#domcom

[lusttybunnyy]

It's Sweet and Pink Daddy. 💕✨

[theimposterwitch33]

Front row for a Pillion screening and Q&A at the NYC Film Festival. The movie was fantastic. A little bit of comedy, a little bit of romance, just enough sexy and a whole lot of emotion.

“It’s a Dom Com” —- Alexander Skarsgard

Wish I didn’t look so ugly in my selfie, but of course he looks great

[whenisitnottimeforbed]

Unscheduled Change in Procedure

So I wrote this for @koreanrage but I didn’t know it wasn’t going to show up for anyone else, and I know it’s not what I usually write(I’ve only done Sleepy Hollow fics up to this point) but I’m a bit dry as far as that well is concerned and among other things, this incited my inner writer so, I present to you something I’ve been working on. Or at least a peace of it. A Clintasha domfic

"What? Why are you making that face?" Clint snorted a bit, yanking a shaft from a body. While the head of this, an incendiary bolt, was used up on the half charred remains of a 6'10" monster of a man, the reinforced, double folded titanium shaft was still quite usable. Rubbing the edge of it, where a bit of cooked flesh had seared to the alloy, he reached over his shoulder to load it into his mechanized quiver, watching his partner as she rolled her eyes at him.

"I thought we agreed no more ending the exchanges with explosives?" She lifted a dead man with her foot, rolling him to his side. Beneath him was her knife, damaged and seared from the blast and thereby rendered useless. Letting the corpse fall back over, Natasha dipped down to scoop up some concrete rubble and walked downhill on the precariously leaning floor to a wall with so big a piece removed a bus might be able to drive through unhindered. Were they not on the twelfth story. She turned and rested her elbows back on part of the hole that reached up to her waist watching the Hawk pick through the wreckage they had wrought together for his recyclables.

"I counted 15 knives and 45 bullets loosed." He smiled, pointing another scavenged shaft at her teasingly, "you were out of ammo."

"12, 13, 9, 2-"  Natasha nodded at the varying array of guns littering the floor under, beside, in the hands of, or strewn around the dozens of neutralized enemies, announcing the remaining magazines. “And you don’t ‘loose’ a bullet or a knife.” Clint knew there was no need to check for error.

"So, you were going to be able to grab those from where? What was the plan to get out of that pit- rocket up onto the ceiling?" He tipped his head toward a collapsed piece of floor where the blackened floor indicated the arrowhead had detonated near.

"You don't think I could have taken those eight guys? Really?"

"I think you were being a body-hog; when we're not with the team, I'm not a- we don't have to be 'heroes', just agents. Besides, I'm not allowed to use my toys just because you don't want to get new knives?" Clint had to cut her off, walking over to her and resting on his own elbows, looking out passed their concrete barrier over the dilapidated and abandoned looking buildings that extended for blocks and blocks in this direction.

"New knives are always better. What I don't enjoy is this red mist that hangs around.  I'm just- ugh-  coating my lungs and my suit- not to mention my hair." She smiled, scoffing, turning her head out into cold air and watching her exhales condense.

"Ha. How can you tell?"

"You can't smell it? Come on, Beethoven." She smiled, turning back to face him, where even with her unheightened sense of smell, she was more than close enough to whiff the scent of his physical exertion, the oil that lubricated his bow and bowstring, and every so often when the small breeze allowed it, his breath. He seemed to watch her for a moment before he tipped on one elbow leaning toward her, resting his nose in her lightly frazzled curls and inhaling, his eyes closing.

"Cherry-" he quietly announced, beyond ruby locks and into her ear, "Almond. Gunpowder. Iron..."

"-Blood." She corrected him, standing back up and pulling her head away from his, slowing as she took more steps away. It was a small feat mentally forcing her hand to keep from straying to her ear where, somehow, his breath still tickled her, "And viscera. If you have to use it, use it when we're in the open, or when you're solo."

"Hey, I'm down one sense, I'm not a dog- but, I  did get you a window." He chuckled rubbing the edge of the blasted wall-hole as though it were a fine piece of craftsmanship.

"Don't expect me to praise that," Nat gave him an eyebrow and a smile as she moved backwards, "Not after what you did to the stairs, Handyman." Taking a small hop, she leapt from the precipice that was the threshold to this room where steps would have been, and fell about a story down. Where there had once been glass that she might have landed on, there was now an opening and she straighted herself through the whole, to descend half a floor more to the leaning building that this one was now tipped against. The black leather clad woman crouched on impact and slid down the roof of this structure as it was forced at an even less stable angle, getting further and further away. Clint was right behind her, though instead of allowing the slide, he pushed off to drop through a hole not very far away in this roof. He fell inside, and watched her form drop outside a most still transparent pane of glass. It was officially a race.

Jumping off some of the crumbled roof rubble, Hawkeye used some of the exposed fire sprinkler piping and swung himself up over a partially blocked doorway, letting himself slide to the end of the tiled hall where there was a staircase with a few sets missing. He jumped with loud clangs from handrail to handrail down the hole at the center of the spiral. In response, he heard some glass break about a floor lower than him. Chancing it, he leapt from where he was to the floor and ducked out of a opening created by the tipped building's bricks no longer being able to line up in proper stacks. There she was waiting for him,

"Taking your sweet time?" she turned, walking toward the sounds of populace a few alleys down.

"Thought I'd enjoy the scenic route- why, you got somewhere to be?" He followed her.

"You know me- just that wonderful 'home sweet home'."

"Yes, and so big what with only the bed, fridge, chair, and closet taking up space."

"Minimalism."

"Right, yeah, of course, sure."

"Just open the jet."

They'd made quick and purposeful work of getting outside the small, mostly abandoned city, out where the forest began, which is where they'd parked the secretive Quinjet. Clint obliged, clicking the remote control that opened the hold so she could walk in. As she went, she clicked the appropriate switches to get the vehicle ready to be started up.

Once seated in their chairs, both began to click about, hitting buttons, raising bars, turning dials, and checking readouts silently in the specified order. With the turbines starting up, they'd have been up in the air in no time at all, were it wasn't for the sound of voices. Clint, of course, only noticed after he saw Natalie freeze, clearly concentrating on her auditory sense before leaning forward to peer back through the side of her window. He stood too when he heard the distinctive pop of a gun.

"What are they doing here?" Nat sat back down quickly, trying to finish up her half of the launch sequence, "How'd find us out?"

"Better question is why would they be chasing us? Didn't we just get rid of the biggest source of trouble they had? Can't we just be the heroes for once?" Behind them were not the uniforms, body armor, or automatic firearms of a rouge rebel crime faction, but plain clothes and improvised weapons of average citizens and townspeople.

"Wait, look-" she stopped him, and both of them noticed that there were two forms clearly ahead of the mob, one with short white hair, and the other with longer red. Small forms. Visually assessable at eight and five years of age probably, leading the flood of angry faces. Clint looked while both he and Natasha momentarily froze, at the larger form- the boy with the white hair, and two big, adrenaline fueled eyes looked back at him. He stared into them and he saw a look he had encountered before, but had felt unsettled by until he saw a child so young giving it to him. He could traits as if they were listed in writing on his head- anger, desperation. The terror of facing death.

"Let's go." Natasha brought him from his trance and he looked away for only a moment to help her try to get going, but glanced back for the boy and saw nothing. Instead, now he too could hear what she had listened to earlier.

"--Witch!"

"--Demons!"

"--Kill the mutants!"

"--They're a curse!"

"Wait! Wait!"

Both of them snapped around toward the voice at the Cargo hold- the boy had crawled up onto it, pushing the girl he was clinging to further in.

"Nuh-uh-" Natasha got up quickly to relieve them of their stowaways, the turbines raising in volume and speed. The boy could read her face and posture.

"T-Take my sister, please- just her! Up in the air with you! I'll catch up and take her back!" He pushed the little girl further in, a voice accented in the Russian of the land but with an otherwise spotless record in terms of grammar and vernacular. The female child sat stiff, nearly fetal, eyes so paniced and afraid they might have belonged to a rabbit in its final hour, the chase lost. She pinched her small fingers into her brother's jacket sleeve, her knuckles and nails still somehow paler than the rest of her.

"No-" Nat answered him curtly as she moved back to shoo them off and around the side while Clint began the takeoff sequence allowing for a slight foot-high hover, turning the hold door another direction. Once the kids were off, some time could be bought if they faced the crowd.

The young boy turned from this rock to look back to the hard place and caught sight of a barrel point toward him and his sister. In a flash that was quicker than Nat expected, as fast as the sound of the shot, he seemed to teleport to the girl, pushing her back further inside the jet. Natalie's eyes shot up to the aimed weapon immediately, but her peripheral vision and linked reflexes forced her to reach out and catch the red headed girl by the shirt before the girl fell back on her head. She wasn't quite quick enough to catch the brother before the bullet passed through his leg and lodged in the floor near the cockpit.

"Nat!" Clint shouted back. She'd pulled out a gun from the handy wall compartment, walked passed the groaning boy who cringed as she passed, and to the edge of the cargo door where she slammed her fist on the button to close it. Through the squishing window, she began opening fire on the crowd, turning them away while Clint tipped the jet up and away from the mob, forcing all passengers inside to stumble or slide toward the cockpit, and quickly took off. There was the distinct sound of bullets being blocked by the jet's fuselage for a few seconds before the maximum range of hand weapons was exceeded.

Moaning and whining, hissing through his teeth and trying hard not to cry outright, the boy's tears began pooling on the floor under his cheek or on the collar of his stained and well used baby blue, velvet jacket he was wrapped in. He clutched his thigh where it trickled blood steadily onto his jeans, and the girl at his side got to her knees, pulling her thin, once-white dress under her and tried to hold his head, stroking his hair with shaking hands covered almost completely by stretched, burgundy cardigan sleeves. She jolted though, when the short haired woman headed toward her and cowered behind the injured boy, holding his jacket over her face. For his part, the young boy quickly tried to sit himself up, extending an arm behind him flinching visibly with the effort and pain. Natasha stared at them in the white noise of the air rushing past the vehicle for a moment and the hum of the turbines and their engines, eyeing the quivering girl and the angry, tearstreaked boy, and strode away from them.

"Wait-" the boy called, surprised, "Will you take us, too?"

"No." Natasha answered him.

"But-"

"No-"

"Then-then, just my sister- she's only five-"

"No." She'd gone over to her captain's chair and returned with a small box. When she came down to her knee in front of the children, the girl who had peeked in the very slightest of fashions clung once again to her brother, burying her face in his back, and the boy pushed at her, trying to back up in a panic. He'd forgotten that he was using his leg for that, though, and wheezed through his teeth when the muscles returned with screams of pain. A hand shooting out immediately, Natasha snatched his calf and pulled it to try and look. He fought her.

"Stop! Let me go! Aurgh-!" She said nothing, but she was much stronger than him. He groaned, trying to pull his leg away and from behind him, the girl tried to reach forward and pull at him too.

"Don't- No!" he protested, clearly in pain, but steeped in anger, and she slapped away his hands. He tried to push or peel her fingers off, and she shoved him away again. It seemed in fact, that he was more upset than in pain now, but once she popped open the box, a clear death grip on his young calf, and pulled out a bottle, a tube and a roll, he stopped. He could see what the things were, and yet, after a moment he continued the struggle. She grabbed and ripped the leg of the pants, rolling the pieces back, poured the bottle onto some cloth and then pressed it to the sides of the wound. He jolted as though it hurt, and she gave him a look. He quickly tried once more to pull away,

"Leggo! What are you doing? Is it poison?! Are you trying to kill me too?!"

"I don't want you bleeding all over the hold. Be still." She ordered, snatching his leg close again.

"No! Get away from me! What are you doing?"

"You wanna get an infection, kid?" Clint called from the pilot's chair.

"She's pinching me! With her claws!"

"Claws?" He was laughing, but the boy had little time to notice, as the woman had leaned forward and grabbed his shirt, pulling him in,

"You're gonna be still, or I'm going to drop you from 32,000 feet, and superspeed isn't going to save you from a fall. Do you understand?" He could muster no response save for biting his lip in fury and growling back at her. She took that as submission, threw his shirt back at him, and began swabbing the area with the tube and another part of the fabric. Finally she began wrapping him up. Now that he was silenced, he took the opportunity to display some passive protest. She'd lean his leg up to get around it and he'd let it fall to a side. She'd pull it near and flatter and he'd pick it up toward him. Natasha glowered at the boy and he glared back as if to say threatening looks meant nothing to him. They clearly terrified the pair of eyes behind him, though. Natasha quickly finished and let the boy snatch his leg away while she stood and went to the front to click on a com.

"Sit down-" She ordered behind her while she picked up the walkie phone.

"We are sitting-" the boy retorted snidely.

"In a chair," Clint cut in, "Put some seatbelts on." They looked up toward him, but the girl began to move, crouching to help her brother. A bout of turbulence shook the cabin, forcing her to stumble, and quickly both of them began to move. Both Natasha and Clint could hear clicking from behind them where he situated his sister before hopping into one of the row of chairs lining the side of the hold.

"Q1 contacting Base. Come in base."

"Base here. What is it?"

"We're coming in with a load."

"A load? This wasn't a recovery mission."

"Stowaways."

"You can't drop them?"

"No, unfortunately, I don't think we can. We're bringing them in."

"Agent Romanov-"

"They're mutants, Hill."

There was a pause, shorter than anyone actually realized before,

"Understood." and both ends hung up. Everyone remained silent. No one seemed especially keen on said silence. Well, almost no one.

"So, what are your names?" Clint broke it for the rest of the group.

"You don't need to know that."

"Well, what are we supposed to call you then?"

"What do you care, why do you need to call us at all?"

"What, you wanna ride in silence- we've got a while till we get there, kid?"

"Better than talking to some dirty agent murderers and kidnapping monsters-"

"Look-"

"Now, I get that you're in a bad mood-" Clint turned in his own chair to face the children, his face beyond serious, cutting off Natasha and looking back into the boys eyes, "but it's no trouble at all to turn around and drop you back off where you came from if you want to be disrespectful. This isn't a kidnapping mind you- and it doesn't have to be a rescue." The boy stared back into his eyes defiantly for as long as he dared, but turned his head away, admitting defeat. His sister's small hand reached far from the very rigid seats to grab his and Clint turned back around.

"My name is Pietro. My sister's name is Wanda."

From next to a soft harumph, he responded with, "We're Clint and Natasha."

In no time at all really, but much longer than anyone in this particular group would have chosen to spend together, the party arrived at their destination. The children were forced to follow without explanation as Natasha and Clint unbuckled themselves and turned the jet off, heading out through the hold. Pietro groaned, putting weight on his leg, so Wanda tried to take on some of his weight, barely managing to keep up with the adults. Around them was a bare hanger, dark except for bright spotlights produced by high powered bulbs. There was little time to look around though as Natasha and Clint seemed to be cutting them no slack.

Outside the circular islands of light, in darkness black as a suit, who knew what might pop out and attack them? Though he was the one being helped, Pietro led his sister forward, keeping his eye on the adults. They headed down the gangway- the only plank of stability over a vacuumous abyss, trying to both fit on the thread of walkway that seemed to get thinner and thinner, and even though a guardrail was fastened to each side, the gaps between the two bars and each of the thin columns was far too big, and just invited children to slip through them like water helplessly flushed down a drain. Having successfully stepped down from this they passed hydraulic doors, the mouth of a sideways, silver monster, with jaws that opened so wide that it must be a trap, and doors that shut so fast you could probably be chopped in half. Into a hallway next with pipes slithering around the walls so tightly together they looked like a swarm, burying someone as small as they were, hissing with menace, gurgling hungry threats and sometimes shuddering as though readying for the strike. Finally they ascended a few tricky stairs, hurrying to avoid being left behind but dreading whatever it was they were growing near to, not unlike the trip to the stage for a hanging. Then it was to a big double doorway, and through another one of the same kind, this time opened with a passcode and a card. Ones just like in a prison. Inside was a much brighter room made seemingly purely of pale, creamy concrete with boxes stacked all around and some big cars parked in docks. Pietro could smell the scent of the outside through all the motor oil and stuffy recycled air somewhere nearby and Wanda began looking around, trying to see if she could find the bright, warm light of day.

"Where are we going?" Pietro finally asked.

"Check in." Clint didn't turn around.

"Check in what?"

"Unexpected cargo." Natasha answered.

"Where are we going?" The boy demanded now. Glancing back, Natasha could tell he was forming an even more uncomfortable take on the facility.

"Somewhere safe." her voice was more tired than reassuring. There was a quickened, stumbling, patter of feet before the children pushed past her and Clint and then stopped before them. The face Pietro wore clearly displayed his willingness to fight. His nostrils flared as he panted through his small nose and his eyes shifted between the woman's and the man's. Beneath his arm, Wanda's tiny nostrils pulsed too, but her eyes was quite plainly afraid.

"We won't." Pietro asserted, "We'll leave, we'll leave like you wanted. We don’t need your help. Show us how to get out of here, and we'll go-"

"That won't be necessary," Startled into jumping, the children nearly fell spinning around and looking up into the clean cut face and pressed suit of the Agent Coulson. He came to a curt stop hardly a foot behind them, perfect posture and hands clasped behind his back, a bit of a smile on his otherwise strategically common face. The way they acted, one might have assumed the boogeyman had suddenly materialized at their flank when the two children reeled, stumbling in reverse into Clint and Natasha and hugging the black clad "murdering kidnappers" close with their backs. Pietro pulled Wanda's head close to him to keep her from seeing.

Both Natasha and Clint watched the moment's long events transpire before exchanging cautionary looks until Coulson required their attention again,

"Mm, smaller than anticipated." he commented casually.

"Don't let the appearances fool you, they don't think they're small." Natasha nodded back.

"W-we won't go with the evil agents-" Pietro managed to voice, and Wanda even shook her head from where it was tucked. The look he was giving must have been amusing because the agent in question chuckled quietly.

"You're using 'Evil' as relative term." He briefly rebutted before he raised his head, "Where'd you find them?"

"They found us." Natasha nodded.

"What's the situation?"

"Isolated, possibly volatile-"

"Possibly?" Natasha made something of a gesture, questioning Clint's assessment.

"My personal opinion?" he continued, and Coulson gave a nod, "Threatened and on the brink."

"And you believe protection is required?"

"Yes." Both Clint and Natasha answered.

"Agency protection?"

"Yes." There was a pause, heavy among everyone who knew what was  transpiring as well those who didn't, but Coulson took a breath and seemed no more phased than if an ant or a spider had crossed his path.

"Good. Fury agrees with you. We'll take them on."

"Great." Clint nodded.

"As Assets."

"Alright." Natasha agreed.

"They'll receive training, protection and surveillance around the clock, and be placed in a discreet location with their handlers."

"Sounds like a good plan to me? Nat?" Clint spoke more to instill confidence in the children looking up at him now that they were being included in the conversation, than to his partner.

"Couldn't be any better." She didn't seem to care as much, agreeing, but making no moves to be a comfort.

"Spectacular. Your things are already en route. There will be more specific instructions on arrival."

"Wait, what?"

"Huh?"

"Think of it like a vacation." Coulson turned, heading away, "Where you're working."

Some vacation. Putting aside that it was, in fact, a work detail, when they were told they were headed to Vegas, at least there had been a glimmer of hope. Well, Vegas indeed is where they landed- in a small airport hangar for personal crafts- and loaded into a minivan cab that smelled like cabbage mostly with hints of other things- frying oil, burnt rubber, maybe feet- and overlaid with incense that was clearly meant to counteract the first volley of scents but only managed to mix with it into some sickening new olfactory safari. And then they arrived.

Standing in the Nevada sun, the children stood while their cargo was unloaded listening to a soundtrack of dog barks, muffled, blasted music from somewhere far off, tires screeching off maybe a block away. Here, there were the smells of cannabis drifting in and out over the hot breeze where the smoke of a small fire hitched a ride, and as the taxi abandoned them, all four members of the "Shields" family stared at their new neighborhood and new home.

***End of Part I***

[whenisitnottimeforbed]

Tricks Before Treats (Ichabbie Fanfic)

Well, I haven't done this in a while... I'm kind of excited, I guess- I finally have a new trope that I want to incorporate and I haven't been able to think of one till literally this night. I hope everyone can read this and think kindly back upon something from the show fondly.

**********                               ****************                                 **************

It had been as far back as June when Abbie and Crane had gone out drinking with Jenny and the young Master Corbin, let the revelry take them and became more focused on the moment than the future, but Abbie was beginning to suspect Jenny hadn't been quite as inebriated as she'd made it seem. At some point during the night they'd made a bet on a game, she couldn't quite recall which one, but the prize had been to pick a costume for the loser come halloween. It had seemed like a drunk rambling kind of wager, the kind that made no sense before or after and would probably fade away with the memory of the night, and yet, without missing a beat, Jenny had showed up at Abbie's house with two hangers covered in travel bags giving both the the house's residents their task for the night.

Not only did they have to wear them, Jenny had further explained, but they had to go out and be seen in them. Not at a bar either- they always went to a bar or bowling, or a fright fest movie marathon of the old classics. This year, they were going to a Halloween fair, complete with a corn maze, apple bobbing, haunted houses, hayrides, pumpkin patches, and costume contests. Jenny also informed them they'd been entered in the couples division of such an event and she had money on their success.

Face heavy with makeup, Abbie could hardly stop smiling- a begrudging and duplicitous kind of smile- as she strode through the night in the field between all the other fairgoers in her large glittering pink dress with so many skirt layers that if puffed up a bit just below her knees. It had all the glittering satin overlay, puffy chiffon-like sleeves that bulged like orbs around her bicepts and a strapless corset bodice with magenta-purple ribbon and detail work. Her face was nearly bereft of visible skin, instead covered in eye shadow that went up to her eyebrows and out to her temples, and cheek contours all in glitter filled shades of pinkish or purplish with a few tiny glued on rhinestone assets at the corners of each eye, and dangling pink stoned earrings with multiple pieces. The only thing about the outfit she'd been allowed to use of her own choice were her boots, and only because Jenny had gotten the heel size wrong and there wasn't time to go out and get another pair. Ichabod thought she looked quite cute, but he'd thought twice about using those words and instead complimented her as looking delightful when they'd left.

Compared to her, Ichabod's couple of lines down the corner of his mouth and light 'wood' looking detail work down his face was nothing. He also wore... well, he actually wore something he was quite familiar with in style, though not color. While she'd been dubbed The Sugar Plum Fairy, Crane had been dressed as the red jacketed Nutcracker himself, complete with giant drum major hat and a real, working sword that he'd really bought off the internet some time ago when he'd learned such things could be done. Abbie always thought he looked good in uniform- and he filled it out well. Even if he didn't like the coat, she made sure he knew he was pulling it off. There was this look she'd give him, this one that he liked, and it had quelled all complaints about his implied patriotism.

"Jenny says the contest isn't till near the end of the night, so we just have to hang around till then." Abbie told him as they walked through throngs of witches, zombies, sexy "insert  prosaic noun here"s, Trump satire, wearable puns, and t-shirts that read "this IS my costume". A small group of teenagers came shoving by dressed in their best, most costume-less trappings and in such a rush that they neglected an 'excuse me' as they headed past the glaring fairy cop in their backpacks.

"If you'll excuse my ignorance," Crane began, redirecting her attention, "as I haven't seen the play these costumes seemed to be based on in any capacity more than televised advertisements and references within other works-"

"-I'll take you come Christmastime."

"-Appreciated- but, isn't the character whom I am portraying in love with a ballerina?"

"It's a ballet- everyone in it is a ballerina."

"Of course, but isn't my love interest some sort of music box statuette or toy?"

"Nope. She's a 10 year old girl, Crane."

"-...?"

"Yeah."

"And your Sugar Plum Fairy?"

"Just a benevolent character with a popular song."

"This doesn't seem to be a particularly well thought out 'couples' costume."

"Did I pick it out?"

"You're right, we're in this together."

"Always."

"Hey there, you two-" A man not unlike a carnival barker called to them, "The haunted hay ride's about to leave and we've got two spots just waiting for you, come on over- we promise a 'Frightfully' fun time!" The two of them stood for a moment, figuring whether or not they'd go, but what was the harm, it was still a while before the contest, and what else were they gonna do?

"Shall we, Ms. Fairy?" Ichabod asked, extending his arm with a teasing smile.

"Why, of course, Mr. Nut." She responded in kind, taking the offering.

"That's Mr. Cracke-"

"I'm not saying that."

The two of them were led back through the lane of stalls and to the edge where a few pumpkins had been arranged to create a line holding pattern, which they stepped over as no one was in line. Well, he 'had' needed to come out and grab people for it. When they arrived at the vehicle, though, it wasn't empty.

"Hahaha!" Jenny immediately began to laugh, "Man, you'd think I'd be done laughing about this by now."

"Yes- I would." Abbie agreed with a snide smile while Crane assisted her up on the lifted vehicle.

"Are you the Nutcracker and the Sugar Plum fairy?" A woman asked, she was was doing one of those sexy vaudevillian cigarette girl style costumes, "You guys look so cute together- way to play up the height difference."

"Oh, we got this contest in the bag." Jenny smiled, reaching up to compel a high five from the woman before leaning back with her arms over the back of the wooden railing holding in the hay on which they could sit.

"Alright, everybody, strap in for the most haunted hayride this side of Salem!" The man called from the truck, and then into a walkie "Cue it up, Dewey."

All at once lights flashed once at them, and some metal music blasted from speakers Abbie now noticed were attached to the sides of the truck. Up ahead, the sounds of screams rang out. The man inside laughed into a mic attached to the speakers, which did not cut out the music to let him speak,

"Listen to that? That's the sound of any who get taken away by the 'real' frights of our genuine haunted hayride! There have been some REAL mysterious happenings in our little town these last few years, and it's all for tonight!"

"Profiteering off of our work-" Ichabod leaned in to muse into his companion's ear as quietly as he could over the motor, the mic, and the music. As they rounded a curve, a spring loaded zombie jumped at the vehicle complete with it's own speaker sound effect, an orchestral screech, and a weird moan-scream. The only scream in the vehicle came from the vaudevillian woman who also reacted by ducking toward and clasping onto Ichabod's arm. Abbie glanced across Ichabod at the woman, and though she couldn't bring herself to say anything, as she had no real place to, it was clear she was upset. She harrumphed quietly, biting her bottom lip and sitting back with this posture and face that just begged what gave vaudeville the gall? There was a small bubble of nervousness from Ichabod, but it was easily overtaken with bemusement. He reached over with the offending arm, and tucked some of Abbie's neatly ringleted hair back behind her ear and gave her a smile. Glancing up at him, she immediately softened, relaxing again. She leaned into him and the woman on the otherside easily scooted a bit over, a light blush on her cheeks, but a little grin as she watched them.

"The undead walk our world tonight," The man in the truck began again, "led by denizens of the damned demons who torture them behind the gates of hell every other day of the year to come and drag down souls to take their place-"

Just then a giant pillar of fire exploded from up ahead, lighting the faces of everyone in the vehicle as they stared up into the sky at it.

"Who-ho-hoa-" Jenny smiled in awe.

"Impressive-" breathed Crane.

"Yeah, that's the best effects I've ever seen- Pyrotechnics went all out, huh?" Abbie agreed as the whole vehicle began to clap.

"Uh-" The mic cut out before the man talked into his walkie, barely audible beyond the music, "Godd*mnit, Dewey! Didn't I tell you to stay away from the 4th of July stuff!... Dewey-.... Dewey!" Crane turned to look at Abbie- his instincts were flaring up and if the look on her face was any indication, her's were too.

"Hey, is everything-" It was a good thing the lieutenant had gotten up to lean over the railing and speak to the man because if she'd stayed where she was, the super sped projectile that burst through his windshield and out the back window would have smashed right through her too, instead of just slamming the man's head into his door, exploding the sludgiest black mess on the windshield, the seat, and splattering it all over the bed of hay they rode on. The events managed to set the truck to speed forward with their driver's dead foot on the gas.

"Abbie!" Jenny called as soon as they lurched forward, having to catch the vaudevillian woman who was clearly terrified, her face splashed in the foul smelling liquid, and her eyes dilated in the kind of horror that you only see in movies.

"He's done!" She shouted back, reaching for him to try and wake him up, pull or knock him over and get him off the gas but she couldn't get the right force of strength from this angle and with the bouncy jostling of the unsteered vehicle, and they were headed right toward a stack of hay that'd been made into wall. A witch toy jumped out as they approached and was quickly smashed to bits over the broken windshield, rolling up over the top. The apparatus would have clipped Abbie if Crane had not yanked her back into the bed of the truck. Long arms wrapped around the purple-pink bodice of his partner leaning over to protect her from the stacks of hay that exploded against the chevy's grill, rolling over the top or under the wheels. The woman screamed from where she ducked and covered on the small floor drowning in the sounds still blasting from the speakers.

"I got him!" Jenny called out once they were around- they were headed for a hill. While she climbed onto the side of the runaway vehicle, thrusting herself in feet first through the passenger's window, Abbie and Ichabod quickly scanned their surroundings and as she swivelled around to the front, they crested the hill. Down below, right where the pillar would have been, there was a searing black spot in the ground, like the edges of a paper burned by a cigarette, and out from it flew ugly, black as ink winged gargoyle looking things and jostled ugly, melted, fleshy human forms.

"It's never been so dramatic before!" Abbie called.

"You heard the man! The only place we've ever opened was purgatory- That was supposed to be hell!" Just as she answered back, Jenny got the door open and safely rolled the man out, and their ride, going somewhere over 60 mph to be sure, ran up the hill and sailed high into the air. The group was left without gravity just long enough for the scene of madness below to be burned into all of their eyes. Familiar uncostumed teenagers screaming and running, things flying like bats or pterodactyls after them in dives, and ghouls tackling the living to the ground in a cacophony of screams, inhuman screeches, and gurgling snarls.

The vaudevillian woman wheezed, clearly dealing with an attack, and sprang from the bed in panic, disappearing in all her black into the night behind them. Something overhead circled back that direction, though it didn't seem to be able to find her once she made it into the corn.

"Abbie!" the car slammed back down onto the earth with a squeal of chassis and suspension.

"Lieutenant! We need to get down there!"

"Agreed! Jenny-"

"Oh, we're going whether we want to or not- we got no brakes, guys! But we do have this-" And she pushed the nozzle of a hunting rifle back through the hole in the window to her sister. Abbie pulled open the lever to check and found it loaded and ready.

"Well, alright-"

"I believe this just turned into a business event." Crane noted, relieving his scabbard of its cargo, the unused metal glinting in the moonlight.

"I guess so." Abbie agreed, "Jenny! Let's go to work!"

The engine revved hard, the younger Mills sister flooring the gas pedal and kicking up dirt behind them and all at once it was the music, a change in song after a brief pause, that filled Abbie's ears. The growing feedback and hard crashing drum beat adding to the channelled adrenaline of the moment. The car swerved in the loose dirt and grass, but Abbie, standing on a hay bale, lifted her leg and steadied herself on the roof of the black truck, zeroing in down the sights of the firearm at the winged demons above and began to fire. Behind her, Crane moved from one end of the bed to the other, clinging to railings while he thrust his blade out at any and all ghouls and undead husks that were not mowed down with fleshy smacks and underwheel thuds by the road warrior in the driver's seat.

Though they might be in the middle of battle, there was a quiet kind of tension among the people underneath the blanket of screams and electric guitars. In fact, Abbie and Ichabod fell into step so quickly and comfortably that somewhere under the drive and focus, there was a glimmer of fun. When she spun around, he was right at her back with no warning or word, spinning too, out of her way and her out of his, delivering fatal blows one after another. When she swiveled, he ducked under, and when she leaned, he slid around. Each step she took in this contained space, he matched  with ease and grace, as hay continued to be thrown out of their way. A hand reached out at her hair, from a being that had managed to grab onto the vehicle and yet Abbie felt no fear. The limb was separated from it's body no less than an inch from her and it's owner was impaled while Abbie's boot planted firmly into the face of another and she used it to thrust herself into the air and use the gun's butt to smash another enemy from the sky.

The truck swerved, and Abbie landed on the edge of the roof, the metal sliding out from under her, but when her hand thrust out in instinct, another grabbed it just as thoughtlessly, fingers curling around each other's thumbs. For a moment, Abbie and Ichabod stared into each other's eyes while the dichotomy of fear for each other, and yet the utter trust that nothing could ever happen to them because they would always be there to protect each other washed over them. She lifted her gun though and unloaded a round into a demon that thought it'd get the drop on her partner from behind, and the feeling broke with smiles.

Abbie did not lack confidence, not for quite some time, but fighting side by side with Crane bolstered it. What she would have avoided, viewing as 'reckless' or 'dangerous' when she was alone, she could do without hesitation with him. Ichabod knew she could take care of herself, and it was because of that that he could fight so freely- he did not have to constantly be worried or leading his Lieutenant around. She did not require coddling but instead room to do her job, and that was something he could do with, not for, her.

"It's kinda like a dance isn't it?" Abbie chuckled, pulling ammo from where her sister thrust it back at her to reload her weapon while the bumps tried to unsteady them.

"Not the music I would have chosen, but-" Ichabod began, but in concentrating on the pass, Jenny now needed to quickly course correct and threw the truck into a hard turn, and Abbie slammed into Ichabod, her face pressed into his shirt. She peeled herself off him and though they both smiled, clearly about to say something, the truck made it evident that it was not meant to handle a corner in this manner and began to tip up onto two tires.

"Gimme a boost!" Abbie called grabbing his hand and turning around. Ichabod planted a food on the floor of the now empty truck bed, and without releasing hands, Abbie used it as a springboard to go jump onto the edge of the fence with only him to steady her while she leaned herself out as counterweight, and he planted his own foot on the inside of the wooden bars to accommodate her weight and press on the side.

Floating on a wicked guitar solo that poured from their speakers like a crashing storm, time slowed as the adrenaline coursing in their bloodstream heightened their every sense. Abbie's dress sparkled in the moonlight and her face glittered like a diamond. Her dress, dirty and torn, fluttered like a flag of her own independence and ability, a reminder to Ichabod of what he fought for, and who he cared about; what really mattered in times like these. Her hand clasped his with admirable strength and he gripped her so that she would never sail away even as she was slanted dangerously off the high, precarious edge of the border against the wind with ripped satin overlay fluttering behind her like the Winged Nike of Samothrace. She was beautiful. Even as her face curled into a snarl and she shot one handed with her rifle braced against her shoulder at the oncoming threats.

He had seemed to be distracted, but when Abbie glanced back down she saw his long fingers wrapped around her wrist, and his strong arm reaching out the other way to swipe his gleaming, silver sword down the face of one nearby ghoul, spin the blade around and push it back through the gut of one that tried to climb their ride. It was in moments like these she was absolutely sure she could not do this without him. Who else could she trust so completely? Who else could be an asset as opposed to a liability? Who else knew her in battle so well? No one. There was only him. She smirked, and turned back around as Jenny took the truck back the way they'd come apparently, using the hill to help them get back onto four wheels.

With another squeal, the heavy vehicle came back down and Ichabod pulled Abbie back into the bed, where she snapped around. There out in front, just above the reach of the headlights, was the last of their problems.

"Keep me steady!" Abbie called and the truck straightened itself out once again climbing this hill, but now the passengers realized what they were headed for. Crane's hands gripped Abbie's hips and as the truck lifted off once more her feet remained planted to the floor and in one shot, the monster exploded it's black sludge from the head and fell like a stone where they landed on it and headed back into the fairground. There was still no pedal brakes, but plowing through crowd ahead was not an option. Jenny reached down and quickly clicked up the emergency brakes as high as they would go and braced as the truck's tires stopped spinning but the momentum carried them forward, crashing to a final stop in a tailspin while they clung to each other, against one of the other vehicles, destroying the sound system to end the ride.

"Are you alright? Abbie, are you harmed?" She was practically in his lap now, at the end of it, and he lifted her face to look quickly for injuries.

"I'm fine, I'm fine- it didn't even hurt- what about you?" She shook her head, feeling around his sides. He winced once, and took her hand. He'd managed to put as much of his body as possible between her and the collision, and the look her eyes were giving him were telling him that she recognized it. He had not lost her yet, and he would not tonight. She stared at him, her hand reaching up to his cheek, but there was a bit of a ruckus starting up behind them.

"I'm fine, but we should check on Jenny and the others-"

"You're right."

Abbie and Crane quickly jumped out of the truck, and after being waved on by Jenny- fine after the impact- ran around to the people who'd all gathered together in the middle of the fairground. The two of them hopped up on some boards laid across some hay for a higher vantage point with attention grabbing thuds of their boots,

"Is everyone alright?!" Abbie shouted over the crowd who had watched their crashing stop in fear.

"Are there any more of them among you?!" Ichabod demanded after her, his sword at the ready. Several dozen wide eyed and injured faces stared back up at them, now with no music from the smashed speakers on the truck, in the silent kind of confusion that follows a group trauma. Then a sound broke the silence- the sound of clapping. It was singular at first, but soon joined by a partner, and then a couple more, and it became clear among the applause and whistles, that the trouble was over.

People threw themselves at the pair's feet on stage with thanks and waves and shouts of pride and compliment, and someone thrust a trophy at them. Ichabod tried to deny it but Abbie took it up from the crowd with a thanks and a laugh. The relief and the sound of her laughter lightened his heart, and before the group of them, he leaned down and placed a peck on her cheek- the best he could do considering he felt fairly giddy right now, but thought better of kissing her outright in front of all these people. Seemed he didn't need to worry though- she'd been surprised at first, but turned back, pulled him down by his neck and pressed her lips to his joyously, smiling widely when she released him and staring into his sparkling, laughing eyes. In their tattered and black splattered costumes, messed hair and weapons wielded in hand, the held each other, and Abbie lifted the trophy up for the both of them among the second crashing  wave of cheers.

[futuagirl]

The wait is almost over! #domcom #romcom #comingouttomorrow #oneclick @mickeymillerauthor

[futuagirl]

Professor with Benefits coming out June 16th @mickeymillerauthor #domcom #romance

[caitlindennyvisuals-blog]

[caitlindennyvisuals-blog]

Ambient Exploitation is a live video and audio performance I will be debuting at Disjecta (Portland, OR) on August 10th, 2013 with Nicole Ginelli. Projections backed by live and pre recorded audio will accompany a live physical performance about tech industry idealism, confusion and collapse. Please come check this out if you are in Portland - will not disappoint!