finally allowing his military-grade posture to drop and relaxing into a cosy evening by himself with his beloved documentaries.

“Hello!” The Captain was snapped from his show as a voice rang out around the silent Button House. “Hello! Is someone there?” The shouting wasn’t too far from the Captain, outside the window probably as it was muffled by the storm.

The Captain sprang up and crossed towards the window, leaning out into the pouring rain to try and catch a glimpse of whoever was calling out to him. Droplets of water coursed through the Captain’s body; he’d rather liked the rain during his life, the feeling of water running from his hairline down his face, the cold comfort of shivering in his boots only to enter the warmth of a fireside glow. But in death, it was almost painful, like pins and needles striking in little pinpricks across his skin.

“Hello?” He called into the night.

“Captain!” A voice the Captain recognised to be Humphrey shouted from above him. The Captain spun around and leant backwards outside the window to reach up blindly trying to catch hold of wherever Humphrey might be, cloaked by the rain and the night.

“Left a bit!” Humphrey said. The Captain flailed his hands across the roof ledge above him. “Bit more!” He finally felt the solid mass of Humphrey’s head in contrast to the faded texture of the living world. Grabbing hold of Humphrey by the hair, the Captain yanked Humphrey back inside the house, both of them crashing through the window and onto the TV room floor.

“Good lord, Humphrey!” The Captain said, getting up to dust himself off. “How long have you been out there?”

“Four days, I think. Robin threw me up there while playing football with Julian, I’m not convinced he entirely understood the rules.” Humphrey joked.

“Blimey, did you not think to shout earlier, man?” The Captain picked Humphrey up off the floor where he had landed by the sofa.

“I did, usually Julian puts the volume far too loud for anyone to hear my weak little voice screaming for help!”

“Well, you’re in now.” It had taken the Captain a while to get used to Humphrey’s headlessness, but after 75 years he was now more than comfortable to hold him while talking. “Do you want me to take you somewhere? Your bedroom, perhaps?” The Captain offered.

“I’ve given up on having a bedroom, Cap. If I get taken there, it’ll be weeks until anyone finds me again.” Humphrey smiled, masking any sadness that tinged his words. “I’ll stay here and watch your show with you, if you don’t mind?”

“Oh- of course, yeah. Fine,” The Captain said. “Where- where would you like me to sit you?”

“Can you please just hold me? Been a while, you know.” Humphrey said, without an inch of discomfort - an emotion that was coursing through the Captain.

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to, but just stick me on your lap or something. Would be nice.” Humphrey smiled and blinked up unwavering at the stoic Captain.

“Why?” The Captain asked. Humphrey rolled his eyes at the naivety.

“Because you took all the pillows so I’m using you as one,” Humphrey joked, nodding towards the preprepared nest of cushions the Captain had tucked himself into - like a child feeling sorry for himself on a sick day. The Captain glanced between the soft and welcoming refuge of the sofa and the table by his side, debating where to place his friend.

He eventually gave in to the look in Humphrey’s eyes and settled himself back into the cushions, placing Humphrey carefully on his thighs. His hands came to rest awkwardly either side of his lap, making a point not to go anywhere near Humphrey again.

“So, what’s this show about then?” Humphrey asked. The Captain huffed and pointing at the screen, black and white footage of tanks rolling across deserts. Humphrey laughed. “Point taken! Tell me about the tanks, then. I know you want to.”

“Well, this one is the A.15 Mark IV Crusader, one of the most popular models of the time.” The Captain began. “It is a rather good mover, can be shifted about with incredible ease but actually rather light-armoured and under-armed. Very vulnerable to attack once it’s in the firing line.”

Humphrey hummed in acknowledgement.

“It is crucial in the war effort, absolutely vital in the fight against Fritz. 1941 - the North Africa Front, they’re refitted for desert conditions. Quite exotic out there, you know.” The Captain nodded wisely, reminiscing about the stories he’d heard from the front.

“Could you say that again?” Humphrey asked quietly.

“Were you not listening?”

“No I was, I just like hearing your voice.” The Captain spluttered as Humphrey spoke, straightening up at the compliment.

“You don’t want to listen to this old walrus blabber on for hours,” the Captain said.

“Take the compliment, Captain.” Humphrey scolded. “It’s not a weakness to take love.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” The Captain mumbled, his gaze never leaving the familiar images of his tanks.

“Why are you so scared of loving, hey?” Humphrey chuckled.

“A soldier isn’t afraid of anything.”

“Apart from his own emotions, apparently.” The Captain shifted uncomfortably, oppressed by the weight of Humphrey’s questioning as well as the literal weight of him resting on his lap, pinning him into the chair. “I’m perfectly happy showing my love for friends, you should try it sometime.”

“Anyway, it’s not love, is it.” The Captain stated. “Paying somebody compliments.”

“Can be,” Humphrey said. “If you want it to be, huh? Anything can be: giving little compliments, talking about how you feel, listening to others, touching. All are good, Cap. Go on try a little, 75 years can’t be good for you.”

After a moment of awkward hesitation, the Captain raised his hands from beside him, floundering around Humphrey’s head and clenching and unclenching his fists. Slowly reaching forward and keeping his eyes transfixed on the screen, he threaded his calloused fingers into Humphrey’s long, fluffy hair and brushed across his scalp, relaxing into the feel of it.

“Your hair is really soft,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” Humphrey whispered, smiling at the Captain’s tiny step forward in allowing just a touch of emotion out.

#bbc ghosts #pls work today tags???#ficbymax #caphrey

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losille2000 · 4 years ago

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Mister America, Prologue: Massachusetts

CHAPTER NUMBER: 1/? CHARACTERS: President!Chris Evans/OFC (see notes) GENRE: Romance/Drama FIC SUMMARY: After a massive social media write-in campaign organized by others, Chris finds himself thrust into a spotlight that he is unprepared to handle. His campaign managers suggest that a political marriage might help him weather the storm and help his image during the campaign... just so long as it isn’t the one woman Chris really wants. RATING: M WARNINGS: Nothing. AUTHORS NOTES: This story is AU in the fact that this is the 2020 presidential race, and Chris is a candidate. But everything in the past is still the same with him being an actor. Also, COVID-19 is not a part of this story. I needed to play in a land where COVID didn’t exist and “Captain America,” in his alter ego, punched out a Nazi in a metaphorical(?) way. For more on the story, go here.

This first part is prologue-y.

I have also curated a soundtrack for all 50 states, and then some. You can listen on Spotify right now, may eventually put it on Youtube. There will be 50 chapters (I’m hoping), but many of them will be shorter.

Also on AO3!

Boston, MA Evans for President Campaign Headquarters November 3rd, 2020 30 Minutes Before First Polls Close

Stage fright is no joke.

When it hits, it hits like a semi truck going seventy on an icy Massachusetts road. In the blink of an eye, you’re completely obliterated. Except this is on stage and you’re not dead, even though you wish you were. In fact, you’re very much alive. Alive enough to feel the force of the impact, followed by the squeezing in your chest and choking on your breathless words. Paralysis takes over. Cold clammy sweat slicks your palms and also trickles down your back to that one spot between your shoulder blades you can’t reach, but causes your costume to uncomfortably stick to your skin.

There’s no escape. You know what’s coming. You worry you’ll forget your lines, or trip on your cue, or make a complete and utter fool of yourself. You feel like an imposter, questioning why you’re here, in this role, when that dude, JD, from your acting class years ago was a million times more talented than you, and you’re the one that got that teen movie deal. You’re the one who became one of America's most beloved superheroes for a decade.

You’re also the one who has a very real chance of winning the 2020 presidential election, despite no college education, limited understanding of what elected officials in DC actually do on a day to day basis, and the closest thing you have to experience as a “boss” or “commander in chief” of anything was a movie set or two where you were director and executive producer.

Nope.

What I, Chris Evans, have is a dedicated online fan base who took the time to write my name into ballots when they discovered I had filed for ballot access in every state of the union. I didn’t do the filing on a whim; we sat around late one night talking about the interviews I had been conducting in DC for a website about party positions on important issues. My business partners and I came up with the idea that a long form documentary about campaigning would be interesting, and we determined the best way to understand the process was to become a “candidate” myself. Meaning, we only planned to use the credentials to be on the front line of the campaigning process. I was never going to create signs and make speeches or debate with others.

I never intended to run a legitimate campaign.

But, as I mentioned, something strange happened during the Democratic primaries. People started to vote for me, a trickle of rain in a hurricane.

I won a few primary delegates.

Without even trying.

Not enough to win the Democratic ticket, but enough to make pollsters sit up and take notice.

My loyal fans stepped in again, undaunted, and ignited a storm. They dubbed it “Operation America’s Ass” and created a grassroots campaign across the country with GoFundMe donations and a lot of pluck. I thought it was a joke. A part of me still does think it’s a joke. I mean, what other explanation is there for this mess? For the red, white and blue bunting hanging on the walls with the “Chris Evans for President” sign plastered underneath it? For the staffers who stop briefly to see if I need anything...‘Would you like a drink, sir?’... or, upon seeing how pale I look, give me a vote of confidence… ‘Are you ready for your acceptance speech?’ There’s absolutely no good explanation as to why there are twenty or thirty people buzzing around the hotel suite waiting for results. They’re so energized with hope for a better future.

Hope that I can be everything they ever wanted in a president.

An Independent president, free from party oversight.

A president with class.

A president for the people.

A president who can bring the United States back from the brink of destruction at the hands of previous leaders.

I wish I had their confidence.

When they asked me on career day in school what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always said artist. When I was older, in high school, I knew I was going to be an actor. Never president. The job never entered my mind as being a possibility, not even when I used to work for my uncle’s congressional campaigns. Or when I started filming those interviews.

Why does anyone think I, a straight white momma’s boy from Boston should be president in 2020? Just because I made a few popular Tweets about the current president’s lack of leadership?

It has to be a joke. A cosmic one. I’m a punchline. I am convinced they’ll jump out from behind a doorway and yell “You’ve been PUNK’D! We really got you this time, now here, Bernie, you’re the better candidate.”

And yet…

What if they see in me something I do not?

I place a lot of stock in being in the moment. I’ve also put a lot of work into accepting the twists and turns of life instead of allowing all the “what ifs” and “what should I dos” to eat away at me. I told everybody after I was done with Marvel and financially secure enough to only work on projects I really wanted to, I’d take life as it came at me.

Well, it came after me.

To be fair, I originally chose to get into politics, even in a tiny way, because I wanted to be informed about my choices. I created a website so others could learn, as well. As time went on, I became more involved on Capitol Hill. I even did some lobbying for a few causes dear to my heart. And, yes, I did file the ballot access paperwork.

Had I unintentionally set my path in this direction? Was it inevitable for me to become a contender for the presidency?

Fortunately, I learned early on in the process that a lot of being a presidential candidate is being a convincing showman. An actor. The world's a stage, after all, and I am but a player. You have to have some solid ideas and convictions to back up the image, but a lot of the governing comes from other members of the executive branch. Should I win, I’d only be signing off on everything.

Of course, that “everything” affects the lives of more than 300 million souls. I wouldn’t trust me with a kitchen knife, much less nuclear launch codes and people's livelihoods and education and health and…

My hands shake with nerves just thinking about it.

Let it be said, once I do make it out onto the stage--be it as an actor or presidential candidate--I rise to the challenge. The energy from the audience buoys me. Makes me feel alive. But I am not, by nature, someone who likes to sign away so much personal freedom in exchange for the weight of carrying an albatross around my neck. I thought signing for Captain America would be tough; the human toll of running for president even moreso.

Actually being President? I can’t even wrap my mind around that.

It would be easy to call it quits, even now when the votes are already cast. I could have done it a long time ago, when the reality of the situation hit me the first time. I didn’t. Something told me to hold back, play it out. I persevered. Why? Somewhere, along the line, I began to believe I could do this. I could make a positive difference in the lives of Americans.

I certainly want to do right by all my supporters--and my detractors. I want to be a leader for all Americans.

But can I, really, while knowing my incredible deficiencies?

Maybe I can’t, but I can be the team leader. A brand ambassador, if you will. A good leader delegates. And I intend, should I win, to surround myself with the best and brightest. I will accept no less. I will do ‘Whatever It Takes,’ as our slogan boasts. I am American, first and foremost, and I care deeply about this country.

A real Captain America, if you will. Maybe not as strong or powerful as others, but I sure as hell can give a great speech and will defend my country from bullies until my last breath, whether they be purple… or orange.

Except, I suppose if I’m elected, I won’t be Captain America anymore. They’ll call me Mr. President.

Or, horror of horrors, what if the new name my nearest and dearest coined makes it out into the public. They tease me with it just to see my visceral revulsion and get a laugh. But if I have learned anything about the internet--and pop culture--is that if something is catchy, it sticks around for a long time.

Maybe I ought to get used to the idea of being a punchline.

So, I suppose I have a question for you.

Won’t you consider a vote for Mr. America?

#chris evans #captain america #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fan fic #mister america #president!chris evans #president

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cicfics · 5 years ago

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Hi cic, I've been re reading some WK snippets and began to wonder- do you have a process for writing in era specific imagery and world building? Do you watch a lot of movies or read non-fiction about the era? Or is there no pattern at all? I hear that's a common thing among creatives?!? I'm essentially asking for a look into the creative power house that is cic, if you're okay with sharing!

Hi Anon! I hope you are well and safe during these hard times, and thanks for the question! I am sorry I waited for Covid Days to answer it, but I ramble, y’know. Ramble on with me if you’re so inclined.

Naaah, no process as such, which is funny for a person so personally rigid in her habits she times her tea’s steeping (it’s worth it okay). I don’t do a lot of specific research because, frankly, I cheat to serve my own purposes. If my, say, 1950s dollhouse has an 80s neon light fixture, it can and will, because this is all for fun and hobbying!

I do incorporate factual stuff when it suits my purposes, though. The NHI part where Han and Leia watch the baby movie and she buries Han in TV dinners was inspired by some flabbergastingly sexist 50s educational films I watched on YouTube. I wanted to write Leia frustrated and a bit scared of the whole thing, what it means to her and to a woman of the era to take on such a delineated female experience as pregnancy and childbirth, and how that leads her to occasionally resent Han’s freedom in some inchoate and impersonal way. Not resenting him, she loves him. But his bodily autonomy, his social flexibility? And Han is such a physical dude too, right? That must have been irritating to Leia when she was all hormonal and ungainly and confronted with notions of “the ideal housewife” everywhere she went. But I don’t want the whole damn story to be about that stuff either, you know? You need some story, some H/L, otherwise the fic is just a tract of my personal ideologies and that’d get boring real quick. (I have already explained the importance of timed tea, okay, which along with socialised medicine is paramount to society’s survival and development.)

Whiskey Knot is mostly my UST Dollhouse, though it delves a lot into male/female dynamics too. So all details serve that heartbeat of UST rather than adherence to whether women of the time wore hoop skirts or not. But there’s no real date in WK so I can dress ‘em in whatever I want based on a metric of how fun I think it is. Han gets suspenders and rolled-up sleeves and shaves with a straight razor because I think the accouterments of masculinity are sexy. Leia gets suede trousers because her competence and nerve are sexy, and a sprigged calico dress because I think it’s sexy to send Han’s crooked lips wandering from flower to flower when she’s under him in a hayfield. Y’know, Cic has lofty standards like that. ;) I do look up stuff like how do you harvest by hand? just to get the picture in my head. Or the piece of a woodstove to break. But I try not to put details in too much because, like my politics, I would rather just tell the story and hope the world Han and Leia live in and how they feel about it comes across organically. Can you really cook a turkey in gauze, outside? No idea! Don’t care if you can’t! In the WK UST Dollhouse you can, because I want H/L to be outside together, at night, solving practical problems even as they work their way through the emotional ones, back to each other.

Pictures help, too. The ones the generous and wonderful @scruffyssweetheart just tagged me in I hadn’t seen before and YES! Amazing grist to the imagination.

Anyway. I’m so sorry, this is a useless ramble. I guess what any personal process of mine comes down to is: I love Han and Leia; I read a lot and widely; I’ve always been nearly obsessively interested in clothing; I like to watch documentaries, and not at all least, I have great, great, *great* readers, and beloved fandom pals who inspire me beyond words with their opinions, insights, pictures, headcanons, meta, you name it. All that combines in the dollhouses in my head. When it comes to generating the actual scenes, what I do is make playlists of music, and walk my doggo, listening and letting my mind wander. For NHI it was mostly 50s music, but for The Rules and Whiskey Knot it’s simply music from any era that has a feel I want. When I hit on The Song, I listen to it while I play the scene out in my head on walks, and listen to it while I write it down. I try to have at least one The Song a chapter. Feel, to me, will always be more important than fact when it comes to fic writing.

Thank you so much for your interest, and for reaching out to me. It means the world to me, and please stay healthy, anon. Thinking of you out there. Xo!

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kumkaniudaku · 6 years ago

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Look At Me

A/N: The second Halloween fic. I had high hopes for this, but ended up cutting a lot to save y’all from a 10,000 world one-shot. Still, I hope you enjoy my first attempt at spooky (?) things.

Warnings: Horror themes. Not proofread...yet.

Word Count: 5,074

In a year of firsts for the young couple, Chadwick and Tasha had finally arrived at the eight-month mark of their relationship and a beloved tradition for them: Halloween. In college, Tasha was known to drag Chadwick to parties across the campus, often convincing him to attend despite his general disdain for the holiday. To him, dressing up in an uncomfortable costume to stand around and maybe dance for a few hours wasn’t worth hassle. For Tasha, the fun of dressing up and stepping outside of normal life was exciting.

This year, however, the roles had mysteriously reversed. Chadwick was excited to put together the Laura Winslow and Steve Urkel couple’s costume he had spent weeks preparing while Tasha seemed to be on edge. The unsettling suspicion that this year was not normal sat on her shoulders like a heavy cloak, and she couldn’t shake the feeling.

Even as she stood in the mirror examining her outfit from all angles, the thought passed through her mind in a never-ending loop.

“Oooooh, Laura,” Chadwick sang, putting on a nasally tone to embody Steve Urkel's essence. Tasha rolled her eyes and continued to stare in the mirror to judge the length of her skirt in the back. Chadwick rested his body against the door frame for a moment, admiring the woman in front of him. “Wow, you look nice. The short wig reminds me of how big your head was back then.”

“Hardy-har-har, Aaron. Aren’t you just the comedian this evening.”

Chadwick took immediate note of Tasha’s despondent tone and quirk a bushy brow over the frame of his glasses, “You okay, Co? This is your thing, but you’ve been out of it all day. Wanna talk about it?”

“I just - I don’t know. Forget it,” she answered while waving him off. “It’s all in my head.”

“You sure?”

“I’m positive.” Chadwick watched Tasha move around the bedroom in curious silence as she searched for items to stick into her purse. “So, where are we going again? And who all is coming? You haven’t given me any details yet.”

“It’ll be the usual suspects. Me, you, your friends....my friends.”

“Your friends like who?” Tasha could sense that her fiance was being vague on purpose, but would not let him skate by without providing answers.

“Shit…you know, friends!”

“Are any of these friends Maurice? The one I can’t stand.”

“No!”

“You’re lying,” Tasha accused, eyeing him closely to catch a glimpse of the subtle signs that pointed to his dishonesty. Sure enough, his left hand flew to the back of his neck to fiddle with the coiled hairs at the nape, a sure-fire indication that he was being less than truthful.

“What? I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Then you better stop talking now, because all I hear is a lie.”

Accepting defeat, Chadwick moved to kneel in front of his lady to begin the second phase of the begging process. “Hear me out, baby. I know you and him don’t see eye to eye, b-”

“Say it how it is. I don’t like him. He’s an egotistical asshole who always gets his “friends” into problems that they end up solving because he is too inept to figure them out by himself. Now, you may continue.”

“Damn, that’s how you really feel?”

“I was holding back for your sake. I can keep going if you want me to.”

“No,” Chadwick exclaimed to stop the onslaught of less than savory comments he was expecting to receive. “I’ll pass, thank you. I promise, though, nothing will happen. The first moment you get uncomfortable, we’ll leave. Deal?”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“Only if I can get a kiss.” A short stare-off between the two preceded and gentle kiss and a few giggles from Tasha. “I promise, nothing will happen tonight.”

“You damn right. Not as long as I have something to say about it. Now, if you don’t mind, please step to the side. You’re squishing my sneakers.”

Looking down, Chadwick noticed his knee creating a dent at the toe of Tasha’s Nike’s that were peeking from beneath the bed. Now presented the perfect opportunity to debut what he’s been working on all day.

A sneaky smirk spread across his face as he locked eyes with Tasha. She knew that look all too well. He was about to unleash something silly that would either annoy her or send her into a fit of giggles.

“Don’t say it.”

“I’m saying it.”

“Please, no.”

“Too late,” he smiled, taking a pause for dramatic effect. “Did I do that?”

“You said it. That’s it. We’re staying here.”

“Wait, no,” Chadwick called after Tasha as she made her way into the Master bathroom. “I was joking, baby. I won’t say it again!”

__________

Tasha watched trees pass the window in large green blurs, trying to ignore the churning in her gut that she thought she’d gotten rid of before leaving the house. Chadwick’s hand rested comfortably on her thigh in an attempt to soothe his fiance without words. If had known that coordinating Halloween antics with Maurice would make her this upset, he would’ve settled for the industry party he was invited to. Unfortunately, it was too late.

“You’re listening to KFI AM 640 where we give you more stimulating talk. Hey, look, before you go out with your friends or your lady to celebrate Spooky Season as the kids call it, let this tidbit of information set the mood.”

Talk radio, or any radio for that matter, playing in the car was a rarity for Chadwick. He preferred his curated old school hip-hop and classic r&b stations across the popular streaming platforms. Had his mind been focused on the sounds around him, he would’ve changed the settings and reconnected to the Bluetooth.

“Today, Halloween, is the 25th anniversary of the Castleberry Murders. All you transplants and tourist don’t know what that is, but around here, the Castleberry Estate is off limits. The story goes like this. John Castleberry, son of Diane and Elias Castleberry was a soft-spoken kid that didn’t get much attention from his parents because of their acting careers. When he turned 21, he decided he was fed up with his parents’ treatment and murdered his family in their sleep. According to police reports and documentaries, the murder was so gruesome, detectives refused to enter the crime scene.”

“Aaron, turn that off,” Tasha requested, snapping Chadwick out of his thoughts.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Wanna know what the craziest part about all this is? John was never caught. There’s people that say he still lives in the city limits. Others say he works in the film industry overseas to get the attention his parents never gave hi-”

“That’s what’s wrong. Turn it off!”

“It’s just a story, Co. It’s probably not even true.”

“That’s not the point. Please, turn it off.”

“Okay, okay.” Chadwick relented with no further protest. Using the directional pad on his steering wheel, he attempted to change the station but found that the system wasn’t responding.

“I’m out of here in a few, but here are some spooky toons to hold you until I get back.”

“Chadwick!”

“Fuck, I’m trying! It won’t switch the station.”

“There is someone walking behind you...” Vocals from The Vogues meant to serve as a romantic reminder filled the front seat with chilling energy that neither passenger had ever felt before. “There is someone watching your footsteps. Turn around, look at me.”

“Please! I’m scared!”

Chadwick struggled with the knob on the radio to no avail, leaving the song to play and distort under its own power. Having had enough of fighting with the object, the palm of his hand collided with the button to shut the system down completely.

Tasha’s labored breaths became the only sound for several moments as she fought to stop her heart from playing a deafening concerto in her ears.

“I-I don’t know what happened. I guess it’s time for maintenance,” Chadwick whispered more to himself than to anyone else. The car came to a slow stop at a red light, giving him the chance to turn and look Tasha. “You okay?”

“No! I am not okay. I’m everything, but okay, right now.”

“Calm down, T.”

“Calm down?! Are you serious, Chadwick? You don’t any of this strange?”

“I told you that it’s time for maintenance. Look,” he added before pointing to the digital dashboard. “Right there. The light just came on.”

Tasha leaned forward for a better look to confirm Chadwick’s findings. Sure enough, an amber light stood out among the rest to indicate the car needed to be serviced as soon as possible.

“Everything is gonna be okay, baby. You gotta trust me.” Chadwick was careful with his movements as he reached over the middle console to interlace his fingers with Tasha’s. Bringing her hands to his mouth, he places a tender kiss to her knuckles. “We’re having fun tonight. Don’t let that trash ass song and fake story ruin our good time.”

Chadwick’s goofy smile and the playful twinkle in his eyes helped to release some of the tension Tasha was holding, leading to an audible sigh of relief.

“Whatever. But, Aaron, I swear if I start feeling weird again -”

“We have to leave. I know, baby. I plan to keep my word.”

“Mhmm,” she mumbled between pecks from Chadwick. “We’ll see. Focus on catching this light before I have to smack this old ass lady. Go around us, damn!”

Directions provided by Siri led the couple to a run-down venue surrounded by unkempt shrubbery. This time, it was Chadwick’s turn to battle with an uneasy feeling as he took a look around the property for any sign of life.

“Let me guess, Maurice told you about this place, huh?”

“Don’t start, Co.”

“That’s what you should’ve told his dumb ass,” Tasha ranted under her breath. “Should I call him and let him know we won’t be staying or will you do the honors?”

“Give him time to show up, then we’ll tell him. I want to hear his explanation in person.”

“You really wanna sit here and watch him those beady eyes look back you and tell you a lie? Couldn’t be me.”

“Tasha, chill.” Chadwick’s was patience was wearing thin with his friend and sarcastic comments from the peanut gallery were not helping the cause. Though Tasha had more comments to unleash, a line of cars entering the lot kept them tucked behind her full lips. “See, we were just early. I’ll ask him what happened.”

“So, I can’t say anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Not even a little bit? Just a teeny tiny bit?”

Pulling his hand back into the care after waving Maurice over, Chadwick turned to give Tasha a stern look. “Nothing. Nada. Let me handle it and we can go.” Tasha’s desire to leave as soon as possible outweighed her need to chastise a grown man though she would’ve loved to hand Maurice a piece of her mind. Instead, she busied herself with social media apps while her man handled the issue.

The faint buzz of the windows rolling down filled the air until Chadwick’s recent friend dressed as Lucky from Poetic Justice was able to return Chadwick’s handshake inside the car.

“Aye man, what type of shit you got us at?”

“Me? You sent the text message with the directions. I was just about to ask you the same shit.”

“Bullshit. I didn’t even know this place existed. I got a text from an unknown number saying it was you and you had to get a new phone or something.”

“Nah, that can’t be right. This what you sent me this morning.” Maurice pulled his cell phone from his pocket to open is message app and show Chadwick the contents of the text he received earlier. “It’s all you brotha. I was just following directions.”

“Wha-,” Chadwick muttered, unable to finish his sentence as he read the message for the third time. While the contact name and number belonged to him, the message did not. “I didn’t send that. Here, you can look for yourself.”

Maurie copied Chadwick’s previous actions and read over the text message before handing the phone back to his friend. “I don’t know what the hell goin’ on, but we ain’t ‘bout to stay and try to figure the shit out. Y’all trynna hit up Avalon. My homeboy said he could get us in if we get there by 10.”

“That cool with you, baby,” Chadwick asked looking in your direction.

“Oh,” you started, feigning shock at being acknowledged. “Can I talk now, Master?”

Rolling his eyes, he rotated his head against the headrest to refocus his attention on Maurice.

“We’re coming. Just lead the way.” A short handshake to end the conversation sent Maurice to the other cars to relay the information. Chadwick focused on damage control and determining the new cause of Tasha’s attitude in the meantime. “What’s wrong with you now?”

“I’m fine. Ecstatic. Wonderful. Couldn’t be happier!”

“Stop, T. You’re not fine.”

“I just find it funny how he can suggest a new idea and you trip over yourself to make it happen, but I say I wanna stay home because I’m uncomfortable and it’s a big deal.” Chadwick opened his mouth to speak but was stopped before he could rattle of an excuse. “Save it. Start the car up so we can go.”

More interested in dropping the bubbling argument than ruining the remainder of the night, Chadwick turned the key in the ignition to restart the car. Instead of expected purr of the engine, their ears were met with a stalling sound and a hollow clunk. Several subsequent tries yielded the same results until there were no sounds at all.

Maurice and the remainder of the group faced the same issue, trying over and over to start their engines with no success.

“Yours down too, man,” Cedric, another member of the group called from his Porsche. “I just got this shit. It shouldn’t be acting like this.”

“This ain’t even my whip. The dealership gave me this until my car was finished in the shop. Keisha, get them niggas on the phone.”

“It’s Saturday at 9:30 pm, jackass,” Maurice’s wife called from the passenger side of their vehicle. “Ain’t nobody answering the damn phone.”

“We can take a look at it real quick and call somebody if we need to. Stay in here, T. This shouldn’t take long.”

Collectively, Cedric, Maurice, and Chadwick crowded around the hood of Maurice’s BMV to figure out the problem. When no answers turned up to explain how three different cars were suffering the same fate, Chadwick resorted to technology.

“Baby, see if we have cell phone service around here.”

“I already did. I have some, but not enough to hold a call.”

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath. “We don’t have service over here. Anybody else workin’ with something?”

Answers scattered across the group all ended with the same conclusion: there was no cell phone service, and seemingly no other hope but to walk until they could find help.

“Fuck it. There’s a cell phone tower going that way,” Maurice pointed out as he motioned ahead of the group. “If we all walk in the direction together, somebody gotta get some bars in the bitch.”

“Walk? In these shoes. Hell no,” Shameeka, Cedric’s girlfriend protested.

“Okay then, girl, stay by yourself. C’mon, Aaron. I don’t like the way this is turning out, so the quicker we figure out what’s happening, the quicker we can get out of here.”

Once the entire group agreed to walk together, the plan was set in motion. As Maurice suspected, the signal strength on everyone’s cell phone did increase. For once, it seemed as if the usually clueless grown man was able to figure out a problem.

“I got some bars,” Shameeka announced. “Baby, should I make the call or s-” A shrill scream cut the young woman’s inquiry short as the ground beneath her caved in. There was no opportunity to react before her body plummeted to steep fall, ending in a blood curdling scream and crunch that was sure to result in several broken bones.

“Yo, what fuck! Meeka! Meeka, can you hear me?” Cedric desperately shouted for his woman to respond, but no answer was returned.

A quick look over the hole left behind revealed two things: whatever she had fallen into was an orchestrated trap and Shameeka wouldn’t be responding anytime soon. Her body lay lifeless and horribly disfigured from the fall. The sight was too much for Tasha to handle, leaving her to bury her face into Chadwick’s chest.

“What the fuck, man? I ain’t come out for this shit. What’s going on.”

“Welcome to the Castleberry Estate,” as sinister voice began over unseen loudspeakers. “Are you ready for your close up?”

“Fuuuuck, fuck, fuck,” Keisha chanted. “Fuck, we gon’ die. We gon’ fuckin’ die and it’s your fault, Maurice!”

“I ain’t do shit! This was Chad’s idea.”

“Why the hell would I set us up to die, idiot? Just because you got us in some stupid shit doesn’t mean you can pass it off on me,” Chadwick accused as he began pacing in place. “I should’ve listen to Tasha. Fuck! I’m sorry, baby. You were right.”

“Shh,” Chatter and movement stopped at Tasha’s request as she came to a disturbing realization. “Did you hear what he said. The Castleberry Estate. The one from the-”

“Radio,” Chadwick finished. “It’s the story from the radio.”

“Y’all heard that too. We tried to change the station, but it - it wouldn’t work.”

“Ah, you all have gotten my invitation. I’m happy to have you here.”

“He can hear us,” Keisha questioned in fear.

“Of course I can hear you. I can see you as well. I’ve been able to see all of you for a while now. I’m glad you could make it.”

“What do you want from us?”

“Oh, the answer to that is simple, Chadwick. Perform...or die.”

“What? Why?”

“For years I watched my parents get sucked into the evil world of filmmaking. Everyday they would forget about me to make movies for audiences would never meet. Years later, all of you continue to engage in the same filth! And for what? To torment me day in day out with the same senseless babble that my parents started?”

Running his long fingers through the coils atop his head, Chadwick tried to make sense of the information being relayed to him from an unknown source.

“But what does that have to do with us? You got your revenge already!”

“I merely started my revenge. Tonight, I continue my quest to exterminate the industry one person at a time.”

Standing to his feet, Cedric took one last look at his girlfriend before addressing the group. “Man, fuck this. I’m leaving. Y’all can sit here and let this nigga with Mommy and Daddy issues scare y’all, but I’m going to find some help!”

“No, Ced, wait!”

Trying to stop him was futile. Cedric’s attempt to escape was shut down in seconds following an assumed rifle shot to the back of the head. Too afraid to make a sound, Tasha felt the wind rush out of her body as her knees gave out beneath her.

“There is no escape, but if anyone else would like to try, be my guest. I’ll try to make your death as painless as possible.”

Wails of terror interfered with Chadwick’s ability to process rational thoughts while he searched for a solution. The group of six had been cut down by two in a matter of minutes, leaving no discernable way of the clutches of the madman coordinating a sinister home movie.

“All we have to do is perform,” Chadwick shouted into the night sky to God knows who.

“Ding, ding, ding! The script is prepared. Stick to the role and you could make it out alive. Are you ready for your first scene?”

Chadwick scanned the leftover members of the group of the group hoping for any guidance on what they should do next. His comfort came from Tasha who had finally recovered from her dizzy spell to grab his hand.

A simple head nod was her way of agreeing to whatever he decided. If they were going to get through this, they would need each other. Maurice fought to calm his wife’s hysterical crying while Chadwick readied himself to provide an answer.

“The clock is ticking. Do we have a deal, or should I audition someone else?”

“We-we have a deal. Give us the first instructions.”

A dark laugh boomed across the lawn of the estate, bouncing from rickety iron fence to flickering light pole and back again.

“Wonderful. This first scene is improv. I’m sure you’re familiar with that Ms. Comedian,” the voice chuckled in reference to Keisha. “I’ve seen your shows, but I’m not impressed. Maybe you could redeem yourself here. The task is simple. Someone has to burn and you have 10 minutes to figure out who before I decide for you. The materials are in the front parlor of the house. And...action!”

The group exchanged looks steeped in terror and confusion before making a mad dash for the inside of the house. Swinging open the door put the gang face to face with the pungent odor of decay and waste. As promised, the short walk to the front parlor led them to an array of burning devices ranging from small fire to full-blown blaze.

“Eight minutes, people. Seven minutes fifty-nine... fifty-eight.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t wanna die, Mo! Please, don’t make me do this!”

“You not gon’ die, baby, I swear. Let us figure it out real quick. C’mon, we gotta figure this shit out! We gotta figure this shit out, man! Help, Chad!”

“Fuck, okay, let’s think!”

“We don’t have time for that shit. One of us is gonna fuckin’ die if we don’t figure this shit out.”

“Look,” Tasha shouted. “There’s some type of mannequin in the corner. Give me your dress!”

“What?”

“Do you wanna live or die?” Keisha studied Tasha’s face for a moment before silently slipping out of the red replica of Tina Turner’s iconic dress that covered her brown skin.

Tasha worked in relative silence while the group watched her dress and hang the mannequin from the ceiling. She was careful to angle the rigged body in a precise manner, though the reason was unknown to those around her. Ripping a piece of the curtain, she tucked the tattered fabric into the dress before turning to Maurice.

“Douse the end of this in the fluid and light it with a match. Don’t stand too close.” Tasha then turned her attention to Keisha to silently direct her to stand in the corner of the room and remain silent.

“Why can’t you do it?”

“Just shut the fuck up and do it dumbass. Do you wanna die in here tonight?”

Maurice seemed to give the idea serious thought until Keisha cleared her throat to get his attention. With a nudge from his wife, Maurice did as he was told. The blaze was bright enough to force the group to shield their eyes and it engulfed the mannequin before anyone could process what had just happened.

Seconds after the deed was done, feedback from the speakers made way for the voice on the other end.

“Now, that was a production. Well done, team. Keisha was a kind woman. I’m sure someone in the world will miss her. Are we ready for the second scene?” The voice waited for an answer but did not receive one. “A quiet bunch, I see. No worries. One of you won’t be so quiet during this next one. Down the hallway, you will find a bathroom. Let’s stage a peaceful night in gone wrong. I want to see sparks fly, Mr. Director. You have fifteen minutes until showtime!”

“Wait! Who is Mr. Director?”

Chadwick received no reply from the voice on the other end, only an ominous laugh and the soft thud of a microphone hitting a flat surface.

“T, what the fuck just happened back there.”

Looking around, Tasha took a step to her left and point to her mouth. “You have to read my lips,” she mouthed without sound. “There are cameras. Five of them. He can see and hear us. You have to stay out of the way.”

“How,” Chadwick questioned.

“Pay attention to me. I’ll tell you where to stand.”

All nodded in agreement before allowing Tasha to take the lead and usher them out of the room. A dingy bathroom not suitable for human visitor living or dead became the next set of the horror movie being filmed at their expense. Again, Tasha instructed Keisha to stand out of the way of the camera she had detected upon entry.

“Mo, I think you’re Mr. Director. This is your scene.”

“Oh my God,” he groaned, distraught at the revelation.

“Listen to me, maybe you can get out of this alive, but you gotta get in that tub.”

Maurice hesitated for a moment as fear paralyzed his body. Stepping out of eyesight, Tasha gave him careful instructions to enter the worn-in bathtub.

“You’re going to have to act. Aaron,” she mouthed from the corner. “Start the water.”

Chadwick hurriedly followed instructions as he tried his hardest to maintain a neutral expression without looking to Tasha for help.

“Keep your eyes forward,” she warned Maurice with a hand signal. “Two taps and then you shake.”

The plan was simple. Tasha would walk by the tub to knock the old radio close enough to the basin to make it look like it entered the water. A subtle tap to Maurice’s shoulder would alter him to begin the most important acting role of his life to make the death believable.

With the plan in motion, she expected everything to go as planned. What she didn’t count on was Keisha being unaware of what was happening around her. Genuine fear of her husband being electrocuted in front of her eyes terrified her into making an ill-fated decision.

As Tasha began the motion to knock the radio “into” the bathtub, Keisha lunged forward to stop the motion. Her effort to save her man became their demise as she mistakenly caused the device to fall into the murky water, sealing their painful death.

The smell of burning breath pulled the contents of Chadwick’s stomach forward as he doubled over to relieve himself of the nausea that had taken over.

“Wow, Tasha, I must say that I didn’t expect this from you. Chadwick maybe, but never you. I guess I had you pegged all wrong.” The voice from the speakers was louder and clearer than before. The disfigured and frightening man beyond the shadows emerged from an unknown area wielding a large knife. “What am I going to do with you, hmm?”

“Please, just let us out of here,” she pleaded, feeling the tears she’s been holding back pricking the back of her eyes.

“No can do, Princess. See, I was going to let you be the one to make it out of here. I’ve been watching you, and I like you. You’re not apart of this shit show industry and you’re smart. Almost too smart.”

Chadwick stood frozen in fear as the assailant, assumed to be John Castleberry, used his free hand to apply overwhelming pressure the area covering Tasha’s trachea. A pained gasp from the love his life nearly brought Chadwick to his knees.

“Not her! Please! Let me switch with her.”

“Oh don’t worry, Chadwick. Your time will come. First, you have to suffer.” A Cheshire grin spread across John’s face as he pressed the cold blade to her throat, drawing blood with every movement.

“Stop!”

“It’s over, baby,” Tasha whispered through her tears. “Run, Aaron! Don’t worry about me. It’s my turn to save you. I’ll see you soon. I-I love you.”

Chadwick watched the blade continue its journey across Tasha’s neck as he screamed a plea at the man metaphorically ripping his heart from his chest.

“No! Stop! Please, stop,” he chanted. “Stop!”

“Aaron! Aaron! Boy, would you shut up? I’m trying to sleep!”

Chadwick should up from the bed in a cold sweat, his eyes darting to each corner of the room to decipher his surroundings. Beside him, sporting a cold glare and the bonnet that he never thought he’d be excited to see, Tasha lay propped on her elbow to face him.

“Are we at home?”

“We’re both in your house, but I’m about to go back to mine if you don’t let me sleep. I have to work in the morning and you in here running from demons.”

Chadwick released a sigh of relief and a short laugh that confused Tasha.

“Baby, I had a dream that someone was about to kill you and make me watch. It felt so...so real!”

“I’d take a bullet to the head if it meant I could get some rest. Sweating all over on my side and shit. Are you finished with your Nightmare on Elm Street or should I go sleep in the other room.”

“I’m good,” he answered trying to convince himself more than Tasha. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be back.”

“Take as much time as you need. Maybe stay in the there for the next six hours. Sheesh.”

Chadwick let out another laugh at her antics. Relief began to replace fear as he entered his bathroom to compose himself. He was safe with the love of his life beside him after the most traumatic dream he’d ever had, and he couldn’t be happier.

Splashing a handful of cold water on his face, the sound of a car passing the house did little to get his attention.

“There is someone walking behind you…”

The tune playing from the vehicle made his body hot with anticipation as the memories he wanted to forget came back with a vengeance. His palms flew to cover his ears, hoping to drown out the sound and stop the images running through his head. His body crumbled to the ground in a heap as he backed himself into a corner.

“Fuck, no! Stop!”

“There is someone watching your footsteps. Turn around, look at me. Look at me. Look at me…”

______________

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