#Bentley of Filters

[cywa08]

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

For future reference if you have trouble figuring out which is which in the relationship

[yassbishimvintage]

Just Us

MDNI: For the grown and the sexy.

Warnings: Talks of kids, sex positions.

A/n: Hey y'all. So here is that Aaron fic. Look its all over the place. And I highly recommend listening to the song before to set the mood.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the sheer curtains of their St. John’s Wood home, casting a golden hue across the minimalist, yet luxuriously warm bedroom. The house was unusually quiet, their busy schedules clear for the first time, leaving Aaron and Cleo to savor the rare stillness.

Aaron stood at the vanity mirror, buttoning up a crisp black shirt, the fabric molding perfectly to his broad shoulders. His hazel eyes flicked toward Cleo’s reflection as she moved gracefully across the room, her silk robe tied loosely at the waist, revealing hints of the outfit underneath. She was effortlessly stunning, her skin glowing with that natural radiance he could never get enough of.

"You’re staring, Mr. Pierre," Cleo teased, applying a subtle gloss to her lips, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Aaron didn’t miss a beat, stepping closer to slide his arms around her waist from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. "And I’ll never get tired of it," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of her neck.

Cleo chuckled, her fingers briefly resting on his. "We’ll miss the movie if you keep this up."

He leaned back slightly, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "Is that really a problem?"

They eventually managed to finish getting ready, Cleo slipping into a chic, figure-hugging dress with a pair of understated yet elegant heels. Aaron, in his tailored slacks and shirt, exuded that effortless charm she always admired.

As they walked to the Bentley truck, Cleo grabbed his hand. "It’s nice, you know—just us today."

Aaron squeezed her hand gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "My favorite kind of day."

During the drive, their playlist filled the silence—an eclectic mix of old-school R&B and modern hits, songs that carried memories of road trips, late-night talks, and spontaneous dances in the kitchen.

At the cinema, they opted for one of those luxury screening rooms with reclining seats, plush blankets, and an intimate vibe. Aaron ordered their usual—popcorn layered with both butter and caramel (Cleo’s guilty pleasure), and a couple of mocktails.

Mid-movie, Aaron reached over, his fingers finding Cleo’s without looking. She squeezed his hand gently, leaning her head against his shoulder. For them, it wasn’t just about the film. It was about these small, quiet moments—the ones where words weren’t needed because the love was already woven into the space between them.

After the movie, instead of heading straight home, they strolled around the city, talking about everything and nothing, laughter spilling freely, just like when they first met. It was a simple morning turned perfect, wrapped in the comfort of familiarity and the spark that never faded.

-

Cleo glanced up at Aaron, a slow, teasing smile curving her lips as they walked hand in hand along the quiet streets of London. The soft hum of the city provided a gentle backdrop, but his question hung in the air, weighted with both playfulness and sincerity.

She arched a brow, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, so that’s your agenda for today? A movie and a baby-making proposal?"

Aaron chuckled, pulling her closer until his arm wrapped securely around her waist. "I mean, it sounds like a solid plan to me. Quality entertainment, great company, and potentially expanding the Pierre legacy."

Cleo laughed, the sound warm and rich. She stopped walking, turning to face him fully, her hands resting on his chest. 

Cleo pretended to consider, tapping her finger against her chin dramatically. "Hmm, sleepless nights, diaper blowouts, teething… sounds dreamy."

He laughed, the deep, warm sound vibrating against her palms. Then, with a more tender expression, he whispered, "But also baby giggles, first steps, and watching them grow up with a family who’ll spoil them rotten."

Cleo’s heart softened, even as she rolled her eyes playfully. "You’re dangerously persuasive, Mr. Pierre."

Aaron grinned, leaning in to kiss her softly. "I’m just saying… we’d make a masterpiece."

She laughed against his lips, then pulled back slightly, her gaze locking with his. "Well, you know me—I love a good challenge."

He smirked. "So that’s a yes?"

Cleo just shook her head, her smile giving nothing away as she started walking again, tugging his hand. "Let’s get home, and we’ll see who wins this round."

Aaron followed, that satisfied grin still on his face because he knew exactly where this was headed.

Aaron chuckled, his grip on her hand tightening slightly as they continued walking. "Well, can you blame me?" he replied, his voice low and smooth. "Your body’s basically my favorite subject. I study it like it’s the only thing that matters."

Cleo laughed, shaking her head, a soft blush creeping onto her cheeks despite the years they’d been together. "You say that like it’s supposed to be flattering."

He stopped walking, gently pulling her to face him again. His hazel eyes softened, the playful edge giving way to something more sincere. "It is. I know every curve, every change, every little sign. It’s like your body speaks to me, and I’d be a fool not to listen."

Cleo’s heart skipped, her teasing demeanor faltering under the warmth of his words. She reached up, brushing her fingers along his jaw. "You really don’t play fair."

Aaron leaned down, his lips brushing against hers, soft and lingering. "Never claimed to."

They stood there for a beat, wrapped up in the quiet, unspoken connection that always seemed to pull them back to each other. Then Cleo pulled away slightly, her signature smirk returning.

"Alright, Mr. Pierre. Let’s see if all that studying pays off."

Aaron grinned, sliding his arm around her waist as they headed home. "Oh, trust me, Professor—I’m about to ace this test."

Aaron smirked, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mischievous glint as he leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

"You really wanna know?" he teased, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her hip. "It’s not just about the position, babe. It’s about having you right where I want you."

Cleo arched an eyebrow, amused but intrigued. "Oh, I’m listening."

He leaned back slightly, his grin widening. "Alright then. It’s when you’re on top," he confessed smoothly, his hand sliding up her back. "Because I get to watch you. Every move, every expression—you in control, but still mine. And when I pull you down just enough to kiss you? That’s my favorite."

Cleo’s laugh was soft, her eyes darkening with both affection and heat. "You really don’t know how to keep things PG for more than five seconds, do you?"

Aaron shrugged, unapologetic. "Not when it comes to you."

Aaron chuckled, his lips brushing over the back of her hand before resting it on his thigh as he merged onto the highway.

"Back shots are a close second," he admitted, casting her a quick sideways glance, his grin never fading. "But see, with that, it’s all about me—control, power." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "But when you’re on top? That’s us. It’s you owning it, and me losing my damn mind watching you."

Cleo smirked, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. "So, basically, you like being obsessed."

Aaron laughed, his deep, rich tone filling the car. "Babe, I’ve been obsessed since day one. That’s nothing new."

She rolled her eyes playfully, leaning back in her seat, her smile softening as she looked out the window. "You’re lucky you’re cute."

He shot her another quick glance, his grin turning into that smug, signature smirk. "Nah, I’m lucky you’re mine."

Cleo’s gaze lingered on him, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, freshly defined by his new cut. The subtle glint of his chain peeked out from beneath his shirt, catching the light with every slight movement. His glasses sat perfectly on his face, adding an intellectual edge to his already magnetic presence. The way his hand rested on her thigh—firm, warm, and claiming without needing to say a word—sent a comforting shiver through her.

His focus on the road was unwavering, but his thumb absentmindedly traced slow, deliberate circles against her skin. There was nothing performative about it—just natural, effortless intimacy, like his presence was the anchor to her heartbeat.

She sighed softly, the tension she didn’t even realize she carried melting away. “You don’t even try, do you?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, more to herself than him.

Aaron’s lips quirked slightly, his eyes still trained on the road. “Try what?” he asked, his thumb pausing for just a second before continuing its gentle motion.

She shook her head with a faint smile, looking out the window, her heart swelling. “You just… exist. And it’s enough.”

At that, Aaron glanced over briefly, his smile softer now, filled with unspoken words. He gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. “Same way I feel about you, baby.”

And just like that, the car didn’t feel like a space—they were wrapped in a bubble, just the two of them, the world passing by unnoticed.

Aaron stepped out of the car with effortless grace, his chain catching the last hint of daylight as it swayed slightly with his movements. He adjusted his glasses with one hand while the other casually slid into his pocket as he rounded the sleek Bentley. His steps were unhurried, purposeful, like every motion was stitched with quiet confidence.

Reaching Cleo’s door, he opened it with a smooth pull, his gaze dropping to meet hers. There was a softness there—an unspoken tenderness mixed with that ever-present masculine edge she loved. His hand extended, palm up, the veins in his forearm subtly defined as he waited for her to take it.

Cleo slipped her hand into his, and the warmth of his touch sent a familiar spark through her. He helped her out with ease, their bodies naturally falling into sync as she stood. His hand didn’t drop away immediately; instead, his fingers lingered, sliding from her palm to her wrist, then up to gently brush the inside of her forearm.

“You good, baby?” he asked, his voice low, coated with that distinct rasp that always made her chest tighten in the best way.

She nodded, her smile soft yet full of heat. “I’m always good with you.”

Aaron leaned in, his lips grazing the curve of her jaw, then trailing softly to the shell of her ear. “Good,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “Because I plan on keeping it that way.”

His hand found the small of her back as they walked toward the house, fingers spreading wide, possessive but protective. It was subtle, but to Cleo, it was everything—the quiet declaration that she was his, even without words.

-

Aaron disappeared into their expansive walk-in closet, the faint sound of hangers sliding along the sleek, custom-built rods filling the quiet space. The soft lighting cast a warm glow over the neatly organized rows of designer suits, tailored shirts, and an impressive collection of sneakers meticulously arranged on shelves. His chain caught the light once more as he pulled his shirt over his head, the muscles in his back flexing with the motion.

Cleo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her eyes tracing the familiar lines of his physique. His broad shoulders tapered down to a slim waist, the definition in his back a testament to his disciplined routine. He didn’t know she was watching—or maybe he did. With Aaron, it was always hard to tell because his awareness of her presence was almost instinctive.

He exchanged his tailored slacks for a pair of soft, grey sweatpants, the waistband riding low on his hips, and tossed on a black fitted T-shirt that hugged him just right. As he adjusted the simple yet perfectly styled chain around his neck, he caught her reflection in the mirror—a soft smile playing on her lips, her gaze unapologetically lingering.

“You just gonna stand there and stare?” he asked with a smirk, his deep voice carrying that casual tease she’d fallen for years ago.

Cleo stepped into the closet, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. “Can you blame me?” she replied, her fingers lightly grazing the exposed skin at his waist before sliding up to rest against his chest. “You make it hard not to.”

Aaron tilted his head slightly, his grin deepening as he leaned down, his lips barely brushing hers. “Then don’t stop,” he whispered, before claiming her mouth with a kiss that was both soft and possessive, his hands finding her hips, pulling her closer.

For a moment, the world outside their closet ceased to exist—just the two of them wrapped up in the gravity that always pulled them back to each other, no matter how much time had passed.

Cleo lay sprawled across their bed, the soft linen sheets tangled beneath her, her chest rising and falling in slow, satisfied breaths. The subtle sheen of sweat glistened on her skin, catching the muted afternoon light that filtered through the sheer curtains. Her hair fanned out across the pillows, wild and untamed, much like the energy that had filled the room just moments before.

Aaron stood at the foot of the bed, his chest heaving slightly, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He raked a hand through his hair, the chain around his neck resting against his collarbone, glinting faintly. His gaze never left her—admiring, possessive, tender.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice husky, filled with both pride and adoration. He climbed back onto the bed, settling beside her, his hand tracing lazy, feather-light patterns along the curve of her hip.

Cleo’s lips curled into a soft smile, her eyes half-lidded with that post-bliss haze. “You know,” she said breathlessly, “I was just trying to get dressed.”

Aaron chuckled lowly, leaning in to press a kiss to her shoulder, his beard grazing her skin, sending a fresh wave of warmth through her. “You looked too good to ignore,” he whispered against her skin, his fingers still drawing slow circles.

She hummed in response, her hand finding its way to rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm. For a few blissful moments, neither of them spoke, just basking in the quiet intimacy that filled the room.

Then Aaron broke the silence with a soft laugh. “So… that dinner date with Kel and Simone?”

Cleo turned her head slightly, giving him a playful side-eye, her smile widening. “Oh, we definitely missed that dinner. But I think they will forgive us. Eventually.”

Aaron grinned, leaning down to kiss her again, slow and unhurried. “We’ll catch the next one,” he whispered, his hand slipping to intertwine with hers, their fingers fitting together like they always had—effortlessly.

Tags 🏷️

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @avoidthings @nayesworld @haechvn @writingsbytee @grlsbstshot @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @megamindsecretlair @kimuzostar @kenshisluvrgirl @planetblaque @bimbosnbutterflies2026 @chewingmy3xtragum @easybrezzy @blowmymbackout @melaninpov @todorokishoe24 @chaoticcoffeequeen @gopaperless @jenlovey @notapradagurl7

[fallenrocket]

David Tennant's performance as Crowley is such a fascinating mix of intense and languid. He's often so focused, so intent, that he's practically brittle, electric with purpose as his careens through the city in the Bentley or races to avert disaster. Those fiery eyes, that clenched jaw. But in almost equal measure, he slouches and saunters, projecting such indifference that you start to wonder if the production crew had to pour him into that chair, that's how fluid he feels.

My favorite part of this is that we see the exact same two opposing qualities from him in the before-the-Beginning flashback, but as an angel, both look completely different on him. The intense side is pure joy and love, his enormous toothy grin as he ignites stars and elation radiates from him in waves. Meanwhile, the languid side is his relaxed unconcern, cheerfully shrugging off Aziraphale's worries as he considers questioning God's plan and "putting a note in the suggestion box." I love that flashback anyway, but when I noticed how Crowley's usual contradictions were filtered through an angelic lens, I could've eaten the whole scene up with a spoon.

[highlandwhackamole]

A Grand(ish) Theory of What the Heck

I love the utterly unhinged, super detailed theories about what's going on in Good Omens, especially in season 2. I hope one or more of them turn out to be true, as some kind of glorious puzzle-box-hidden-code monstrosity. And also I think that there has to be a simpler explanation for things, for the people who are at least Somewhat Normal (tm) about this show. (... I assume such people do exist somewhere...) This is what I have been pondering recently.

The thing that started me thinking about this was this post, containing some promotional materials for season 2 that feature main characters with scenes in their heads. Like this:

Seeing this created a very similar situation in my own head, but with a nice shiny lightbulb.

All the weirdness: the car, the sideburns, the clock, the behavior of the folks of Soho, the vanishing storefront signs. The absence of God. I think this is all because everything we see is in their heads.

I don't mean it's made up. At least not entirely. Memory is already a plot point. Why not explore it on a deeper level? I've read theories emphasizing the minisodes' stories being retold by Aziraphale and Crowley. I think the whole season is like that.

You know that sort of conventional-wisdom-fact-concept that you can only dream faces of people you've seen before (or variations therein), because your brain can't make new faces up? So it just fills in what it thinks is close enough? I think that idea, applied to remembering or recollecting things, could explain so many things that are wonky in this show.

Wonky Things

Crowley parking in an impossible London location? He definitely remembers it was in London, so his brain just stuck some obvious London landmarks in there.

Awkward clattering happening when Crowley throws the stacks of books he's inexplicably carrying around the bookshop? He wouldn't actually throw Aziraphale's books! But he'd like to think he's cool and nonchalant enough to do that, and if he did it would definitely make Some Kind of Noise.

Jim walking toward the bookshop from somewhere mysterious? Maggie and Nina saw him first, and he came from that direction, so he must've walked all that way. They don't know about the elevator in the Donkey.

Aziraphale remembers tartan hills and the Loch Ness monster because he was having a jolly time driving through Scotland, so obviously the scenery must've been whimsical Scottish things.

Nina put the Honolulu roast sign up, so she remembers its presence, but perhaps the occult/ethereal visitors to her shop do not.

Maggie really did text Aziraphale about the rent, but a note through the mail slot is a much more dignified way for a scholarly angel to imagine he received a message.

On the Fallibility of Recall

This season is loaded with unrealistic inclusions. The colors are turned up to 11. Some of the scenes are more caricature than believable interaction. Remembering things never copies or reproduces them with what one might call high fidelity.

Scenes recalled by separate memories will inherently vary. One person's hefty jigger might be another person's dash. Who knows for sure where the sun was that day? You and I might recall an event having different lighting or a different color palette, sort of like viewing something with different lens filters.

According to Neil, Crowley is an unreliable narrator of the story of his Fall. He labels the variations in clock times as a continuity error in a show where Everything Is Meant, but he doesn't say whose continuity error it is. He insists that the Bentley is the same through the whole season; maybe it was the same, but remembered differently. Maybe this is part of why there's more CGI but it's harder to spot.

So What?

Is this all there is to it? I sure hope not. I like my Good Omens with enough layers to put to shame an onion wrapped in a cake and covered in a parfait.

Is this possibly the fancy footwork that's distracting from the real magic trick? I wouldn't put it past Our Gaiman. There are a lot of things one could hide in the narrative of unreliable memory.

Is this going to stop me from rewatching and repondering and remaking theories for the next couple years? Not even at gunpoint.

[thisisawonderfulusername]

it's just us now

crowley x demon!reader x aziraphale

requested by: @cool-iguana

summary: after aziraphale leaves, you and crowley must move on.

warnings: sad :( but also comfort

a/n: i had to jump between writing this and a different fic because this was making me sad and the other was basically me kicking my feet while i giggled. that will be out soon:) for now, enjoy

you stood beside crowley's bentley, staring in silence across the street. crowley stood on the other side of the car, also unable to utter a word.

aziraphale entered the elevator that would bring him back to heaven, and you couldn't do anything but stare. your eyes had been glossed over, as if a painter had brushed on their protective coating on a finished painting. 

the car felt as if it was your grounding object. it was the only physical thing letting you know that you're here- that crowley is here. he's not leaving you too. you'll still have crowley.

part of you was hoping that your angel would change his mind. that as he took a short glance at the two of you that he would come back to you, back to his bookshop.

that you could all be together on earth, on your own side.

but his words repeat in your head, like a broken record.

"nothing lasts forever."

after the doors close, you clear your throat, forcing yourself to keep from crying. 

"well, i suppose it's just us now." you say softly, opening the passenger door and falling into your seat. 

as crowley gets into his own seat, he remains quiet for a moment. when he starts the engine, the radio began to play a nightingale sang in berkeley square.

as he swiftly turns it off, you sniffle. "we should've known being with an angel wouldn't work."

your voice is quiet, but in the silence of the car it seems so loud. 

crowley nods somberly, placing his hand over yours.

"we should've known."

the ride home was spent in silence, the only noise was the humming of the engine.

-

after a while without the angel that completed your relationship, you and crowley were able to move on.

to leave old memories behind, you managed to find a new apartment. you filled it with plants that thrived- whether it be through their fear of crowley or your green thumb. you even opened a plant nursery for something to do.

some nights, the pain would return.

you would wake from a dream of your angel, sharing a dinner or all of you cuddling on the couch with a cup of tea.

tears would be falling from your eyes when they opened, and at the smallest sound of a sniffle, crowley was awake. 

he was there to pull you into his arms and offer to make you a cup of tea in a whisper.

"i just need you," you'd tell him.

that was all he needed to hold you tight and wrap the blanket snugly around the two of you, his thumb carefully rubbing shapes into your skin to lull you to sleep.

on the rarer occasion, you would wake up to find him missing from the bed, a sliver of light filtering in through the bottom of your door.

you would carefully get out of bed, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders and leaving the room to find him sitting on the couch, staring off into nothing in silence.

you would make a cup of tea before sitting down with him, sharing the blanket and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"are you okay?"

"i will be."

you'd nod, wrapping your arms around his waist and dozing off until you wake up in the morning, back in bed with crowley cuddled close. 

eventually, you'll be okay.

the remaining pain will fade away and your life will continue without aziraphale. 

taglists

good omens: none yet

crowley: none yet

aziraphale: none yet

[aziraphales-library]

Lost Fic #198

1. Hello! I'm looking for a fic. I remember it's explicit, top Crowley, bottom Aziraphale. This fic actually starts in the middle of the action with Crowley screwing Aziraphale very slowly over the kitchen counter, I believe. Meanwhile Crowley is calling Aziraphale out on how he (Crowley) has figured out that every time Aziraphale wants a rough screwing he tries to piss Crowley off on purpose. Crowley then goes on to mention a couple instances, such as a time Aziraphale dragged mud into the Bentley. Please halp. I don't even know how to begin filtering for this. Thank you so much. - @cinnabarmint

2. Hello! I'm looking for a one shot (I think) in which Archangel Aziraphale Falls and is dragged to Crowley to recover. He turns into a cat demon. They get together but for the life of me I can't remember was there smut. Shax, Muriel, Nina and Maggie have their roles to play. You're doing Lord's work on this blog 🙏 - @hillatar

3. hii!! hope ur having a great day and thank u so much for helping the fandom out, navigating this blog has been a blast :-) anyway, i'm currently looking for this fic that i cannot seem to find. its a wip that takes place in an au, and crowley has to pretend to be aziraphale's servant (who is a prince that got dragged from his village) and the emperor doesn't like aziraphale and wants him dead. in an attempt to get rid of aziraphale, crowley helps him escape (since he's actually a spy) and they find out aziraphale has magic when they reach crowley's kingdom. they also spend some time in aziraphale's old village and they navigate through aziraphale's magic towards the end of the wip. this is as specific i can get with all i remember oops.. thank u again for all ur help!! - anon

4. Hey there darlings! I would like to offer some tea and biscuits for all your hard work! ☕️ 🍪 Now, one of the first GO fics I read was so cute and smutty but I can’t find it any more. (Spoilers ahead!) Aziraphale peeks when they switched bodies and sees the edge of a tattoo. Back at the shop (assuming after s1 ended) they are on the couch and he gets Crowley to show him the whole tattoo, it’s a snake wrapped around a sword? I think and it has a date on it, 1798? and Aziraphale also has a tattoo I think and then they make passionate love. Can you find it for me? Idk maybe it was taken down 😭 - @procrastiel

5. Hello! First of all: Thank you for all your work! I found so many great stories thanks to your blog! But now, I lost one ;) It was a pretty dark one, but well written about Crowley trapping Aziraphale to protect him. I don't remember the details, but Crowley somehow snapped, made a mini dimension with a copy of the bookshop and locked Aziraphale there. The story was explicit if I recall it correctly. Oh, and Crowley killed several archangels to keep them away from Aziraphale. Unfortunately, that's all I remember. Maybe a mod or one of your followers recognises it. Thanks again for your library! - anon

If you know any of these fics please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

[somehow-a-human]

Whose POV is it Anyway?

"Your 'Something's Wrong' voice."

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

Hallo assorted ethereal and occult beings! I'm back to break down the POV of different scenes in detail! Starting with episode 1, and notably, the coffee shop scene when Crowley comes to meet Aziraphale for the first time in present day & the argument about Gabriel!

For reference & context, I recommend reading these posts:

Whose POV is it Anyway? - Introduction

Lens Filters

Let's jump straight in!

We open Season one's present day with Crowley and Shax on the bench in the park, and in this scene the Black Diffusion FX filter is in Full Effect, and Crowley's sideburns are short.

The color is well saturated, but still cool-toned and bright, indicative of Crowley's POV.

Then when Aziraphale visits Maggie, listens to his music, and Gabriel arrives to Aziraphale, the Bronze Glimmer Glass filter is used.

The lighting is warm, golden, soft & hazy. Aziraphale's POV.

This brings us to the coffee shop scene.

I've stolen this photo from @embracing-the-ineffable 's post about The Appearing Honolulu Roast Sign which you should go check out if you haven't yet. But I'd like to draw your attention to something subtler here, the tone of the top two images and the bottom two. Pull up the episode and watch it if you'd like as well.

When Crowley walks into the coffee shop and sits down, the lighting is warm and hazy, because Aziraphale had been there alone so far. There is then a cut, Crowley's sideburns are short, the Honolulu Roast sign notably appears, but the scene is also noticeably (if you're looking for it) clearer and more vibrant, the warm haze is gone. I think we've switched from Aziraphale's POV to Crowley's POV here, and I think that's then confirmed by Crowley immediately beginning to give Aziraphale a bit of a a read about his "somethings wrong voice". We're broken out of Aziraphale's fairytale filter POV into Crowley's which is a bit colder and more realistic.

They then head back to the bookshop where Crowley discovers Jimbriel.

As soon as they're in the door of the bookshop the warm hazy Bronze Glimmer Glass filter is back and Crowley's sideburns are long. He removes his glasses, he's relaxed, and then he's jumpscared out of his boots by Jimbriel. Aziraphale's POV.

Crowley drags Aziraphale to the backroom and despite the warm yellow paint on the walls, the hazy warm tone is gone and I believe we've returned to the Black Diffusion FX filter, or Crowley's POV. Additionally, his sideburns are short again. Crowley is angry, terrified, and stressed now. He's not the kindest with his words and refuses to help Aziraphale.

When Crowley storms out, his walk back through the bookshop is marked by another POV change with longer sideburns, in the warm hazy tones of the BGG Aziraphale filter, and a notable shot of him retrieving his glasses beside the plate of eccles cakes. Two details that I believe would stand out in Aziraphale's imagination and mind. He would notice Crowley's eyes, and remember the eccles cakes.

Outside in the street, Crowley's sideburns are once again short, and the filter is cool toned again, indicating we've switched to BDFX or Crowley's POV again. He's angry, he's struck by lightning, and gets in the Bentley to angrily drive off.

NEXT

POV a Trip to Hell and a 25 Lazarii Miracle

[hikarry]

So, the Bentley has a sunroof. I found that out by working on a gif set, because I don't really think we see it or notice it in the show?

Can you see it? I know it's hard, but if you look closely, you can see the rectangle that's slightly lower than the rest of the roof. I've never seen it in fanart and, boy, the fanart opportunity? To have a snake boy basking in the sun?

Because the Bentley is old, it probably doesn't open like the modern cars do - I didn't do my research, sue me. I'm writing this while inside a moving car on my way to my oral exam.

So, instead, it serves another purpose: it allows just enough light to filter in. Perfect for keeping those little plants from wilting, innit? And, as I've said before, providing a warm, cozy spot for a certain snake demon to indulge in a bit of basking. How much basking did he do from 2019 to 2023? Satan knows. Probably a lot

Sleepy boy under his sunroof

As someone that has had a Honda Civic with a sunroof, I can attest that the sunlight is delicious. I've taken many naps under a sunroof after a long day, and if it felt sweet for me, imagine that snake man?

[crowleysgirl56]

Wildest dreams wishes for Good Omens Season 3 which will probably not come true but I can still hope hey!

Number 34

So we need something nice, because, well, *gestures vaguely at everything*. So here is morning in South Downs cottage M rated fluff/up to your imagination smut! Enjoy!

Aziraphale never really was one for sleeping. He preferred to while away the hours on more stimulating activities like baking or writing or reading. Sitting up with a book in hand, he watched as the early morning sunbeams crept through the bedroom window and slowly illuminated the peaceful form of his lover pressed against his side. He smiled fondly. Maybe there was something to this sleeping after all. He gazed at the constellation of freckles on the demons bare back, eyes lingering on the spots where ebony wings would burst forth from their astral plane once summoned. His gazed roamed up to an angular and beautiful face nestled neatly into his waist, and thought of the most beautiful golden eyes currently hidden behind closed lids. How he missed those eyes. It had only been a few hours, but still, his heart ached when they were shut. Gently he slowly began to card his fingers through soft red curls and went back to his book.

Crowley was no stranger to sleep, though after 6000 years of doing so in the strangest of places, from the walls and ceiling of his apartment, to the floor of his Bentley, and one time at the bottom of a rather ornate vase in the palace of Versailles (it’s a long a story), he realised that the best place was by the side of particularly captivating angel. He vowed never again to sleep without the angel next to him. He wouldn’t tell him this of course. A demon does after all need to keep up his reputation.

He lay curled up tightly against Aziraphale’s side, an arm protectively wrapped around the angels waist. As the rising sun slowly brightened the room, he was gently roused awake by the feeling of fingers caressing his hair. He watched the dust motes dance through the sunbeams filtering through the window before looking up at the precious angel’s face. Crowley felt himself grin. A most undemonic thing to do. He didn’t care.

“Morning angel, fancy meeting you here” he purred.

Aziraphale’s eyes didn’t leave his book, though the corners of his mouth twitched up slightly, “Good morning my dear. I see you’re still intent on making that joke every morning”.

“What joke? There’s an angel in my bed and he’s trying to temp me.”

Placing the book down and raising an eyebrow Aziraphale replied “Our bed”.

“Our bed” Crowley repeated as he began to snake his way up to Aziraphale’s eye-line.

Aziraphale took off his glasses and moved them along with the book to the side table. He turned to meet Crowley’s eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Tremendously”. Crowley began to lean into the angels neck when he suddenly stopped. “Angel. Did you miracle on pyjamas last night after I fell asleep?” he asked incredulously.

“Oh yes, I thought them rather stylish”

“They’re tartan!”

“You don’t like them?” Aziraphale pouted, making sure to enhance his bottom lip ever so slightly. It worked. Crowley’s eyes immediately dropped to his mouth. He smiled wickedly.

“I’d like them better if they were on the floor”. A hand suddenly landed at the top button of Aziraphale pyjamas working it open with deft and slender fingers.

Playing coy Aziraphale turned away and made to get up. “Excellent idea. We should get dressed. I’ve made plans!”

“And what plans would they be exactly?” The next button popped open. Aziraphale paused as heated breath tickled under his chin. He settled back on the bed abandoning his ruse.

“You’ll just have to wait and see”. Aziraphale gradually leaned his head back to allow the demon better access to his neck. Crowley softly brushed the tip of his nose into the crook under Aziraphale’s ear.

“You know that’s very irritating Angel. Besides I thought we didn’t keep secrets anymore.” A small kiss is peppered along the side of Aziraphale’s throat as a third button is reached.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, enjoying the tingle that ran down his spine. “Only the nice ones dear” he breathed.

“Nice! Well if you’re going to start talking dirty” Crowley rose up and hovered over Aziraphale, a hand on either side of his torso pressed down into the mattress.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s eyes flew opened as he feigned a protest, but allowed himself to be crowded back against the bedhead. Eyes wide and round, not daring tear them away from the demon, he ran his owns hands up Crowley’s chest.

As Crowley held himself up with one hand, the other went back to slowly prizing open the remaining (and offending) shirt buttons one by one. “These plans of yours, do they have any kind of urgent timeframe?”

“Well no, I suppose they are rather flexible.” Their mouths mere millimetres apart.

“Excellent. Because I have some plans of my own.” The last button successfully removed.

“Oh? Do tell.” Aziraphale slid down into softness of the pillows, slipping his arms around Crowley’s neck as the demon pressed down upon him.

“I think I’d rather show you”. Mouths thank Go-, thank Sat-, thank SOMEONE, finally came together. Turns out, even the best laid plans can wait.

If you would like to know what Aziraphale’s plans were, then go on and read Wildest Dream 13 which can be used as part two to this little interlude. Because you deserve more kissing!

Also Edit: to add @goodomensafterdark because I feel like this is up your alley.

[good-omens-gallery]

Good Omens Gallery Filter Tags, Pt. 2

This is Part 2 of filtering tags for the @good-omens-gallery. For info about the Gallery. and for Crowley + Aziraphale tags, refer to the Good Omens Gallery Master Post.

C+A Through the Ages

Before the Beginning

The Great War

Eden, 4004 B.C.

Mesopotamia, The Flood, 3004 B.C.

The Land of Uz, 2500 B.C.

Ancient Egypt, B.C.

Alexandria, 298 B.C.

Bethlehem, 1 A.D.

Golgatha, 33 A.D.

Rome, 41 A.D.

Kingdom of Essex, 537 A.D.

1400s

1500s

1600s

Globe Theater, 1601

1700s

Bastille, 1793

1800s

Bookshop Opening Missing Scene, 1800

Edinburgh, 1827

St. James Park, 1862

1900s

1920s

Soho, 1941

1960s

Soho, 1967

1970s

1980s

1990s

The Bandstand

Lockdown 2020

Through the Ages (all eras except 1941)

Crossovers & AUs

Crossovers (Good Omens + other media)

AUs (all AUs)

Cowboy AU

Coffee shop AU

Flower/Plant Shop AU

Human AU

Knights AU

Merm AU

Pirate AU

Priest AU

Professor AU

Side Characters

Beelzebub

(the) Bentley

Furfur

Jesus

Lucifer

(the) Metatron

Satan

Shax

Ships

Ineffable Bureaucracy (Beelzebub/Gabriel)

Maggot Husbands (Hastur/Ligur)

Vinylatte (Maggie/Nina)

Ineffable Inferno (Crowley/Lucifer)

Holidays, Seasons & Special Events

Winter

Spring

Summer

Autumn

All Seasons

New Year

Lunar New Year

Valentine's Day

Ides of March

Trans Day of Visibility

Pride

Halloween

Christmas

Hanukkah

All Holidays

Good Omens Celebrations (book & show anniversaries, etc.)

All the Omens

Book Omens

Radio Omens

Michael & David

David Tennant fanart

Michael Sheen fanart

Staged fanart

Art by Medium

Fanart (all)

Animatics/music edits

Animation

Fiber Arts

Gifs

Papercrafts

Embroidery

Clay

Art process videos

Art by Posting Date

Posted before Season 1

Posted Season 1 - Season 2

Posted Season 2 – Season 3

Art by Influence

Art for fic

Art inspired by music

Art inspired by poetry

Famous art recreation

[maccreadysbaby]

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

⚠️HEY JUST SO YOU KNOW I DID ANOTHER LITTLE COLLABORATION WITH ONE OF MY MOST AMAZING READERS/MUTUALS AND THEREFORE THIS CHAPTER WAS WRITTEN ENTIRELY BY THE VERY TALENTED @flyrobinflyy SO PLEASE GIVE HER LOTS OF LOVE AND APPLAUSE AND SCREAMING

part forty-three

❝ BIRTHDAY BAT ❞

MONDAY — OCTOBER 10 — 10:47AM

Something was digging into Bentley’s spine — the door frame? — and it hurt. His face was pressed into carpet, eyes blinking slowly at the small beam of light that was stabbing through the darkness. He kicked a leg out in a weak attempt to gather his bearings, a socked foot slamming into already dented drywall. 

As if on cue, every sense within him heightened. The carpet tore at each pore of his skin the longer he laid there, but he couldn’t get up. His hands were numb, every cell in his body far too focused on making his heart beat out of his chest rather than keeping sensation in his limbs. His leg laid limply where it was, socked toes just barely pressed against the wall. 

Bentley had been here before. 

He’d been here enough times to recognize the flickering light, only dimming once every other minute. The air tasted the same, full of cleaner. It’d been dumped into the carpet, once, after he’d scraped his knee on the way in and left a bloodstain behind. He knew that.

What he didn’t recognize was the noise. There wasn’t ever much noise before, hia father’s closet being far from the main stomping grounds of… anyone. This time, though, there was a steady beat filtering under the door. A soft, quiet voice accompanied it, one he didn’t recognize but made his skin crawl nonetheless.

Bentley gasped for a breath. It surprised him when it worked, the wheeze of his lungs drowning out the new sound completely. He clamped his mouth shut for a split second, desperate to hear the noise return. D–Br–Batman, whoever that was, always said that in order to truly understand the space around them, they needed to understand themselves. Bentley, for one, was very understanding of the fact that he was actively having an anxiety attack.

Still, he burned a hole into the wall with his stare until he relaxed his tense muscles and did his best to level out his choppy breaths. A figment of relaxation was still relaxation, wasn’t it? 

Eventually, his grip on the impossible beginning to waver, his teeth stopped chattering. His fingers allowed themselves to flex, just barely, and he could drag his head—and ear—closer to the door. 

ap…day…de..r…bentl…ha…bir…t…ou

It was unmistakably a woman's voice in the beginning, but it seemed to morph through different tones and rhythms as each sound made its way to him. There was a sharp male voice that made him twitch, but it passed as quickly as it came, and was replaced with a gruffer tone, one that made him want to leave the darkness and search for it himself. 

hap..birt..ay..to…o…ha…

An accented voice this time, familiar to Bentley for a reason he didn’t know. He was suddenly able to move slowly, to pull his legs in, to push himself up. As he shifted onto his knees and reached for the door knob with his left hand, the eerie voices changed into something else. Pitched, abrupt, but still sickly sweet.

Wake up, little bird. 

The song grew louder, the words connecting for only a second before twisting into incomprehensible murmurs of voices.

Bentley’s hand hovered above the knob. It felt warm, even from a distance, like it was in motion. He needed to leave, to go towards the noise. To go towards the warmth.

Wake up, birthday boy!

As soon as Bentley’s hand touched the knob, he jerked awake with the remnants of a gasp on his tongue. His dorm was dark, the blackout curtains drawn shut, and completely silent. Asten must have already woken up, because he couldn’t hear him breathing. Bentley let himself crumble just slightly, tugging his blankets closer and biting down on his cheek to prevent anything more than a cut off whimper from escaping.

‘Lower stakes’ dreams like this one, dreams specifically orchestrated by her just to off-set him a little bit, were easier to deal with than they used to be. He could fold them up into a little box and cram them into the back of his mind now, which was better than nothing. And he did that now — forced it to the back of his mind and chose to stop thinking about it. After all, she was just playing with him. For now.

Regardless, he was still slick with sweat and his left hand stung, wrapped in a death grip around his vibrating phone. 

Bentley would have preferred if he’d forgotten his birthday entirely, and if the rest of the people around him did the same. He even deleted it from his phone calendar, because that would surely make a difference. He nearly had forgotten it thanks to the repetitive days of quarantine he’d been living over and over for nearly two months.

It wasn’t that he hated his birthday, he just didn’t feel any sort of connection with it. His father never truly celebrated it with him. In fact, Bentley remembered being surprised when Alfred wished him a happy birthday after they’d just met. He couldn’t remember when he’d last heard that, back then. 

Bruce, Alfred, Dick, the rest of the Waynes, and Asten all seemed to understand this viewpoint in their own way. They still insisted on celebrating, because they were them, but there were never any galas thrown in Bentley’s name. Usually it was just whatever dinner he wanted, some form of dessert and candles, and then a few gifts from the rag-tag group he’d come to call family. 

Everything was different now that he and Asten were at school, though.

Things at school were.. questionable at best. The quarantine held strong for over a month, more and more of the Redwood campus being well acquainted with the ceramic tiles in their bathrooms day in and day out. Somehow, Bentley and the rest of his roommates were able to avoid it. For the most part at least — they were all still trying to forget the eight days where Varian was reeling on the floor with a high fever and body aches and terrible, terrible amounts of puke. 

They collectively decided it had to be food poisoning, because if it had been the plague, surely they’d have all gotten it. It was probably due to the fact that their kitchenette was quite literally overflowing with food. Bruce had started sending a package of snacks and things each week, and he was much more used to the metabolisms of a plethora of teenage vigilantes rather than a group of normal — well, as normal as they could be — teenage boys. 

Things were inevitably left out by accident, but they’d all learned to double check expiration dates and question if this warm thing should, in fact, be cold, before putting it in their mouths. Just… maybe he hadn’t?

The Wayne’s came out to the city once, just over a month back. Despite missing them all like they were a lost part of Bentley’s own soul, it felt weird. Uncomfortable. Both he and Asten did their best to avoid the topic of how they were liking school in its entirety, looking to avoid having the Secret Keeper hijacking their words, but it seemed to be all anyone wanted to talk about. 

So they lied. 

None of them even noticed, or not enough to mention it.

It weighed down on the two of them for a while afterwards. Asten didn’t say anything about it, but even their roommates noticed that he seemed bummed out when they came back from lunch with their family. Even Rockie noticed, who Asten still acted like a skittish dog around on some days. Even in the privacy of their own room, they still avoided the topic of conversation. Every now and then they’d wake the other up from a nightmare and just exchange a knowing gaze, doing their best to not acknowledge the knife that was closing in on their throats. The fact that everything seemed to be going and going and they knew there had to be a climax someday… they just didn’t know when.

Bentley scrubbed a hand across his face and lifted his still vibrating phone to his ear, peeling back his blankets in the process. 

His screen was a mess of notifications: three missed calls and two texts from Bruce, thirty six texts in the ‘Wayne Kids + Steph and Babs’ group chat, one text from Nico, and another from Alfred. Three new texts from Dick cycled in, making thirty eight in the group chat. Bruce hadn’t left any voicemails, so Bentley figured it was safe enough territory to tap on the texts first. 

Happy Birthday, chum! I tried to call you a few times, but Asten said you were asleep. Call me later tonight, if you have time. I hope you have a good day. I know you like to keep it lowkey, but I think Dick ordered some stuff to your dorm for you. Sorry.

“Oh no,” Bentley muttered to himself, quickly shuffling to his feet. Dick ordering ‘some’ things could mean anything. His phone went off again. 

Wish you were home to celebrate with us, buddy. I’m glad you’re having a good time with everyone at school, though :). Love you.

The stab of Bruce inviting them back home didn’t pass by him, and he did his best not to twitch at it. Trust me, Dad, he wanted to type, If I had the option to, I would be there. 

It would be fine. He needed to just get dressed, splash some cold water on his face, and move on with his day. It was out of his control, he knew that. No reason in ruining — what his siblings would refer to as — his ‘special day’ over it, right? Besides, he had packages to worry about in the meantime. 

Thank you, I'll try. Quarantine is getting slow. Please take away Dick’s access to your credit card lol. Love you too :) 

He stared at the message for a few moments more, then swiped out of it to reply to all of the others with a deep sigh.

——

Everyone was out in the common area when Bentley made his way out of his room. Asten, Valor, and Varian were in the middle of what seemed to be a very intense battle of finger football at the dining table — a victory cry escaping from Varian as soon as the door shut behind Bentley. 

Bellamy was sitting on the floor with his back against one of the couches, just next to Koa’s feet, occupied by one of the new Nintendo Switch’s they all shared. (Bruce definitely hadn’t sent it from home.) Quarantine was good for some things, and one of those was definitely its ability to bring Bellamy out of his shell. He was still frequently glued to Bentley, but he’d voluntarily come hang out with the group of them more often than not, even when Bentley wasn’t there.

“Morning,” Rockie called a bit louder than necessary, trying to get his voice heard over the thrum of soft music coming from what seemed to be nowhere. He was folded up on the counter holding a mug of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. 

“Good morning,” Bentley murmured back, heading straight for the dorm’s door. He didn’t even know what time the mail came, and usually he wouldn’t care, but these were different circumstances. He wanted to keep things as lowkey as possible, and intercepting whatever Dick sent was the first step. 

When he opened the door, there was nothing there.

“Looking for these?” Koa asked, climbing up from the couch and pointing just out of Bentley's sight line, toward the bay window. “What the hell did you order?” 

“Nothing,” Bentley said automatically, immediately giving himself away. “I mean, I think my dad sent me a few things..” 

“Uh huh, a few.” 

Koa wasn’t lying, there was a lot. Some boxes seemed to just be Bruce’s weekly shipment of snacks and drinks that they absolutely did not need — seeing as the school was providing — but what were they supposed to do, complain about a bunch of food? There were a few boxes of other sizes, along with a couple random mailers. 

“What is it, your birthday?” It was Rockie this time, leering over Bentley’s shoulder. 

Bentley stayed silent, which apparently was enough. 

“Oh, come on dude,” Koa whined with a pout. “You weren’t going to tell us? What if I wanted to throw you a party?” 

“During quarantine...?” He didn’t think anyone would be bothered by him keeping it a secret. 

“Ugh, don’t ruin it. It would have been awesome.” 

Rockie put a gloved hand on Bentley’s shoulder, something that had become familiar over the last few months. “Well? You gonna open them?” 

“I don’t..” 

Koa huffed. He made a show of walking over to the table, where Varian was setting up to flick the paper football over Asten’s fingers. Bentley winced.

He couldn’t hear the words coming from Koa’s mouth, not over the music and Rockie pushing around packages with his feet, but he could see everyone’s eyes darting over to him simultaneously. Even Asten’s, who had already wished him a happy birthday over text. 

There was a chorus of ‘Dude!’’s and “Happy birthday!”s from Varian, Valor, and even Bellamy, the group of them all abandoning their respective games and coming over. 

Reluctantly, after multiple threats of being forced to sit in the half-broken living room chair for the next month if he didn’t, Bentley relented and reached for one. 

As soon as he opened the box, he knew exactly what they would all be doing for the remainder of quarantine — however long that would be. 

Sitting at the top of the box, there was a group of controllers. Just below, a ridiculous limited edition Batman themed PlayStation—one that was specifically made for larger multiplayer capabilities, allowing three more than their current one at home could run.

“Oh no,” Bentley muttered with a faint smile, seeing the hands of his roommates darting towards the box. 

They all seemed to speak in unison. “Oh yes.”

——

The rest of the evening was pretty set in stone after that. The first few minutes were filled with a bit of chaos, everyone digging through the rest of the boxes in search of batteries and then fighting over controllers and seats as soon as they were found. Eventually there was a rotating system in place, which worked well. Most of the time.

Jason and Tim must have been in charge of getting games, because most of them were the ones that they would play with Asten and Bentley back at the manor. Call of Duty, Mario Kart, Minecraft, etc.

Some of the other boxes had birthday decorations, which were hastily slapped around the dorm and would likely be left up for the remainder of the semester.

Damian included a drawing of Titus and Ace in the gardens, which everyone ooh-ed and aah-ed over. Valor asked if they were trained to attack people since they looked ‘scary’. Bentley lied and said no. They would only do it on command, after all.

Something about the screeching of all of his roommates paired with the pops and clashes coming from the games reminded Bentley a lot of home — both of playing things with his siblings but also just being there. It was rarely quiet in Wayne manor, whether it was three in the morning or three in the afternoon. The longer quarantine went on, and the more and more comfortable they got with each other, the dorm seemed to become the same way—buzzing with life and the warmth of familiarity.

As much as he didn’t want to believe it, things were good. He had friends, amazing friends, more of them than he could have dreamed of only a few months ago. Asten was there, and the two of them had been able to weather every storm that had made its way through so far. Hopefully, maybe, when the next one came, they could do it again.

They played video games until it was dark again, and had taken a quick break to eat the dinner the school provided. Varian put candles that Dick had sent into some random little Debbie thing that was probably out of date and declared it Bentley’s birthday cake. He found that he didn’t really mind to blow it out and make everybody happy.

For the first time in a long time, at four a.m. the morning after his fourteenth birthday, Bentley went to bed feeling really, really… good.

--

tag list that KINDA works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

So I acted upon the urge to make the best FNAF Ocs ever

Anyways

Names: Buckwood (Kirkwood Buck) and Bentley Bat Roles: Freddy Fazbear’s Hecklers - they weren’t originally supposed to be mean, but it sure ended up that way. They take the role of the verbal attackers rather than the physical like all the other animatronics. While they’re considered relatively non-violent, that doesn’t mean they’re non harmful. They do what they can to humiliate Fazbear Entertainment and all their staff, keeping just about everyone on their toes. Their biggest goal is to emotionally destroy William so he doesn't hurt anyone else's kids, but because Phone Guy and Mike are more often seen in the building (AND they have specific traits and flaws grandpas with no filters can't help but pick on)-so overall they have a habit to target those two a little more than William. They can't move from their balcony, but they don't really mind, and have fun just staying in one place for the rest of eternity. HOWEVER, they so sometimes get snacks, beverages, and whatever they want despite 1. them not having legs 2. them not having stomachs and 3. them not having a way down or up. Nobody knows how they do it, and maybe they don't know either. They sometimes steal things from you if they really want to mess with you. Backstory (in concept): they’re the pissed grandpas of some of the missing children, and will do whatever they can to tarnish the name of Fazbear Entertainment for covering up their grandkids murders like it was nothing

[thelarksang]

Episode 1 Continuity Hints

I'm still trying to individually distinguish the Crowley filter and the Record Shop signage/next door building discrepancies but they are a bit harder to identify.

I'm not sure if others have done it yet but I wanted to make a giant doc sheet that points out when the filters are present, if the ground is wet, the status of Crowley's sauntering sideburns, etc. Here are just some things from the first episode.

Discrepancies Set #1

Bookshop front has clean columns

Crowley has short sideburns

Signs of old rain drying out

Honolulu sign not present in coffee shop

Crowley filter is on

Discrepancies Set #2

Bookshop front has clean columns

Crowley has short sideburns

Signs of old rain drying out

Honolulu sign present in coffee shop (and lamp moved)

Crowley filter is off

Discrepancies Set #3

Bookshop front has dirty columns

Crowley has long sideburns

Signs of fresh rain on the ground and Bentley

Crowley filter is ??

Sidenote:

Can we talk about this specific scene? This is when Crowley and Aziraphale argue and Crowley storms out. He has short sideburns here.

Scene changes after 5 seconds; he is now fetching his sunglasses before he leaves the bookshop, and he has long sideburns.

And another 5 seconds later when he's outside, it's short again.

This one was incredibly subtle and easy to miss!

[starrycosme]

Entre Sobras y Sobras, me Faltas

A Good Omens oneshot

(Warning: This is pure angst, read at your own risk)

Nos faltó una noche de franela

De pijama feo y calcetín por fuera

Of course his pajamas were tartan. Old fashioned, comfortably worn things, and soft looks on his sky blue eyes. Softer than his tartan blanket on his tartan couch. Softer than locks of hair like clowds in a sunny day. Softer than Crowley's voice could ever hope to be, though it would never stop trying its best.

"I didn't take you for a sleeper, angel."

"Well, I do indulge in sleep from time to time... I'm afraid you managed to convince me in the end."

Oh, but that laugh, that laugh was softer still. It melted when its silky touch grazed Crowley's face, seemed to know how to aim to his exposed eyes. How to use them to filter down to his chest and fill in the gaps.

"I'm glad I did."

And it was inescapable, that softness that came with the darkness of the night and settled where the wine glasses were missing. It was all worth it though, to see that smile.

Oh, how he wishes they hadn't always drank the softness away.

Nos faltó una mentira entera

Una falsa espera y una tarde fea

"Tell me you said no."

"I did." And that softer than life smile was back. "To the world, wasn't it? Our world. It was always us, Crowley. My dear."

And this time, hope and gratefulness took the place of desperation. Crowley didn't grab, he didn't pull, he just fell. He fell onto Aziraphale, and his angel was there, also falling into their embrace. Their beating hearts, the warmth of their bodies, it was all theirs. As theirs as wine, and books, and the Bentley.

"Angel."

"Sh... It's okay."

And the words echoed on the gaps in his chest as he waited, and Aziraphale turned around and left him. No soft looks, or smiles, or laughter to hold him together anymore. Only memories floating around and leaving him to drown.

So drown he did.

His imagination was gentler than reality. It tended to bend and twist things together.

Nos faltó una sabana de Ikea

Un viaje de cartón, un despertar de seda.

Aziraphale's forearms were bare, his strong arms carried boxes, heavy with both of their lifes on Earth. Soft hairs and unyielding muscles, a physical form to hide his light. Never enough, tough. Never enough. When their eyes met, that light seemed to shine through.

"You could help me, you know?" Aziraphale joked.

"Sure thing, angel."

A snap would have been enough, but just like they both enjoyed a walk through the park, a story read aloud or a live concert, it was all about enjoying the process. They settled in.

"You can't leave this bookshop."

The cottage's walls are covered in bookshelves. They no longer live in London. They don't need to, don't care about having left. Home had always been where the other was, after all.

Crowley was woken up by the Bentley's radio. Don't care about the date. Don't listen, don't listen, don't listen. He imagined waking up to soft sheets instead of leather seats, soft touches and warmth. Company, instead of this utter, swallowing loneliness. A loneliness that fed the gaps, let them grow and spread in an uncontrollable web of fragile, empty voids, like cracks spreading through a carelessly dropped teapot.

The softest touch would break him, now. There was no love to knit the cracks together. Not from above. Not from below. Not from Her. Not from his angel.

Un día remolón y una caricia vieja

Un vámonos pa' allá y un sea donde sea

Soft, careful fingers caressed locks of hair cascading down a lap. A soft sigh, the rustle of a page being turned, the joyful songs of birds filtering through an open window. Then, a hand reaching out, brushing fingers that hold an old, loved copy of a Jane Austen novel.

"Little demonic miracle of my own." He remembers saying.

And it's a miracle in and of itself that he's allowed to touch, to caress, to hold. He's never forgotten that particular touch, though. He could never. Not when it was the first time his angel looked at him like he understood. Like he cared to reach out, too. Oh, but how caring scared him.

"You go too fast for me Crowley."

"We're on opposite sides!"

"I forgive you."

They all blend together. Now, Crowley is scared too. The walls of the cottage dissolve and leave behind a familiar steering wheel and a sad song on the radio.

"We could go off together."

"Oh, my darling, we already have."

Aziraphale smiles, and it's blinding. His voice flickers and goes out. The illusion of a happy future flickers with him.

Crowley drives off.

The title and verses used throughout this oneshot are from an Antonio Orozco song with the same title.

I've had this thing in my notes app for a while, and now I'm back in the fandom, I figured I could post it. This is just me still coping with season 2. It was meant to be kind of fluffy, but it came out like this.

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Camp Wanamaker (Ch 8/10)

September 7, 2023

Notes - I know this chapter is exceptionally overdue and I'm so sorry that it is, but my job raised my hours pretty significantly, and, with everything else going on in my already crazy life, I found it very hard to sit down and write. However, I'm hoping to get the next few chapters out as soon as possible so we can move on to bigger and better things!

Chapter 8 - Rumor Has It

The sun slowly rose over the hills of trees that surrounded Camp Wanamaker. Morning light crept across the gentle waves of the lake and the tops of the cabins, dancing across the dewy grass and making it shimmer like a million minuscule diamonds. The yellow-orange glow snaked its way closer and closer to the windows of each building, finding the cheap cotton curtains with ease. The light eventually seeped through the curtains and spilled onto the bed of a certain brunet boy, his chocolate coils woven into little knots as he struggled to get himself out of his twisted sheets while he slept.

It had been a rough night for Royce. He had just barely fallen asleep when an emergency notification about a missing child in the area rang loudly on his phone, jolting him awake as he tore out his earbuds. By the time he had finally worked himself back to the edge of sleep, it was nearing two in the morning. He wasn’t the only one who had issues with chasing sleep that night, which was made apparent as Bentley entered the room and silently joined his brother, relishing in the quiet and calm his brother’s room provided. Thankfully, they had the day to recover and relax while everyone else did as they pleased on their last day of freedom before the next group of campers arrived.

As Royce stirred, the soft rays of light filtering through his eyelashes as he slowly blinked them open, a light grumble from his side caught his attention. Glancing down, he found Bentley curled up to his side, his face buried in Royce’s shirt to avoid the sunlight coming in from the window. A notion of a chuckle left Royce’s mouth as he peered over at the clock on his nightstand. All he needed to see was the glowing, red six at the start of the number to know that his little brother wouldn’t be moving any time soon. At least, not willingly. Taking in a slow breath and sighing, Royce reached for the cell phone he had ditched on the nightstand and relaxed back onto his pillow, ready to enjoy a lazy morning.

If you asked any of the Murphy brothers, lazy mornings were reserved for Sundays anyway. Back in their home, they would usually be found lounging on the couch with bowls of soggy cereal or packets of Pop-Tarts, their eyes semi-glued to the typical weekend cartoons playing on the TV as they ate breakfast. Well, in more recent months, they had. Their old television was a crappy box model with a single dial that had only one good station while the other four were filled with either news or politics. However, after Vivien’s “stay-cation” to their world, they had grown accustomed to the hundreds of stations they could receive with the television the girl had gotten Mick’s help with making.

It didn’t take them long to realize that living at Camp Wanamaker was something else entirely. Most of the televisions available were outfitted with every app known to mankind and possessed a slew of shows nobody in the cabin had seen before - not even those who lived in the modern world. Not every cabin had a television, of course, but the ones that were home to just counselors or staff members had at least one for the cabin to share. Royce and Bentley had spent their free mornings during staff weeks in front of the TV, watching shows that Vivien and Mick had added to their watchlists. It was a good way to spend their mornings, all in all.

Just as Royce had begun searching his phone for something to keep himself occupied, Bentley shifted, slowly lifting his head from Royce’s shirt and grumbling a complaint about the sun. A yawn caught the youngest of the Murphy brothers, forcing him to stretch against the mattress as he made a noise of frustration. Flopping back down against the sheets, Bentley slowly turned toward Royce and muttered, “G’mornin’.”

“Morning,” Royce spoke softly. “Have a good sleep?”

Bentley shrugged, “Kinda.”

Royce hummed, “Do you wanna go watch the next episode of that zombie show? We can make some cereal and just chill on the couch while everyone goes to the mess hall.”

After a moment of contemplation, Bentley shook his head, “I don’t think I’m up for watching someone get their insides eaten like a bowl of zombie spaghetti jsut yet. Can I watch you play the cat game instead? You know, the one where you help the robots?”

Bentley watching Royce play games was nothing new, but it had become far more common in recent times. While Bentley loved playing games with adventure or mindless fun as the main focus, story-driven games like What Remains of Edith Finch and their newfound favorite, Stray, made it easier for Bentley to relinquish all control of the game to Royce in favor of watching him play and piecing together the storyline at his own pace. In a way, it was easier and both brothers enjoyed the time they got to spend together. 

With a smile, Royce nodded as he sat up, “Sure, Benny. Why don’t you go get that started up and I’ll make breakfast.”

As Bentley sluggishly shoved the blankets away from his legs, he grinned, “Can I have Cocoa Puffs with chocolate milk?”

“Yeah,” Royce nodded. “You want your Hufflepuff mug or just a normal cup?”

Bentley snickered, “No, RJ, I mean, can I have chocolate milk in my cereal?”

Royce paused, feeling as though he had a circle swirling above his head as he processed his brother’s request. “But-” he took in a breath, “Benny, there’ll be chocolate milk at the bottom anyway if you’re having Cocoa Puffs.”

“I know,” Bentley shrugged, “but I want it more chocolatey so when I drink it after the cereal’s gone, it’s not like two little bits of chocolate and a bowl of straight milk.”

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Royce relented, “Alright, fine. That makes sense.”

As he followed Royce to the door, Bentley smirked and asked, “Can I have a glass of orange juice to go with it? Maybe some pickles afterward?” The look of disgusted horror Royce sent in return as he whirled around made Bentley cackle, patting his brother on the shoulder as he ducked around him. Bentley had just reached the bottom step when Royce began thumping down them, rattling off about disgusting food combinations first thing in the morning and musing how someone they knew must have been pregnant if he was craving something so nasty. Bentley beamed with pride as he grabbed the game controller from the coffee table; it was mornings like these that he didn’t mind being up so early.

Vivien moved sluggishly as the rain battered against the air conditioner that stuck out of one of the music hall’s windows. Rain always made her tired and, with nothing better to do, she and Miles were stuck in the music hall, practicing guitar and fooling around with the instruments that would, typically, go unused on a day like that. To make matters worse, it was Monday. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue; however, that meant the carnival in Laconia was now officially open, and, due to the rain, they wouldn’t be able to go.

The trips to the carnival had been planned quite thoroughly. Every day, one group would be taken to the carnival for the day and return for dinner. Although most everyone at the camp wanted nothing more than to go to the carnival, the rain had come over the area overnight and the carnival grounds on the early-morning news had looked more like muddy grass soup, making it an easy decision for those at the camp to stay at the camp. 

As Miles strummed a song on the guitar and hummed softly along, Vivien dropped onto the bench beside him, a yawn leaving her as she tipped her head back to look at the ceiling, “I’m so fucking bored.”

“Join the club, kiddo,” Miles chuckled, allowing his strumming to fade off as he pushed his focus onto the girl beside him. 

“Does the club offer cookies?” 

“Only on weekends and at club meetings.”

“Then I don’t wanna join,” she sighed.

“Too bad,” Miles teased, nudging the girl with his elbow as he set the guitar down beside his leg. “Once you’re invited, there’s no turning it down.” Vivien glanced in Miles’ direction with an amused smirk before another yawn tugged itself from her. “Tired?” he asked.

Instead of firing off a quick quip, Vivien lazily nodded, leaning closer to Miles until her head came into contact with his shoulder. “I slept fine last night, but I woke up later than normal and it’s throwing me off.”

Miles chuckled, tugging his arm from between them and bringing it around Vivien’s shoulders, “For some reason, I don’t have that problem.”

“You suck.”

“You love me.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you still suck,” Vivien muttered as she brought an arm around Miles’ back.

Allowing himself to smile, Miles gave Vivien’s arm a squeeze, “You’re such a little shit.”

“Takes one to know one.”

As rain battered against the windows, the wind rattling the glass ominously as it passed, Miles grinned. Even though they spent almost every day in the music hall, it wasn’t too often that he got to spend time with just Vivien. Normally, the music hall was filled with kids wanting to bash the drums or learn guitar, the split of interests keeping him and Vivien on opposite sides of the large room. It was times like these - the rare moments when the hall was empty and they would be able to talk or play guitar - that Miles felt an actual connection with the girl. 

They had spent a few months under the same roof during Vivien’s prolonged stay in their world over winter break and he enjoyed watching her grow more comfortable around everyone he knew and loved. Once she had gotten out of the “Royce’s girlfriend” title everyone had given her and made a name for herself, Miles got to see the different sides of Vivien that he hadn’t yet found. After everything they had been through over her break, she now felt like the younger sister he never got the chance to have. 

As Miles glanced up at the ceiling, wondering how long it would be before they would need to break out the buckets in the storage room to catch dripping water that penetrated through the older roof, Vivien sighed. Despite her exhaustion, her mind raced with thoughts of what they were going to do to keep themselves busy until Saturday. As one of the last groups to go to the carnival, they had to keep themselves entertained for most of the week. After a moment, Vivien glanced out the window toward where the pool would, by now, be empty. Maybe she could convince Mick to let her swim in the rain; it would beat sitting around, doing nothing while they waited for a potentially musically inclined camper to stumble through the door. 

Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen much of Mick lately. Faintly, she wondered if the older girl was okay. She knew that Mick was suffering from a few health issues lately as they had talked a bit about her recent bouts of exhaustion, some pretty strong nausea, and how she had woken up with swollen ankles with no reason as to why. Maybe she had been taking things easy in the hope that everything would fix itself before the time came for the appointment she had called to schedule the day before. Though she wondered what could be happening with Mick, she had a few ideas.

Pregnancy was, of course, one of the top suspects as the nausea and swelling were common in pregnancy. However, she couldn’t be sure. After all, Mick didn’t look pregnant. She was still just as toothpick thin as always - that damned metabolism Vivien wished she possessed keeping Mick looking more lean than muscular. It could still be possible, but she couldn’t recall Mick and Butchy having the chance to sneak away to - Vivien tried not to vomit at the thought - do the deed. 

Deciding she would have to bite the bullet to find out, Vivien lifted her head from Miles’ shoulder and asked, “Do you think Mick is pregnant?”

Miles’ head lilted to the side as he shot the girl a bewildered, raised eyebrow, “Where did that come from?”

“I was just thinking. You know how Mick’s been feeling off the last few days?” When Miles slowly nodded, Vivien continued, “Well, her symptoms are similar to pregnancy symptoms.”

“They are?”

With a nod, Vivien said, “Morning sickness, exhaustion, swelling, lack of period-”

“How do you know she doesn’t have her period?” Miles questioned.

Sending Miles the most bland face she could muster, Vivien deadpanned, “We’re girls, we talk about these things. But that’s not the point.”

“Right,” Miles said with a shake of his head, “so you think she could be pregnant?”

“Maybe,” Vivien shrugged. “I mean, they delayed their honeymoon so they could help here, but they’ve had the time to go out together and stuff. There’s no telling when it could have happened.”

Though Miles seemed to consider the idea, he mused, “But she doesn’t look pregnant.”

“Not everyone does,” Vivien claimed. “When Aunt Hayley had me, she didn’t show at all.”

Miles was silent for a while as he thought about all Vivien had said. It could be true. He had seen Mick behaving differently lately - constantly feeling chilly, falling asleep on the couch while watching movies, and having to step out of the mess hall sometimes because the scent was overpowering - but he hadn’t thought of pregnancy. He simply thought she was coming down with the stomach bug that was starting to pulse throughout the town.

Taking in a breath, Miles sighed, “It sounds like Mick is pregnant.”

“Well, we don’t know for sure,” Vivien said. “I can always ask her when I’ve got the chance.”

“Better you than me, kiddo.” Miles chuckled, “She’d probably rip my head from my shoulders.”

“Yeah, somehow I doubt she’d take it too kindly,” Vivien snickered. 

As Miles let out a snort of agreement, the door of the music hall slammed against the frame, the wood rattling as the wind beat against it. The laughter died on Miles’ lips as he and Vivien turned toward the door, eyeing it with wide stares. “Was that the wind?” Miles breathed.

Vivien pushed herself to stand, maneuvering around the bench and walking to the door, twisting the handle before tugging it open. Rain bucketed from above and the only sign of life was a group of kids who were busy screeching as they ran up the path toward the safety of the dance studio. Leaning against it to make it click into place, Vivien turned to Miles and shrugged, “It was either the wind or a ghost.”

With a shrug, Vivien grabbed a guitar and made her way back to her seat, silently asking Miles to help her with a song she wanted to play as she sat back down. As they began working on figuring out the chords of the song Vivien had chosen, neither of them was prepared for the onslaught of chaos that the week would bring. Just down the path from the music hall, the door to the dance studio slammed open as a group of dripping campers piled in.

“What happened to you?” one of the girls asked from the far side of the large room. On one side of the room, dancers in sweatpants and leotards stretched on the floor while others practiced before the mirror. However, as the door closed once more, the group of five by the door had everyone’s attention.

“We all decided to hop in the pool after practice,” Chloe, one of the soaked campers, answered sarcastically.

“We came from the tennis courts,” one of the drenched campers - a blonde named Maxine - said as she wrung her hair out over the doormat. “We had to cut around the music hall to get here quicker.”

“And,” the only brunette from the group - Rachel - piped up, “you’ll never guess what we heard on our way here!”

If they didn’t already have the attention of those around them, they certainly did now as questions popped up throughout the room like a game of Whack-A-Mole. Stepping to the front of the group, the youngest of the campers - Alex - beamed as she declared, “Mick, the lifeguard girl who always gives us extra time to relax after swimming laps, is pregnant!”

Squeals of excitement bubbled up throughout the dance studio, a few commented on how they “just knew” she had to be, and others questioned how the girls knew, to which Chloe said, “We overheard her friends talking. You know, the girl with the long-ass hair and the boy who’s dating Carrie? They were talking about Mick being pregnant and we heard them on our way by.”

As excited exclamations passed through the room, the door to the back hallway opened and a small girl entered the room, followed soon after by Charlie, who led the dance studio every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Looking around the room, Charlie placed her hands on her hips and sighed, “Alright, everyone, calm down. If you keep this up, I’ll be having you go across the floor right off the bat.”

“But, Charlie,” one of the stretching dancers argued, “we’re talking about Mick.”

“Yeah,” another agreed. “What do you think of her being pregnant?”

“Pregnant?” Charlie repeated with a raised brow. “Where did you hear that?”

Murmured answers flitted around the room before settling as Alex spoke up, “We overheard Miles and Vivien talking about it.”

“Eavesdropping, were you?” Charlie admonished as she made her way further into the room.

“Not intentionally!” Rachel exclaimed. “We were walking by the music hall and overheard it.”

Making a mental note to talk with the pair about the situation at their next meal, Charlie sighed, “Well, that may be, but I haven’t heard anything about this, so I would advise you all to keep this to yourselves. Nobody likes having rumors spread about themselves.”

A chorus of reluctant “yes, ma’am”s filed the room and, as Charlie let out a sigh, she hoped she had squashed the rumors quickly enough that it wouldn’t spread around the dinner tables. With any luck, she’d be able to talk with Miles and Vivien before word spread too far. Usually, rumors at camp spread quietly and quickly, festering overnight into nonsense and plaguing everyone on the grounds within a day or two. If Charlie noticed it spreading much at all, she would try to find a way to sit Mick down and talk with her. She would need to prepare the girl for the onslaught of gossiping campers and concerned questions from her friends if the kids let it spread any further than it already had.

Clapping her hands together, Charlie brought herself back to the task at hand and declared, “Alright, everyone, find your place at the barre and get comfortable. We’re all going to feel the burn today.”

Despite Charlie’s best efforts, it had been impossible to find the chance to get Miles or Vivien away from everyone else before they headed to bed Monday night. She didn’t want it spreading more than she presumed it had, but Vivien was constantly with Royce and Bentley while Miles was practically attached to Carrie’s hip. They had spent the evening playing games and watching movies, giving Charlie little chance to speak her mind. When they were getting ready for bed, Charlie told Hayley about the situation. Hayley wouldn’t be able to do much to help as she was supposed to be helping in the office on Tuesday, but she promised that, if she heard anything, she would say something.

Charlie felt particularly tense at breakfast, overly focused on the noisy voices around the room as she tried to silently shield her niece’s friends from being the topic of conversation. It wasn’t until her wife nudged her, telling her the meal was over, that she finally moved, jerkily rising from her seat and disposing of the few pieces of egg that she had left on her plate. Stationed in the playhouse to help with makeup and choreography for the upcoming play, Charlie followed Carrie and Riven down the winding path to the old wooden building in relative silence.

While Riven got to work on helping set things up on stage, Charlie and Carrie headed to the storage room to dig out the makeup they would need for the day. Eyeing the blonde from her side of the little room, Charlie asked, “Carrie, you’re close with Mick, right?”

Turning toward the woman with the pink-tipped braids, Carrie shrugged with a smile, “I’d say we’re friends, but she’s closer with Miles than she is with me. Why, what’s up?”

Instead of directly answering, Charlie asked, “If Mick was pregnant, would she tell you?”

Carrie’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as she processed the sudden question, but eventually, she said, “I definitely wouldn’t be the first person on the list - maybe not even in the top five - but she might. Why, do you think she’s pregnant?”

Glancing out the door to make sure nobody was close enough to hear, Charlie lowered her voice to a whisper and asked, “Some girls came into the studio yesterday and were telling everyone that they overhead Miles and Vivien talking about Mick being pregnant. I wanted to see if they had said anything to you about it.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Carrie said, “Like I said, I wouldn’t be in the top five, but they would be.” Carrie began counting on her fingers, “Butchy, her parents, Miles, and Vivien - I would assume those would be her top five. I can ask them, if you want?”

“No, no,” Charlie said with a shake of her head, “that’s fine. I just… I want to be careful with it regardless of whether it’s true or not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Charlie began as she hefted a metal case of makeup onto her hip, “if she’s not pregnant, we can help squash the rumors now before they get out of control. But, if Mick is pregnant, we need to keep an eye on her. She’s not showing and, depending on how far along she is, that can be detrimental.”

“How so?” Carrie asked, following Charlie through the backstage storage and into the dressing rooms. 

Setting the metal case on a nearby stand, Charlie sighed, “Back when Hayley was pregnant for Vivien, she never once showed. I was with her for most of the pregnancy - as a friend, at the time - and she went through hell. If Mick’s pregnant and is further along in her pregnancy, it could be dangerous for not only her, but for the baby as well.”

Carrie took in a slow breath as she soaked in the information, “Should I talk with Miles about it? See if he can tell me anything?”

“Not right now,” Charlie said. “Let him focus on music lessons. Besides, I haven’t heard anyone talking about it around camp, so I think we should be all set for now. We can talk with him and Vivien later, when they’re not busy banging around on the drums and we don’t have a bunch of makeup to sort through.”

As Charlie pulled a chair out from in front of one of the lightbulb-lined mirrors, Carrie followed suit with a hum. With the metal makeup case between them, Charlie unlatched the clasps and opened the lid before pulling out the extra trays so they could see all that was inside. Looking inside the case at all of the makeup, Carrie asked, “What are we going to do with all of this?”

Smiling at the blonde, Charlie took a lipgloss from the top shelf of the case and said, “We’re going to go through all of this and make sure it’s all still good. If something is good, we’ll try it out and make sure it still looks good. If it passes both tests, we’ll keep it. If it doesn’t, we toss it.”

Examining a tube of mascara, Carrie asked, “How are we going to check if they’re still good before we test if on ourselves?”

Charlie chuckled, “Do you see the little jar on there with a number and a letter on it?”

Carrie searched the tube before nodding, “Yeah, it says ‘6M’ on it.”

“That means it’s good for six months after it was opened.” Charlie looked for the little engraving mark on her lipgloss before setting it aside. “If it still has a wrapper or the receipt is in the little makeup bag at the bottom of the case, we’ll keep it. If not, its trash.”

“Got it,” Carrie said as she reached into the bottom section of the case and pulled out a black box. Carrie’s eyebrow raised as she read the box, “Conspiracy?”

Peering over at the younger girl, Charlie chuckled, “Oh, I remember that! Don’t throw that no matter what it says.”

Glancing up, Carrie asked, “How come?”

“It’s Vivien’s pride and joy,” Charlie claimed.

“But she doesn’t even wear makeup?” Carrie said curiously as she opened the palette.

“No, but she loves that thing,” Charlie smiled. “You see, she had watched this series online of this Youtuber guy and his friend - a makeup guru - making a palette together and that was the end product. She spent two hours waiting for it with me and Hayley, but it sold out within a half an hour. We were lucky enough to get the full set when it relaunched, but she keeps it here to keep Abby out of it.”

With a chuckle, Carrie looked over the shades and commented, “I can’t imagine she got into it at all.”

“She tried,” Charlie said, a ghost of a smile appearing as she reminisced. “She looked like a raccoon and cried before asking me for help.”

“Are you a self-proclaimed ‘makeup freak’ too, then?” Carrie asked.

“Hell yeah,” Charlie laughed. “Kind of have to be when you’re a dancer.”

“How long have you danced?”

Charlie thought for a moment before admitting, “Since I was two. My parents put me into ballet, aka the perfect breeding ground for eating disorders, anxiety, and the fear of imperfection.”

“Ah,” Carrie sighed as she set Vivien’s makeup aside and reached for something new, “been there, done that.”

Charlie set a container of powder aside and said, “You know, when I was younger it was more fun than anything, but once I was put into pointe, it was like I had stepped onto the world’s biggest slip-and-slide. One wrong move and I’d be ditched for the next best dancer.”

A sense of understanding washed over Carrie like a wave. She hadn’t felt overly close with Charlie before, but knowing they both had intense dancing backgrounds and still had lingering side effects from it, gave their budding friendship more depth. “The fear of failure is strong with every former dancer, I guess.”

Charlie hummed, “It must have been a fairly easy transition for you - going from dance to acting. The expressiveness and emotions you need to have on stage could translate well on screen, right?”

“I’d like to say so, yeah,” Carrie agreed. “Though, sometimes, I wish I could just turn my emotions off. It doesn’t take much for me to get all worked up over something small.”

“I can’t say I don’t feel the same way,” Charlie mused. “Although I find it easy to work my emotions into my books. Channeling them into something new helps force you to sort through them slower.”

Carrie thought about it for a moment before grinning, “I don’t think I could do something like that. Writing isn’t exactly my forte.”

With a shrug, Charlie said, “It’s the author in me, I suppose. However, if writing isn’t your thing, you could always try channeling it into music.” At Carrie’s skeptical gaze, Charlie smirked, “Don’t give me that face. I’ve heard you sing. You could really make something if you took the time to sit and work on it.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“And you think I did?” Charlie scoffed, “My first novel looked like a kindergartener wrote it compared to my work now. Nobody starts off great. Anyway, you could always ask Viv or Riven or even Erica for help; they all write music.”

Carrie nodded but then stalled as she reached into the makeup case. Curiously tipping her head to the side as she looked toward Charlie once more, she asked,l “I knew Riven and Erica wrote music, but since when has Vivien written music?”

“For years now,” Charlie claimed as she met the blonde’s blue eyes. “She doesn’t play them with the band muchas she can’t write the sheet music for them, but those journals of hers aren’t just filled with novel ideas. You should talk to her about it sometime. Maybe she’d show you some of her work.”

As Charlie got back to work sorting the makeup into two piles, Carrie hummed thoughtfully, “Maybe.”

“Maybe we can make a new one, but make it a bit bigger,” Carrie offered.

Bentley sighed, “And maybe I should stick with painting instead of pottery.”

As a majority of the playhouse crew had been taken to the carnival that Wednesday, Bentley had dragged Carrie to the art barn to show her his latest works while everyone else kept busy in their normal areas. His paintings, as always, were like something Bob Ross would come out with. Bentley felt at ease with painting; he could sit at an easel with a palette of colors and a set of brushes for hours without getting the least bit distracted. It was also something his brothers declared he shared with their mom - a love and natural talent for telling a story through paintings and sketches. His pottery work, on the other hand… Let’s just say that Bentley could have told everyone a seven-year-old made it and nobody would be able to tell it was his work.

The first few times Bentley had tried to make something with a mound of clay on the spinning wheel, they turned out to be understandably awful - a lopsided vase, a cracked bowl, and a statue of a dog that lost two legs and its tail in the kiln being among his efforts. However, his recent attempts appeared to turn out just the same. His first attempt at making a tea set for Mick had cracked and separated, and the potion bottle he wanted to make for Vivien’s birthday ended up getting damaged when another camper’s sculpture exploded and shattered everything inside the kiln. The mug he had tried to make for Miles was his most recent attempt and, while it still looked like a mug, it was now so small that it looked more like something Vivien would turn into a pair of earrings than it did an actual mug for drinking purposes.

Setting the miniature mug on the table, Bentley slouched into a chair with a huff as he glared at the shrunken pottery. Not willing to let the boy wallow in his thoughts, Carrie offered him a smile and said, “I think it looks great and Miles will too.”

A raised eyebrow answered Carrie as Bentley glanced up at her, “I can’t give that to him - it’s tiny.”

“And you and I both know that he would love it all the same.” As Carrie moved to sit at another pottery wheel, Bentley sighed, but remained quiet as she continued, “He loves everything you make for him and you know that.”

“I know,” Bentley muttered, “but I wanted this to be special.”

“And it still is.”

“How? He can’t drink out of it.”

“Yeah,” Carrie agreed, “but he can use it as a Christmas ornament in a few months.”

Bentley snorted despite himself, the thought of the little mug dangling from their living room tree dancing through his mind. Finally shifting his gaze from the cup to the blonde across from him, Bentley grinned, “He would.”

“I know.” Carrie smiled at the boy before flicking her hair over her shoulder and chuckling, “I wouldn’t put it past him to use that as the star on top with how much he loves caffeine.”

Feeling a bit better about how his failed pottery had turned out, Bentley breathed, “I guess it won’t be a total loss if I give it to him looking like this.”

“Exactly,” Carrie said with a nod. “He’ll love it regardless. And, if you decide to make another, you’ll know to make it a bit bigger.”

“I guess so, yeah,” Bentley agreed. Taking in a deep breath as he stood, Bentley asked, “So, what do you wanna do? We can paint or draw or make awful sculptures of each other, if you want. I’d offer you a photoshoot, but that’s more Royce’s expertise than mine.”

“That’s fine,” Carrie chuckled. “I don’t think I have the artistic abilities to do much of anything here.”

Bentley moved over to the wall of blank canvases and pulled a pair of small ones down as he turned to Carrie once more, “Come on, it’ll be fun. We can hang out and talk while we paint.”

As Bentley set up a pair of easels, Carrie let out a hesitant laugh, “I doubt mine will look anything like yours.”

“It doesn’t have to be good,” Bentley stated. “So long as you’re having fun, that’s all that matters.”

“Are you sure?” Carrie asked as she stood. “I mean, I’d be more than willing to just watch if you want to make something. You know, that way I don’t waste paint on something terrible.”

“As long as the paint goes on the canvas, it’s not a waste,” Bentley insisted. “Besides, we can make anything; nature scenes, a fictional world, or, I don’t know, maybe we could paint ourselves as superheroes or something.”

While Bentley got to work collecting paints to place on a tray between the two easels, Carrie’s train of thought screeched to a halt at the boy’s words. Looking over at the teenager with a smile, Carrie slowly sat down on one of the stools Bentley had pulled over and said, “That reminds me, I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh yeah?” Bentley asked, glancing at Carrie before returning to the tub of assorted paint tubes before him. “What about?”

“Before we left home, I got a call from my manager.”

Hefting the container of paints onto a rolling table between the easels, Bentley looked at Carrie with an almost nervous chuckle, “You’re not getting fired or something, are you?”

Letting out a shocked bark of laughter, Carrie reached over and shoved Bentley’s shoulder, “No!”

Giggling, Bentley said, “Well, you never know!”

With a good-natured roll of her eyes, Carrie shook her head and said, “That’s not it at all. Actually, it’s pretty much the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“A film company I hadn’t heard of before reached out and offered me a role in their new show,” Carrie explained.

“That’s great,” Bentley said with a brilliant smile. “What’s it about?”

“All I know about it is that it’s an assassin show,” Carrie claimed. “However, the only down side is that it’s going to be filming almost exclusively in Europe.”

“Europe?” Bentley repeated. When Carrie nodded, he asked, “What, like England or Scotland?”

“I know part of filming will be in the UK,” Carrie mused, “but for the character they want me to portray, filming would primarily be in Russia, Belarus, or Ukraine.”

Bentley allowed Carrie’s words to sink in, processing them slowly as he uttered, “That’s a long way from home.”

Carrie sighed, “I know. That’s sort of why I haven’t told Miles that they want me signed on.”

“Miles doesn’t know?”

“Not yet, no.” Carrie took in a deep breath before admitting, “I sort of wanted to get your reaction before telling him.”

“Well, I think it’s a great opportunity for you, but I think we both know how Miles will react,” Bentley said. “He’ll be happy for you no matter what. Just remember that he’ll probably end up going to the library to do as much research on your filming locations as possible. Remember what he was like when he had to decide which school to put me and Royce into?”

Of course, Carrie knew all too well. Miles had spent hours upon hours looking into the local schools, trying to figure out which one would be best for his brothers. After work, he would go to the library and research the local schools and their programs, searching for any hint of safety issues or cases of bullying. Royce and Bentley had to ride their bicycles to the library more than once to pry him away when it was almost closing time. After basically interrogating Lela about her old school and trying to see which schools had the best art and literature classes, he finally settled on one and signed all of the application papers overnight, falling asleep at the kitchen table with some of the papers stuck to his face and his pen still in hand. When Carrie showed up to pick Miles up for work the next morning, it took Bentley grabbing the spray bottle from the bathroom and filling it with frigid water to wake him from his slumber.

“Yeah,” Carrie said slowly as she nodded.

“That was just him figuring out a local school for us,” Bentley reminded her. “We weren’t going anywhere out of the state. So, when the time comes and you finally tell him, just know that he’ll be so much worse than that.”

Wondering just how bad it would be, Carrie sat silently, her gaze drifting as she allowed images of Miles scouring shelves of old books and frantically asking Mick and Vivien for help researching things on their phones to fill her mind. Eventually, her gaze drifted back toward Bentley and the two shared a nervous smile before dissolving into laughter. For a while, joy filled the room, filling the silent gaps in conversation that had once lingered between the pair. Eventually, the laughter began to fade and, as Carrie looked to Bentley once more, she sighed, “What have I gotten myself into?”

Bentley snickered, “A few months of pestering questions and nonstop research.”

“At least,” Carrie chuckled with a shake of her head. Taking in a breath, Carrie thought of Miles’ tendency to look into every possibility with a fine-toothed comb and wondered aloud, “I wonder if he’ll do the same for Mick when the time comes.”

“What do you mean?”

Snapping her gaze from the canvas before her to the blond boy beside her, Carrie cleared her throat and said, “It’s nothing, really. It’s just…” she sighed, “Charlie told me that some girls in the dance studio were talking about Mick being pregnant. It’s probably just a rumor, but I was just thinking how Miles would react if he she told him.”

“People really think she’s going to have a baby?” Bentley asked incredulously. “That’s crazy!”

“I thought so too, but there’s no telling,” Carrie claimed with a shrug. “Charlie thinks it could go either way.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“I wonder if anyone else has heard about it,” Bentley said thoughtfully.

Carrie shrugged, “If the campers know, it’s probably spreading through camp as we speak.”

“Probably,” Bentley breathed. He would have to talk to Royce about it later on as he sometimes left the library door open for fresh air. If anyone walked by and was talking about it, he would hear it from the desk. With a shake of his head, Bentley grabbed a palette from the table between himself and Carrie and held it out for her to take. “You ready to get your paint on?”

Carrie eyed the colorfully stained palette before reaching up to take it with a smile, “Absolutely.”

Royce sighed as he ran his towel over his dripping curls. He was going to take a shower that night anyway, but after being unceremoniously shoved into the lake by Riven, he had gone inside to take a shower before they started playing games. Riven had caught him staring at Vivien - a normal occurrence, he thought - and his girlfriend’s skating partner chose to tease him about it when his girlfriend left the pier to help her aunts bring coolers of drinks down from the parking lot. After a while of back-and-forth, Riven gave Royce a nudge, and, needless to say, he was unprepared for it. 

Tripping over the uneven planks, Royce had plunged into the cool lake, scaring off a nearby school of fish as the water enveloped him. Glancing out of the window near his bed as he sat down, Royce huffed; the trail of water he left from the edge of the pier to the front door of their cabin was still faintly visible in the fading sunlight. While it would be gone in the morning, Royce doubted his embarrassment would be. By the time he had resurfaced, Riven was folded over on the dock, laughing like a hyena. Bentley and Erica were no better as they took one look at each other and burst into laughter, only resorting to poorly disguised snickers when Jade elbowed them both in the ribs. Miles and Butchy hauled him up on the pier with matching smirks that told him they wouldn’t be letting it go for at least a day or two. 

As Vivien and her aunts made their way down the beach toward them, Royce ducked past Carrie and Mick and gave a halfhearted response to his girlfriend’s question as to where he was going before ducking into the log cabin they were staying in and allowing the door to slam shut behind himself. Now that he’d had the chance to simmer and wallow in his mortification, Royce wondered if the red tinting his skin was due to the hot water or the embarrassment he still felt pulsing through his veins. Despite the mint-scented body wash he’d practically caked himself in, he could still smell the strong odor of seaweed and fish in the air. Royce sighed; maybe he had gotten water up his nose.

A knock on Royce’s door drew his attention away from his misery and he cleared his throat before asking, “Who is it?”

“Just me.” 

Bentley. Royce took in a deep breath and said, “Come in.”

The handle twisted and Bentley pushed his way into the room with a grin before closing the heavy door behind him. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” Royce offered. “Did you guys start without me?”

“Of course not,” Bentley chuckled as he moved to sit beside his brother, “but Mickie wants us to watch a video before we play Mafia, so I said I’d come see if you were ready to join.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Royce said as he set his towel aside. “I just hope they’re alright with me still smelling like fish.”

“Ah,” Bentley breathed with a smirk, “so that’s what that smell is.”

Shoving Bentley, Royce chuckled, “Shut up.”

Bentley let out a short laugh, “Seriously, though, you smell fine.”

“Well, good, ‘cause I’m sitting next to you.”

“Oh no!” Bentley gasped dramatically. “Whatever shall I do? I’ll have to deal with you smelling like three-day-old sushi all night.”

“You are such a dick.”

“I can’t be a dick, my name’s not Richard.”

Royce shook his head with a laugh, “Whoever decided Dick was a good name for Richard, clearly hated people named Richard.”

“I know, right,” Bentley chuckled. Pushing himself to his feet, Bentley nudged Royce with the back of his hand and asked, “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” Royce nodded, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“You’d better hurry or I’ll eat your peanut butter M&Ms.”

With a roll of his eyes, Royce grabbed his towel and stood, “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”

As Bentley reached the door, his hand wrapped around the handle, he turned back to Royce and asked, “Hey, um, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Royce said as he tossed his towel into the hamper beside his dresser.

Taking in a contemplative breath, Bentley asked, “Have you noticed anything different with Mick lately?”

Glancing over as he took a pair of shorts and a shirt from his dresser, Royce shrugged, “Not that I know of, why?”

“People are saying she’s pregnant.”

“Really?” When Bentley nodded, Royce asked, “Who did you hear that from?”

Knowing how quickly Royce would dismiss the thought if he said where he truly heard it from, Benltey said, “Some campers. I guess it’s been passing around camp.”

Royce thought for a moment before sighing, “We live with her; I think we would know if she was pregnant.”

“Maybe, but maybe she and Butchy wanted to keep it a secret and someone overheard them talking about it,” Bentley suggested.

The more Royce thought about it, the more things made sense. He knew how fast rumors spread - Vivien’s friendship with Noah being one that was spun into a mess. If Mick and Butchy truly were going to have a baby and someone overheard them talking, it wouldn’t be long before the whole camp knew. Even if they weren’t and someone had made it up, it wouldn’t take long for the camp-wide game of Telephone to make its rounds. Besides, if anyone else had noticed her exhaustion as of late, her few-and-far-between coffee refills at breakfast, or the way she no longer stole pickles from Butchy’s plate during meals, that would only contribute to the way things were spiraling.

“Maybe we should ask and see if anyone has seen a difference in her,” Royce suggested as he set his clothes for the next day on his desk chair.

“I asked Erica and Jade if they noticed anything,” Bentley said, “and Erica said she hadn’t noticed anything, but Jade noticed she’s been having stomach pains lately.”

Royce nodded thoughtfully as he joined Bentley by the door, “I guess we’ll just have to keep an eye on her. Maybe I’ll talk to Miles tomorrow and see if he knows anything.”

“He’s her best friend,” Bentley mused as he pulled the door open. “He and Butchy would be at the top of the list of people Mick would tell.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Royce agreed as he followed Bentley to the stairs.

Royce’s day had gotten off to a pretty good start. Despite sleeping in far later than he usually did, almost everything had gone well. The mess hall had his favorite omelets for breakfast, the library was practically empty up to lunch, and some of the other staff had helped put together a makeshift carnival on the soccer field for everyone to have fun that afternoon. A trampoline Vivien claimed they had borrowed from her grandparents’ house was on one side of the field, a rented slip-and-slide was on the other end, and a myriad of games littered the area. The only other activity that had been set up was a water balloon fight; buckets filled with peltable balloons were arranged in a row stretching across the grass at the bottom of the fence that surrounded the playground off to the side of the field. 

As Royce wandered aimlessly through the field, he spotted his older brother crouching behind a piece of the wooden play structure, water balloon in hand. Making his way over to the wooden fence that separated the playground from the soccer field, Royce watched as a small girl Royce knew usually stayed in the back corner of the library, poked her head around the rock climbing wall and chucked a green balloon in Miles’ general direction before ducking back behind the wall. Just as Royce was about to call out to Miles, he heard another child laugh and watched a balloon sail just over Miles’ head. Miles peered over the wooden planks that sheltered him and quickly threw his balloon, watching it nail a kid who was no older than ten as he crossed an exposed bridge.

“Ah!” the kid shrieked as water burst across his shirt.

Another kid climbed up on the monkey bars to get a better view, but before they could make their shot at Miles, Royce called, “Hey, Miles!” As the kids stalled and Miles turned to see who wanted him, Royce asked, “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Miles nodded, turning and raising his arms in surrender before calling out to the kids, “Hey, guys? I’m tapping out!”

“Come on!” the kid on the monkey bars moaned as Miles stood.

“For how long?” another whined.

“Dunno,” Miles replied as he shrugged. Despite the children’s grumbling complaints, Miles walked over to the fence Royce leaned against with a smile and lowered his voice as he asked, “Hey, what’s up?”

“I, uh, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Alright,” Miles nodded, “go ahead.”

Royce glanced over to where Mick was standing with Butchy, utterly annihilating him at the ring toss station, before looking back to Miles. “I don’t know how else to say this, so I’m just going to ask.” Royce took in a deep breath and sighed, “Do you think there’s any way Mick could be pregnant?”

Although he appeared taken aback, Miles glanced over at Mick and Butchy and thought for a moment before meeting Royce’s eyes and asking, “Where did this come from?”

“Bentley,” Royce replied. “He said he heard a few campers talking about it yesterday and that it could be just a rumor, but from what I’ve seen, it could be true.”

Letting out a slow breath, Miles asked, “What have you seen?”

Royce took in a breath to organize his thoughts before he began, “She’s not drinking energy drinks anymore and she’s having a lot less coffee at breakfast, she hasn’t been eating much of anything and can’t look at certain foods without gagging, and even Jade says that Mick’s been having a lot of stomach pains lately.”

“And both you and Ben think that means she could be pregnant?”

“I looked it up on my phone while I was at my post earlier and the symptoms are very similar.”

Miles spared another glance at Mick as she dragged Butchy to yet another booth with a gleaming smile on her face. Taking a good look at his friend, he wanted nothing more than to dispute Royce’s claim. She looked fine! Not that pregnancy would make her look bad, by any means, but she looked the same as she always did. Shaking his head, he asked, “And Bentley was sure he heard them correctly?”

Royce nodded, humming in confirmation, “He seemed worried about her, so I’d say so, yeah.”

“I’ll try asking him about it later, maybe he’ll remember who it was that said it and we can go from there.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yeah.”

Just as Royce was about to head back to the makeshift carnival, a pain flared against his shoulder as he felt water splash across his face and down his arm. “Ow!” he yelled, sending a glare at the cockily-smirking girl who threw and caught another water balloon. 

“What the fuck?” Miles called to the kids as they laughed from their places on the play structure.

“I’m not even playing!” Royce called.

“‘Cause you’re a chicken?” a boy called back.

“Chicken!” the girl with the devilish smile taunted.

“You’re a chicken, Royce!” another kid called.

As the children continued their teasing in the hopes of goading Royce into playing, Royce sighed, “Sometimes, I really hate those kids.”

Miles turned to Royce with a smirk and nodded toward the kids, lowering his voice as he asked, “You want to fuck them up?”

Royce took a look around and, noting that everyone was a pretty good distance from them, nodded as he turned back to Miles, “Yeah, I do.”

With a proud grin, Miles turned back toward the kids and began walking back to his previous spot as he called out, “You asked for it!”

“Better run, you little rugrats!” Royce called as he climbed over the fence.

Filing into the mess hall with damp shirts and laughter on their lips, Miles and Royce made their way to the end of the line to grab trays and fill them with food. After grabbing a tray, Royce took off, telling Miles he was going to talk to Vivien before disappearing down the line. Miles shook his head with a fond smile, glad his brother found happiness in little moments with his girlfriend. After grabbing some mac and cheese from its tin, Miles rounded a few campers and found himself next to Bentley as his youngest brother shoveled steak tips onto his plate.

“Let me guess,” Miles began, making Bentley jump, “you’re planning on drowning that in ketchup.”

“Absolutely,” Bentley beamed. “And you’ll pour that nasty steak sauce on yours like you always do.”

“Okay, first of all, it’s not nasty, you just have no taste buds,” Miles said. “And, second of all, yes, yes, I will.”

As Bentley’s face contorted into one of disgust, he handed the tongs to Miles and muttered, “Gross.”

Rolling his eyes with a smile, Miles grabbed some steak from the tin it sat in. Glancing at his youngest brother, Miles lowered his voice and said, “You know, I was actually hoping to talk to you.”

Bentley turned to Miles before quickly sighing, his eyes closing in defeat as he said, “If this is about the salamander, I swear, I had nothing to do with it.”

Miles turned toward Bentley again and asked, “What salamander?”

Searching his brother’s eyes for any sign of deception, Bentley slowly said, “I take it Carrie didn’t tell you.”

“No,” Miles said. “Why? What happened?”

Letting out a snort, Bentley recalled, “She and I were walking to the cabin so we could make sure we had stuff for the movie tonight and, on the way back, Carrie went to take a drink of her water and found that a little lizard had climbed onto her bottle.”

“And you had nothing to do with it?” Miles asked skeptically.

“Of course not,” Bentley replied. “Carrie and I have actually been getting along. If Royce had been there, I would have blamed him, but he was with you, so…”

“So the lizard just wanted a drink, huh?”

“Guess so.”

Heaving a sigh as he joined Bentley at the juice bowl, Miles said, “Anyway, that wasn’t what I was hoping to talk with you about.”

“Oh yeah, right,” Bentley chuckled. “So, what do you wanna talk about?”

“I was talking with Royce earlier and he said you told him there’s a rumor that Mick might be pregnant,” Miles stated. “I was just wondering if you knew which campers were spreading it around?”

“Well,” Bentley began, heaving a thoughtful sigh as he looked up at his brother, “the thing is, I didn’t overhear it from some campers.”

“You didn’t?” When Bentley shook his head, Miles asked, “Why did you tell Royce you had?”

Bentley sighed, “I didn’t want to say anything to Royce because I knew he would deny it if he knew who really told me. He’d probably say she was just spreading crap around or something, but I knew it was true and I didn’t want him to just brush it off.”

It didn’t take Miles long to figure out who his youngest brother was talking about. “You heard it from Carrie?”

“Yeah, she and I talked about it yesterday,” Bentley said with a nod. “She said that Charlie told her some girls in the dance studio were talking about it.”

Glancing at the table they normally sat at, Miles was glad to see the table had yet to be filled with their cabin’s inhabitants, but both of Vivien’s aunts had already claimed their normal seats. Then, just as Miles was preparing to make his way over and question Charlie himself, Mick and Butchy made their way to their seats and began conversing with the older women. Turning back to his brother, Miles asked, “Tonight, when Charlie and Hayley are making snacks for movie night, can you keep the others away so I can talk to them?”

Raising his hand to his forehead in a mock salute, Bentley smiled, “Aye aye, captain.”

Chuckling, Miles reached up and ran a hand through Bentley’s hair, ruffling it as he turned and headed for the table they typically dined at. Sitting down at his usual spot, he briefly wondered if Mick knew about the circulating rumors or if it had been a rumor at all. If her beaming smile and boundless laughter at Hayley’s terrible jokes were anything to go by, he doubted the brunette knew anything of the rumors. However, he couldn’t be sure. Mick’s tendency to laugh during awkward situations made it hard to tell what she did or didn’t know. Even if she was pregnant and had chosen to keep it a secret, he wondered if the rumors floating around would have any effect on her. She took almost everything to heart.

Miles inwardly sighed; he would just have to wait and find out for himself.

The smell of popcorn and the sound of laughter filled the cabin as Miles stepped inside. While everyone else was outside, playing ninja on the end of the pier and pushing the losers into the lake, Miles had slipped away in the hopes of finding Charlie and Hayley alone in the house. Just as he had presumed, they were in the kitchen, sitting on the countertops with cups of green juice that looked almost radioactive.

“Hey, Miles,” Hayley greeted, raising her cup slightly as Charlie waved. 

“Hey,” he said in return.

“Did Viv send you in to ask about the snacks?” she asked with a knowing smirk. Before he could answer, Hayley chuckled, “She knows I won’t give her a straight answer, so she sends her friend instead - the little shit.”

Before Miles could say anything to the contrary, Charlie smiled and said, “The popcorn isn’t in yet, but the pretzels are almost done.”

“That’s good,” Miles said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Viv didn’t send me in, though.”

“Oh,” Hayley said, “that’s surprising.”

“What did you come in for?” Charlie asked. “A drink, some chips, maybe to save me from my wife’s terrible puns.”

Hayley scoffed, placing a hand over her heart as though she’d been stabbed, “My jokes aren’t terrible!”

“Yeah, they are.”

“You laughed, asshole.”

“It was a pity laugh.”

“Bullshit,” Hayley laughed.

With a roll of her eyes and an exaggerated sigh, Charlie turned her focus back to Miles and smiled as she asked, “Anyway, what do you need, sweetheart?”

“I was actually hoping to ask you something,” Miles admitted.

“Me?” Charlie asked, pointing to herself. Miles hummed in confirmation. “Well, in that case, I’m all ears.”

Taking in a deep breath, Miles sighed as he slowly recounted, “Royce told me that Bentley said that Carrie told him that you said you heard people talking about Mick being pregnant. I was wondering if you knew who was talking about it?”

As Charlie thought it over, her eyebrow raised and she lowered her cup of juice to the counter beside her as she said, “Some girls in the studio were talking about it, yeah, but they said that they heard it from you and Vivien.”

“What?” Miles wondered. “But I just found out about it today.”

Charlie glanced down, allowing herself to think over what had happened in the last week. Slowly, she claimed, “On Monday, I was instructing ballet and jazz. Dina Woodward injured her wrist and I stepped out with her to wrap it. When I came back, everyone in the studio was giggling and talking. A group of girls said they went by the music hall on their way in and overheard you and Vivien talking about Mick being pregnant.”

Miles allowed the woman’s words to sink in as he tried to recall what happened on Monday. He and Vivien had been in the music hall, playing guitar, talking, and relaxing as rain pelted the area. Vivien had been particularly tired that day, nearly falling asleep on Miles' shoulder as they sat in silence. Then, as the timer for the pretzels dinged, it hit him. While Miles was worrying about the possibility of rain coming through the ceiling, Vivien had asked him a question about the chance of Mick being pregnant, listing off her reasoning for thinking about it. While they were talking, the wind had slammed the door. However, Vivien had checked it and they moved on like nothing happened. Maybe it hadn’t been the wind. Maybe it had been the campers listening in.

“We started all of this,” he admitted softly. With a heavy sigh, Miles said, “I have to go tell Vivien so we can stop the rumors.”

As Hayley pulled the tray of pretzels from the oven, she requested, “Maybe you should wait until tomorrow.”

“What?” Miles asked. “Why?”

Charlie hopped down from the counter and crossed over to Miles, resting a hand on his arm as she replied for her wife, “Tonight, we’re supposed to be relaxing with some good movies and good snacks. Let everyone take some time to breathe - yourself included - and you can worry about it tomorrow.”

“But-”

Charlie was quick to cut him off, reaching up and cupping Miles’ cheek in her free hand to draw his attention to her words, “But it will still be an issue tomorrow and everyone will still be understanding tomorrow. Take the night to enjoy time with the family. Rumors at camp don’t last, but memories with your family do. You can work things out with everyone tomorrow, but give yourself time to process it for now.”

“Yeah,” Hayley agreed as she moved to stand beside her wife as Charlie patted Miles’ shoulder comfortingly. “Besides, Vivien will go into a full-tilt frenzy trying to make things right and, if you start that tonight, that poor child won’t sleep. If you tell her in the morning, she’ll have enough energy to fuss about it all day.”

“Hails,” Charlie gently reprimanded, elbowing the woman beside her.

“What?” Hayley asked rhetorically, a laugh falling from her lips as she returned to the counter to salt the pretzels. “It’s the truth. She’s just like me and we both know it.”

With a roll of her eyes and a sigh, Charlie turned back to Miles and smiled, “As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. I know you want to fix this here and now, but you and I both know you want Vivien’s help since you both are, somehow, at the start of it.”

“Yeah,” Miles admitted in a breath.

“So, like Hayley said, I think you should wait,” Charlie claimed. “It will still be there tomorrow and you can work on it together without having to deal with a sleep-deprived, caffeine-riddled Vivien stumbling through the grounds like Jack Sparrow on dry land.”

Letting out a snicker at the mental image of Vivien fumbling her way through the camp with a bullhorn, shouting incoherent claims in the hopes of clearing Mick’s reputation, Miles chuckled, “Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be the greatest way to handle things.”

“Mhm,” Charlie hummed, patting Miles' hand as she turned and grabbed a stack of cups from the counter. “Now, take these out and hand them to everyone. We’ll be out in a few with snacks and drinks and then we can start the movie.”

“Are you sure you guys don’t need help?” Miles offered.

“Are you a psychiatrist?” Hayley asked as she set a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

Miles’ head tipped curiously to the side as his eyebrow raised and he slowly replied, “No?”

“Then, no, I think we’re all set,” Hayley chirped as the microwave whirred to life.

Rolling her eyes once more, Charlie pushed the cups into Miles’ hands and said, “Take these and run before you’re subjected to any of her horrendous jokes.”

Miles chuckled, taking the cups and heading toward the hallway, “Alright, alright, I’m going.”

As the popcorn began sizzling in the microwave, Hayley turned to Charlie, leaned against the counter, and asked, “If my jokes are so bad, why do you always laugh?”

“Because I love you,” Charlie answered with ease as she sidled her way up to her wife.

“And here I thought you found me funny.”

“Funny looking, maybe,” Charlie teased, “but those puns of yours are just plain terrible, my dear.”

Placing the back of her hand to her forehead and letting out a gasp of air, Hayley whined, “Oh, how you wound me!”

“Drama queen.”

“Fun hater.”

“Oh yeah?” Charlie said. When Hayley nodded, Charlie asked, “Do you know what the leading cause of divorce is?”

Curious, Hayley offered, “A lack of humor in a relationship?”

“Nope,” Charlie said with a shake of her head before leaning up and kissing Hayley on the cheek. “A stalemate.”

As Charlie took the bag of popcorn from the microwave and opened it to pour it into a bowl, Hayley processed the joke, her jaw slowly opening in shock, “Holy shit; was that a fucking pun?!”

“You know,” Vivien mused, “when Carrie told me to break a leg, this wasn’t what I thought she meant.”

In place of their usual day of recreation and rehearsals, that Friday was spent challenging the campers and staff alike. Unlike many of their previous days filled with activities, The Gauntlet - as the campers had begun calling it - had taken place at the amphitheatre and, as many expected, many workers had signed on to participate. Between the ropes course, the speed challenge, the scavenger hunt, and the climbing wall, everyone had their work cut out for themselves in one way or another. While the campers competed in teams, the staff were left to fend for themselves.

It was to no one’s surprise that Vivien had signed up to compete; her boundless energy and competitive nature boiled over when she found both Riven’s and Noah’s names on the sign-up sheet. What was surprising, however, was the fact that she ended up getting injured. Despite making it through the race in the top three and finding everything on her scavenger hunt list with relative ease, it was the ropes course that had been Vivien’s downfall. Near the end of the course, her foot had slipped on the wooden planks, sending her flying into the podium, and she narrowly avoided slamming face-first into the trunk of a tree. 

Riven had managed to get her down after she quickly discovered how painful standing was, but as the auburn-haired skater was next in line for the next segment of the challenge, Miles had offered to take Vivien to the health center to see how bad her injury truly was. That was where they could be found, Miles hitching Vivien further up in his piggyback hold as he made his way to the front entrance of the health center. 

Miles chuckled, “I highly doubt you’ve broken anything.”

“I know, but still,” Vivien shrugged. “It’s a good thing I got to know her before Royce’s impression of Carrie infected my brain.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” the brunette hummed. “Otherwise, I would’ve said she put some ancient curse on me or something.”

Miles let out a snort as he paused to glance over his shoulder at the younger girl, “An ancient curse? Really?”

“I’m from New England, the home of literal witches,” Vivien deadpanned. “At this point, anything’s possible.”

With an amused shake of his head, Miles chuckled, “Yeah, I can’t see Carrie as a witch.”

“I could,” Vivien said with a smirk as Miles pushed the health center door open with his shoe. At Miles’ curious look, she said, “Tell me she wouldn’t be an incredible Sarah Sanderson.”

“That’s the one from Hocus Pocus, right?” Miles asked as he nudged his way further into the building. “The one who they push into the street to see if it kills them?”

“Yeah!” Vivien chirped as Miles set her on one of the beds. “You know, the blonde who sings to draw everyone in with her magic. Carrie would be incredible as her.”

As Miles pulled a stool over to sit on, he nodded, smiling at Vivien as he sat before her, “I could see that working out.”

“Just wait until I have her watch those with me after my birthday,” Vivien chuckled. “I give her an hour before she starts planning to have you two dress up as Sarah and Billy for halloween.”

“An hour?” Miles chuckled with a shake of his head. “Half an hour, maybe, but I doubt she’d wait an entire hour.”

Vivien smiled as she worked on untying her shoes, “Yeah, true. Maybe she, Mick, and I could go as the Sanderson sisters this year.”

“I thought you, Royce, and Bentley were going as Stranger Things characters.”

“We haven’t decided yet,” Vivien shrugged. “I wanted to go as Max or Robin and Royce was going as Steve or Dustin. Bentley wanted to go as Will, but then he saw the demogorgon costume and now that’s up in the air. But, if they can’t decide before we go to Spirit Halloween, I’m going to just go with the girls and they can fend for themselves.”

Miles let out a snort as Vivien dropped her shoe to the floor, “Then I’ll have to listen to them whining for the foreseeable future.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

Miles chuckled and shook his head, “Speaking of problems, we need to talk about something, but first, can you move your foot at all?”

Vivien sucked in a breath and winced as she moved her foot around in a slow circle, “Yeah, but it hurts.”

“Alright, so it’s definitely not broken,” he mused, “but it could be a sprain or a twist.”

“My bet’s on a sprain,” Vivien commented. “Even with a twist, I can stand and put weight on it.”

Miles looked around, “Do you know where they keep the crutches?”

Raising a hand, Vivien pointed to a closet on the far wall, “In there. The code for the lock is nineteen-seventy-three - the year Nonna and Grandpa George got married.”

Miles stood and made his way to the closet, setting the lock aside and opening the door before grabbing a set of crutches and making his way back to Vivien. “How tall are you?” he asked as he examined the slider at the bottom of the metal crutches.

“Five-eight,” she replied. As Miles got to work on adjusting her crutches, Vivien used a sigh to blow her hair from her face and asked, “So, what problems do we need to talk about?”

Glancing up at the girl before him, Miles took in a breath and asked, “Do you remember the other day when you and I were talking about Mick being pregnant?”

The brunette thought for a moment before slowly nodding, “Uh, yeah, why? Is she?”

“No,” Miles said before pausing. “Actually, I don’t know. What I do know is that a group of campers overheard us and has been spreading a rumor around camp that Mick’s pregnant.”

Vivien let out a humorless chuckle, “You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish I was.”

“How did you find out about it?” she asked.

“Royce told me and Bentley had told him,” Miles stated. “I guess Bentley heard it from Carrie who heard it from Charlie who heard it when the campers went to the dance studio after overhearing us talk about it.”

Vivien thought about the chain of events before recalling, “When the door slammed and I went to check it, there were campers running to the dance studio, but they were far enough away that I thought it couldn’t have been them.”

“Well, I guess it actually was.” Miles set the crutches aside for Vivien and looked up at her before saying, “Now, we have to fix it.”

Vivien nodded slowly, “We should talk to Mick first and get things straight. If the rumor is about her, she should know about it.”

“Yeah, and even if she’s actually pregnant, it would be best to get the story straight,” Miles agreed.

Vivien nodded, but before she could say anything more, the door to the health center opened and Butchy stepped inside, sending the pair a smile as he asked, “How’s everything going?”

Miles was the first to answer, “It’s probably a sprain.”

“I’ll be fine after a day or two,” Vivien shrugged. “I’ve sprained my foot before and it never lasts long if I take a day off of it.”

“Alright,” Butchy said with a small grin, “in that case, consider yourself crutch-bound for the next few days.”

“It’s going to suck at the carnival tomorrow,” Vivien sighed, “but that’s what I get for doing stupid shit.”

Fighting the instinct to tell the teenager off for swearing when a child could walk in at any minute, Butchy chuckled and leaned against the bed next to her, “We’ll work something out for you tomorrow, piccola. One of those air casts or a brace, maybe.”

“Maybe.” Vivien shrugged, “As long as I get to go on the Tilt-A-Whirl, I’ll be fine with whatever.”

Butchy reached up, bringing an arm around Vivien’s shoulders with a smile, “Atta girl. You feel up to going back to the amphitheatre and watching the rest of the competition?”

“It might take me a while to get there,” Vivien snickered as she took her new metallic friends and settled them under her arms, “but yeah. Are Noah and Riven still in it?”

“Noah lost the ropes course to Riven, but that’s all I know,” Butchy claimed as he stood.

As Vivien stood and began hobbling her way to the door she turned to Miles and asked, “Are you coming?”

Miles smiled, “Yeah, I just have to lock up the closet again. I’ll meet you along the way.”

“Okay,” she said, allowing Butchy to take the lead as she made her way outside.

Once the closet was locked up once again, Miles pulled his phone from his pocket and opened his messages. Finding his last conversation with Mick, he typed, 'Can we talk later? In private?'

It wasn’t long before he got a reply, 'Of course, why, what’s up?'

'Too much to type. Meet in the playhouse after dinner?'

'Sure, see you there.'

It wasn’t often that Butchy found himself walking back to the cabin without Mick by his side, however, as he had kitchen duty that week, he had told her to just head out while he got to work cleaning up. Though the air outside the mess hall was still thick with humidity, the sky had begun to darken and cool the heat of the day. The amount of plates covered in chili and melted cheese had made his fingertips turn to raisins in the soapy sink water and the steam from the hot water made him feel as though he’d been working in a sauna, but the cooler outside air was a welcoming contrast to the heat of the wooden building. Taking in a deep breath, Butchy sighed as a breeze blew by, urging him to make his way back to the lodge he resided in.

He wondered what everyone was up to. They wouldn’t have a game night or movie night without him there as they only ever spent those nights as a whole group. Maybe they were sitting around the living room, doing their own thing. Mick would probably be reading in her corner of the couch while Miles and Riven talked music on the opposite end. Charlie, Jade, and Carrie would most likely be found painting each others’ faces in jelly masks while Bentley and Royce would be on the floor with Vivien, talking about things they only ever talked about together. If he had to guess, Erica and Hayley would be talking off to the side. For some reason, the unlikely pair had grown close after Erica discovered Hayley was the wild child in her family and Butchy had seen the two talking a lot as of late.

Letting out a long breath, Butchy pushed his hair back and began the walk home. Normally the walk went by quickly as everyone chattered about their days and the camper drama they had heard. However, as cicadas chirped in the bushes and the faint buzz of the sparse overhead lights, the journey felt as though it would take a lifetime. A few cabins still had campers and counselors lingering outside, chatting as they dreaded the call of lights out, but many kept their doors closed as they prepared for the evening. 

Pushing his way through a line of bushes, Butchy took a shortcut between the health center and the playhouse, glancing toward the health center to make sure the lights were off before continuing toward the playhouse. Spotting a light on through one of the side windows, Butchy made his way to the back of the building, opened the screen door, and pushed his way inside before pulling out his cell phone for a flashlight. Just as he flicked it on, he heard a voice from the main hall where a performance would be rehearsed for the next week.

Choosing to not call out in case it was just people cleaning, Butchy made his way through the back rooms before stepping through the doorway that led to the back of the stage. As he got closer, the voices got louder and, before long, he could make out a set of distinct voices. A heavy sigh came from the main room before he heard a familiar voice say, “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Mick? What was she doing in the playhouse at this hour? Was she helping someone run lines? Then another voice cut through Butchy’s thoughts, “I wish I was.”

Miles. Since when did he have anything to do with the play? He hated being on stage. Before Butchy could peer around the curtains of the stage to see what was going on, his hand stilled in the air and another voice filled the air, “I mean, at least you found out from us first and not from some random campers, right?”

Vivien’s question gave Butchy pause. As far as he could recall, Hairspray didn’t have a summer camp. Whatever they were discussing, had nothing to do with the play. Lowering his hand, Butchy listened as his wife scoffed, “Still! Half the camp thinks I’m pregnant and I had no clue! Is that why everyone’s been asking me if I’m okay and checking on me all the time?”

“Probably,” Vivien said. “It could just be that they were worried about you.”

“Why would they be?” Mick pressed. “I’m fine.”

“You weren’t eating well and you got nauseous at breakfast almost every day,” Miles stated. 

Mick let out a sigh and Butchy could imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration as she huffed, “I started my period and my sense of smell went haywire. It usually goes away after the first few days.”

“You were tired all the time too,” Vivien chimed in.

Butchy had noticed Mick’s exhaustion as of late, but he knew Mick had a good explanation for that as well. “I have two reasons for that,” she began. “First off, I was trying to finish my book before my interest in it died during the week. And, second, Butchy and I have been going on late-night excursions for the camp.”

“You have?” Vivien asked. “Why?”

Mick sighed, “I can’t say just yet, but you’ll see sooner or later. For now, just know that, no, I’m not pregnant. We’ll just have to work on clearing it all up over the weekend with all the kids gone.”

“How are we going to do that?” Miles asked.

Again, Mick sighed, her voice low as she said, “I don’t know, but we can start by spreading things to the counselors. Once they know the truth, they can talk with the campers and clear the air in the privacy of their cabins.”

“We can also tell everyone in our cabin so they can relax,” Vivien added.

“Who else knows about this and didn’t say anything?” Mick asked.

“Royce told me,” Miles began, “and he found out from Bentley, who was told by Carrie, who heard it from Charlie, who was told by the dancers.”

“And I talked to Riven and Aunt Hayley about it

“So practically everyone?” Mick asked.

Vivien chuckled nervously, “To be fair, not everyone believed it, so they didn’t say anything to anybody outside of the cabin.”

“Actually,” Miles started, “Bentley said he talked to Erica and Jade, but I think they’re the only ones outside of the cabin who knew.”

“The only person I think hasn’t heard about it, is Butchy,” Vivien claimed. 

“Yeah,” Miles agreed, “I think he would’ve said something if he did.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Mick huffed. After a moment of silence, she took in a breath and said, “We’ll start tonight. We can talk to everyone and make sure everything is smoothed out. As long as we can get through to most of the people in our cabin tonight, I’ll feel better about it, but I want to talk to Butchy about it one-on-one.”

“That’s understandable,” Miles stated.

“I’ll work on everyone else at breakfast,” Vivien said. “I know a few people who would spread it around fastest. Once I get to them, things will clear up pretty quickly.”

As the call for everyone to return to their cabins echoed through the camp, Butchy heard Mick let out a relieved sigh, “With any luck, this will be over before the campers come back.”

“Yeah,” Vivien said optimistically.

“Now, lets get back before the others send out a search party,” Miles chuckled.

“And get to clearing the air with everyone before Butchy gets back from cleaning the mess hall,” Vivien added.

“Yeah,” Mick muttered.

As Butchy listened to their footsteps echo throughout the playhouse, he inched the curtain to the side, watching as his wife left with Miles and Vivien’s arms wrapped around her. None of them looked back to see him standing there, watching them, and as Miles flicked the house lights off, turning the playhouse into a dark abyss of shadows, Butchy wondered how long they had been there, talking. Had he found them early in the conversation or had they been there since they left the mess hall? 

Another thing that came to the front of Butchy’s mind was how everyone seemed to know apart from him. Was he truly the last person in their cabin to hear the rumor about Mick’s pregnancy? Who could have started something like that and how had the rumor begun spreading? If it was truly just a rumor as it sounded like Mick said it was, how had it spread throughout the camp? And, again, how would he have been the last to know? As the father of Mick’s rumored child, why would he be the last person in line to know?

Taking in a breath, Butchy shook his head and sighed. He was overthinking it. Mick already said it was nothing more than a rumor; he had nothing to be stressed over. It wasn’t like she was actually pregnant and simply chose not to tell him. If that had been the case, he would have had every right in the world to be at least a little bit upset. That would have been an entirely new can of worms to crack open.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket once more, Butchy turned on the flashlight and made his way back to the back door, ensuring that the lights were off and everything was put away before leaving the playhouse and making his way to the path that connected to the beach. He took his time getting back to the cabin and, by the time he reached the sand of the beach, the sun had set behind the treeline and everyone was congregating on the end of the pier. Despite their smiling faces and jokes about how many dishes he must have had to scrub, he could see in their eyes how serious their previous conversations must have been.

As Butchy took his seat on the pier beside his wife and felt her head rest cozily on his shoulder, he wondered just how long it would take her to tell him. After spending so much time with her, he knew she would need time to sort through her thoughts and feelings on the matter. He had no issue allowing her the space to do so. If he had found out some rumor about himself was spreading amongst his closest friends as well as a myriad of gossiping campers, he would be pretty worked up about it too. As they watched the sunset illuminate the sky, Butchy allowed himself to relax. After all, he had nothing to worry about… right?

Ah, the carnival. The only place where the overwhelming smell of popcorn and fried dough, the sky-high prices of tickets, and the crowds packed tighter than a tin of sardines didn't have any effect on people’s happiness. Workers standing in the summer heat called for people of all ages to try the rigged games they were stationed at, begging them to pay five dollars for a toy they could easily buy at the dollar store. While parents were dragged to ticket counters and various rides their children claimed they just had to ride, groups of teenagers and adults alike gathering on the weekend for a day away from jobs and other responsibilities, roamed free.

After Vivien’s grandparents reassured the group that they had bought day-pass bracelets for everyone, they were practically ushered to the parking lot and encouraged to have a good day away from everything. Upon their arrival at the fairgrounds, the group filed out of the van and found their way through the crowds of people to the line that extended from a row of brightly-colored ticket booths. After making their way to the front of the line and being handed a stack of bracelets with rubber bands wrapped around it, the group found their way to a fairly unoccupied table and worked on figuring out what to do for the day.

After deciding to meet at the Ferris Wheel to figure out what to have for lunch, almost everyone went their separate ways. Vivien and Riven were quick to race to a ride called Pharaoh's Fury, eager to prove that they could handle the pendulum-style ride. Royce and Bentley followed the skating duo but quickly branched off to the nearby Scrambler when Bentley saw just what the Pharaoh’s Fury entailed. As Miles and Carrie wandered off to find something to do, Butchy allowed Mick to guide him around the fairgrounds.

They walked in relative silence, the screams of people on rides and the calls from game operators the only sounds nearby. Butchy wondered what could be going on in Mick’s head. She hadn’t said much of anything since the night before and, while Butchy didn’t want to press her to talk, he missed the sound of her voice. Taking in a breath, Butchy looked around and offered, “Would you like some cotton candy?”

Mick looked up at him and thought for a moment before shaking her head, “Not right now. I think I’ll wait until after we go on some rides to eat anything.”

“Where would you like to go first?” he asked.

With a sigh, Mick looked around and shrugged, “I have no idea.”

Butchy allowed her to look around, taking in the different rides and attractions before asking, “Mickie, are you alright?”

Peering curiously up at her husband, Mick slowly replied, “I was until you asked. Why?”

“You’ve been pretty quiet today,” Butchy stated, “and, usually, you have days like this planned down to the tiniest detail. I was just worried.”

Heaving a sigh, Mick shook her head, “I just have a lot on my mind today. I wanted to talk with you about it when we’re alone, but it doesn’t seem like that will be any time soon.”

Deciding it would be best to inadvertently hit the nail on the head, Butchy lowered his voice and asked, “Is it about that rumor that was going around camp?” When Mick’s wide eyes met his, Butchy sighed, “I don’t know what you heard, but I swear, I didn’t take kitchen duty this week in order to poison Carrie. Not only would it risk poisoning everyone at camp, but it would also make me the number one suspect in her murder, according to Vivien.”

Mick stopped in her tracks and, once Butchy turned back to face her, she asked, “Wait, so you’ve had rumors going around about you this week too?”

“Yeah,” Butchy claimed. “I’m assuming you have too?”

“Yeah,” Mick breathed. “Everyone was saying I was pregnant.”

Butchy froze as though he was hearing this for the first time. Looking his wife over, he took a step closer to her, taking her by the arms as he softly asked, “You’re not?”

“No,” Mick giggled, “I just said it was a rumor.”

Butchy glanced around before quietly saying, “We can change that, if you’d like.”

Mick’s eyes widened as she muttered, “What?”

“It doesn’t have to be a rumor.” With a teasing smirk, Butchy continued, “We could sneak off to the car and nobody would know.”

A shocked noise left Mick and her face burned as she squawked, “Butchy!”

“What?” Butchy asked in mock-astonishment. “I just thought we could go get one of those fake pregnancy tests from that joke shop near Walmart. I don’t know what you were thinking we’d be doing.”

Mick smacked Butchy’s chest as she huffed, “Remind me why I married you.”

“I wish I knew,” Butchy chuckled as he brought an arm around Mick’s shoulders. “I think you were just in it for the motorcycle and I was like the cruddy little prize at the bottom of the cereal box - unnecessary, but you still took it anyway.”

“Sounds about right,” Mick said with a smile, nudging Butchy with her elbow before bringing her arm around his middle. “So, you never heard about the pregnancy rumor?”

“Not until you said something,” Butchy stated. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. He had heard her say it the night before, but she didn’t need to know that. “What about you? Had you heard about me poisoning Carrie?”

Mick snorted, “No, but to be honest, I wouldn’t put that past you.”

Acting as though he’d been shot in the heart, Butchy brought a hand to his chest and gasped, “And here I thought you’d be my alibi for the crime.”

“Yeah, no,” Mick said with a shake of her head as she led her husband toward a swinging chair ride. “You and I both know I’m a terrible liar, so the chances of that happening are slim to none.”

“Guess that means I should put the antifreeze back in the truck, then, huh?”

“Butchy!”