"Natasha!"

She paused on the front steps of Colombo's old Republic Building, her car idling a few feet away. There were six armed personnel standing in the wings, and one would get in the car with her, while the rest would follow in vehicles of their own. She had taken over the building almost a year ago, back when she had convinced the people who mattered that there was a need for a proper S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in the heart of her designated region. Surprisingly enough, the government played along with almost everything she pushed for—for the right price, of course.

Her eyebrows shot up as Abigail Brand's familiar flash of green hair bounded up out of the shadows—the old building's lighting on the outer elements could have used some work, but the innards were completely gutted and revamped.

"Bruce needs you," she said, hugging her clipboard to her chest. The woman looked good in her S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued black uniform, but the hair had always made her distinct. A lesser supervisor would have had an issue with it, but over the last two years, Abigail Brand had performed better and more consistently than anyone Natasha had ever worked with, and she wasn't about to change something as trivial as hair colour.

"Now?" She glanced down at her wristwatch, the heat of the afternoon sun glaring at the top of her head. They had had nothing but rain for a week now, making everything more difficult than it needed to be, and now that the sun was actually out, the weather was practically unbearable. She had had enough of all these hot, sticky climates—when this was over, she planned to live in a hole in Siberia to decompress.

Clint could come too, if he felt so inclined—and promised not to complain.

"He says it's important."

"Everything is important," she muttered, nodding to the driver before turning and stepping back toward the building. Abigail fell in behind her, careful not to walk beside her as a sign of respect. Natasha could have cared less, but the woman seemed bent on showing deference whenever the rest of the staff could see them.

The world went to shit about a month ago, but Natasha managed to keep it all together across the territories that Fury had assigned her. For almost two years, she had sent agents into government buildings, infiltrated police ranks, and paid off military commanders. She had an elite team of agents across the Pacific who followed her orders down to the very last insignificant detail. From what she understood, she had been the first to kill an alien outright. At the time, she saw no reason to capture and interrogate, particularly low-life ones she found on the streets. No, it was best to kill the disease before it spread, and to her knowledge, her nations were some of the only in the world to be alien-free for weeks now.

She had done her best to stay out of the spotlight. The people who mattered knew who ran things from the headquarters in sticky Colombo, but she always had a strong silent type, usually a man, who took her orders out to the people who didn't matter—the press, politicians, and the general public. Unlike Thor and the Captain, Natasha saw no reason to hide what was happening from the people. As soon as the small alien population in her sector tried to seize power, she issued a lockdown on all the ins and outs of her nations, sent out press releases to all forms of local and international media (with tech guys fighting the blocks that kept popping up online), and instated a full military control—complete with curfews and severe punishment for lawbreakers.

Known aliens were killed, but she saw no reason for public displays. Thor may not have known it, but European networks had alien executions featured every hour on local stations—according to her men on the inside. Still, she was impressed that the Norse god managed to delegate as well as he did, having very limited experience with Earth's militaristic political game in times of war. He was eager to see the conflict end, however, and when she last spoke to him, he insisted on brute force to root out the aliens in the countryside.

She wasn't about to argue with that.

From what little information she heard from Clint, most of the African continent was engaged in guerilla warfare with roving groups of aliens, but with human military and national alliances in the works, he seemed confident that things would clear up.

She had no idea what the hell Steve and Tony were doing. America was a mess—a veritable shitstorm of alien activity. She was on her way to inspect some ports that they were going to open, allowing travel between Sri Lanka, Australia, the Philippines, and New Zealand on a temporary basis. However, once that was sorted, America was where she intended to turn her gaze next. With China, Japan, and the Koreas almost entirely alien-free, America was their next greatest asset to secure for wealth, technology, and weaponry.

Well, for technology and weaponry, anyway.

She knew Steve wouldn't turn the country into a bloodbath, but he was sitting on this for too long already. They had made contact with an agent in California for a brief moment about two weeks ago, and he said that most major cities had camps set up, in which aliens would bring truckloads of people to determine what role they would serve in the new established order: skin or servant. Neither were viable options, but the scattered militias weren't able to takedown the overwhelming alien presence in the US—they had clearly wanted the country from the get-go, using it as their base of operations, just as Natasha had chosen Sri Lanka as hers.

And then there was South America. Nothing in and nothing out; it was like the entire continent was a black hole of nothing now. She liked to think that Stark would have taken his charge seriously, but no one had heard from him in almost two years aside from the occasional one word memo to Fury. Last she heard, a spy around Stark's compound hadn't seen Pepper Potts for days, but that was years ago—there was no telling what went on inside that man's head.

Or if he was even alive at this point. South America's lack of communication could prove to be a bigger problem than anyone realized, but she knew she needed to tackle one issue at a time—and finish it completely. Today, she was supposed to handle opening a few ports. Focus on that.

"It's from Tony," Bruce breathed the moment she stepped into his office. The innards of the Republic Building reminded her of Fury's helicarrier: metallic, winding hallways stretched as far as the eye could see, and every room practically overflowing with high-tech gear and equipment. Men and women in black uniforms raced from one spot to the other. Bruce Banner had been her confidant, aside from Abigail, for the last year and a half. He traveled between Colombo and New York on occasion, but he seemed quite happy to help her develop her base of operations here—there was always something for him to do.

And the fact that Tony hadn't asked for him, or even spoken to him, for years seemed to help her keep the good doctor in one location.

Well, until now.

"What?" She stepped forward, eyebrows knitted as a deep frown started to set in. Abigail closed the door behind her, blocking out the few agents lingering in the hallway.

"I just got it now," he told her, gesturing to his personal laptop. She crouched in front of it, scanning the email a few times before really giving it a proper read. There wasn't much to it: two sentences of personal interaction from his old friend, and then a paragraph of what really mattered.

He found a cure—a serum to kill the aliens and leave humans unharmed. He had given the recipe to the Fantastic Four in the Baxter Building, and hoped they would put it to good use.

"I don't…" Bruce tugged off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "After all this time, he just…"

"And it isn't a fake email?" she asked, eyes flitting to the top of the screen to check the email's origin. Bruce sighed over her shoulder.

"No one but him and I know this account," he insisted. "We… We set it aside for emergency use if all other communication was severed."

"I can have tech trace it?" Natasha glanced back at Abigail, but Bruce spoke for her.

"If it's from Tony, you won't get anywhere without frying your system," he told her, shaking his head. "We should get that serum… It could spare people a lot of pain and misery."

"But—"

"It's a bit like choosing between the firing squad and gas chambers," he mumbled, stuffing his glasses back on and settling down in front of his laptop, "but that's what it's all come down to, hasn't it?"

"Well, it's not completely the same situation," she said stiffly. She was sick of hearing complaints about the way the aliens were treated: they were here to cause real damage to the planet, and yet activists were out there questioning her tactics with them? "These aren't innocent creatures, Bruce."

"I know, I know," he sighed as he scrolled up and down on the email. "I want to go to New York."

She shook her head. "We aren't ready to penetrate their aerial defenses yet."

"Then we'll find another way in," he argued. "The Captain clearly doesn't have a handle on the situation, and the Fantastic Four have always been no-shows when we need them to step up…. Someone needs to take charge."

"Bruce—"

"Look, you either come with me or you don't," he said, his eyes still on the screen, "but I'm going to New York, and my little green friend is going to wreck a little havoc."

"We can't just fly in yet." Ports, ports, ports. Boats. Trade. Travel. Australia. Ports. "We're not ready."

"It's our town," he muttered, eyes now narrowing. "It's our home, and we're not going to let it get crushed into the ground."

She knew 'our' wasn't meant to include her—not even Abigail. No, New York belonged to Bruce and Tony, or it had for at least a year or two before aliens and mayhem showed up again. And she didn't disagree—to lose the US would be a downfall to a number of global economies, and she felt as though she owed it to Steve to lend a helping hand in his hour of need.

"I'll deal with it later," she said when her phone vibrated in her pocket. Bruce said nothing to that, but she knew she'd have to get someone to keep an eye on him—the man was a flight risk on a good day. Nodding to Abigail and back at him, she breezed by and hurried back to the sweltering outdoors, her forehead lined with perspiration.

Ports and boats and trade and people and travel and aliens and one thing at a time.

Peter shut his eyes—tight—when the Pagurolid strapped to the nearby table let out a lengthy, inhuman cry. No one else seemed to pay the whimpering any attention, but when the creature whined again, he shot it a look. They seemed to be surviving fairly well on nutritional supplements from the IVs Reed had attached to them yesterday, but all four of them sounded absolutely miserable without saying a word. One of the males—was the creature inside male?—still had tape across its mouth: it was a biter, as Sue had quickly learned when she leaned in to take a pulse reading.

The rest kept their teeth to themselves after watching Sue pull out the creature's canines and front teeth, top and bottom, without anesthetic, in retaliation. Reed said nothing to it, and while it may have looked savage on anyone else, Sue had handled the whole affair with clinical precision, never once gritting her teeth or cursing. Still, the tape was kept on as a reminder to everyone else that of the four, this one was the most aggressive—Peter steered clear of them completely unless absolutely necessary.

He had been given his duties yesterday, and he intended to follow Reed's word to the letter. With an array of ingredients from Tony Stark's personal supply to his right, and the stolen—borrowed—stuff from Oscorp on his left, he was tasked with serum preparation. He broke down solids into powders, did all the measuring, and had a variety of different doses ready for Sue to mix and Reed to administer. He managed to get most of his work done yesterday, and then stepped forward to hold down a body or tray of needles as Reed ran a few preliminary tests on their subjects.

It was difficult not to see them as humans, but listening to their natural cries was enough to remind him that they weren't experimenting on people—they were testing aliens. Yes, every living creature had feelings and the like, but there wasn't an entire race trying to wipe out every human on the planet in the history books, so everyone was sort of just winging it.

Even though he had finished basically everything he had been assigned to do, it didn't feel right to leave Reed and Sue alone in the lab. No one else in the building had the technical skills or the clinical know-how to help, so even though he would have rather been eating pizza with Johnny and Max, he stayed right where he felt he was supposed to be. So, as Reed compared blood samples and salvia swabs and skin tissue, Peter worked on his gift to Max.

She had actually handled herself pretty well when they went out on their own. Yes, he would have been able to move faster if she hadn't been there, but she had provided companionship and support, while also collecting the necessary information from the Oscorp computer systems. She was handy with a gun, and he thought she could do with some extra support should she ever find herself in a sticky situation where she needed a fast exit.

He took a deep breath, blocked out the Pagurolid's whimpering, and held up the right wrist guard. He had made the straps adjustable, as he wasn't sure what size her wrists were, and it was already loaded with a clip of his webbing. Naturally, he'd have to teach her how to use it, and she'd probably need to beef up on some arm and core strength to handle herself effectively in the air, but he had every confidence that she could do it. He sighed: fingers crossed her pointlessly jealous guardian wouldn't destroy them this time.

Mind you, the stilted silence coming from Loki toward him these past two days was enough to make him decide to keep the gift hidden until he could give it to Max personally.

"Peter?"

He looked up quickly when Reed's voice broke his thoughts, and had he not known the man better, he would have flinched to see that extended arm groping around at the ingredients on the table while the man himself stood at the other side of the lab.

"Which is the medium dosage?"

"This one," he said as he guided the hand over, his fingers barely touching the stretched wrist. Sue hunched over a microscope near her man, and as Reed gathered up the ingredients, Peter wondered if she had passed the mixing job onto him. When the pieces for that particular antidote were gone, Peter got to work on getting some more set out on the off-chance that this one was the one that worked perfectly.

And then he waited. It took a full two hours for the antidote to settle once the ingredients were mixed together properly, which gave him more time to work on Max's present once he was finished laying out a new batch of powders and vials. He was in the process of fitting Max's cuffs to his wrists when Reed finally stalked across the room with a metal tray in hand. All the processing machines in the background had stopped whirring, and for a moment, the lab had gone completely silent. However, as he approached the creature nearest to Peter, she started whining again, and he paused as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"She's scared," Peter said weakly, pulling the Velcro strap loose and setting the cuff aside. Reed shook his head.

"It is mimicking human emotion," he insisted as he dragged a small table over and set the tray down. "Don't let it trick you."

He pushed himself up and sauntered closer, hands clasped behind his back. Reed busied himself with adjusting the IV in the creature's hand, and as Peter walked over to the other side of the table, those eerily bright eyes followed him.

"If this dosage works, we can get started on making more," Reed mused, picking up the needle. "I mean, we'll have to test it on the other three too, but… if it's a success, we can also look into getting it into aerosol canisters and the like."

"Yeah," he managed. When the tip of the needle made contact and broke the outer shell, the creature grabbed his hand, her—its—eyes wide with panic. He wanted to wrench away, to shove her off dismissively, but he stayed there as those cool fingers dug into him.

"Starting the clock now," Reed said once he set the empty needle down, pressing a timer on his wristwatch. The grip on Peter's hand stayed strong for a good thirty seconds, but then the creature started blinking rapidly, breathing heavily, and soon after, her—its—hand fell away.

His skin tingled where they last touched.

Reed reached forward and set two fingers over the theoretical pulse on her neck, his head cocked to the side, and then retrieved a stethoscope from a nearby table.

"No pulse in the neck, but I can hear a faint heartbeat," he said after a few tense moments. "The dose isn't quite strong enough."

He sounded disappointed. Peter licked his lips and nodded back to the table. "Well, it wasn't Stark's recipe in its entirety—"

"The full recipe requires more ingredients," Reed sighed, shaking his head. "We'll need to find a way to maximize a potentially limited stock."

"At least it works," Sue said. She seemed to appear out of nowhere, her hand on Reed's shoulder. "It's a really successful start."

"As long as it stays in the coma, yes," Reed muttered, leaning back to kiss her cheek. "Yes, it's good."

Peter stayed next to the body for a moment longer. It no longer needed to be restrained, but he knew it would be foolish to loosen the manacles on the wrists and ankles. Still, when no one was looking, he reached over and closed the eyes, taking away that unnatural colour, and frowned.

"Target acquired."

"Approaching target now…"

"Set your weapons to stun only."

"Unless target is hostile."

"Expect target to be hostile."

Max rolled her eyes, grinning as Valeria tittered by her side at the exchange between Johnny and Franklin. The four crouched at the opening between the kitchen-living room on the main floor and the hallway that led to the stairwell, as if their decreased height would muffle all the sound they were making. Meanwhile, Loki sat on one of the couches, his back to them, and she assumed she would find a book of some sorts in his hand.

Day Two of waiting for information from the lab proved almost as boring as the day before, and after lunch with the unoccupied occupants of the tower and a morning in bed with Loki, she decided to find something else to do that did not involve sex. Luckily, that turned out to be easy enough. She had quickly found Johnny up on the kids' floor with Valeria and Franklin, and he sounded just as bored as she felt. After watching some cartoons on Franklin's bed and helping Valeria straighten out her room (which Max thought the girl let happen as an act of charity to the two bored adults), Johnny suggested a plot.

A prankish plot that would involve Loki, as Ben was more inclined to pound Johnny into the wall—and was seen as strictly off-limits by the children. Although it had taken a bit of convincing on Valeria's part to participate, Max barely needed any provocation. The mood had been too heavy in the tower these days, and even in Loki's lessons with Franklin, the kids barely had a chance to actually be kids.

And Johnny had, apparently, never reached full adulthood in all this thirty-plus years on this Earth, so it all worked out for the best. They spent some time gathering supplies, and it wasn't until Franklin found an old package of balloons did a plan start to form: total war. No surrender until the enemy was on his knees. She had smiled while they filled multi-coloured balloons and packed a few carefully in a bag: if Loki took this in good humour—which she hoped he would—and played along, there was no possible way he'd ever end up on his knees.

Now, there was the potential for him to take it the wrong way, which was why Johnny had seemed pretty happy that Max wanted to be involved. She had a canister of Silly String in her baggy pants pocket, a small bag of water balloons on her shoulder, and a grin on her face—she was ready for a little fun, even if it was at Loki's expense.

"Do you think he's going to be angry with us?" Valeria asked in a sudden moment of seriousness. She and Johnny exchanged looks, and Max smiled.

"No, not at you, anyway," she assured her, patting her shoulder. The girl's shy smile returned, and Max saw Franklin roll his eyes off to her side, clearly unimpressed with the suspension of their game for even the briefest moment.

"Move out, move out," he whispered, gesturing between the room and Johnny. "Target stationary."

"Acknowledged, Unit Commander," Johnny said into the cuff of his shirt, as though speaking into a microphone. "Locked and loaded."

He was literally the biggest dork she had ever met—if only the gossip magazines showed this side of him, maybe he'd actually attract a girl who would stick around.

As Franklin crawled across the clean hardwood surface, Johnny did a barrel roll, much to Valeria's delight, and Max watched the back of Loki's head as the duo crept closer. He appeared to be looking up, but not once did he look back to see what the commotion was about. She liked to think he was doing so on purpose, perhaps already sensing the nature of the game, rather than thinking he wasn't included in something.

The two boys—relatively speaking, anyway—crouched at the back of the couch, canisters in hand, and before Loki had the chance to turn back, they leapt up and unleashed an unholy firestorm of Silly String and laughter. Loki's hands shot up to protect his face, but it was far too late for that: his head was covered. When he jumped off the couch, Franklin let out a shriek of laughter.

"Retreat!" Johnny shouted, scrambling slowly—on purpose, she assumed—behind Franklin as the boy scuttled back to the hallway. "Target hostile! Target hostile!"

They tore by Max and Valeria in the hall, though Franklin paused to grab his sister's arm, and she and Johnny exchanged exhilarated looks: this was precisely what they wanted for both the kids that afternoon. As she rushed down the hall, her bag of water balloons banging precariously against her hip, she looked over her shoulder to see a Silly String monster at the end of the hall, one that resembled Loki, and she laughed despite herself. He wiped the goop off him, flinging it to the floor, and she couldn't tell if he was as entertained by the whole thing as the rest of them were.

However, when he jogged at them as the company reached the door, she suspected he might have picked up on the playfulness of it all.

"You go up, we'll go down," Franklin directed, nudging Valeria over to Max. Johnny slapped her arm as he passed, shooting her a grin, and skipped a few steps to catch up with his nephew.

"Come on, Max!" Valeria giggled, grasping her fingers and tugging her toward the stairs. They were halfway up when the door behind them opened, and Max hoisted the little girl to her hip, taking the steps two at a time with some difficulty.

Two levels above Loki, Max peered over the railing. The design of the stairwell let her see down a few levels with ease, and she hoisted Valeria up so the little girl could see over the barrier properly. Holding a finger to her lips, she pulled a water balloon out of her bag and placed it in the girl's hands, all the while propping her up. She then nodded down at Loki, who had started to climb the stairwell directly below them—Valeria's grin was the widest she had ever seen it, particularly in Loki's presence.

Tongue poking out, the girl's eyes narrowed, and after waiting (for what, Max couldn't be sure), she chucked the balloon out a good foot or so, and her little body shook with glee when it nailed its intended target.

"Another, another," she whispered excitedly, to which Max complied. Loki was in the process of wiping himself down when the second balloon hit, and both Max and Valeria departed in a fit of giggles when he started racing up the steps in threes—damn his long legs.

Valeria stopped them another two floors up, and then pushed open the door.

"In here!"

Max tried to hush her, but it was fairly obvious that the girl was having more fun now than she had had in weeks. The floor she dragged Max onto seemed to have been in the midst of renovation before everything happened: furniture covered in sheets, paint cans everywhere, ladders next to unfinished doorframes, and the stench of new carpeting—which could be found in rolls leaning against a wall—was almost overwhelming. Still, there were some great hiding spots, and when they heard the door open behind them, Max pulled the little girl toward a table with a sheet under it. She shooed Valeria under first, glancing over her shoulder as Loki's shadow filtered in from the hall, and then ducked under herself.

"Are all the balloons okay?" Valeria inquired, her voice barely above a whisper. Max nodded, patting the top of the bag. The pudgy little weapons jiggled under her touch, but thus far, none had popped on their own accord.

Valeria clamped her hand down over her mouth when they both heard Loki prowl nearby, his shoes softly falling on the cement flooring. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a fleeting moment, panic gripped her, her mind darting back to that day—the day she hid under a mannequin's skirt, and the following day when she was chased to the fourth floor, where she cowered under a table before taking a shot at an attacker in the dark.

She closed her eyes and took two deep breaths, concentrating on the here and now, but it took longer than that to shake the nervous nausea in the pit of her stomach. It only went away when, out of nowhere, Loki lifted the sheet and roared victoriously—his voice jolted her out of her stupor. He was smiling, thankfully, but Valeria screamed louder than Max ever thought possible, reaching a pitch only dogs could hear, and bolted out from under the table without a moment's hesitation.

Which, in hindsight, was probably a good thing—a solid response to have in moments of danger.

"Hello, my sweet little woman," Loki purred, grasping her by the ankles and pulling her out from under the table. Max laughed and let him hoist her up to her feet, clutching her chin between his thumb and finger. "And what I have I done to become today's whipping boy?"

"Luck of the draw, I guess," she whispered, reaching up and pushing some of his soaking hair away from his face. She smoothed it back against his head. "You're a little wet."

"I noticed," he said tightly, his eyes narrowing. "You've turned traitor on me?"

"Only a little." She bit her lower lip, and then laughed when he leaned down to kiss her, the sound muffled by his lips. It was chaste and firm—no tongue, no nibbles. He simply held her to him, hand wrapped around her chin. Meanwhile, hers crept into her bag of water balloons, cradling one to her palm.

"Aww, come on," she heard Johnny complain from behind them. "You can't ruin the game by smooching!"

"Ugh, Max!" Franklin groaned as she pulled away. Valeria hovered near the boys, looking somewhat shyer now, but still alight from the game.

"I was just using my powers of distraction for the greater good," she insisted, standing up on her tip-toes and holding the water balloon above Loki's head.

"Don't you dare," Loki hissed, each word enunciated. Over his shoulder, she saw Johnny nudge Franklin, who looked happier now than he had been all day—it must have been a student's dream come true to Silly String their teacher, particularly one as ruthless as Loki. She shook her head, meeting Loki's eyes.

"I have to."

"Max—"

"It's my destiny…"

"You will regret this," he warned, but when she saw the corners of his lips quirk upward, she smashed the water balloon down on the top of his head, flinching when she got some of it on herself. Her trio of supporters cheered behind him, and Loki stood stock-still, eyes closed and water dripping down his face. She slid the bag down her shoulder and set it at his feet—the sides ought to be equal in this fight.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Loki rumbled, eyes opening quickly and then narrowing at her. She smiled her sweetest smile, head cocked to the side.

"Love you!"

The words came out without a thought beforehand, and her smile faltered considerably when Loki's expression switched to some strange mix between neutral and stunned. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, and then forced the smile back up—she could feel her embarrassment radiating off her face, which was probably bright red.

"Run, Max!" Franklin shouted, oblivious to what had just happened. "Don't make me list you as compromised, soldier!"

She darted around Loki—her legs felt like jelly—and hurried after the rest of them. When she looked back, she saw Loki standing still, the bag in his hands, and his eyes on her.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

HELLO DARLINGS! I got home from work tonight with the intention of lazily working on this, and then maybe getting it edited tomorrow. However, I had an anon message me on tumblr telling me that they were having a shit day, and this would cheer them up—so I got it finished! It would have been out earlier this evening, but I literally get so distracted when I edit. I think I watched twenty cat videos in a row tonight before realizing I had fallen into that vortex.

Peter and Natasha's perspectives were really important to me: someone who won't blink when they murder something, and someone who is starting to question cruel practices and the like. It's an interesting dynamic to play off of, and I think in a scenario in some alternate reality where this was happening, this might be a problem facing a lot of people. Well. Maybe. Everyone thinks they are tough as nails until they get into a situation where they have to prove it—that's what I like to write about. That's why Max throws up after action scenes. That's why Sue cries when plans are made. That's why Johnny drinks.

Now. The Big L Word sort of just… happened. A bit like Max's stunned realization, I had a similar process when writing. The words fit, and she feels them, and they just slipped out. I've done that before… with a boyfriend in high school, actually. He bought me gum, but was all grumpy about it, and I was all LOOOL LOVE YOOOOUUU! And he took it super seriously, and it was a big thing, and like… That's not totally the case here, but it felt applicable. Herp derp.

And Johnny's penchant for random pranks OBVIOUSLY is a big nod to the movie... Him pranking Ben was one of my favourite moments in that montage.

ANYWAY. I had a few lovely people offer to beta my novel, and I will get in touch when she's done, which will be a few months from now FOR SURE.

I also made an 8tracks account (the link to which is on my tumblr sidebar (hover over the image), the link to which is on my profile—which is super out of date and FF gives me issues updating it). So, I have a Ghost Town and The Sky is Falling playlist on the go, and I might do more for other stories.

ANYWAY. This was a rambly note. I'M OFF. SEE YOU SOON, DARLINGS!