#also the fact that Brad is taking his helmet off as in like taking his armour of. he doesn't want to fight or fight back that's not like him

[moralchampion]

Just the symbolism of it all

[inknopewetrust]

Manipulate Me

Summary: As Peter travels Europe as a normal kid, the world’s peril throws a wrench in his plans. With you by his side chaperoning the trip as an undercover S.H.I.E.L.D agent, the mysterious introduction of Quentin Beck leaves you breathless. 

Pairing: Quentin Beck/Mysterio x Fem!Reader 

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: None! 

A/N: Thanks so much for requesting this @mrs-blooooom​ ! I had a great time writing for Quentin Beck again. For context, reader is Peter’s older sister but also happens to be a shield agent (it was the easiest route of explanation as to why she would be meeting with Fury and Maria Hill). Requests are currently OPEN and you can check out who I write for in my request guidelines tagged in my bio. Thanks for reading! :) *gif not mine* I do not own any of the dialogue from the film. 

“May-” 

“-And don’t forget the passports! Oh! The passports!” 

“May!” 

May stopped scrambling around the apartment only to find that you had the two passports already in your hand. The tired aunt pushed her disheveled hair out of her face, pushing her glasses back up her nose, and slowly calming down. It was fine... Peter had you, Peter had all his friends, Peter would be fine in Europe. 

“Everything is going to go fine. I’ll be with him at all times and if he decides to wander off and do his Spiderman stuff––well then I’ll just have to call in some Avengers to stop him.”  

“I trust that you’ll be able to keep him out of trouble if it comes down to it.” May picked up Peter’s suitcase off the floor and listened to his heavy footsteps draw down the hallway and into the living room where you had gathered with her. 

“All ready?” He asked with those inquisitively wide eyes that reminded you so much of your mom. May handed him the suitcase but not before capturing the boy in a tight hug. Her “motherly” instincts grew since she returned from the blip. It was strange without the two of them. You, stuck here in New York without a leader in either Fury or Tony and the remaining members of S.H.I.E.L.D, Avengers and then the developed Sword, were left to pick up the pieces and build a life without them. That was the most difficult part. 

“Promise me that you won’t get into any trouble?” May asked Peter who in reply rolled his eyes with a chuckle. 

“It’s just a school trip. Besides, Y/n is going to be there and I’m sure she’s told you a million times that she can keep me in check.” You smacked the side of his head but he just ignored you and turned to the door, opening it with a rough pull with his spider-y force. 

“We’ll see you in a few weeks, May!” 

If you were able to take back all the words you said and never go to Europe, you would ask Stephen Strange to reverse time. 

Venice was a mess. The water-creature-man-thing...? had erupted the small city into a chaotic terror with locals and terrified students trying to find cover. Peter was somewhere flying with webs while another hero whom you had never seen before was assisting him. After a few minutes of trying to guide a group of students to safety, you secured cover underneath an awning in front of a store. 

“Ms. Parker! What do we do!?” Flash was almost in tears from fear which you couldn’t help but judge. It was water? the kid survived Thanos’ snap so he could survive this. Not to mention Fury would have your ass if any of the kids died on your watch. 

Out of nowhere the ground started to fill up with water and cracking of concrete or bricks began echoing throughout the small courtyard you trapped them all in. The green man came swooshing in with a cloud of smoke, almost like an illusion, and stopped the water with the sheer force of his magical abilities. The creature reformed into what looked like a water man and the green man dodged the attack with made the sound of bricks tumbling increase in intensity. Suddenly, the tower to your right began crumbling and you pulled as many students as you could closer to the building you sought shelter next to. 

“Get back! Get back!” 

“Who is that guy!?” Jason, one of the students shouted out but you couldn’t answer the question because you didn’t know. 

“I don’t know, but he’s kicking that waters ass.” Brad voiced exactly what you would have said. 

The green man continued to fight the water as the tower crumbled beside you all and then, like the blink of an eye, the monster was gone and the water scattered, soaking your shoes with a safety that was much welcomed. The man landed to sounds of cheering from the students and locals that found themselves in the same spot as you. But something was different. 

Maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t see his face, or maybe the fact that you had never heard of this hero and you literally worked for the agency that worked with them all. Maybe he wasn’t from this world? Space? Another universe? You could have sworn that you heard of the idea of a multiverse. 

But maybe it was the fact that beneath all that smoke and mirrors that made up the helmet of the mysterious man, it felt as though when he looked around at his admiring fans, his eyes trained on you, staring through your soul with some feeling that wasn’t welcomed or unwanted either. Intrigue, that’s what it was. And when he flew off, everyone was left with a curiosity that sparked a great debate throughout the entire world. Who was this man? 

Well, the T.V. at the hotel identified him as Mysterio. Peter managed to make it back in one piece which you were able to celebrate in a brief moment outside before the voices of interested students and the television interrupted the moment. Betty and Ned were searching every website for some kind of clue but nothing other than what the news reported was to be taken as fact. It wasn’t aliens, it wasn’t witches, it was just another hero. 

So that was what you went with. That was until you opened your door to Fury sitting in a chair next to the window. 

“Oh my God!” You shrieked and Fury laughed, laughed, at you. 

“You scare too easy.” 

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in spa-” 

The slight reveal of a green hand made you shut up. "Fury” tilted his head with a slight “Ah, well.” 

“Is this about that Mysterio guy?” 

“We’ve got him at a site. Says he’s from another Earth and that these creatures destroyed his own and intend to destroy this one too.” 

“Another Earth? So, the multiverse.. it’s real?” 

“Fury” didn’t respond to that, but he simply rose and gestured over his shoulder to the window. 

“There is a car outside. Go and wait in it while I go get Peter. The big man told me I need to scare the kid.” You smiled at the thought as the man left to go retrieve your brother. 

You had been part of the world of superheroes far longer than Peter had. You had been there when Loki first attacked New York way back when and that seemed like so many years ago. With the blip, it seems like an entire eternity. Nick never let you in on his secrets of his relationship with Carol Danvers, but you had met the Skrulls when you went on a mission three months ago to visit Monica Rambeau in space. Unlike her, you weren’t blessed with some badass powers, though she didn’t always have them. 

Peter looked terrified walking out to the car and when he saw you inside, he breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t be alone. The site of S.H.I.E.L.D in Italy wasn’t far from where you had all taken up residence for the last day or two, but it was secluded, down in the catacombs of old buildings that no one would suspect. It reminded Peter of a Mission Impossible movie that you had watched with him before the two of you left for Europe, he felt more like a spy than a superhero in that moment. 

As you walked behind the two down the long corridors of the abandoned treasure that was used as a make-shift S.H.I.E.L.D, you were surprised to see Maria at a computer, though now knowing about Fury, you were sure it wasn’t even her. The center of the room was filled with scattered agents who you weren’t familiar with and then a projection in the middle of the room, along with the man without the helmet. 

You weren’t one for fawning over men. Jesus, you worked with Thor sometimes and while you were aware of his Godly looks, you never gawked. But this man, he wasn’t a God, he was just naturally beautiful. Dark hair, blueish-gray eyes that surely did pierce your soul, and a stature of a man who knew how to carry himself with power in the world. It was like he walked out of your dreams and into reality. 

“This is Mr. Beck.” Fury introduced you and Peter to the man. Mr. Beck approached Peter with a small smile and held out his hand. Peter looked nervous but responded with his own shake. 

“Mysterio?” 

“What?” 

“It’s just what my friends were calling you.” 

“Well, you can call me Quentin. You handled yourself well out there today. I saw what you did with the tower. We could use someone like you on my world.” 

Peter looked puzzled but Quentin looked behind the boy to you. He held out his hand with another smile which you returned. Maybe there was a shock when you touched hands, but you were sure it was just your imagination. 

“Y/n Parker, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“It’s good to meet you, Y/n.” 

“Likewise.” 

Did time rush by faster when you were in the presence of someone you were obviously attracted to? Yes, because before you knew it, the night was over, and Fury was leading you and Peter back out to the car. Peter was absolutely smitten with Quentin and could hardly break conversation. The man gave the attention to Peter like Tony did. It was like life imitating itself in another time. Quentin reminded you so much of Tony. Smooth with words, handsome, gifted in almost an unfair way, and he took an interest in the last piece of close family you had. You wanted nothing more than for Peter to have a figure in his life to give him a positive purpose. With Tony gone, he’s struggled trying to find his niche again. 

“See you, kid.” Quentin looked disappointed but hopefully that his and Peter’s paths would cross again one day, even with Peter trying to avoid being identified by his class or the world. At some point, someone would figure it out if they hadn’t already. 

“Yeah, see you.” Peter said as he walked out, following Dimitri, who Fury ordered to keep Peter in check with you. You were more than capable of doing it yourself but for some reason, Fury felt the need to send another agent. 

“Good luck, Quentin.” You told him and he nodded his head, glancing at the holographic map of Venice next to him. 

“I fear I’ll need it. But I’m hopeful that the good luck will be for more than just winning this fight.”

Swoon. That’s what you did for the remainder of the night and into the early morning. You couldn’t sleep a wink after the revelations that Quentin relayed to you and Peter about the elementals. That worried you too. How in the world was Peter supposed to sit by while other heroes with indisposed and couldn’t help? Sam and Bucky were on their own missions, Carole and Monica were off, Stephen and Wanda were no use and Thor was off on his own adventures with that team of riff-raffs from space–you know, the one with the talking tree. 

But somewhere in all the jumble of thoughts, the scenery of the canal that had been a scene of something far different, calmed the noise. Enjoy the trip. This was the first time in years that you had traveled for something other than work and yet it was still filling every thought and moment. The thoughts were so loud and invasive that you didn’t register the person coming up to your right, ready to take the bag off your shoulders. You felt the tug and turned around, ready to punch the person but they dogged it, pulling it off your shoulder. It was a game of tug of war for the bag, but the person was strong. 

“Let go! I said let go!” You pulled as hard as you could, therefore the bag came flying back to you and its contents spread across the sidewalk. The person glanced at the wallet on the ground and then back at you before you both dove to the ground. They grabbed it first and you tackled them to the ground. Wrestling with grunts and yells, you hadn’t noticed the audience of one that rushed to help. A blast of green light shot the person off of you and you clutched the wallet to your chest tightly, trying to reel in your ragged breath. 

“I heard yelling from my hotel...” The hero started only to realize that it was you and with a turn of your head, you had realized it was him, Quentin. 

“Oh! Are you alright?” He extended a hand, which you readily took to stand. He then helped collect the scattered items and put them back in the now ripped bag before handing it back to you. 

“I’m fine. Thank you.” 

“It’s no problem.” There was a brief, awkward lull but you weren’t sure what else to say. 

“So, do you always wander around at night in a city you don’t know?” It was an icebreaker, a line that he knew would make you at least chuckle. 

“No... I just had a lot on my mind. What you told us in there–it’s a lot of information to retain.” 

“I’m sure an agent like you could handle it though.” You smiled bashfully at the compliment. Quentin gestured over his shoulder and shoved his hands in his pockets. You realized he wasn’t wearing his uniform anymore but just a pullover sweater and some dark jeans. How he shot the green light in the first place you didn’t know, but all heroes worked a little differently you suppose. 

“Would you like to take a walk? I promise I won’t try to steal your wallet.” 

“How do I know I can trust you?” The conversation was so light, and carefree that for the first time in a long time, you felt like a normal person. Quentin returned your cheeky smile and began walking. 

“I’m pretty sure a woman like you could figure out who trust and who not avoid. Isn’t that what they train you for? Agents?” 

“I suppose so, yes.” 

“Can I ask you something?” You asked Quentin and he looked at you with a nod of his head. 

“How did you know the elementals would turn up in our Earth?” 

“Intelligence. My wife, she had worked for our version of your agency. Before they came to destroy our city, one had already manifested itself in Mexico. It was as if there would be a pattern to follow. So when she passed, I used her intelligence to figure out where they might be, which led me here.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you, it’s been some time now. She would be glad to see Peter helping me, and you helping out with the cause.” 

“Peter really took a liking to you. I could see it in the way he could barely contain himself.” You laughed, changing the heavy subject to one more light. 

“He’s a good kid. You’re related I assume?” 

“My little brother.” 

“You should be proud of him. He is doing a lot of good for the world. I just wish he was more confident in his abilities to realize identity protect isn’t everything.” 

Quentin was right, it wasn’t everything. But it was more than identity for Peter. It was also no Tony to lead the way, his want to be a normal kid, his need to have friends and well, MJ to like him. But neither of you would know what it was like to be a teen hero, that was a lot of unneeded pressure. 

“It seems that I brought you around full circle.” The sound of Quentin’s voice broke the silence and the realization that you were outside the barely standing hotel. You sighed and tugged the bag on your shoulder. 

“Thanks for saving the day, Mysterio.” 

“Anything to help protect Agent Parker.” 

If you hadn’t just met him a few hours ago, you would have asked him to come upstairs but that was far too forward for the world you created for yourself, so you extended your hand as he had earlier. 

“May our paths cross again.” 

He grasped your hand tightly and agreed. 

“Hopefully under better circumstances.” 

You watched then as he walked away, unaware of the man underneath the facade of Mysterio. How he already knew who you were, knew all your secrets, and was ready to manipulate you to take down the institution that denied him success so many years ago. 

[thegaylink]

More Than Chemistry

What will happen when Alex and Willie get paired up for a chemistry project? A subject that Willie excels at, but Alex, well, he tries his best.

Chapter 1

Alex tried to stay focused, but in chemistry, that was very difficult. He didn’t want to zone out, but the class was unnecessarily complicated and the teacher’s voice was just so monotone that it made him want to scream. He had been day dreaming for the first 20 minutes of class before he snapped out of it to see the words “First Semester Chemistry Project” written in messy handwriting on the board. Crap. The one day he zoned out was the day of a project. He started to listen to the teacher’s instructions.

    “This project is forty percent of your first semester chemistry grade, so you and your partner need to make sure it’s your best work, which means no slacking off or waiting until the last minute,” she said. Partner? He really did miss a lot. Luke is in this class though, so as long as he could choose his partner he would be good. 

    “I will read you the list of partners after I finish explaining the project,” well, so much for that. Alex looks around the class. Despite being in the class for months, he still didn't know anyone other than Luke, and he wasn’t fond of human interactions outside of his small friend group. He ended up zoning out for a few more minutes before finally snapping back out of it to listen to the rest of the instructions.

    “Alright, and now your partners. We have Andy and David, Sarah and John, Luke and Brad, Tina and Erin, Gwen and Nelson, Alex and Willie, Jackson and Leah, and finally, Jason and Bella.” She finished the list off just a few minutes before the bell rang. Willie? Who was that?    

    The bell rang and he walked outside. He was supposed to be meeting Julie and the guys at Eat-n-Beats to talk about gigs and songs. It was only about a ten minute walk, so he didn’t feel the need to ask for a ride. He was almost there when he heard someone yell something along the lines of “beep, beep” before he was suddenly face first on the cement.

    “Aw, man, you dinged my board,” he heard a voice say as he started standing back up.

    “Dinged your- dude! You ran over me! What the hell!” he said, now fully standing up.

    “Oh. Yeah, sorry about that, I probably should’ve slowed down” the other guy said unclipping his helmet and taking it off. Well fuck, there goes any chance Alex had at a successful human interaction. Saying the boy was attractive was an understatement. He grabbed the strap of his fanny pack to keep him focused.

    “Hey, um, I’m sorry for running into you. I wasn't paying attention, it's my bad,” he started, but honestly, Alex really didn't process much of it. The boy picked something up off the ground and handed it to Alex. His backpack, more specifically. He must have dropped it when he fell.

    “Oh, um, thanks,” he managed to say, grabbing the back and putting it on over his shoulder.

    “Yeah, no problem. I’m Willie, by the way, Willie Roberts,” he said, holding out his hand.

    “Oh, um, Alex,” he said, shaking Willie’s hand. “Alex Mercer.”

    “Cool! You go to Los Feliz?” Willie asked, as he took his hand back and picked up his skateboard

    “Um, yeah, yeah I do. How’d you know?”

    “There's a patch on your bag. Also, I’ve kinda seen you in my chemistry class, we’re partners for the first semester project.” 

    “Oh, um, cool. Is that why you ran into me or..?”

    “No! No, I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean to run into you, but when I picked up your bag I kinda pieced it together.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Yeah, um, anyways, I’ll catch you later!” he skated away and Alex didn’t know if he should be scared or happy. On one hand, it's nice to know who is partner is for the project, on the other hand, well, Willie was very attractive and Alex was not looking forward to embarrassing himself in front of him. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and walked to Eat-n-Beats to meet the others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Someone's happy,” Julie said as he sat down at the table after ordering his coffee.

“What happened?” Bobby asked, looking up from Lukes song writing journal.

“Nothing! What makes you think something happened?” he asked, maybe a little too quickly

“Um, maybe the fact that you’re smiling bigger than the Joker at the moment.” Luke said

“Or the fact that you look like Reggie after he sees someone walking a puppy.” Julie added

“They’re so small!” Reggie practically squealed.

“Okay, so maybe something happened,” he started. He told them the rest of the story and they all looked at him.

“Okay, so someone ran over you with a skateboard, you thought he was cute, and now you’re dopier than Luke was after he drank half a bottle of vodka thinking it was water in eighth grade when he had the flu?” Bobby asked

“For the love of god, that was one time!” Luke exclaimed

“That’s not what happened! Well, okay, fine, that's kinda what happened. But I do not look that dopey!”

“You do look pretty dopey,” Julie added

“Can we change the subject? Luke, how's the new song coming?”

“Great! It should be done soon, I just need to figure out some lines for the bridge!” Luke exclaimed, handing him the notebook. He accepted it and tried to read the page.

“Luke, what does this say?” he asked, pointing at a word written in Luke’s god awful handwriting

“It says ‘Bridge’!”

“Why do the letters look like that?”

“Because the B the D and the G all look the same when you guys write it and my dyslexic brain can’t deal with that!” 

“I- why don’t you just capitalize them?”

“Cause that would look funky.”

“And this doesn't?”

“You all are just jealous that I came with my own font.”

“You don’t- okay,” Alex let out a defeated song as they continued discussing the new song and possible gigs for the month. They left about 2 hours later and Alex found himself thinking about Willie way more often than he probably should have. He chalked it up to just being nervous about the project and called it a day. That's all it was, nothing else, right?

[theadorablespderman]

Everything to love about Far From Home not in this order:

Literally seeing that opening with all our loved avengers that are no more.

Whitney Houston “I will always love you” made me cry because damnit Tony’s face was right THERE! NOT OK!

The blip footage was pretty damn funny not gonna lie.

Peter’s cute ass plan to tell MJ how he feels.

MJ’s favorite flower being a Black Dalia because of the murder. Literally a girl I can relate too. Murderinos for life sister. Idk but it just made her sooo relatable!

The fact that Brad is a kid grown up from the blip and that made him seem all the weirder for MJ.

Jealous Peter was so freaking amazing! Oh my gosh! That face he’d get. I’m a sucker for jealousy and they did it so good.

Making MJ this awesome character she was before but also obviously has this softer layer where she does have flaws and insecurities and she’s really sweet but also so badass. That was amazing.

The starting relationship between Peter and Beck. It was cute and so I was sad knowing that Beck was somehow going to be the villain.

Also let’s talk about how Beck is basically Syndrom from the incredibles.

That scene with Peter and Brad....the pure terror when he snapped that picture

Also seeing how big of a dick Brad is and how unhealthy jealous he was.

“Nick Fury” getting ghosted, showing up in Venice, tranquilising Ned (don’t touch him you monster) and then promptly highjacking Peters Summer trip.

Showing the emotional trama Peter is going through. The anxiety, the greiving. It was very reminiscent of Iron Man 3 when Tony suffers from PTSD after the battle of New York. I loved that they showed Peter reacting as any kid would, many adults too, which is to just try and forget anything happened but being faced with the reality every day. So well done.

Happy and May’s relationship. Enough said 😂😂

I feel cheated we didn’t see Mr delmore again.

Addressing all the problems the Blip/Snap created. High school aging, school, drinking ages, homelessness and housing issues. That’s just the start of it I’m sure but they covered those pretty well and I love that.

The technology that made Beck into Misterio was so well done. Instead of some frankly, kinda far fetched story that he came from an alternate earth (which I was willing to believe but felt it was a cop out in terms of plot and character) they showed the real world issues that superhero’s can create. The Enemies that have a real deep rooted hatred for hero because they’ve personally been betrayed or wronged by them. Because marvel has always made clear, everyone is not on the hero’s side.

Steeping Misterio’s powers in tech which is classing marvel but again, so brilliantly done in this movie. I loved the development. Because at first glance, half way through, I was thinking “wow this is really kinda weird and unexplained and too witchcraft for what marvel usually brings to the superpower backstory” I know it’s weird to say after everything marvel has done. But it seemed just a tad out there without being too hard to grasp. Which again was brilliantly done because that was the whole point.

The nod to Misterio’s helmet even when Beck was in the hologram suit watching everything play out. I guess it was his screen? But I loved the staple of even without his big over the top suit he still had the trademark helmet. Great costume design.

Peter’s soft gazes towards MJ. Nearly gave me a cavity they were so sweet! Ahhh sooo cute

Mr. Harrington’s marital problems nearly made me pee my pants....we all knew here in the fandom that shit like that would half to happen but my god lol

The opera scene was sooo freakin cute and that one step Peter took when he saw Brad move in was so freaking cute and hot!

MJ running after him and finding the critical peice of information to crack the case wide open. Loved it.

Betty and Ned’s Sicily sweet romance that you knew couldn’t possibly last. They really nailed the realistic high school romance. But I still ship it.

The bus scene was epic. And when Peter knocked Flash out...god it was amazing.

Mj obviously having love eyes towards Peter same as he does for her.

THE FACT THAT HE ACTUALLY BOUGHT THAT NECKLACE FOR HER OH MY GOD! I CANT GET A GUY TO TEXT ME BACJ LET ALONE BUY A NECKLACE LIKE THAT WHICH PROBABALY COST A GOOD CHUNK OF CHANGE IT WAS SO FREAKING AMAZING AND CUTE AND TOUCHING.

All the iron man images got me feeling depressed as hell

“are you being serious because I was only like 67% sure?” That was amazing. Seeing MJ get so excited and trying to keep that hidden was awesome

The fact that she was so pleased with herself but also played it hella cool when Ned walked in and she said she figured it out. Literally that is me.

The shirtless Peter trope that we all wanted and freaking got! So freaking cute how she tried to peak at his abs. Like understandable girl.

The fucking illusions. Turning our sweet trusting Peter into a ball of mess. I was too.

God when he had to tell himself it wasn’t real but it still totally feels like it is.

Him trying to save MJ when she’s “thrown off the Eiffel Tower”

Every traumatizing thing Beck shows and tells him during the illusion. So shitty.

Seeing Tony’s grave, seeing iron man come out. That was awful and we all felt it in the movie because we’ve lost him too. We could FEEL that slap same as Peter.

Beck telling Peter that Tony’s death was his fault. I was abouta hurl myself at the movie screen.

Every illusion done in a way that just when you think it’s over, it’s never stopped. You forget what’s real and you feel trapped in it same as Peter does.

WHEN HE GETS HIT BY THE TRAIN!!!!!!!!!! Nearly had a damn heart attack!!!! My mom had to look over and ask if I was ok because I literally stopped breathing for a solid 30 seconds.

Showing gradually just how insane and evil Misterio was.

HAPPY BEING CONCERNED FOR PETER! LIKE SINCERELY AND HONESTLY CONCERNED! It’s good to know he’s got Happy to take care of him and May but that Peter still has a father type figure he can count on after Tony. Because you know Tony wouldn’t have put up with any of that getting hit by a train shit.

Also where the hell was Karen? We missed her. We got Edith but Karen wouldn’t have let Misterio take her over. WHERE WAS KAREN!!

Peter crying and needing to know Happy was real. Broke me heart

That hug between them was so sweet and you can see the concern on Happy’s face

Happy and Peter opening up to each other was so awesome considering their relationship in Homecoming.

ALL THE TONY and PETER PARRELLS! All of them!!!!!!!!! Not the people saying “Spider-Man’s the next Ironman” no the actual hints and glimpses at how similar him and tony actually are. The hologram gauntlet shot, a straight parallel to Iron Man when Tony is building his first real suit. Obviously “Back in Black” by Led Zeplen (formally known as AC/DC) playing. Another obvious hint toward Tony. The Stark sunglasses. Peter falling with the parachute and it literally looks like Ironman with his jet stream behind him from a distance. There’s so much more I’ll do a whole other post on.

Of course: “I love Led Zeplin!” Hahaha it’s such a kid thing to say! I’ve said it before I knew the big differences between AC/DC and Led Zeplin. It was so freaking perfect.

Peter making his suit and Happy’s face. Bittersweet and I live for the affection he holds for Peter now.

The Netherlands Holding cell...must I say more?

Brad’s downfall and MJs amazing comment about him taking pictures of people in the bathroom. Ep-ic. Even flash was like “bro that’s so weird”

Mr. witchcraft was hilarious and I loved his aside with Brad “I’m gonna be the cool teacher and tell you you can’t do that anymore.”

Flash is definately Gay or Bi and I’m so here for it. That wink he makes to Peter proves it.

All the near death truths in the vault of the tower.

MJ BADDASS COMES SWINGING WITH THE MACE AND IT WAS LEGINDARY OH MY GOD! YES GIRL! She’s my idol I love her so much.

Peter and his “Peter Tingle” And while we’re on the subject the banana he gets to the face while packing.

Important. His amazing skills at the end trusting his instincts (which is great because May says in regards to MJ, but it applies to this too) May tells Peter to trust his instincts and don’t think too much. And that’s what he does when he defeats Beck.

The bad ass “you can’t fool me anymore” after redirecting the gun away from his head at the end. Literally was so intense and well done.

Peter and MJ’s kisses! I loved how awkward it was at first and the slightly less awkward one. They really accurately captured the awkwardness of teenagers in love. Like that’s what it’s like guys.

Show me MJ’s parents you cowards, or show me something. Anything. I just want to know the nature of the situation.

Ned and Betty’s breakup. So funny and honestly not surprising at all. But still I ship them.

The hand hold. So cute.

May and Peter still being the cutest aunt and nephew duo there ever was.

I totally thought Peter was going to end with telling the world he was spiderman....BUT SOME OTHER ASSHOLES DID IT FOR HIM AND MADE HIM INTO A VILLAN AND IM PISSED. LOOKING AT YOU MR JAMESON YOU PEICE OF SHIT.

The movie ended and I have no idea what’s next.

Mid credit of MJ swinging through New York. Home girl doesn’t like and neither do I. Looks full on terrifying we don’t blame you hun.

After credit where the skrulls have been playing Maria and Nick fury for the whole movie. Honestly it made more sense because Nick fury seemed just a bit off. ALSO WHERE IS THE REAL NICK FURY at and I’m so psyched to see where this new movies are gonna go!

Alright that all for now folks!!!! Everything about the movie was great!!! I will have to watch again ad see if anything more pops up. Sorry for any spelling errors I’m on my phone.

[selemina]

Oh and you also mentioned Romance! What's some Romance in the campaigns! Tell me about all the couples!

ALL OF THEM?? Dear god no! XD

And there is so much...! ;u;

Psi : Mave and Oso’var : from “my captain sat me down to scold me” to “I need to talk to my wife about this”! Bow and Darkroot : When a dryad and a fey-firbolg hunt one another for fun and kiss under a butterfly tree. :) Aerie and the Huntsman : Feral firbolg gets dragged to the bonfire in a net, the Huntsman asks if anyone is gonna tap that and doesn’t wait for an aswer. Also, sending Aerie to Psi and calling regularly. The only time they get to see one another now is when Aerie falls in battle and gets teleported back home for recovery! Fendira and Brad : When a nervous but hardcore gnome lady with a talking, hungry sword meets a soft, generous ncp halfling at base! :D We need more of them! Dip him, Fendira! Npc special : Exalt dragonborn Captain and Skirmisher tiefling berserker in love, very soft boys, almost lot the other live to a ritual! Special mention to adopted kobold daughter! :D

Endless winter : End of Winter and Quinn : one is a fluffy white tabaxi with inky warlock power. The other is a changeling formerly employed by the KGB. And together they are : cute! :3c (Bonus dead-but-revivified-husband except Quinn is not technically the one he was supposed to be married to... It’s complicated. XD) Kass and her gun : Busty huntress lady and her BIG sniper rifle. I ship it in a “I would lose it if anything happened to my gun” sort of way. XD Also I’m joking but Kass got a sandwish-making girlfriend not too long ago, Nancy! :D Krauss and Erran : Turns out the hidden dragon is very fond of the vedaklen necromancer? How did that happen? Not even a bard, and yet, so popular... XD (Krauss has four hands, and there is another old man somewhere that he also thinks a lot about, more on that as it develops. ;) ) Meadow and Dusk : Currently just a friendship, but they cute! :D Tiny problem-on-purpose-causing goblin girl with a heavy family trauma, and young changeling with the same kind of loss trauma. But they can sit down and watch old films while eating candies and get excited and soft together! Venmoira and her on-and-off-again goliath boyfriend : You’d think a gentle, nuturing firbolg lady would be the one being abused in this relationship. nope. special mention for the lizardfolk bartender NPC who’s very into every man that walks in, but can’t really settle at the moment, probably sighing his little gay heart out as we speak... It’s ok buddy we’ll find you a nice hunk! :)

Dragon mafia : Johnathan “motherfucking” Blackwell and nekoQuynh : When the most dramatic and efficiently evil yuan-ti man gets a cat... A cat girl. A scientist. With a good heart. And an impulse control. Rolled all in one... Jackpot! ;) And when she’s ready to heart people to defend him, we know he’s found a good one! ;) (The Johnaquynh pairing happens in a lot of universes, too. ;) A brilliant scientist lady and her overly dramatic and dangerous husband!) Unn and Essil : They are not “official” but they very much express interest to have a thing! :) Changeling warlock ready to kill a man, and dragonborn mafia heir... also ready to kill a man. To his lady’s delight. Unn and the minotwins : The same way, Unn likes to hang out with the minotaur twins : between the very soft, slightly absent-minded and distractable Andromeda, and her brother the strong (and honestly murder-repressed at the moment) Adrastos, she lives with both, and she wouldn’t mind keeping this going. Why must a lady chose? Nancy and Kass : Oh hey, sounds familiar? :D In this world, Kass in more of a sandwich seller that was just as nervous as our BARELY FUNCTIONING murder queen. Nancy is anxiety taking form, and yet, to go kill people you have to see people... yuck! But around Kass, it’s easier to talk... Duvud and literally everybody else : He just... He loves his precious. His favorites. Anybody wants to have fun? His arms are open! Lidwei and Joe : Lidwei is a cult leader devoted to Duvud. She is also, unfortunately, blind. She can share the sight of people around her, so she picked up an abused farm boy on her way to town, and has been using him as a seeing boy since. The man has a thing for her, that she uses to her advantage for soft manipulation. However, Joe has been slowly opening up to the fact he might also be into guys, lately, because there is a man attracting his eye... >W>

(Ufff pufff, catching my breath here... XD)

Fallout : Vesper and Reginald : “Did you just build a power armor frame?” “Yes! :D” “...I can get you plating for that.” “YOU COULD?? :DD” also known as “I scanned your helmet with my pipboy and now I essentially have your number... Yo so are you free tonight or...? I discovered we’re neighbours, also. Look outside.” Achii and Annie : One’s an albino nerd of a talking deathclaw. The other is, apparently, a sweet entusiastic monster fucker. XD I jest, they’re just soft and adorable... Lewis and Buddy Holy reccords : Get yourself a man (robot) that goes to the other end of the world for you like Lewis does for those damn records! XD

Darkest dungeon : Baldwin and Liam : Well fuck. The jester and the leper. Who would have thought. XD Now if only Liam could stop joking and flirting outrageously while in the middle of the ruins, that would be peachy! (as far as I know, that’s it, unless we count heir Castillion and bad decisions, because boy.. That’s a love story for the edges, but it’s also very toxic! XD)

... And nothing else comes to mind! Congrats for making it this far! :D Get yourself a doodle for your efforts!

(There’s also the first caster campaign, but... it’s a whole n’other beast. XD)

[margoshansons]

The Killing Kind (6/?)

Part Six: 01. 02. 03. 04. 05

Summary: Being a superhero is hard, especially when your Dad is making up threats to satisfy his own ego.

Warnings: Action, panic attacks, slight angst, slight manipulation

Notes: These chapters are making me so happy! I’m so proud of these past two parts and I love the story I’m forming in my head. Also, heads up, this one is LOOONG. 

“Listen, you need to get out of here” The plaid-clad figure urged, ignoring her question. 

(Y/N) shook her head, “Peter, I know it’s you”

He kept looking over his shoulder, the familiar gesture cementing her theory in her head. “You need to get out of here.”

“No” (Y/N) protested, “I can help. I--I can lead it away”

Spiderman shook his head, “No, you need to get out of here. The green guy told me to lead it away, but you need to leave now” 

Before she could protest further, another wave hit the two of them, washing the jester’s mask away as he climbed up the wall, swinging between the collapsing buildings.

(Y/N) followed him, running through the streets, not caring about the people she was potentially bulldozing. As she ran over a bridge,(Y/N) felt herself collide with a wall of muscle, and she looked up to see Brad staring at the newly formed monster. 

“(Y/N)!” Mr. Harrington called, “thank goodness you’re alive, we need--” She pushed passed her worried teacher, following the trail of webs and giant spectacle her father and Peter were creating in their wake. She hurried to a stop in front of the piazza, the belltower beginning to collapse. 

(Y/N) gasped at the sight of a brown head of hair atop the tower, arms stretched in an obvious attempt to web the tower to safety. 

Her yellow sneakers skidded to a stop behind the tower, her father ‘battling’ the monster behind her. Closing her eyes, she dug into her gut, tendrils connecting in midair. She brought her hands in a circular motion, the energy creating a clocklike image in the air before her. Green swirled with blue to create a bright teal color, (Y/N) screaming as she launched the sigil onto the clock tower, the energy keeping the tower in place long enough for the illusion to dissipate. 

A wave crashed over her once more, knocking her out of concentration. 

Her shoulder burned as it collided with the ground, her hands throwing out one last ditch effort to hold the tower up, the energy curling around the debris before her. She heard cheering behind her and let go, the illusion gone. Quentin’s eyes were hidden behind that ridiculous helmet of his, but she knew what expression lay behind the smoke. 

Pride. 

Not in her. Not in Spiderman. Pride in himself. 

He was finally getting everything he wanted. 

It almost looked like he was getting ready to approach his soaking daughter, wishing to help her up, but (Y/N) bit her lip, watching as he sped into the sky. 

Same as always. 

***

“Buzzfeed is saying…” 

She tuned Flash Thompson’s rant out as MJ brought her another ice pack. (Y/N) brought the ice to her head, nursing the concussion Hydro man had given her. Her teachers whispered about witches, her friends whispered about aliens, while (Y/N) stewed in the true knowledge of what had really happened. 

“Hey” Peter interjected, standing next to the moldy staircase the two girls were sitting on. “Are you...is everything okay?” 

She didn’t respond, her eyes still wide upon discovering the fact that Peter was, in fact, Spiderman, even if he denied it. The mannerisms were too similar, their voices identical. 

“(Y/N)?” Peter asked, concern lacing his voice.

She sighed, throwing herself out of her reverie, “Yeah, I’m fine. I mean my head hurts like a mother, but other than that.”

Peter nodded, obviously a little bit pleased to see the best friend of his crush was okay. The three of them turned toward the TV, which was recounting the events of the day. 

“...L’uomo de Mysterio e donna de Energia…”

Brad’s voice overpowered the television at that statement, “I think his name is Mysterio.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “That means man of mystery in Italian dumbass” she went back to paying attention to the news, ignoring the chuckle from Peter. They were hailing her dad as a hero, just as he had planned. 

“What I want to know is who was with him” Betty Brandt called from Ned’s side. “That girl just appeared and suddenly she’s able to hold up one of the biggest structures in the city with her hands?”

“Maybe they’re related!” Ned interjected excitedly, “It would make sense, they have similar abilities”

Unable to handle any more talk of how heroic her father was, she wrapped the blanket around her once more, fatigue finally settling into her bones. She stood up, retreating into her room. (Y/N) curled into her bed, staring at the wall in front of her, the events of the day replaying over and over in her head. 

Her dad had really gone through with it. He was killing innocents as he had planned all along. His words looped over and over in her head like a dead vine. 

“This power needs the right person to wield it. No matter the consequences.”

He’d said the same thing after the incident, the same thing as he exploited her for his experiments. No matter the consequences. 

Nothing was going to stand in his way. Not even his own blood. 

(Y/N) wiped a tear at the awful memory, caught off guard when her phone began to buzz. May’s name lit up the dark room and she swiped to answer. 

“Hello?”

“(Y/N), thank goodness you’re alright” May’s soothing voice rambled over the phone, “I was so worried something had happened to you, especially after Peter told me about your concussion.”

(Y/N)’s eyebrows creased at the news of Peter informing his Aunt about her condition, “I’m fine, May, really I am. It sounds a lot worse than it is.”

“Is everything okay? You sound distressed,” 

For the first time since knowing the woman, (Y/N) cursed May’s emotional sixth sense.

She swallowed down her nerves, considering the ramifications of letting May know about her Dad. There was a good chance he had tapped her phone, listening into the conversation right now. But he couldn’t reach May while he was overseas, she knew that in order for the illusions to work he needed to be on location. So maybe it was safe for a bit.

“It’s my dad” (Y/N) confessed, her heartbeat spiking into her throat, “He’s followed me here”

“Hey, hey” May continued, “relax, everything is going to be fine. Your dad can’t harm you. Not unless he wants European CPS breathing down his neck.”

(Y/N) slowed her hyperventilating, saltwater burning on her mouth. “Are you sure?” 

May sighed before reassuring her, “Listen, you’re eighteen, so legally you are emancipated from your Dad, and even before that you filed an emancipation letter that the shelter and your lawyer signed, so it’s illegal for him to do anything that goes against what you specifically filed in that letter.”

(Y/N) sighed in relief. 

“That includes hurting you.” May finished. 

“Thanks, May,” She replied, sniffling. 

“Anytime sweetie” May responded, “Let me know if you need anything okay? I’m always here to talk to, and take care of your head, please? For my sake.”

(Y/N) chuckled at the woman’s worried tone, “I will, I promise.”

“Alright, see you in two weeks” May hung up the phone after (Y/N) reciprocated the farewell. The student stared at the open window of her hotel room, MJ’s empty bed giving her an option that she hadn’t considered in a long time. (Y/N) gathered up her courage and stepped outside onto the small balcony, gazing up to the roof. She looked to her watch, the faded leather device betraying how late it actually was. Without any hesitation she began to grasp hold of the balcony above her, climbing her way up the building like it was the scaffolding she was used to. By the time she made it to the roof, she could see all of Venice, and she noticed she wasn’t alone in her idea. 

“Hey stranger” (Y/N) offered, sitting next to him.

Peter jumped at the voice, relaxing when he saw who it was, “Oh, hey (Y/N), I-uh didn’t see you there.”

“Is everything okay?” (Y/N) echoed his sentiments back at him, watching his face for any sign of his secret identity. She was at least eighty percent sure he was the person she thought he was, but here he looked like a scared kid. 

Peter sighed, “Not really. I mean, we just barely escaped a water monster and my Aunt is freaking out and I have no one I can talk to about what I’m feeling, especially after Mr. Stark--”

“Hey, hey” (Y/N) comforted, taking his hands in hers, carelessly brushing the top of his palm. “Everything’s going to be okay. Mr. Stark would be proud of you. I don’t think he’d have given you what he did if he wasn’t.”

Peter sighed, eyes slightly wide at the implication, “I told you, I’m not--I’m not Spiderman,”

“Who said anything about Spiderman?” (Y/N) asked, catching Peter in the confession.

He chuckled at the small bit of manipulation, “How did you, um how did you figure it out?”

She pushed another curl behind her ear, “You’re really bad at keeping secrets.” was all she said, instead of admitting that she’s been watching him since he got the internship. And even closer after MJ told her what happened in DC. 

“I guess” Peter chuckled, staring out at the city before turning toward her. “How did you get up there today? On the roof?”

(Y/N)’s smile dropped at the question, unsure if she should tell him about the part of her she’s hated since she was a little girl. Unsure if she should admit that the only reason she’s so powerful is because her dad forced her into a life she didn’t want. 

Her body seemed to go against her better instincts, and her brain supposed that Peter deserved some truth of the situation after getting identity exposed like this. 

“I have something I want to show you” (Y/N) admitted, taking her hands out of Peter’s. His brow crinkled in confusion at the cryptic statement, but he crossed his arms, ready to see what she wanted to show him. 

She opened her palm, allowing the energy to dance across her fingertips, illuminating the dark rooftop. 

Peter’s eyes went wide at the display, hands reaching up to his face in awe. “You--You have, You’re like--You’re like Scarlet Witch, but like with blue powers, you’re the Blue Witch!” He exclaimed, rambling excitedly. 

(Y/N) sighed in relief at his reaction, unsure when she began to worry about what Peter thought of her. “Well, I hope I have a cooler name than that” She chuckled. 

Peter’s eyes lit up like they did when he solved a difficult equation, “Mysterio said they called you Hourglass back on his earth, apparently, you had some sort of connection to time. He thought it was you on the streets today, but he wasn’t sure.”

(Y/N) extinguished the energy at that statement. “Wait, you talked to Mysterio?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded excitedly, “He told me how relieved he was to see you alive in this universe, since you, you know, died in the last one.”

She shook her head in disbelief, “Wait, this universe?” “Yeah, there’s a multiverse, that’s where Mysterio came from.” Peter explained, “Or I guess I should call him Beck. He said that Hourglass and him were related back on his earth, I think they were brother and sister.”

Peter stopped as he realized the words that were coming out of his mouth, “Maybe your father is this universe’s Quentin Beck, that’s why he seemed so shook when he saw you.”

(Y/N) bit her lip as he got dangerously close to the truth. So that was the story he was going with. An interdimensional being sent here to chase down whatever had attacked them that day. 

“Peter, you need to calm down” (Y/N) grasped his hand once again drawing his attention back on her.

“Why?” Peter asked, “This is amazing news. Not only do I have Mysterio to talk to about superhero stuff, but I have you as well. Now we can take down those elementals together!”

(Y/N) was speechless at his proposal. Whatever Quentin had said had already warped Peter’s mind. 

“Peter, listen to me,” (Y/N) gripped his hands, a serious expression crossing her face. “You can’t trust him. You can’t.”

“Why not?” Peter asked, his smile dimming.

(Y/N) sighed, ready to admit the whole sob story. If it was what it took to make Peter listen, then it was necessary. She just hoped he would forgive her. 

“Because he--Mysterio, he’s...”

But all it took was one look in Peter’s eyes. Those big brown orbs were reaching so far for hope, she saw something that she had lost so long ago. 

He was finally happy to have people who understood him. And she wouldn’t take that away from her. 

“You just can’t.” She lied instead, chest twisting, “You just have to trust me on this okay?”

Peter nodded, his gaze drawing itself back to the lit up city, hand still intertwined with her own.

Thank you for this positive feedback! I’m still trying to figure out how to write Y/N’s powers, but I hope this is good enough for now. If you have any ideas let me know!

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[weracetogether]

RAGBRAI 2019- The Stories of Iowa https://ift.tt/39j7gz4 I will tell the story of RAGBRAI 2019 as all stories are told, from the conclusion. Over the week we rode for 553 miles and climbed for over 21,000 feet. We had five bike mechanical issues requiring shop stops on the way. We had 14 and 13 beer stops, one pork chop, a wood fired pizza, countless pies, cinnamon rolls, pancakes and sausage, cheesecake, cookies, cobbler, homemade icecream, bbq, tacos, BLT, noodles, fresh sweet corn, gyros, pickles, french toast, and I am sure a few other things I am forgetting. We listened to two lines of about 200 songs (and sang the rest of the songs...well I did). We saw cows, horses, kittens, rams, goats, donkeys, rabbits, and one golden retriever (a half mile from the Mississippi). We threw over 20 milkweed balls. We encountered hundreds of people with stories and laughter. We thanked officers and paramedics and nice old church ladies. Well, that's the overview; now for the stories!!!

USAF cycling team- out to help!

Please note the stories may not be told by day- because this is RAGBRAI!!!! (If you don't understand let's go to Iowa the last week of July and bring your bike.) BIKE SHOPS ON THE ROAD RAGBRAI is a traveling city of support, including traveling bike shops. These shops manage everything from flat tires (because yes, people on a 500 miles ride forgot to learn how to change a tube or to even bring a spare tube) to broken bikes (no seriously, "here are the three parts of the bike and this piece that is hanging off. Can you fix it?"). No matter what was brought to them the bike shop staff were always smiling. We know this because for the first four days we became friends with the guys at Bike World and then the next three days we rode by getting "hellos" and waves, while they asked about our bikes. It all started on day 1!! This was our gravel day and the first day we met Brad. Oh Brad!! We were about five miles out from the overnight town when we stopped at a small pass through town on a big hill. After a quick stop I picked up my bike and suddenly it won't roll down the hill. This is not even me being on the bike pedaling, it won't roll down the hill. In this moment Patrick says the best line of the day (maybe the trip)-- "It is operator error or is something wrong?" The look I gave him at this moment I am sure said a bunch of curse words that I won't type out here, but "are you kidding me right now" would have also been communicated in the moment. So I did what any person who has been riding a bike for ten hours would do; I handed Patrick my bike and said here you roll it down the hill. When it stopped and refused to move for him too, he confirmed it was in fact not operator error. Oh good, because I was worried this was going to be a long week of me not knowing how to use a bike (please read that line in the most sarcastic tone with eye roll.). This led to us going back up the hill with what ended up being a broken spoke. Turns out the gravel may have jostled more than my internal organs. This was when we first met Brad. Brad who was putting back together other bikes with "brake problems", "derailer problems", and "I don't know what happened problems", smiled as we stood there waiting our turn. Brad then looked at my bike and confirmed, again, it was not operator error. Then he proceeded to fix the problem. Now you might be thinking "great job Brad, way to fix that issue." But this would not be our last encounter with Brad or Bike World and one other bike shop I don't recall the name of, sorry. Nope Brad would go on to fix Patrick's chain and adjust his cables for better shifting up hills; Bike World would go on to sell me a tire (not a tube, a tire-- this will be important later), an the other bike shop would also sell me a tire and fix my bottom bracket making my bike no longer sound like a paint can rattling up hills. Every time we needed help they were there (or close enough) and they were light hearted with positive words and smiles. We laughed through being close to tears each time we stood at their tents. And Brad-- you ROCK!!! And I am glad you got to see your mom during the trip and got a good home-cooked meal!!! GRAVEL Holy crap super fun day!!!! I was in love with riding the gravel loop the moment my tires hit that slightly muddy, somehow dusty, all bumpy road. However, my riding buddy was not feeling the same way. This was day one of riding and seriously trying not to die or end up with serious injury on day one was a HUGE concern on this 18 mile loop. At about 3/4 of a mile into the gravel course and Patrick announced he was done (there may have been curse words; correction there were curse words). I was now between a gravel road and a tough place, like the end of our adventure on day one. I stood at the top of this little hill, looking at the bigger hill, while Patrick wrestled his demons. But lets be fair I stood there like a three year old with a five dollar bill outside an icecream shop. I am pretty sure I was trying not to smile and bounce and yell, "This is F-ing awesome" (ok so to be honest I may have yelled that)!!! This moment was not about me; I was ride or die and there was honestly a chance at death since this was a new riding type for us. Patrick agreed to go up the next hill which would put us about a mile into the 18 mile ride and maybe 200 feet of the 1500 feet climbing on this loop done. At the top of the next hill we stopped (me still in three year old  "Can we PLEASE do this" mode). To my excitement Patrick now announced that while this was clearly a bad idea, maybe not our worse idea but a bad one, he was game to go!!! Pretty sure I was fist pumping the air and yelling "they can't take our freedom" as I headed down the hill full speed. We would stop a few more times at the top of hills with Patrick shaking his head and me bouncing on my dirt packed cycling cleats. We would also make it about five miles from the end of the loop when the rain came back. This added a new component of mud to the course. I was told on several occasions to be careful, even by the ladies at the patch stop (Pottawattamie County, the highest county in Iowa, yeah that wasn't on the description). It seems people know that look in my eye of "I live for danger" and they all try to help Patrick to control this behavior in order that I may not find out where the nearest hospital is in Pottawattamie County (I can tell you it was not going to be on the gavel road we were riding). We made it safely to asphalt again and Patrick's death grip on his handlebars loosened, high fives were given, and oh yeah, tires were changed (tires that I would carry on my bike for the rest of the day-- I honestly didn't mind the attention, because "hell yeah we did the gravel"). For the rest of the trip any gravel on the road was met with Patrick yelling "gravel" in his best Clint Eastwood raspy voice. Because when you overcome the gravel loop you announce that this is old news to you and you are invincible (well, except for that broken spoke mentioned earlier). MILKWEED BALLS

Patrick is attracted to oddities (I mean he married me, you have to know this statement is true). So when he saw a tent with butterflies and heard the words "do you want balls" he couldn't deny the intrigue. Turns out Milkweed Matters is an Iowa group who puts together milkweed balls for cyclist the throw along the roads of Iowa in an effort to grow more milkweed to help the monarch butterflies to thrive in Iowa. Here's what you do-- you pick up milkweed balls, which are designed with "clay" as a no till natural tilling seeding method, you put them in your pocket, you ride your bike along the roadway, you find an area where other wildflowers are growing, where there is no mowing and no crops, then you toss them out there. That's it! Each day the tents are located on the route and you pick up more balls to throw. (You do get told not to eat them and not to take them out of the area, as this milkweed is specific to growing in this area.) A few notes- throwing things from your bike is awkward (for me) and you get dirty looks from those who don't know. I explained on more than one occasion that I was not throwing trash on the roadway, I was throwing milkweed. To which the most common response was a roll of the eyes. (Look people I am saving butterflies here. Does someone saving butterflies litter? No, no they don't. They save the fucking butterflies!!!) JERSEYS THAT BIND US

In cycling events what you wear matters. Things like shorts, padding, gloves, helmet, all very important; but your jersey cements who you are in the minds of those passing or being passed. This is your calling card, it is the story you will tell for the day-- for one day, maybe one mile, but it will forever define you for that person. This is why the jersey is a very important choice. Jerseys bring out the conversations in people. They are easy talking points- "oh you have a jellyfish on your jersey, I was once stung by one"; "Oh your jersey has an anatomically correct heart on it, does it mean something (the answer is no, it just looked tough)". The conversations go on like this. But there are these jersey conversations that also stick out. Patrick was wearing his Escape from Alcatraz jersey. We had done the race a number of years ago. This jersey was noticed and remarked on often during the day. We were standing around in a pass-through town when I guy came up and mentioned that he had done the race back in the late 90's. He told of how much we liked the race and visiting California. he then said, "Yeah, I did the race because when I was a kid we were visiting Alcatraz when the escape happened. I remember the sirens and the commotion." At this point all Patrick and I could do was stare at the guy who didn't lead with this part of the story; no it was a casual second thought. I am pretty sure I questioned the guy, "You mean you were in San Francisco when the escape occurred?" He looked at me like he shouldn't have to repeat himself, but very nicely he said, "Yeah we were there on a family vacation looking at the island when it all happened." Then he said the following, "Well, you guys have a nice ride." Wait!!! What just happened???? Patrick and I just stood there for a minute as this guy walked on to talk to other people. Then I am pretty sure we just started laughing. This is what happens on RAGBRAI, you meet people, they tell you something cool or unique or unexplainable, and then they are gone.  WE STOP FOR BEER-- WELL, IOWA CRAFT BEER TENTS RAGBRAI is a drinking game. We found out from a friend (Thanks, Kevin) that on the route would be these white beer tents- IOWA CRAFT BEER TENT (a mix of Iowa breweries)- and you could get an armband. This armband was the gateway to a free tshirt at the end of the week. Here are the rules-- Get a band; Buy a $5 craft beer or root beer at the tents; You must buy at least ten beers and you have 14 stops to achieve the goal; Only one beer per stop will count towards your total. The second set of rules that you have to follow is how to get your beer-- Have your money out; pick which beer and learn its number; get in line; walk to your beer's number; grab beer off the table; walk through, handing your money to the staff at the end of the line; scan your armband; find a shady place to sit and drink. It is a super easy process, except for on the first day when you didn't read the sign about having out money, this gets you a few dirty looks that say "bless her little heart". Patrick will tell you the process was slightly different, because for him he walked through the line and told the money taker "she's paying for me." To which I always answered, "I don't know him." And then the money taker took my $10 without any gesture to give me change.  Now, those are the rules, but the game is really-- "What can Teresa drink and still ride and then what can Teresa drink and not feel that weird pain in her left ankle?" GAME ON. Each day there were two stops, three on one day and only one on the last day. We made a plan to stop at each stop starting on day one. This was a good plan because the beer stop on day one was after the gravel, a celebration beer for sure. For the most part the last beer tent was about 10 miles outside of town which gave me a great opportunity to have a dark beer and still be able to get to the night town safely. We never had a bad beer. A few "not my favorites" but never a bad one. In fact the day I had to drink before 9am (because it was short course day) I had a blueberry pancake beer which was the perfect breakfast!!! Mostly at the first stop I had a root beer or a cider (because fruit mid morning does not bring about judgement).  The IOWA Craft Beer Tent would also play a vital role in the State Trooper Story found later in this post. BUGS OF IOWA

On the first night in Iowa I got bit by a bug on my ankle. I'm from Florida so I get bit by bugs all the freaking time. But this REALLY hurt. The following day my ankle was hurting on the ride, like really hurting. By the following day my ankle was swelling and bruising-- and hurting every time my shoe touched it (which is a lot over 70 miles a day). Moral of the story Iowa has bugs that belong in Australia!!!! PIE

I know it is a photo of icecream.

One does not talk about RAGBRAI without talking about pie. Honestly, it is one of the reasons to love RAGBRAI and if you don;t understand this this you missed the point of RAGBRAI. The best pies you will find will be the pie stands with 7 year olds or 70 year olds handing out the pies. There is only one rule in RAGBRAI- eat pie, eat pie often! A TIRE, A GIRL, AND A COP WALK INTO A BEER TENT The final story I will tell about RAGBRAI 2019 is a story about the greatness that is the Iowa State Patrol. It was day four (of seven) Patrick and I were set to do the Karras loop which puts the ride miles over a century ride. We had finished the loop and all the hills required to get there. We were ready to get another fruit smoothy and a beer before we checked this day off the list. During the loop my bottom bracket started to sound like a paint can rattling with every push. I knew I was going to be stopping again at a bike shop tent to figure out this sound, because one thing was for sure it was not a "happy" biking sound. Not to be out done Patrick decided to get a flat tire. Not just any flat but a full tire blow out. This would be his second in the week (we are on day FOUR)- the "other" tire. I am pretty sure at this moment my actual words were, "You are fucking kidding me?" Patrick shook his head, "nope". Then many more curse words got said in that moment. Given that my bike actually could be ridden I decided to ride ahead to scout out a bike shop tent. Well, there was not one at the first town down the road. I can back to let Patrick know that I was going to rid on till I found the bike tent and I would bring back a tire for him. He was to sit under the tent at Tom the Turkey and get a fruit smoothy. Funny enough he had "ride friends" there who had been on the course and at this stop with us previously. I rode up about 10 miles and found the bike repair tent. I told the guys about my bike and the paint can noise. "Sure we can look and fix it, but it is going to take a minute." Great, well you see the other problem is my husband needs a tire and is ten miles that way (pointing back down the road). The bike shops guys could not leave and pack up yet and only had the shop truck. I looked around and saw a state trooper vehicle. I asked the bike guy if he knew where the state trooper was located. He pointed up the hill near the beer tent as he handed me the tire I needed to get to Patrick. I told him thanks and that I was going to be back for my bike after I got the tire to my husband. The guy yelled "good luck" as I marched up the hill.

Actual photo sent to State Trooper. Patrick with a bag of unmarked medication.  

The State Troopers were walking away when I stopped them. They turned around and the only way I can explain this is they looked like "Super Troopers"- mustaches and aviator sunglasses in place. I smiled, I did not laugh. I told them I had a situation. I then explained that they could either take me and the tire to my husband or they could take the tire to my husband. Yep, you heard that right- there was no option to tell me no. They noticed that too and looked at each other like I was a unicorn asking for directions. After a few moments of repeating the request, officer one tried to tell me they could not do it but officer two said they had to call their supervisor. I told them I would wait. Officer two walked away, I swear he looked like he was pretending to dial. Officer one just started at me. I looked over my shoulder to see the bike shop guys watching and smiling. Officer two walked back up shaking his head- not at me but as his partner. I was grinning so big when he told Officer one that the supervisor had given the go ahead to take the tire to my husband.

Loop patches.

As Officer one stood there astonished at the response. I began to tell the Officer two what my husband looked like and where he was located. This took much longer than I intended, as it seems the officers were not familiar with the area. We played a game of"who's on first" when I was telling them I had no idea what the two name was but that I knew he was as the Tom Turkey tent and that said tent was ten miles "that way". The officer rolled his eyes at me. I never lost it wanting to yell at him, Dude I am from Florida. DO you know where Florida is? A hell of a lot further away than your house." But I didn't, nope I took a deep breath and explained one more time where I left my husband. Oh wait it gets better. The officer asked for my husband's cell number. The issue here is that my husband's phone died earlier in the day and is in my pack on my bike. In full disclosure I told the officer this information. Officer two looked at me dumbfounded and officer one I am pretty sure threw up his arms in a "are you fucking kidding me" gesture. Officer two, after a few deep breaths, looks at me and says, "You know you are making this very difficult for us?" What I didn't say was "if you had left fifteen minutes ago when I gave you the details you would be there by now and not standing here dealing with me." Instead I told him "I know. And I promise I am not trying to but let's be honest cell phones aren't working out here anyway." Then I told him that what I did have was a photo of my husband form earlier today. I actually had a photo of him sitting in the exact spot that he would later be found in!! I also gave the officer a friend's phone number. A friend who I knew was still out of the road, and who I also knew was more than likely not near Patrick, but it was my best chance (the cops never called Kevin).

Kevin and Kelly- TEAM AWESOME

What would follow was 45 minutes worth of me texting with the officer, who turns out gave the tire to his supervisor to take up the road. I am pretty sure the man was irritated in giving me his number but he answered each text with updates. Until the final notice that Patrick had the tire in hand. I thanked the officer for his help and that the people of Iowa, him included, were amazing. In the meantime, I had gone back to the bike repair tent. I was greeted by laughter form the guys who all talked over each other in disbelief that the officer took the tire from me to go in search of my husband. The guys were nearly done with my bike, so what was there to do but o grab a beer (before the tent closed for the night). There I sat, with my fixed bike, on the side of the road, drinking a root beer (yeah, I know my limits) as first Kevin can riding up. When I said "Hi" and then "did a cop call you" the rest of the story got told with laughter following. As I glanced over the left at the road left behind, there he was, riding up the hill with a huge smile on his face. We both started laughing as he rode up. "I guess the State Trooper found you?" I asked him. "Yeah, he did. How?" It was a story told again from the bike seat as we traveled the rest of the way to town, laughing at how a girl got an officer to take a tire up the road by the power of demand. Let me say this in closing of this story- Thank you to the State Troopers who helped us out and kept us safe for not only this one moment but for the whole ride. The officers were amazing being there with support, blaring music, and a helping hand. There are many more stories to tell of RAGBRAI. Stories of lighting bugs, sunrise and sunsets, award winning cinnamon rolls, water slides, rock bands, and holding hands. But for now this is RAGBRAI!   RAGBRAI 2019 has come a gone, but the stories will live forever!!!    

[speckledbears]

Thoughts on “Far From Home”

SPOILERS FOR “Spider-Man: Far From Home”!!!!

this is for you anon

ok so basically i thought that it would have been good if it wasn’t a Spider-Man (“children’s”) movie.

Like, I think Quentin (Jake G) was such an interesting character, and an amazing villain but, I hated that his entire reason was because he wanted to be the New Iron Man. It bugs me to NO END that THATS the reason. Tony stole the projector tech he made, made fun of him (even if the audience didn’t know), and fired him. I think that’s a much better reason than wanting to be the next Annoying, Mean, Rich Rich Rich So Fucking Rich Metal Guy. The tech was so fucking cool? Like, projectors that seemed so lifelike,,, that’s so cool (also i kinda feel like you could relate it to how disney is only using GCI now but the russos are dumbasses). And like, the story Quentin and his team put together for Mysterio, and all the planning and the production value (if you can call it that lol) was so interesting and I was so intrigued. If there was a movie for him, and he didn’t fucking suck, I would pay to see it. His issue is that he’s so hellbent on killing Peter, MJ and Ned that I was put-off from like, half the movie. It’s kinda terrifying that someone can say, “I’ll just have to kill the kids myself,” and NO ONE IS CONCERNED??? And the fact that he was willing to kill innocent civilians just to make headlines, that’s fucked (and modern). Also, I think the directors missed out on a big opportunity for Peter to have a new father figure. Peter looked up to Quentin, trusted him, seeked him out for advice, like he would a father. I don’t remember him ever doing that with Tony. Peter was always too worried he was bothering him, and Tony seemed to brush him off a lot. Sure, Tony picked him and placed so much faith in him but, in the end? I feel Peter became more of a toy for the Avengers than an actual team member. If Quentin had been a good guy, doing this shit for the “right reasons” (idk like, taking the burden of becoming Iron Man off Peter, and maybe mentoring him) he could’ve been AMAZING. I still love him (except his dumb reasons) but, y’all missed out!!!!

Next: The whole deal with Peter being chosen by Tony to be the next Iron Man. Fucking hate that shit!!!!! Peter is a CHILD, he’s 16, and obviously he’s not ready for that responsibility!!!! In the movie, he’s manipulated by Quentin (which i lowkey also hate and explained above) and he just!!! gave EDITH to him!!!!! He’s a good kid, but not mature or responsible enough to handle having access to that kind of tech. I mean, dude almost killed a classmate?? Literally called a drone strike on the kid, couldn’t figure out how to cancel it, and destroyed the drone himself. Let’s not forget that this responsibility was FORCED ON HIM BY TONY???? Like, there was this scene where Peter literally told Quentin that he didn’t want EDITH!!! He didn’t want that kind of responsibility that came with being Iron Man!!! All he wanted for the summer was to hang out with his friends and kiss the girl he likes!!! Peter just wanted to be a normal child for one summer and, apparently, that was too much to ask for. Also, in the scene where Happy and Peter are in the jet talking about Tony, Peter says that he doesn’t know if he can be the new Iron Man. Happy doesn’t even hesitate when he says, “No, you can’t. No one can replace him.” Like hello!!!! And then they immediately forget that little nugget of wisdom, and Peter starts playing with Tony’s tech and literally everyone with eyes can draw the parallels between Peter and Tony. It’s frustrating. I hated how Tony was treated after his death. I completely understand mourning a character, especially one as important as Tony Stark, but it didn’t feel like mourning. It felt like worshipping. Tony had become a martyr, and he fucking knew it (EDITH = Even Dead, I’m The Hero 🙄) and people are still licking his boots. It’s just so weird that, even though he’s supposed to be dead, he’s still a main character and RDJ isn’t even in the movie!!!!!!!! When a character dies, that’s it, they can’t directly influence the story anymore, and yet Tony is still the reason for everything Peter does? He doesn’t have his own initiative. He lived and breathed in Tony’s shadow, and he’ll live in it forever. He’s being forced to become the next Iron Man. And believe me, I love Tony. I grew up watching the “Iron Man” movies with my parents and brother, and I remember watching one in the theatre and laughing till I cried. Guys! He’s dead! He’s done more than enough! It’s Spider-Man’s turn now.

I really hated Nick Fury in this movie. I grew up watching the OG Marvel movies and I loved Nick, but holy fuck. This dude hounded Peter, a CHILD, for help against those Elementals when he could’ve literally asked anyone else (side note: he shot Ned with a tranquilizer dart like? dude he’s a child calm down-). He gave a shit ton of excuses for why he couldn’t get in contact with the other Avengers but, I call bullshit. This dude is like, one of the most powerful men in the world (Quentin’s words, but it’s also been proven in other movies). He managed to track down Peter, how is it THAT HARD for him to find an adult??? Then he hijacked the school trip so that Peter would be in Prague, and he KNEW that once Peter was there he would help. It’s manipulation. Never mind the scene like, 5 mins later where Peter says he’s worried about his friends getting hurt (and having EDITH but not really understanding her), and Nick exploded on him. LIKE DUDE??? he’s a child. I’m also super pissed off at the fact that Nick manipulated Peter using his Avenger status. OOOOHHHH you whore!!! Literally everyone knows that Peter loved Tony (🙄🙄) and he used him against Peter! ASK AN ADULT FOR HELP YOU HAVE AN ENTIRE TEAM OF THEM????? Oh also, the bitch KNEW Quentin was evil. There’s a scene that proves it. It’s right after their first meeting where Peter says no, and leaves. Nick and Maria (the brunette lady hes always with, im surprised i remembered her name) share a knowing glance. They fucking KNOW. And yet?? They let Quentin do whatever the hell he wants?? He literally tried to kill 3 teenagers, and planned to kill hundreds of civilians in London (and i’m not sure if anyone did get hurt or died but, i wouldn’t be surprised). But the most powerful man in the world can’t stop him, apparently. He wants a 16-year-old CHILD to do it for him. It’s ridiculous!

The romance was also a bit hit-or-miss for me. Like, Ned and Betty?? It felt so forced and contrived? It literally only existed so that MJ could take Ned’s place. Y’all notice that Ned basically ditched his best friend for the entire movie for some girl he barely knows? Also, the fact that they “fell in love” on an eight hour flight. Hate that. It’s such a trope and it’s ugly. The romance with Happy and May was kinda weird, too? I mean, I don’t know their past together. I didn’t watch “Infinty War” or “Endgame” but, it also felt forced. Especially at the end, when Peter asked if they were dating!! May said no and Happy said yes!! I’m assuming that’s supposed to be comedy?? ig??? Anyway, I didn’t really like the romantic rivalry between Brad and Peter? (btw no shit i almost called peter “tony” i’m telling y’all they’re synonymous now). Like, Brad’s logic in using the photo of Peter stripping to “expose the truth” about Peter to MJ was so weird and awkward? The entire scene felt forced and I was so uncomfortable watching it. Also, MJ would’ve stuck up for Peter anyway, so it didn’t even matter, and the rivalry was dropped so easily after the opera in Prague. I did actually like the romance between Peter and MJ, even though I wasn’t expecting to. It’s a bit weird how quickly he got over Liz, but whatever; he’s a teenager. (I was going to comment on the necklace thing but, that’s actually kind of in character for him so, y’all get ONE (1) pass). I thought their hug and kiss at the end of the battle with Quentin was super fucking sweet and innocent, and it was refreshing compared to most teen romance movies where they act like adults instead. I was in LOVE with that scene, and it was one of the only scenes I honestly loved.

Ok, I wanna go back to Quentin for a bit. This dude absolutely destroyed the Peter Parker we were given in HOCO, and at the beginning of the movie. Yeah, Tony already had him as a puppet, but Quentin took his innocence. Y’all saw how easily Peter trusted people before him!! Like?? When he found out Quentin manipulated him, he lost almost all his faith in other people, except for MJ and Ned. For example, the scene where Peter calls Happy to pick him up because he’s in a holding cell in the Netherlands? Love that scene BUT! As he’s limping over to Happy, so obviously fucked up and hurting, he makes Happy prove it’s really him. THAT FUCKING HURT LMAO!!!!! I hated that. And that last battle with Quentin on the bridge? He maneuvered so easily through the drones, it was impressive, and he’d only fought against them once before (seems impossible but whatever). And watching the projections dissolve away into just pixels and a scared little bitch in a fish bowl helmet? Classic Theatre. But, he was traumatized by previous experiences fighting Quentin. Peter’s growth made the movie good but, his loss of innocence really made this movie kinda suck. Sure, his innocence still there—the scenes later with MJ prove that—but he’s still lost his easy trust in other people. It hurt to see. And, like, I’m not saying he can’t be more mature but, he didn’t even trust Happy!! He’s so paranoid that he’ll find his loved ones replaced by Quentin’s illusions!! It sucks!!!! Peter isn’t Peter without that sense of childlike wonder, curiosity, and helpless faith in others.

Anyway, I wanna talk about that Netherlands scene again because, holy shit, I loved it. After Peter was hit by that train (i actually screamed but the cinematography inside the train? *kiss*), he wakes up in some holding cell in the Netherlands with a band of friendly locals, and the guard, who’s talking on the phone with his pregnant wife. I don’t know why but, that scene was one of the first to make me smile? Like, it was so sweet how the other men were so happy for the guard and his wife, how they gave Peter a spare shirt because he looked cold, how Peter just broke the lock and left? How the guard was wearing Peter’s mask???? I’m in love. The next scene I liked was literally right after, of Peter limping through the tulip field, and Happy landing the jet nearby. Without dialogue, that scene is so pretty?? The petals stirring in the wave the jet left as it landed?? The HUG???? UGH! I fell in love. Another scene I loved was the scene when Peter went to Berlin to meet with Nick Fury and Quentin manipulated it with the projection technology. Even though I knew it was fake, I was worried about what was going on outside the projection (he got hit by a fucking train so,,,,,, iwas right to be worried-). Watching Peter so helpless and trying to stay vigilant was so heartbreaking, yet I was lowkey impressed. Like? How many other mean ass men could pull that off? None, next question. I can’t even think about how to explain it. I watched that scene at least 3 times, and was amazed every time, my only thoughts anxiety for Peter.

Okay, lastly, I wanna talk about the tech. I thought it was so interesting and unique. Like, I’ve played with the idea of projection in stories, or with characters as magic but, never considered applying it through technology, especially tech as capable as it is. And every scene where the projections were being used were amazing. I mean, obviously it’s CGI, but in the context of the MCU, it’s so interesting and cool to see tech like that used in a very public way. And no one knew!!! The whole system (along with Quentin and his team) was so good at camouflaging that I was fooled at the beginning of the movie. I seriously believed in the Elementals and Mysterio’s ruined Earth. It’s part of the reason I really enjoyed his character. And, like I said earlier, Peter was fooled by it too; everyone was. He learned it, eventually. But not before Quentin could manipulate the situation one last time and claim Peter called the drone attacks on London, and revealed his identity.

All in all, I didn’t have fun watching “Far From Home,” and it’s mainly because it didn’t feel like a Spider-Man movie. I enjoyed “Homecoming,” so much more. The villain was far more relatable (even though you could see it as demonizing the poor), Ned and Peter’s friendship was so wholesome and sweet, the entire cast was fun, and it was more enjoyable than watching some angry rich white man trying to kill children so he can get richer.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

The Deadly Game

Ok, so people said they wanted to read this, so ask, and ye shall receive! I am actually super eager to see what y’all think of this little snapshot (although knowing me “little” is about three pages in Word lol). It’s not action-packed, but it is pretty tense. I hope it’s as tense as I intended it to be. I hope you guys like it because I kind of want to write more; this show is dark, which means an opportunity to see how dark Heather can go! 

Quick disclaimer: if you have not watched Scooby Doo: Mystery Incorporated (which, what is wrong with you, go watch it this instant), BEWARB! There are like huge spoilers ahead! I also own nothing except the awesome badass that is Heather McMann. Read on and enjoy, you meddling kids!

It was late at night by the time Heather got home. She rode up her driveway and stopped, killing the engine and removing her helmet. As she got off her motorcycle, she stopped and looked up at her house.

There was an uneasy feeling in her stomach, the feeling that something was off. Not enough that she wasn’t fearing going into her house altogether, but enough that she definitely felt it as she stared up at her house.

Of course, she’d felt such feelings ever since she first set foot in Crystal Cove—the whole town felt off no matter where she went. She put down the bike pedal and headed up the walkway to her front door, ready to grab her phone in case she needed to call the police. 

Heather unlocked her door, and stepped inside, shutting nd locking the door behind her. She entered her living room and looked around, taking in her surroundings in the light from the kitchen and the small nightlight she had plugged in somewhere. Nothing seemed out of place, or stolen. Plus her front door had been locked, and thanks to her investment in a good burglar alarm, she would have known if someone—or something—had broken in.

Unless, of course, they disabled the alarm.

Heather tried to ignore the thought and kept scanning the room. Then her eyes fell on the window across the room. It was one of the windows of her house that received the most sunlight, so it had various flower pots clustered around it.

And it was also wide open.

Heather’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps she was wrong, but she was very sure that window had been closed before she left.

Now on high alert, Heather stepped over to the window and inspected it. From the bright light of the moon, she could clearly see that someone—or something—had forced it open. Heather slowly reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, unlocking it and meaning to call the police.

“What beautiful flowers you have.” Heather froze at the voice. It was light and pleasant-sounding, with a thick German accent. She knew that voice.

Heather turned around, putting her phone back into her pocket. Sitting perched on top of her armchair was a parrot. He was partly enshrouded in shadow, but there was enough light for Heather to make out his purple plumage, the white hair atop his head, and the purple scarf around his neck. She could also see his one piercing green eye, and his other milky eye—although that was due to the long scar traveling down his face and through his eye. He was sitting there casually, as though he did this all the time, and was stroking one of the flowers from the nearest hanging pot with one of his wings.

“One of the things you miss when you are in a cage,” he said, almost conversationally, “is the simple beauty of the flowers. It is good for me that you adore them so much.”

His voice—gods, Heather hated that voice. It sounded almost naturally pleasant, like he was having a good day just by seeing you. It promised things, things you didn’t even know you wanted yet. And just about anyone could be manipulated by that voice, without even realizing it.

That was, of course, only if you didn’t know the intimate details of the animal it belonged to. Which Heather did.

She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d heard you escaped your cage. I figured you’d come visit me eventually.”

“As always, my dear schwarze dahlie, your keen intelligence is refreshing. I cannot begin to tell you the stupidity of some of the guards at the animal asylum.”

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from Professor Pericles, the only bird worthy of a mention on a list of sociopaths?”

Pericles merely smiled at her, and somewhere in her mind she knew he knew her hatred of that smile. “Merely to pay an old freunde a visit.”

Anger flared up in her. “We are not friends. We were never friends.”

“True, but we shared mutual friends. How are dear Brad and Judy?” Heather hesitated. “Now, now, my dear schwarze dahlie, it is a simple question. You mustn’t be so paranoid.”

She had good reason to be paranoid. But Heather decided nonetheless to answer with the truth. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from them in years. But you, of course, know perfectly well why.”

Pericles nodded in concession. “True. I do hope they stayed together—such a lovely couple they made. Their son is a perfect mix of them, wouldn’t you say?”

Heather froze, nails digging into the sleeves of her jacket.

“My dear schwarze dahlie, you really think I couldn’t see the resemblance dear Frederick has to his parents? One look at the boy told me all I needed to know. It is lucky for our dear Mayor that Frederick grew to resemble him—saves a lot of questions from being asked.”

Heather wanted to growl at him. Instead she just gritted her teeth and glared at him. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the police.”

Pericles simply laughed at her. “Call the police? Oh, but my dear woman, we both know you will do nothing of the kind.”

“How do you know?” she challenged. She pulled out her phone and held it up, showing him the number pad on the screen. “I could call them right now, and send you back to that cage where you belong.”

Pericles eyed the phone screen, and Heather was pleased to hear the pause before he spoke again. “You would do well to remember who you are dealing with, my dear schwarze dahlie.”

“And you would do well to remember who you are dealing with,” Heather returned. “You may have the smartest brain in the world, but you’re still a little bird. I could easily overpower you and send you back to prison, save Mystery Inc. and Mr. E the trouble of having to track you down.”

Pericles’s eyes narrowed; he was seriously considering her words. “So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t do all of that right now.”

“The fact that we both know it will solve nothing,” Pericles answered, in far too smooth a voice for Heather’s liking. “Even if you succeed in sending me back, in the end, it will solve none of the problems Mystery Incorporated faces. And,” Pericles added, “if such a thing occurs, where you do send me back, in the end, all the secrets you have worked to bury will be brought to light again, most likely by the same kinder you wish to protect.”

Heather glared at him, working to keep her voice even. “That’s never going to happen. Even you, for all your smarts, know nothing of who I truly am.” A small smirk came to her face. “I’m the one puzzle you can’t figure out.”

Both of them knew she was right. Sure, Pericles knew some details—why else would he take such pleasure in calling her that nickname?—but even what he knew wasn’t the real truth. It was the one victory Heather had over the damned bird, knowing that she had buried her past so well even he couldn’t find it.

“Perhaps,” Pericles said, and even though his voice sounded the same Heather saw in his body how miffed he was by that reminder. “But the fact of it solving nothing still stands. You know this as well as I do. The die has been cast; the game has begun once more. Fortunately for you, and the kinder, it is important that they remain alive. So you may take solace in that I do not mean them any harm.” For now. 

She didn’t take much solace in that at all. “If that’s all you came here to tell me,” Heather said, “then it’s best you leave. It’d be a shame if all of your plans were to be ruined by a neighbor seeing me talking to you.”

“Not quite,” Pericles replied. “I have one more piece of advice. From this point on, I would watch your back. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to you for meddling into things beyond your understanding.”

“I could say the same for you,” Heather responded. “You should remember that when you try to meddle in things you don’t understand, you always pay the price. One way or another.”

She let that statement hang in the air in the ensuing silence.

“Well, we shall see,” Pericles said after a moment. He spread his wings and flapped himself up off the armchair. “Sleep well tonight, my dear schwarze dahlie. Flowers do not sell themselves.”

As Pericles flew toward the open window, Heather turned around to head down the hallway to her bedroom.

“I do have one more question to ask you,”

Heather stopped walking, but didn’t turn around. Pericles continued. “If you were the esteemed Mayor Jones, and you stole something from me… where would you hide it?”

For some reason, a part of Heather didn’t want to answer the question. For all her dislike of Jones, they were alike in that they knew how far Pericles was willing to go to get what he wanted. But then she remembered everything else Jones had done.

He got himself into this mess. Let him get himself out of it.

Heather turned her head towards Pericles, who was looking in her direction. “He trusts me about as far as he can throw me. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

She turned her head back around and disappeared down the hall, the sound of flapping wings haunting her every step. 

[saint-patrice]

“Tbh I would like to have the 34 *other* Bergy pics on your shortlist, complete with commentary lolol. And then (if you’re still waiting that is) any other Marchy pics with commentary? xD xD” 

here are some more of my favourite marchy pics, complete with my bizarre personal commentary, for anon! the 34 bergy pics can be found here also!

Note: a few people have said they like these posts, so i’m up for taking people’s requests if there’s a particular player they’d like to see! inbox is always open (and anon is on) so just drop me your request and i’ll get working on it :)

okay so this is some absolutely premium cute marchy!! the smile that manages to be completely self-confident yet in no way cocky? the polite little wave as he surveys his audience who, if i recall correctly, were booing him heavily?? oh i do love you mr rat. marchy is fantastic and i have so much respect for the way he deals with his reputation across the league and the excessive amount of shit he gets.he knows what people think of him yet doesn’t seem to let it get to him. i have so much love for him.

KATRINA IS LEGENDARY. before moving on to the part of the image that gave me whiplash when i first saw it, we’re back to talking about brad’s smile. i think i said it in my last post but he really is one of those people who smiles with their whole face - even if you just saw his eyes in this photo you can immediately tell that he’s got that little grin on his face and that’s adorable tbh. now onto the d*lf mug (censored bc i fear the dodgy underground porn blogs these days)… i don’t even know where to start. i feel like he very proudly bought it for himself. and it’s like the only mug he ever wants to drink out of. just my take. i also think the longer hair really suits marchy ngl

ahhh the boys and their dirtbag christmas suits 💛 highlights of this image are the suit jacket that is definitely just one size too small for this absolute man rocket, and the pants with “FRAGILE” plastered all over them - very relatable if not at all festive.

gay rights are stored in the rat!!! i’m glad marchy has been pretty open about his support of LGBT stuff, particularly within hockey. also i feel like some of the stuff he’s said in interviews or social media (esp re: lickgate) manages, even if not intentionally, to be quite diminutive towards implicit homophobia or ‘toxic masculinity’ within hockey. okay maybe that that was poorly expressed but basically he just doesn’t give a shit and appears very open and accepting and i think that’s super nice. this picture also makes for a good reaction image when someone says something dumb

short kings love.jpeg !! a wonderful example of the love that brad shows his teammates on a regular basis, despite his constant chirping. i have no real opinions on torey krug (no h8, i just don’t think i’ve seen that much of him off ice so idk) but him and marchy are quite the duo tbh, i live for their back and forths on twitter - more on that later - and they seem to love each other an awful lot, it’s v cute :^)

that’s my pest™. honestly i think lickgate is one of the best scandals in recent hockey history. when looking for a good image of this is saw an article where some dipshit reporter was outraged about it and was like “how would you feel if someone just came up and liked you?” i mean what if someone just came up and started punching you or hip-checked you into the wall????? hockey is a nasty game a lot of the time, and instead of giving people concussions or broken bones (not that he hasn’t in the past ik…) marchy managed to make opposing teams just as angry, if not moreso, just by licking players. i think it’s fucking hilarious. and most of them took it well in hindsight anyway - i think it was komarov who said he kinda liked it lmaoooooo. peak bradley kevin antics if you  ask me

every pic from the china trip has such a special place in my heart. this is just an all-round adorable photo and brad is looking gorgeous in the sunlight and his backwards cap

brad waving the towel in surrender is just about the funniest thing i’ve ever seen someone do in the penalty box… i can’t believe they gave him a 10 minute misconduct for it, something i think they’d wouldn’t have done if it had have been someone else. at least someone in this league has a goddamn sense of humour. the penalty minutes stat in the corner just makes this even better

brad, once again, showing us how we should deal with people talking shit about us - just get on board with it. i love how much he’s just embraced his massive nose and his height and his general reputation. idk if it’s really deliberate but i think it’s such a good message to send, and it makes for some pretty funny stuff too.

brad single-handedly keeps nhl refs in a job. in my bruins drinking game™ you have to take a shot every time the ref has to physically restrain marchy (2 if it’s because he was going to get revenge or fend for bergy) and you could get fucked off that alone during some games. it was nice to see him not actually get suspended this year, but i will always love that he’s such a physical player and quite the pest on the ice :))

me: *slaps helmet of brad marchand* this bad boy can fit so much personality.

really though, can you believe he’s managed to squeeze more charisma into only 5 feet and 9 inches than 85% of the league combined… very cute picture, and always lovely to see him by bergy’s side on the ice where he belongs

oh my goddddddd how fucking cute is this though!!!! the hat! the dad energy those jeans and the boots give off!!! his face!! his little daughter!!!!! i can’t take it, my heart is going to burst.

(gif via @kureally) this is also just so cute, i need a minute. brad has some very powerful eyebrows and this gif displays them wonderfully. this section of behind the b was also pretty sweet all round, and i agree with pasta that the hair is looking pretty first class

(gif via @murlin09) i am not like into marchy (no tea no shade if u are though), but this gif… whew. i’ll let you come to your own conclusions on this one, gang

i was not lying when i said more on the brad-torey social media antics earlier. there are some truly iconic chirps (the zamboni one is lethal), but this self-roast just kills me every time. i never once thought i’d read a tweet from the official brad marchand twitter account that opened with “hey shorty” but here we are. “my nose wouldn’t fit” i astral projected the first time i read that. and if you’re wondering what torey said to prompt this, it was simply “hey marchy”. it doesn’t take much for brad to light on you, huh? we better watch our backs

definitely a favourite marcheron pic right here - the pucks and paddles (i still think that’s a questionable name but maybe that’s a me issue) content is always top notch. if you can find the video, it’s even better, but this picture captures the general energy of the video perfectly. the only thing missing is that brad’s feet aren’t actually on the floor because the height difference is so pronounced that bergy has to lift him. beautiful

return of the cute brad smile!! a cute yet mischievous little grin, i can only assume he’s restraining himself from laughing at m*tthews fivehead (although who is he to talk with that schnozz. at least he rocks it tbf 👃🏻). not sure blue is really his colour but he’s going for it anyway. that’s my all star!

it’s been days since this photo first surfaced and i haven’t stopped palpitating. the cutest photo ever, they all look so happy and i love that!!! also how are their wives so beautiful….!? oh my every pixel of this image is just stunning

i know i included this in my last bergy list but if they can name new york twice i think i can put this on 2 lists, because lord knows it’s even more iconic. i feel like this is a good metaphor for brad marchand: getting up to no good, although still relatively harmless, all the while supported by the considerably more sensible, yet still entertaining, patrice bergeron. additionally, another excellent display of the oft-overlooked fact that this man is built like a motherfucking tank. holy shit

i wish i could see these boys in suits without my brain immediately trying to think of some sort of au. anyway, i really like this look on brad (unpopular opinion - i love his loud checkered suits as a concept but i don’t think they look good). although he has dark hair, strong eyebrows, and dark facial hai, the all black actually looks really good on him. coffee in hand really adding to the look too - well done, brad “fashionista” marchand.

ahhhhh i love nothing more than family man marchy 💛 his daughter is adorable - those tiny jerseys kill me - and i love that his son is wearing the all-star jersey omg how cute (he is definitely going to end up taller than brad lmao)

sometimes i forget that brad is short and then i see photos like this (brandon is 6′5 for reference)…amazing. i relate to the lady on the left on a spiritual level. brad’s face is a mood and a half. his feet are half a foot of the ice at least. i adore this photo.

(gif via @brandoncarlo) absolutely one of my fav things about watching bruins games is how brad and patrice will always find each other during a celly - nothing beats the 100 hug. this is also just a very satisfying skating gif that i love.

last but very very very far from least is this. there is literally no need for me to make any comment on this so i’m just going to leave it and go. bradley kevin marchand you are iconic and ily

ayyy this was super fun to do, thank you for requesting it anon, i hope you like!! again, i’m absolutely up for taking requests for more of these lists so hmu if you have ideas :) 

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael After Midnight: TGWTG Anniversary Crossovers

I think enough time has passed where I can talk about these films without looking like I’m jumping on a trend.

Back when it was, you know, an actual thing, Channel Awesome would every so often gather together and make a big-as anniversary film to celebrate the site. The movies would always be these massive doorstoppers where everyone would be running around in Halloween costumes of whatever character they liked the most that fit the theme and fighting some random villain. None of this ever really tied in to their work, and none of this even remotely had anything to do with reviews. It was all just hanging around with friends and having dumb fun, and when I was younger I kind of just accepted that.

But certain revelations have made that dubious. No one was having fun making these. Everyone was miserable, except perhaps Doug Walker, who was just utterly oblivious to the plight of his coworkers. There was seedy stuff going on, people were pretty much being tortured and abused, and it’s a wonder anyone was ever able to feign enjoyment in any of their scenes. And looking back on these movies I used to remember fondly, I have to say… they kind of really, legitimately suck ass. These three films – Kickassia, Suburban Knights, and To Boldly Flee – are just legitimately painful and depressing to sit through, for reasons both meta and writing-wise.

The biggest problem with all of them is their humor, which is a pretty big problem when you’re starring a bunch of comedians, some of whom can be legitimately funny. The worst bits tend to revolve around the mind-boggling number of references they cram into each script; To Boldly Flee and Suburban Knights are much worse in this regard, as they have all of the actors literally dressed up as their favorite characters, but there are two examples of this sort of thing that shine as the worst examples of all. The first is Lindsay Ellis doing a Sarah Palin impersonation in Kickassia; Palin was such a flash-in-the-pan politician that it instantly dates the whole movie, and I don’t know if it was just bad writing, lack of direction, or what, but Ellis just fails to make this joke work at all. Like I know I can’t expect this to be as funny as Iron Sky’s Palin riffing, but still, it’s just sad.

The absolute worst, however, is JO in To Boldly Flee as Ed from Cowboy Bepob… at least that’s who I think he’s supposed to be playing. I know nothing about Cowboy Bebop and have outright refused to ever watch it because if Ed is anything like how JO played her, I’m going to fucking hate the whole show, Steve Blum and Melissa Fahn be damned. JO’s portrayal is whiny, hyper, annoying, manic, obnoxious… there’s not a single positive thing that can be said. His performance of the character is pretty much the poster child for just how absolutely awful these movies could get.

There’s also a lot of jokes where the punchline is basically just “this guy’s body/genitalia is funny, teehee.” Suburban Knights and To Boldly Flee have some truly awful examples of this, such as the numerous upskirts Doug Walker gets as Link and the infamous Spoony Dune scene. But even that isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it comes from the frequent states of near-nudity that Justin “JewWario” Carmichael would find himself in throughout these films. To Boldly Flee has him channeling George Takei and fencing without his shirt on, which is bad enough, but Suburban Knights has perhaps the worst scene of all, in any of these films, though only with hindsight.

For those of you not familiar, JewWario was outed as a creepy sexual predator during the whole #ChangeTheChannel fiasco. The guy groomed young women and did god knows what else during his time on the site, with none of his coworkers any the wiser and the management doing their best to cover it up; in fact, everyone only found out because the suits who owned CA made a huge blunder during their rebuttal of the claims of its former employees. With all of that context, please try and rewatch Suburban Knights’ climax in which JewWario helps save the day by revealing his penis to everyone. This right here is Keyser Soze levels of “uncomfortable in hindsight.”

The stories aren’t much better, and often fall into the same sort of issues that The Angry Video Game Nerd movie fell into, in that nothing in these films really showcases why we love the reviewers; Kickassia infamously has the Dr. Insano twist, as one example of how they botched this. All of these movies just feel too epic in scope and don’t really try to incorporate anything that we love about these reviewers into the films. Only To Boldly Flee really does anything right in that regard, as it throws back to everything from oneshot Nostalgia Critic villains to the Todd-Lindsay-Lupa love triangle to Phelous dying… the real problem is you have to actually sit through To Boldly Flee to see that. The movies go for these epic plots where the reviewers do cool shit like take over micronations (Kickassia), quest for powerful artifacts (Suburban Knights), or deal with extremely heavy-handed and hamfisted allegories for internet privacy bills (To Boldly Flee). You’d think maybe throwing a bunch of comedians into an epic plot like any of these could lead to some funny jokes, or maybe some sort of Monty Python-esque parody, but no, instead these comedians decide to revel in melodrama and try to genuinely act, with EXTREMELY mixed results. It doesn’t help that some of these people just aren’t even remotely funny when they’re trying to be.

Here’s the thing with The Angry Video Game Nerd’s movie, in comparison to these, though: it may have had this epic, ridiculous, goofy plot involving Area 51, kaiju, aliens, and crappy Atari games buried in a landfill, but the entire plot was building up to, and ultimately delivered on, the promise of the long-awaited review of the E.T. game. For all the film’s flaws, Rolfe knew what we loved about the Nerd, he knew what the fans wanted, and by god did he give it to them in the silliest, most epic way possible. Even if I didn’t love the film, the fact Rolfe knew why we’d want to see a feature-length Nerd film in the first place speaks volumes about how he understands that he can do what will make him happy artistically and still show the fans what they want to see.

These movies from the Channel Awesome crew don’t seem to get that at all. They don’t build up to a review. They don’t build up to them discovering the worst movie or song or whatever they review. They’re all very straightforward genre comedies where they can make a bunch of shallow, Seltzer & Friedberg-esque “Look at this thing that exists! That’s a joke right?” references. Aside from seeing your favorite reviewers in a goofy plot like this, where is there any bit of the reason you watch these people in the first place? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they were playing characters instead of them playing themselves, in their internet reviewer personas; at least then you wouldn’t be watching Brad Jones stumbling around in a Darth Vader helmet and think to yourself miserably “God I wish that poor guy was watching another E.T. porno.”

So there are some positives in these films, shockingly enough. Brad Jones is consistently good across the entire ‘trilogy,’ especially in Kickassia where he has the good sense to walk out on all the bullshit for a while. Maybe it’s just because these films got me interested in him, but I definitely think he does a good job. The same can be said for a lot of the actors, such as the bad guy in Suburban Knights and Ma-Ti’s actor; they manage to deliver at least solid performances in spite of the films. And then there are the James Rolfe cameos, and it’s just always good to see Rolfe in general.

To Boldly Flee, despite its reputation, actually has a lot of genuinely good bits. For instance, the distraction song is actually a really solid musical number. Linkara, Doug, and Spoony actually play really well off of each other, so when they have their three idiot villains team up they at least get some decently good moments. And other reviewers I generally like such as Phelous or Todd do a solid job, and frankly in To Boldly Flee Doug Walker does show some impressive dramatic acting… but it’s in service of a character who has previously been portrayed as a petulant, whiny, self-serving, egotistical manchild, so it almost feels like he’s playing a totally different character. Still, credit where credit is due.

None of these films succeed at what they want to. Ostensibly, they are supposed to be celebrating the site and the friendship of the reviewers, but as I mentioned, there’s no reviewing, there’s nothing that indicates what the site is about, and they all just come off as ego-stroking self-congratulatory wanking. None of these films were worth the pain and suffering that the cast and crew had to go through to produce these, and watching them at all these days is especially hard knowing that a lot of these people are smiling and joking through pain, stress, and abuse. It’s sick.

Kickassia may be the most competent, but that isn’t saying much at all. Aside from the whole Palin bit, this one has a simple, straightforward plot and is relatively down-to-earth, and it almost feels like it really was just a bunch of friends making a shitty low budget action movie in the desert… something sadly undermined by reality. Suburban Knights is probably one of the most uncomfortable to sit through due to jokes like Film Brain saying he’d eat Kinley Mochrie’s “pea-ness” (this was before she came out mind you) and the numerous jokes surrounding JewWario’s junk, but it almost works, like it nearly comes close to being a dumb epic fantasy comedy, but it just frequently shoots itself in the foot with the bad writing and acting and its overreliance on references.

To Boldly Flee is, to put it absolutely simple, a hot mess. This film is an utter trainwreck from start to finish. It is the Battlefield Earth of internet review movies, a bloated, messy, overly long dumpster fire with some of the most nightmarish behind-the-scenes stories and horrendous financial mismanagement you could ever imagine. But where Battlefield Earth is at least unintentionally funny, this film… is not. This film just makes you feel bad for everyone involved, it makes your heart ache for all the poor reviewers who had to suffer under the miserable conditions, it makes you question Doug Walker’s sanity in thinking he could turn his screeching manchild of a reviewer into some tragic martyr in a total 180 from how he had always been portrayed prior. None of these three films are worth sitting through, but I think To Boldly Flee is, with hindsight, the one least worth sitting through, which is a truly incredible accomplishment.

It’s kind of tragic. I still like a lot of the reviewers who took part in these – Todd, Linkara, Phelous, Brad Jones, and even Doug to some extent (though that’s an unpopular opinion these days) – but I just can’t muster up any forgiveness for these films anymore. And I don’t blame any of the people in it (except maybe Doug); most of them were there out of obligation or friendship or what have you. These films are just a monument to hubris, ignorance, broken friendships, horrible management, and wanton cruelty to those who called you friends.

See that picture up there at the top? With all of them gathered together like friends? God, how I wish that were the reality. How I wish that picture accurately reflected life, that they were all pals having a good time and that these films were something they were proud of. But behind that picture are stories all of them could tell of hurt, betrayal, resentment, anger, contempt, and some very unspeakable things in Carmichael’s case. I wish the sort of world a surface level glance at that picture shows you existed, where the crew of TGWTG all had a blast making these shitty movies together, because at least in that case I could find a sort of ironic enjoyment in them. But reality has gone out of its way to undermine any of that. 

[faveficarchive]

I’ve Been to Pocatello, but I’ve Never Been to Me

Another White Trash Tale of Depravity, Soul-Searching, and Potato Chips

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: This is the fourth installment in the White Trash Series. Gabrielle learns all about Zina’s dark past when a few unwanteds wander back into her girlfriend’s life.

1. An Interlude in the Manner of Pinky and the Brain

"Gabrielle, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I think so, baby. I'll go get your fire helmet and the nacho cheese dip."

"No, I'm not thinking about that."

"Okay. Let me try again." A hopeful pause. A batting of fair eyelashes. A comely pout. "Your fire helmet and the vibrator?"

Zina sighed. Her fire helmet—the penultimate symbol of her profession, a badge of pride, a lifesaving device—had been reduced, by Gabrielle, to both a fetish object and a receptacle for foodstuffs. She was just grateful that Gabrielle had decided the helmet was ill-suited for use as a pitcher for margaritas (her hair had smelled like tequila for weeks). "I'm thinking…"

"Always a bad sign, baby."

"…like maybe we should go to the movies."

Gabrielle regarded her skeptically. "Really?" She loved to go to movie theaters, but since Zina found the entire experience stressful—dealing with large, inane groups of people was not the firefighter's forte—they did not go very often.

Zina cleared her throat. This "being sensitive" shit is really hard. "Listen, Gabrielle, I thought, you know, you deserve a night out, a night where we do something different…'cause, uh, I know your finals were hard."

"I agree, absolutely. So like I said, let me go get your helmet and the vibrator…"

"Now, how is that special? We've done that plenty of times."

"Well, this time I'll let you wear the helmet, stud." With a wiggle of her eyebrows, Gabrielle ran upstairs. Grinning, Zina followed. She was more than willing to do whatever it would take to make the little poet happy…especially when it involves sex, thought the firefighter, as she took the steps two at a time.

*****

Cyrene stepped out of her Volkswagen, humming the crazy violin part of "Baba O'Riley," her head bobbing up and down, and approached the front door of the farmhouse. She lingered on the porch as she peered into the daunting recesses of her macramé purse, looking for the house keys, something that was hard to do in the evening light. A full fifteen minutes passed, during which she found some Chiclets from 1977 and the results of an VD test from 1990 (Hey, I'm negative! Cool!), before she finally found the keys. Still humming, she entered the darkened home that her daughter shared with Gabrielle. She wound her way through the black hallway to the kitchen, where she snapped on the light. She clapped her hands together and rubbed them briskly. Okay, I've got a half an hour before the meeting, just enough time to make hummus…

"Ayiyyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyi!" The strange cry ripped through the room and, not wasting any time, Cyrene grabbed the nearest butcher knife and, with a less exotic shriek of her own, jumped on the kitchen counter. Her daughter was crouched in the doorway, nude, ready to pounce, wielding a baseball bat…and with a fire helmet ever so slightly askance on her head.

"Jesus, Zina!" Cyrene cried, as her adrenaline rush subsided. "What the fuck was that?"

Zina grinned. "Just a little something I picked up from the Discovery Channel," she said proudly. "Didn't know you could still jump that fast, Mom." She rose to her full height and leaned the bat in a corner. "Sorry. I thought you were a burglar or somethin'."

"I didn't think you were home, honey. Gabrielle said I could use the house tonight for an LPN group meeting."

"LPN?" Zina echoed. Her mother wanted to become a nurse?

Cyrene sighed. Another disbeliever. "Legalize Pot Now."

The firefighter snorted. "Oh, for Christ's sake."

Cyrene jabbed a finger of maternal authority at Zina. "Yeah, man, scoff all you want. All I can say if it weren't for pot, you wouldn't be here right now!" Somehow a Chevy van, a bottle of Boone's Hill strawberry wine, an 8-track tape of Badfinger, and a draft dodger with a droopy mustache had appeared all the more erotic and alluring under the influence of a fat joint.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Gabrielle's arrival. The lithe poet had taken a minute to make herself presentable for dangerous felons, and had thrown on a t-shirt and shorts. But her mussed hair, reddened lips, and flushed face announced, louder than a Siegfried and Roy show at Vegas, what she and her hunky firefighter had been up to. "Cyrene? What the hell—"

"You forgot, didn't you?" Cyrene accused gently.

"Oh…shit! I did! I'm sorry." She apologized to two generations of bad-ass chicks at once. Both scowled at her. "Uh, Zina, didn't you say you wanted to go to the movies?"

2. Mrs. Peel, We're Needed

The trip to the movies also involved babysitting Purdy, who was having a fight with Lila. He had called up Gabrielle a few minutes before they were about to leave for the theater, to see if she wanted to get drunk at the Saddle. Soft-hearted little poet that she was, she invited him along. "Is that okay?" she sheepishly asked Zina after the fact.

Zina shrugged. "Sure."

"Zina, you're so nice to Purdy. It's sweet."

"I figure anyone who dumped you for your sister needs some special treatment, if you know what I mean." She waggled a finger in a circle alongside her head.

They met Purdy at the theater. He stood, sulky, in the parking lot, leaning against his Ford pickup, John Deere cap pulled low in an attempt to make his babyfat face more menacing. "Hiya, Gab, Hiya Zina," he greeted. "So, what movie are we seeing?"

Gabrielle smirked with pride. "The Avengers."

Purdy made a face. "Gab, you always pick these artsy-fartsy foreign films!"

Zina nodded in agreement. "Yeah! With these snooty British people or something," she piped up.

"Knock it off, both o' you. I'll have you know that things blow up in this movie, and that Uma Thurman chick runs around wearing leather. It can't be bad."

A skeptical grunt issued forth from the firefighter as they headed into the multiplex. After they bought tickets, Gabrielle immediately took off in the direction of the concession stand. But she didn’t get very far before Zina snagged her arm. "Don't do it," her companion purred in her ear.

Such a suggestive, seductive tone made the blonde poet want to do it even more. "I don't know what you're talking about," she protested, lying, trying to squirm out of Zina's grip.

"You know what I mean, Gabrielle. Don't do it. Don't give in."

Gabrielle stopped thrashing and met Zina's eyes. "Okay, okay. I won't. I swear."

The blue eyes held her gaze for a moment. "All right, then." The firefighter released her. "Get me a Coke, okay? See you down front." She headed for the theater.

As Gabrielle waited patiently in line, she drank in the smell of rancid popcorn and butter. Popcorn. I'll just get some popcorn. With feigned casualness she surveyed the boxes of candy in the display case; the green eyes flickered and hesitated for a nanosecond at the Raisinet boxes, but then continued their thorough scan of the candy. Okay, that was fine. I didn't feel a thing.

Nonetheless she turned away abruptly and studied the faded wallpaper. Oh my…that's a nice pattern. I never thought green and brown could work together like that...Then she turned her attention to a new movie poster: Weekend at Bernie's 3: "This Time It's Personal…Hygiene."

Then the voices began.

Gabrielle.

No! She clutched her forehead. "I'm not listening," she muttered aloud, causing a glance from the burly gentleman in front of her wearing a cowboy hat and a Charlie Daniels Band t-shirt.

Gabrielle! It's us. Please listen!!!

"Stop it!" Gabrielle growled. The large cowboy shifted away from her slightly.

You must listen. Only you can set us free. Gabrielllllllllllle…

"No!"

Look at us.

She shook her head savagely.

Come. Look. Or do you fear us?

Timidly the poet turned, slowly, and looked.

The box of Raisinets glowed with a preternatural beauty, even more striking than Zina in full firefighter regalia (or buck naked for that matter), and the voices of the Raisinets, blending together with mellow effervescence and sounding precisely like the two midget women in that little box from the Mothra movies, sang their siren song of freedom to their golden-haired liberator: Gabriellllllle…buy us, eat us!

"Ohhhhh…all right!" screamed the poet, scaring away not only the Charlie Daniels guy but also the couple in front of him, and thus effectively shortening the line.

Arms cradling the Coke, the popcorn, a bunch of candy bars, and the evil Raisinets, Gabrielle waddled down the aisle to where her companions sat. She tossed a giant Kit Kat bar at Purdy and thrust a Coke at Zina; both firefighter and mechanic noted the Raisinets lying in her lap.

"Don't say anything," Gabrielle snarled at them.

A long silence ensued. It was finally broken by Purdy's guffaw. "You'll be on the can all night long, then havin' bad dreams," he chastised her. "Man, I am so glad I don't live with you anymore!"

She gave a lunge toward him, sending popcorn flying, but was restrained by Zina's powerful arm. "Down, girl," said the firefighter.

"They…they…" stammered Gabrielle.

"Yeah, I know, honey bunny, they were talking to you…" Zina replied, as if Gabrielle were a reject from the Special Olympics.

"They were!" wailed the poet, as the previews began.

Twenty minutes later, as Zina snored through a trailer for a Brad Pitt film, Purdy, arms folded, threatened once again: "This better be good."

"It can't be bad," assured Gabrielle, whose childlike faith in Hollywood, while tremendously touching, was sorely misplaced, misguided, and plainly retarded.

*****

It was bad.

"How stupid could I be!" cried Gabrielle, as they left the theater for the lobby. "To think that anyone else could be Mrs. Peel!"

"Well, duh," Zina agreed.

"But things sure blowed up pretty good," Purdy said. Zina nodded in assent.

It was all that mattered, really.

"Hey, isn't that Callie over there?" Gabrielle asked apprehensively, grasping her beloved's arm and nodding to a small, poorly dressed group that circled the front of the multiplex and carried strange signs: "THE AVENGERS" PROMOTES UNNATURAL CLOTHES, one said. LEATHER IS FOR BOOTS ONLY, proclaimed another.

Sure enough, the crazed blonde was in the eye of the protesting storm. However, upon spotting the movie-going trio of Zina, Gabrielle, and Purdy, she bore down on them like a bulimic toward a toilet bowl.

"Well!" sniped Callie by way of greeting, "I can guess what sick film you three have been seeing."

Zina rolled her eyes. "Callie, you are pathetic. There was nothing weird in that film. Hell, it was so boring I fell asleep who knows how many times."

"Five," supplied Gabrielle, with some measure of irritation.

"It figures you wouldn't notice the fine details, Zina," Callie sneered haughtily. "The clothing was scandalous and suggestive. It was perverted." Even speaking of the dreaded film caused Callie to grip her jumbo-sized Sprite a little tighter, even though her hand could barely get around it as it was.

"So I take it you actually saw the film?" Gabrielle asked coolly.

"No, of course not! I'm not spending money to see such filth!"

"Lady, you are bonkers," Purdy mumbled.

"What?" hissed Callie.

"You heard me!" he retorted defiantly.

She threw her drink at him, drenching him with sticky carbonated coolness. "You crazy bitch! This is my best flannel shirt!" he cried as she stalked away from them.

"Yeah! You get back here, you bitch!" Gabrielle shouted. She tried to take off after Callie, but found Zina's restraining arm around her midriff.

"What the hell's gotten into you?" Zina asked, perturbed that Gabrielle would get so upset over such a matter—of course, it would have been different had Callie thrown the drink on her, then it would be acceptable for Gabrielle to flip out. But over Purdy? She makes absolutely no sense when she's PMSing, thought Zina, who nonetheless enjoyed the sensation of the wiggling Gabrielle pressed against her.

"She's pushed me too far, Zina! I can't have her throwing drinks at my ex-boyfriend! I got my pride!"

"Yeah, and it's pretty warped, I'd say."

"Lemme go!" demanded the angry poet.

"Gabrielle, don't you remember once…you told me the cycle of violence and hatred must be broken…."

Finally Gabrielle slipped out of the firefighter's loose grasp. "For Christ's sake, Zina, I had four shots of tequila when I said that! Now lemme go kick that twat's ass!" She stomped over to Callie for a Meeting of the Blondes. A brief interaction ensued: Callie, motionless, with eyebrows raised, watched Gabrielle gesticulate all over the place.

It ended with one punch.

Zina was amazed at how quickly Callie could run in heels. The minister was in her Camaro and tearing out of the parking lot before she and Purdy reached the prostrate poet.

"Gabrielle?" The firefighter gently shook the unconscious form. Her frightened blue eyes locked onto the anxious Purdy. "Quick, get some chocolate!"

*****

"Mrs. Peel?" The voice, with its clipped British accent, was vaguely familiar to Gabrielle. Nonetheless her eyelids refused to open until she felt something soft tapping her cheeks.

Willpower pried open her eyes, which could not believe what they were seeing.

It was Zina, kneeling in front of her, grinning, wearing a dark blue pinstripe suit and a bowler hat, a white carnation gracing her lapel. "Mrs. Peel, are you all right?" Zina asked again, in impeccable, more-upper-class -than-thou English tones.

Those goddamn Raisinets!!!! She tried blinking several times in hopes of dispelling the hallucination. No go. "Is it Halloween again?" she whispered timidly.

Zina frowned. "I say, my dear, you simply are not yourself. You even sound different, Mrs. Peel."

Why does she keep…Gabrielle tried to move and her body, which felt taut, tense, and immobile, made a strange, flatulent noise. She looked down the length of her form. She was clad in a tight black leather bodysuit and boots.

…calling me that? She was attired just like Mrs. Peel. "Oh, God," she moaned. She looked at Zina, who was still looking ever so concerned in a restrained, British kinda way.

"So. You must be Steed." Gabrielle ventured the guess nervously.

The tall, dark-haired woman smiled at that. "Verrrry good," she replied with imperial condescension. "Now, do you remember anything else?"

Gabrielle gritted her teeth as she attempted to sit up again, which elicited a protracted farting noise from her leather outfit. This time she was successful. "Like what?"

"Ohhh, let's see," Zina sighed in thought, "The Cybernauts? The Hellfire Club? Castle De'Ath?"

"Uh…yeah. I do." Except I wasn't Mrs. Peel, I was only sitting on the floor in the living room eating Screaming Yellow Zonkers and wishing I were her.

"Encouraging!" replied Zina/Steed.

And they were off, driving through the countryside, drinking champagne, listening to Petula Clark…. Downtown!

She held out her glass for more champagne (and how did Steed manage to pour and drive at the same time?) but when she brought it to her lips there was a telegram inside the glass. "What's this?" she asked.

"Good news, Mrs. Peel. Your husband, Purdy Peel, has been found in the Amazon…"

In an Amazon? Surely not Effie! "My husband? But I—I was never married!" wailed Gabrielle.

"So I'm afraid it's time for all our glamorous adventures to come to an end…"

"They can't!"

"But you must do your duty…"

"No!"

The Bentley entered a tunnel. All was darkness….

….and Gabrielle opened her eyes. She was back home, in the bedroom she shared with Zina, and the tall firefighter was sitting on the bed, watching her with concern. Fortunately, sans the bowler hat.

"Sugar booger!" she cried, sitting up. She flung her arms around Zina.

"Gabrielle! How are you feeling, honey?" Zina gave her girlfriend a squeeze, a kiss on the cheek, and rubbed her back.

"Better. Baby, I had this crazy dream—"

"Didn't I tell you not to eat the Raisinets?"

"I know. But this was different somehow...."

"You mean you have diarrhea this time?"

"No! Zina, listen. I was going through a tunnel, and you know that usually means—"

"Sex!" Zina's sapphire eyes lit up like a gas grill.

"Yeah, but it scared me a little. Like I feel the tunnel represents something else. 'Cause I was afraid to go through it. You know how I hate change…like I was ready to kill you when you got a different kind of toilet paper. But I think this is something serious, something I gotta think about. Like what I'm gonna do with my life. And what everything means. I feel like this dream was trying to impart some important message to me about my life, my writing…but what the bowler hat represented, I have no idea…" Gabrielle trailed off, and so had Zina's infant-like attention span—the baby blues were focused on the switchblade she pulled out of her pocket. With a flick of the wrist, Zina began to pare her nails. Gabrielle cleared her throat loudly. "Honey, do me a favor. Would you get that big book out of the bathroom for me?"

Zina nodded. Still fiddling with the switchblade, she shuffled into the bathroom. Five minutes passed. The toilet flushed. "I don't see anything!" she finally cried.

You damn—"It's under your copy of Guns and Ammo!" Gabrielle yelled.

A pause. "Oh." Zina returned, with a large hardcover tome. It was titled The Woman's Dictionary of Symbols, Signs, and Secret Meanings: Dream Interpretation for Quasi-Feminists. The book had been a Christmas gift from Cyrene. With the book splayed in her lap, Gabrielle flipped pages until she reached this entry, nestled between "Bowl of Oatmeal" and "Butane Lighters":

BOWLER HATS: Traditionally seen as a symbol of male bourgeoisie, the bowler hat takes on subversive meaning in dreams when it is worn by a woman. Its black color represents power, and the round, curvaceous shape calls to mind the feminine form. Nominally the dream figure wearing the hat is seen as powerful, a person whose acceptance of self is something that you strive for.

Gabrielle looked at her companion skeptically. Zina was flipping the switchblade in her hand, then, with a sudden growl and a cry of "Hee-yah!" flung the blade across the room until it landed, bull's eye, in a decrepit dart board. She smirked with pride.

"Zina, I'm having a spiritual crisis kinda thing going on. Least you could do is leave the switchblade alone."

The firefighter blinked and looked at her girlfriend. "Oh. Yeah, sorry, Gabrielle." Like a scolded puppy she returned to the bed.

"Maybe this is why I'm having a writer’s block, too," mused the blonde.

"Don't worry, honey, you'll get your groove back." Zina admired her neatly trimmed nails, then shot Gabrielle a sly, lusty look. "We could have sex—that usually helps you write."

"Yeah, but I usually end up writing epic poems about your thighs. Not that that isn't a worthy subject, but…no. I gotta work this out. It's like a…quest. A spiritual quest, you know?"

"No." No, of course not. For Zina, a spiritual quest would be finding the perfect hunting knife.

"Well, it is. I have to discover who I am, and what my life means, and find inner peace."

They were quiet for a long minute. "I still think sex would help," Zina finally said.

Gabrielle pondered this. "Better safe than sorry." She peeled off her shirt.

3. Anything that Moves

The following day found Gabrielle answering a fateful knock at the door.

She blinked at the tall, dark stranger on the doorstep. "I am looking for Zina." He spoke heavily accented English.

Mentally, Gabrielle pulled out the Zina Ex-Lover Checklist (Male Version):

1. Does he have overstyled facial hair? Yes! Not as weird as Artie's, though.

2. Long and/or dark hair? Uh-huh.

3. Muscular and/or dangerous looking, like he just got out of prison? Absolutely.

4. An obvious death wish? We'll soon find out.

The Male Version of the Checklist did certainly help narrow the field a bit, unlike the Female Version, which was:1. Blonde?She leaned in the doorway. "Okay, man, I got your number. Welcome to Zinaholics Anonymous. I'm Gabrielle, and I can't sponsor you, because I'm a happy addict."

The man scowled at her. "A simple 'hello' would work just as well."

"Who are you?"

This did not erase his look of displeasure. "My name is Boris. I have come to see Zina about…" He paused melodramatically. "…our puppy."

"Puppy?"

"Da. We had puppy together…many years ago."

"A puppy?" Gabrielle gasped. Talk about commitment! Zina never wants us to have a pet! Every time I bring it up…"Too much responsibility, Gabrielle." She stomped over to the foot of the stairs. "Zina!" she roared up into the air. "Get your ass down here now!"

Various curses filtered down from the second floor of the house. "All right, all right, goddammit." A clunk emanating from above indicated that a barbell was threatening to come crashing through the ceiling. Sleek, sweaty, and pumped, Zina trooped down the stairs. And stopped just before hitting the last step. "Boris," she snarled. "I thought you were dead!" Great, another ex for Gabrielle to deal with. I'll never hear the end of it.

He looked blank for a moment, then threw up his arms. "Can't you read? The telegram said Dagnine killed me in the chess tournament. Not in real life, you eeediot!" He shook his head, dismayed, then gave her a less severe scrutiny. "But…Stolichnaya!" he murmured. "You still look fabulous!"

The firefighter ignored this. "What the hell do you want?"

A hurt look crossed his face. "What a greeting! Zeeeeena, I have not seen you for…what? Ten years?"

"Seven."

"I thought that was when you met Julie Caesar," Gabrielle interjected.

"Ummm, maybe five."

"Who is Julie Caesar?" Boris said.

"Maybe it's closer to eight…" Zina mused.

"Or nine," added Gabrielle.

"Maybe I should ask Mom…"

"Zina, every other week your mother thinks it's 1972. I don't think so." Only a few days prior Cyrene had traipsed up to Gabrielle and said, "Hey, man, they're starting this cool thing called Earth Day! Wanna go?"

"Who is this Julie Caesar?" Boris demanded again.

"Look, dickhead, I'm the main squeeze here, not you, so stop acting jealous. Okay, Zina," Gabrielle pointed at Boris, "let's hear all about this one. I'm ready for another long, crude story about your past. I just bought a jumbo-sized tub of potato chips, so I'm set. Spill it."

"Gabrielle, I can't—it's just too damn ugly." There were few things Zina was truly ashamed of doing…but this part of her life, with Boris, was simply too painful and hideous to contemplate. And if she couldn't deal with it…what made Gabrielle think that she could?

"Come on, I know everything else, baby. The drug deals, the stolen cars, setting Callie's house on fire—"

"You set somebody's house on fire?" cried Boris, aghast. The Russian's eyes widened in horror.

"—the shoplifting, picking up a Girl Scout—"

"She told me she was a troop leader!" the firefighter blurted in feeble defense.

"—beating up your parole officer, all the ABBA albums you had—"

"Why won't you admit 'SOS' is a great song?"

"—so the point is, Zina, I know all the bad stuff, so…trust me. I love you. I married you. I wash your t-shirts. Tell me."

"You want the truth? You can handle the truth!" Zina roared.

A stunned silence followed.

The firefighter shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. I always wanted to say that."

"Tell me," demanded the poet quietly, folding her arms.

The firefighter sighed in defeat, and her beautiful countenance hardened into a spiteful sneer. "You wanna hear about it? All right, Gabrielle, you asked for it…" Her jaw shifted defiantly. "Boris and I were semi-professional ice skaters. We spent years—well, I guess maybe only one—trying to make it big at the Pocatello Ice Follies."

"Pocatello…?" echoed the poet.

"Da," Boris affirmed. "It's a town in that—ahhhh, what do you Americans call your potato state?"

"Idaho," Zina supplied curtly. "Anyway, the Ice Follies….It's like a dry run for the Ice Capades."

Gabrielle backed up away from her beloved, and gripped the arm of the decrepit couch. No. Totally uncool! My big, tough macho dyke girlfriend…a figure skater?

"And we made Tonya Harding look good," Boris added glumly.

"Yeah, Boris is right. We were the worst of the worst. The lowest of the low. I wore a pink chiffon bodysuit. And Boris made Rudy Galindo look butch." The Russian scowled at this. "We performed to 'You Light Up My Life'…"

"And that cute song from Cats. What's it called, Zina?" Boris started to hum "Memory." Without thinking, Zina picked up the melody and did the same.

"STOP!" shrieked Gabrielle. Pink? Ice skating? Debby Boone? Eyes staring blankly, she sank numbly into the depths of the couch.

"Zeeeeena, I think she's in shock," Boris said, waving a hand in front of Gabrielle's glassy, fixed stare.

4. Another Obligatory Flashback

Practice ended badly; a poorly executed triple axle landed Zina on her ass and ripped her costume. Boris was supposed to catch her, but he was not on his mark, where he should have been, but was at the edge of the rink with Alti, their coach, indulging in a prolonged smoke and discussion about various brands of vodka. Furious, she stomped over to her oblivious lover, cold-cocked him (eliciting an evil cackle from Alti in the process), and stalked back to their trailer, which was parked outside the rink

She didn't hit him too hard—he was only unconscious for half an hour—and, as she anticipated, he skulked back to the trailer, apologetic, and they proceeded to make up by screwing frantically under the canopy of the fuzzy, musty panda bear blanket they had bought from Woolworth's a few months ago.

Afterwards, while she snored he threw on a pair of jeans and hunted for another bottle of vodka. Bah! She hid it again! Greedy bitch! He returned to the bedroom, determined to wake her up and find out where the vodka was. However, sitting down beside her, he was overtaken by a moment of tenderness as he watched her sleep. Softly, he called her name. "Zina."

She sputtered, drooled, and grunted. He smiled. How he loved her! Gently, he shook her naked shoulder. "Zina, my beloved. Light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul, Zeeeena—"

A bleary blue eye cracked open and glared at him. "We're outta condoms, so don't even think about it."

He laughed merrily. "My darling, your crudeness is so charming. No, I just wanted to tell you…" His dark eyes were solemn. "I think I love you."

Like a cultural Pavlov's dog, all Zina could think about was the Partridge Family. The big yellow bus! Danny Bonaduce! Susan Dey in all her bitchy glory! "I think I'm gonna puke." She rolled over.

"This was not the reaction I had hoped for."

"Too fucking bad."

"It's all this…stress, all this nonsense that's making you act like this." He disregarded the fact that she had always been like this, even when they were trying to open up the Chinese/Tex-Mex restaurant with Lao Ma. He still shuddered involuntarily at the thought of it; he loved her, without a doubt, but he was damned if she didn't have the weirdest ideas when it came to food. And why Lao Ma indulged her…Well, I know why Lao Ma indulged her, he thought darkly, reflecting upon that miserable day when he caught them together. She was just washing my hair, Zina had said, and then we both got all wet, so we took off all our clothes to dry, but there weren't any towels, so we were just rubbing our bodies together—just to get dry!

But oh, Zina, if that's true, then why were you still…so wet? He wanted to cry, the pain of the betrayal was still so fresh. But he forced back the thoughts. "Zina, please," he continued. "I mean it. We could be so happy if we only stopped doing this…crap. Let's face it, neither one of us can skate to save our own lives."

Her body rippled with a sigh.

"You know I'm right," he pushed.

"Yeah, I guess you are," she conceded. "We should talk to Alti later and tell her it's not workin' out. Right now, I wanna sleep."

Unfortunately, a banging commenced upon the semi-sturdy door of the trailer. "Go the fuck away!" Zina shouted, pulling the blanket over her head.

He sighed. Apparently the Big Love Discussion would have to wait as well. He padded over to the door and opened it. It was Alti, a Pall Mall dangling (as always) from her lips, her mascara heavy and smeared, making her look like a cross between an aging Cure fan and an insomniac raccoon. "Boris, is she all right?" She nodded toward the bedroom.

"Is she all right?" he spat, incredulous. "She's the one who hit me!" Furious, he pointed at his swollen nose.

"Whatever," Alti grunted. "Can we come in for a moment?" It was at the mention of "we" that Boris noted a lithe blonde woman, wearing a short coat and a skirt, hovering inconspicuously behind Alti.

He frowned with suspicion. "I guess." He stepped aside to let them in, and

shouted in the direction of the bedroom, "Zina! We got company! Get dressed!"

A minute passed and the sullen Zina sauntered into the main room, wearing black underwear and a tank top.

"Now that's what I call dressed," Alti rasped with approval in her Brenda Vaccaro voice.

Boris, who had pulled on a sweatshirt, folded his arms and scowled. Ignoring them all, Zina headed for the kitchen and returned with a Heineken.

"What, you don't offer our guests anything?" Boris snapped at her.

"Fuck you. What am I, a maid?"

"Why, I ought to—" he raised a hand. She hissed at him.

Alti groaned. "As fascinating as I find this, we need to talk."

"About what?" Zina asked.

"Schedule change. The first performance of the Follies this season is next week at the Shriners' Arena, so we gotta pick up our pace."

"A week?" Boris gasped. "I thought it was in three weeks."

"It was. But the Militia Job Fair is all that week, in downtown Pocatello, so they moved it up to this week."

"Bastards!" snarled Boris.

"Look, Boris, what does it matter?" Zina said impatiently. "We might as well tell her now." She turned to Alti. "We were just talking about this whole thing a few minutes ago. Alti, we're sick of the skating. We're no good at it. So we're quitting."

Rage contorted the visage of the Mascara'ed One. "What? You can't quit! We have an agreement!"

"Screw the agreement," Zina retorted. "I'm not doing it anymore. I'm sick of wearing pink chiffon and skating to Whitney Houston."

"Should I let you pick the music?" Alti growled. "If I did, you would be banging your head on the ice to AC/DC."

Zina groaned. "Look, I just want out."

Alti looked to Boris, who was quiet, his face expressionless. "What do you think, Boris?"

"She speaks for us both," the Russian proclaimed.

"I see," Alti rumbled. She turned her head slightly, catching the attention of the blonde woman, who stepped out from behind the skating coach. "Well, I guess if that's your decision, Zina, then it's done. Oh, by the way, have I introduced you to my…new assistant?"

With a sensual shrug, the Blonde's short jacket fell away, revealing creamy bare shoulders above a halter top, followed by a firm, flat tummy and a short skirt. She pursed her full lips, winked at Zina, and purred a hello.

With delight Alti noted that her star skater's blue eyes were glazed with lust and her jaw shifting with the barely suppressed urge to devour the woman on the spot. So predictable, Zina, the coach thought. She smirked and watched as Boris fumed silently, figurative steam shooting out of his ears like a busy laundromat.

Eyes not moving from the Blonde, Zina groped blindly for her wallet, which was sunk into the pocket of her Levi's, draped on the couch. "Hey, Boris baby, why don't you an' Alti go down to the tavern for a while, have a couple rounds…" Absentmindedly she pulled a twenty from the pocket and tossed it in the general direction of her Russian companion.

Alti intercepted the flying money, and gently grasped Boris's arm, relieved to see that he was not protesting as she steered him toward the door. "We'll talk later about next week. All right, Zina?"

Like a bird of prey in a cocktail lounge, Zina took a few steps toward the Blonde, who tittered. "Sure, Alti, sure."

"See you at practice tomorrow?"

"Yeah, yeah, go on." Impatiently, she waved her coach away.

With a final shove Alti scooted Boris out the door and closed it behind her. Immediately, in rapid succession, she heard a low growl, a playful shriek, a giddy giggle, and a tortuous moan.

Boris heard it too. Oh great, now I really have to cheer him up, or else he'll spend all evening talking about Dostoevsky. She threw an arm around him. "Come on, Boris. Nothing but Stoli for you," she said. If we can find some in this Godforsaken town.

"Really?" he asked with timid hopefulness and puppy dog eyes.

"Really." Ah, as long as there's no shortage of blondes and vodka….

*****

Gabrielle glanced at the empty bottle of peach schnapps on the kitchen table. After Zina had begun the sad tale of her skating days, Boris had taken over the narrative, trying to explain the hold that Alti, their evil coach, had on them. In the interim Zina had wandered into the living room to watch a football game. It had taken him two hours and the empty bottle of liquor to complete his tale…which, unfortunately, had led into further discourse on the larger theme of the evening: Zina was an Evil Bitch Who Could Not Be Trusted.

He drained his glass of schnapps and slammed it on the table. "I put up with a lot of crap from her. First she dumps me for Lao Ma, then we're back together again and I thought everything was okay, then all of a sudden she's doing this blonde bitch…" A sob escaped him, and Gabrielle, cursing her good nature, found herself patting his arm.

"There there," soothed Gabrielle. "It's all over now, baby blue." Damn Cyrene, making me listen to Dylan over and over and over….

He sniffled into his shirt sleeve. "She'll do the same to you! You're better off without her," he said sullenly.

She stood up to stretch. "Boris, trust me. Zina's not like that anymore. She's a good person now. She's changed. She really has."

"WOO-HOO!!!! BUCKEYES!!!!!" came a scream from the living room. A few seconds later Zina strutted out, cocky and proud. "Goddamn forty-five yard TD! Sonofabitch!" She playfully slapped Gabrielle on the ass, grabbed a Rolling Rock from the fridge, then ambled back to the TV.

"Changed, huh?" Boris grunted.

Gabrielle rubbed her tingly butt and smiled. She hoped the strangely named football team would win, because it would put Zina in a really good mood afterward.

*****

Indeed, the fortunes of Zina's favorite college team held, and Gabrielle awoke the next morning with a sigh that signified blissful satisfaction. She wandered downstairs to find Zina in the kitchen, making one of her "power shakes": raw eggs with Tabasco sauce and seaweed.

"No good morning kiss for you," mumbled the sleepy poet as she padded into the kitchen.

The firefighter unleashed her evil laugh. "That's what you think," she growled happily, and swung Gabrielle up onto the counter, so that she was sitting among cracked eggs and dried bits of ocean gunk. Then Zina's lips fused with her own. And that burning sensation…was that the raven-haired woman's intense passion sizzling against her with tactile abandon, or was it the Tabasco?

Several minutes passed as they engaged in swapping heated spit, but as Gabrielle opened a lazy, lustful eye, movement from the living room, quite visible from her perch on the counter, caught her attention. Intrigued, she pulled away slightly from her partner, only to have the firefighter attach her lips to Gabrielle's neck. "Zina?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Why is Boris still here?"

The dark head flew back. "What?"

Gabrielle nodded toward the living room. "He's in there…" She and Zina peered intently in that direction. "…and he's eating my Cocoa Puffs!" shouted the poet.

"And he's wearing my pajamas!" Zina added with outrage. Disengaging herself from Gabrielle, she stomped into the living room and sat down on the couch beside Boris, who was watching "Donny and Marie" on TV.

"Good morning!" he said.

Fucking bastard. Always a morning person. "Boris, what the hell are you still doing here?"

"Zina, I told you last night…I am not going anywhere until you turn over our puppy." Boris did concede to himself that he could have picked his moment better. It was right after the Buckeyes won and the postgame makeout session was in full swing. ("Yay, Butt-Thighs!" Gabrielle had cried triumphantly as she was chased up the stairs.)

"I don't have our goddamn puppy! And another thing, he's probably a dog by now!"

"He will always be a 'puppy' to me, Natasha," Boris replied, letting slip the pet name he had sometimes called Zina when they were still together. They were Boris and Natasha, out to destroy Moose and Squirrel, and take over the world…."Well," he continued, with an exasperated sigh, "where is he?"

The firefighter stared guiltily into the distance.

"I, uh, gave him to Lao Ma."

He did an abortive Danny Thomas: instead of spewing milk and cereal all over the place, it only dribbled all over his beard. "You gave OUR PUPPY to Lao Ma??? Are you mad?"

She moaned. "Look, I'm sorry. We had broken up, and you left to play chess in Geneva, so…I didn't think I was fit to take care of a dog, Boris…"

"But…Lao Ma??? She probably turned him into a lunch special with an egg roll and choice of soup!"

"Cut that out. That's just some…whaddya call it…urbane legend," she replied nervously, chewing her lower lip. At least it better be, Lao!

"How could you?"

"Believe me, I didn't want to, Boris. I feel bad that I had to."

"Ha!" he shouted. "You felt bad about something. That's only slightly more amazing than the fact that some TV executive thinks that these eeeediots"—he pointed at the mugging Osmonds—"still have careers!"

In the interim Gabrielle had entered the living room; she too was munching

on the ambrosia of the lower classes, Cocoa Puffs. "Hey, who's that dopey guy who looks like Purdy?" she asked, gesturing toward the TV with her dripping, milky spoon.

5. Enter the Dragon

"This is stupid," grumbled Gabrielle, as she followed Zina into the Green Dragon. "Why can't he track down his own damn puppy?"

"Look, it's like a debt I have to repay," Zina muttered as they were underwhelmed by the dim lighting and the Orientalia of the restaurant: blood red and gold tones saturated the murals of Chinese characters and temples, and little figures dancing with giant peaches….

"Debt my ass," retorted the poet.

Just inside they were greeted by the surly visage of Ming Tien, Lao Ma's son, who, as usual, was manning the cash register. His skinny arms were folded over his Sailor Moon t-shirt. He sneered at them, adam's apple bobbing furiously. "Ah, my mother's erstwhile seductress dares to bring shame to our dwelling once again."

Zina snatched up a pair of complimentary chopsticks from a large bowl in front of the register. "I'm telling ya, kid, one of these days…" She mimed jamming the sticks into his head.

"Like I'm sooo afraid of you!" he taunted. She lunged at him and he skittered off his chair, seeking refuge behind Gabrielle.

"Stop it, both of you," Gabrielle chastised them. "Look, Zina, let's get this over with, okay?"

"Is she in the kitchen?" Zina barked at Ming Tien.

"Yeah," he replied, sulking.

The two women walked through the nearly empty restaurant to the kitchen. They found Lao idly stirring a huge cauldron of egg drop soup, which sat next to a metal table covered with a mini-army of little wax paper bags filled with dried noodles. "Ah, Zina. I knew you would come," she murmured with serene confidence.

Lao Ma's mystical side always fascinated the ex-con. "Yeah? How'd you know this time? A vision? Reading tea leaves? A talking eggroll?"

"No. Boris called me."

"Lazy bastard," muttered Gabrielle.

"Your jealous heart reveals itself, Gabrielle. Like a dumpling hiding spinach…soon, the truth is wedged bitterly between one's teeth."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

"Lao, baby," Zina began, folding her arms so that her supple biceps were highlighted, then tossing her black hair and grinning seductively, "you'll remember a few years back I gave you a puppy…"

"Ah, yes. A most unexpected gesture. Touching and beautiful."

"Thanks, Lao."

"Until you demanded money for the wretched creature."

"I just thought of that as a loan. Anyway, Lao, honey..." Zina stretched to emphasize her broad shoulders and perfectly rounded breasts. Lao's stirring of the egg drop soup grew agitated. And Gabrielle's blood simmered hotter than the most potent of Tabasco sauces.

"...I need the dog back. I'll buy him from you, even."

"Yes, I know. That's what Boris was calling about. He said he was sending you over, and that you would either seduce me or kill me for the dog."

"You know Boris. Loves to exaggerate. 'Cause if I kill anyone, it would be that bratty kid of yours."

Lao Ma sighed. "Ming Tien is so misunderstood....you see, I had to get rid of the dog for him."

"Whaaaaat?" Zina asked, with a growl building in her throat.

"Ming was the allergic to the animal. And it kept attacking him. So I took it to the local animal shelter."

"Attacking?" echoed Zina. "Lao, it's a dachshund, for Christ's sake."

"They have many sharp little teeth..."

"Yeah," drawled Gabrielle facetiously, "who can resist the raging dachshund?"

Lao Ma's cool eyes flickered to the angry poet. "A sarcastic bitch is like a Barbra Streisand CD: It yields unpleasantness for all within hearing range."

"Oh, yeah? Well, a bitch who drowns in a pot of egg drop soup is like…"

Zina and Lao watched, with anticipation, as Gabrielle struggled to find a metaphor. Both women raised eyebrows.

"…like….like…a bitch who drowns in a pot of egg drop soup!" In sheer frustration, Gabrielle kicked at the stove. Poor baby, Zina thought, she really is blocked.

A flicker of alarm crossed Lao Ma's face. "Gabrielle, do not kick my stove. Unless you want to find extra MSG in your next Szechuan Chicken." She turned to Zina. "Please, remove your dangerous girlfriend from the premises."

"C'mon, baby, let's go," Zina tugged gently on her companion's arm.

"Don't you threaten me with acronyms, you!" roared Gabrielle.

With a sigh, Zina flung the poet over a broad shoulder and exited the Green Dragon.

6. Of Pussies and Puppies

When Boris was not contentedly watching Sally Jessy Raphael, he pondered his ex-lover, Zina. It amazed him to see her so utterly under the thumb of this little blonde person, Gabrielle. The dark, dangerous woman who excited him so, who defied the law and good taste, well, she was now…what do they call it? Ah…pussy-whipped!

Now she knows what it's like, he thought spitefully.

The door of the farmhouse burst open, interrupting any further Russian ruminations. Zina stomped in, with Gabrielle on her heels.

"Did you have to hit the guy at the pound?" the strawberry blonde was complaining.

"Don't you give me any lectures, missy! You were about ready to cold cock Lao Ma at the restaurant!" the firefighter retorted angrily.

"Well, the difference here is that I didn't hit anyone, Zina. Besides, Lao Ma is a bitch."

"You're jealous."

"And you're practically homicidal!"

"I know I am! I've admitted it, Gabrielle! Whaddya want me to do, tell the world I'm gay? I'M GAY! I'M GAY!" Zina shouted to the heavens.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes in defeat. It's not even worth telling her.

"And you…you're a fine one to talk about us being homo-cidal. You haven't even told your parents yet!"

The poet flushed. "They're not ready to know!"

Boris decided that the ridiculous bickering had gone far enough, and it was time for a man—a force of reason—to intervene. "Did anyone bring 7-Up?" he asked calmly. "We're all out."

The two women stared at him. "What the hell are you still doing here?" Zina snarled.

"Zina, I told you…"

"Yeah, yeah, the dog. Well, I got news for you, Boris. The dog is in the pound and they won't let me have 'em unless I pay $1000."

The Russian's dark eyes swelled with emotion. "A thousand—but, they can't do that! Why is it so much money?"

"It's some stupid county law," Gabrielle said. "Zina was registered as the dog's owner, and since she 'abandoned' him and he ended up in the pound…well, they're fining her. It's a misdemeanor."

"Miss Demeanor? I once knew a drag gentleman by that name."

"Drag queen," Gabrielle corrected.

"Da." Boris looked over at Zina, who was slumped in the recliner, looking defeated. He squirmed—instinct told him something else was wrong. "What?" he prompted.

Gabrielle bit her lip nervously. "It's also a violation of Zina's parole, and if we don't pay the fine she'll go to jail."

Zina tried to convey indifference with a shrug. "I don't have that kinda money," the firefighter muttered. Damn. And I swore I would never go back….All the money they recovered from the sales of Barbecue Salsa Mayonnaise was gone, spent on their vacation and on fixing a dent in the Impala—Gabrielle's lone attempt at driving the fabled car having gone seriously awry when she accidentally ran over Crassus, one of Julie Caesar's dogs. The contrite poet had cried a river of tears on Zina's Black Sabbath t-shirt, but had eagerly agreed to the firefighter's plan to bury the dog in Farmer Draco's backyard and not tell Julie.

"I don't either, Zina," Boris implored, "but if we don't pay the money…they kill him."

"And you'll go to jail," Gabrielle added softly.

"Maybe they should just kill me and send the dog to prison," Zina grumbled darkly.

"Can they do that here?" asked the Russian, a mite too eagerly.

7. You Don't Need Pants for the Victory Dance

Gabrielle found the prospect of connubial visits at Shark Island Correctional Facility quite unappealing, and quickly decided upon the best approach to earning quick cash to keep her beloved out of the pen: She applied for employment at the Shimmy Shack.

Sid Moskowitz, the chubby, engaging proprietor of said establishment, was quite pleased when Gabrielle called him to inquire of job opportunities. Sid had an eye for natural talent, and ever since he had spotted Gabrielle in the supermarket, wearing Daisy Dukes and bending over to pick up a rather large box of detergent, he knew her assets would do well on his stage.

Nervously, Gabrielle walked into the dark, empty club. In the light of day, such an institution is rather like a gutted animal—hollow, smelly, dark, and dead. Nonetheless, Sid's cheery disposition did its best to dispel this impression. "Hiya, sweet pea!" Sid greeted her happily. "Glad you came!"

"Hi, Sid."

"How's that old psycho girlfriend of yours, baby?"

"She's fine."

"Yeah," he sighed wistfully. "I still remember the first time I met her. She was dealing dope in my club and I had her kicked out…later that same night, when I was closing up, she beat the crap out of me." He smiled nostalgically. "The very next day, I hired her as a bouncer. She was the best ever. I've never seen anyone inflict pain and humiliation the way she did!" Tears welled up in his eyes.

"That's a beautiful story, Sid. It gets more beautiful every time you tell it."

"Yeah." He moaned. "Ach, such memories! Now, honeycakes, before we get in too deep here….Zina does know about this, doesn't she?"

The blonde twitched. "Well, not yet. But I swear, Sid, she'll be cool with it. I mean, I'm doing it for her. We need the money to pay off all these fines and stuff about the dog."

"Yeah. Poor Killer."

"Killer?"

"That's the dachshund, sweet cheeks."

Gabrielle shook her head sadly. No wonder they never call him by his name. "It figures," she muttered.

"Okay, angel muffin, shall we get on with the interview?"

"Sure." Gabrielle slipped out of the long raincoat she was wearing, revealing a body clad in a lovely two-piece bikini.

Sid sucked in as much air as he could, as several blood vessels in his head threatened to burst. Having done so, he found himself unable to exhale—he was afraid that if he did so, this woman of sheer perfection might vanish. Or simply run away at the smell of his breath.

"Well?" demanded the poet impatiently, hands on hips.

"Are you kidding, honey?" he wheezed. "Just looking at you takes five years off my life span."

8. Benefits of the Missionary Position

The ritual began.

The lights were dimmed, candles were lit, and empty cans of Rolling Rock were lined up on the floor. Mentally, Zina counted them again. Twenty-four. Yes, that should do nicely. As usual, Gabrielle had requested that Zina play the softest music she had, which, unfortunately, was a tape of Joni Mitchell's Blue that Cyrene had left behind one evening. As the guitars tinkled gently and Joni mumbled something about the wind from Africa, Gabrielle entered. She sat on the bare floor near the cans and assumed the lotus position, while Zina wished that she were watching women's volleyball on ESPN. It wasn't that she really minded helping her girlfriend, once everything got started, but getting there just took so long. The firefighter suppressed a sigh….

…But apparently not well enough. A green eye opened and peered at her in annoyance.

"Sorry," she mumbled. She stretched out along the floor, waiting.

A few minutes passed while Gabrielle continued to meditate. The firefighter was about ready to fall asleep when the poet announced quietly, "I'm ready." The blonde unfurled her body from the yoga position and laid down on her back.

Zina, on her knees, loomed over her beloved. She reached for the first beer can. "Okay." Gently, she placed the can on its side against Gabrielle's bare midriff. It sat there precipitously, its green sheen merely the reflected glory of the poet’s eyes, until the young woman's body jackknifed with amazing speed and power….Zina had seen it happen many times, but it never failed to amaze her: The can was now flatter than the topography of Kansas.

"The Amazing Abs," Zina whispered in reverence. She removed the flattened can.

Gabrielle smiled proudly. "Plus the recycling people love me!" she crowed. "Next!"

Zina placed the second can on the poet's tummy. "Can't wait to see you at the club tomorrow night."

Crunch! "I'm really nervous, baby. I'm so glad you'll be there." Another innocent Rolling Rock can was placed in the abs of death. "I still can't believe"—Crunch! —"you're cool with this. I thought you'd be all pissed and everything."

"Are you crazy? It's like the dream of every red-blooded American dyke. To have a girlfriend who is an exotic dancer! I can go up to any slob in the crowd while they watch you dance, point at you, and say, 'That's my chick, man.' Ha!" she cackled in triumph.

"You're so fucked up," concluded Gabrielle with a sigh. Crunch!

"But you love me anyway," retorted Zina smugly.

"Like the way I love pork rinds: I know they’re bad, but I just can’t resist." The poet affirmed this with another crunch.

Zina pondered this. "That’ll do," she observed, as she selected another can. 9. Thanks for the Mammaries

Sid leaned against a wall in the club. He plucked at his black polyester shirt, which shimmered in the low light, and sighed. She simply isn't getting it, he thought. Such potential—I mean, oy! That body! But…. He had spent the last half an hour watching Gabrielle dance, or do something resembling dancing, and it was about as erotic as watching a spastic have a fit. He stopped the tape deck, and ZZ Top's "Gimme All Your Lovin'" once again died in an abrupt fashion, which mirrored the disjointed style of his private dancer. As silence filled the room, the young woman stumbled in her heels and fell onto her ass. She looked up at Sid helplessly.

"Sweet cheeks," he began warily, "hasn't Zina ever asked you to shake your titties, eh?"

Gabrielle blinked. "What the hell kind of question is that?" she asked, irritated. "It's none of your damn business." Carefully she stood up, hoping that no part of her skimpy bikini was askance; I'm not showing flesh until the meter starts running, she thought.

"Honey thighs, the name of this joint is the Shimmy Shack. You don't have to be goddamn Ginger Rogers to dance here, but…you need to shimmy. You need to shake it up. C'mon, stick 'em out, and vibrate. And later….when you latch onto that pole, you gotta hump it like hell. Okay?"

She stared at the dismal aluminum pole stuck in the middle of the stage. "But…it's a pole."

Sid sighed again, in utter exasperation. "Babycakes, aren't you a writer or somethin'?"

Gabrielle nodded furiously. "Do you need me to write—"

"No, I don't need you to write anything. All I'm saying is—use your imagination. Pretend that pole is Zina's thigh. Pretend all the guys you're dancing for are, like, a big lesbian soccer team or something."

The poet frowned skeptically.

"All right, a big, smelly, drunk lesbian soccer team."

Gabrielle's frown deepened. "All right, Sid. I'll do my best."

Sid smiled; he wasn't buying it. "Shit, sweetheart, I'm sorry you're having a rough time with this. Maybe Natalie can help you."

"Who's Natalie?"

"My best dancer, baby. Look, take a load off, go back in the dressing room. She'll be here soon."

*****

So Gabrielle went back into the bowels of the club, into the tiny dressing room she was to share with about three or four other women. She pulled on her t-shirt—the chilly air had made her nipples so erect and prominent that they could hail a taxi of their own accord. She sat down in front of a mirror. Scattered on the table in front of her were various accouterments of femininity: lipstick, rouge, baby powder, eyeliner, tampons …and a book. She picked it up, curiously—it was entitled A Separate Reality: Further Conversations with Don Juan.

As she started to page through the book, someone quietly entered the room.

"It's a great book," said a woman's voice.

Surprised, Gabrielle gave a little jump, then turned around. A woman with short blonde hair stood in the doorway, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. Red alert! Red alert! Lesbian in the vicinity! Gabrielle's gaydar screamed. Nervously, the poet placed the book back where she found it. "Was this your book?" she asked the woman. "Sorry, just curious."

"No, no, it's all right," replied the woman. "It's nice to have someone around who's interested in the same thing." She walked over to Gabrielle and offered a hand. "Hi, I'm Natalie. Sid said I'd find you back here." Natalie's grasp was warm and tingly; Gabrielle felt a thumb brush lazily over the veins in the back of her hand. She squirmed slightly, partly uncomfortable and partly…aroused. "Gabrielle, is it?"

"Yeah, that's me." Natalie wouldn't let go of her hand. With a little tug, she finally reclaimed it.

"Cool. Sid said you're a student at the community college."

"I'm majoring in English."

"Wonderful! I used to teach there, you know."

Gabrielle brightened. "Really?"

"Yeah. I taught ethics. But then they got rid of the philosophy department. Cheap bastards. So I'm reduced to doing…this." Natalie waved her hand around the dismal dressing room.

"Sorry."

Natalie unleashed a dazzling smile. "Well, it's certainly not your fault." She began to strip rapidly, tossing her clothes over a lonely chair and revealing a thin, bikini clad form. "Okay, I guess I should show you some moves, like Sid said."

"Uh, sure, that'd be great. And, um, maybe afterward you can tell me all about this book," Gabrielle replied, picking up the Carlos Castaneda tome again.

"Oh, I'd love to!" responded the blonde stripper enthusiastically. She knelt down in front of Gabrielle, between the young poet's legs, and gazed at her with shining eyes. What the hell is she on? Gabrielle wondered, all the while fighting the delicious chills that turned her thighs all goose-pimply. "It's such a wonderful book. One of my favorites. It helps you see the world in a totally different way…"

*****

The blue Volkwagen sputtered to a halt in front of the Shimmy Shack. Cyrene took the keys out of the ignition, and looked over at her daughter, whose knees were pressed uncomfortably against the dash; she had forgotten that cramming Zina in her tiny VW bug was like putting Michael Jordan on a tricycle: It was not a good fit.

"Y'know, this is the kind of place I used to picket in the 70s, Zina," Cyrene grumbled.

"Look, Mom, don't start. She's just doing it for the money." Zina's muscular forearms were folded. While the firefighter was quite happy to show off her lover's body to the world, she was rather concerned that the look, don't touch policy firmly entrenched in her mind—and echoed by Sid's frequent admonitions to the crowd—would fall apart within the reality of the Shimmy Shack. She had been a bouncer too long at the dump to think otherwise. It made her tense. And a tense Zina was a hairsbreadth away from punching out anyone who dared annoy her.

Cyrene sighed. "You owe me for this, honey."

"The White Russians are on me, Mom."

*****

"I-I think I'm getting stage fright," Gabrielle stammered.

"I think you're just nauseous from eating three Snickers bars," Sid rumbled at her.

They were standing backstage. Natalie was on, dancing to "You Spin Me Right Round (Like a Record)."

"Oh shit, Sid…what if I bomb?"

"Honey, you're not gonna bomb. Just remember, you got the bod. You're halfway there. Shimmy the T, wiggle the A, hump the pole, and you'll be fine."

Wild applause and wolf whistles followed the sweaty Natalie as she left the stage. The number of $20 bills stuffed down the enticing pouch of her g-string made her look like she was packing in an odd kind of way. "Whew!" she said to Sid and Gabrielle, pushing damp strands of her blonde hair away from her face. "Those boys are primed now. They'd go nuts even if Shelley Winters went out there and danced."

Gabrielle gave a look of despair.

"Aw, Gabrielle! I'm just kidding!" Natalie hugged her impulsively. In her nervous state, having an attractive sweaty female body rubbing up against her own was almost too much. Almost. Natalie pulled away and all parties present noticed that the poet's nipples were harder than bullets.

"Well, somebody's ready to perform," Sid noted wryly. He patted her behind—Gabrielle resisted the urge to deck him—and headed onto the stage, in order to announce her.

"Just remember your mantra, Gabrielle," Natalie reminded her.

The young blonde nodded. "Yeah…shimmy the T, wiggle the A, hump the pole…" she mumbled.

"Actually I meant the other one we came up with. You know, your personal one: 'love, pop-tarts, and peace.' "

"Oh. Right. But hey, Natalie, like, aren't you supposed to not say it out loud?"

"Aw, shit!" the former professor winced.

"Gentlemen, we have a new performer tonight…I'd like you to give a warm welcome to…GABRIELLE!"

The poet stumbled toward the stage, and hesitated; her nerves felt so exposed that she imagined them—and not her body—bathed in lurid swaths of multicolored stage lights.

"Go toward the light!" Natalie shouted.

And which fucking light was that?

*****

"Wow, man, that was awesome," Cyrene babbled as she and Zina wound their way through dark hallways to the dressing room. "I mean, I never knew that she was so—" Cyrene's hands cupped imaginary breasts.

"Mom, shut the fuck up. You are seriously freaking me out," Zina retorted, while pondering the closed door in front of her. Her blood seethed with lust…who knew Gabrielle could dance so seductively? Zina had only ever witnessed the pogo-like maneuvers of the poet as she did the "Blitzkrieg Bop" to her favorite Ramones song. But now, she wanted nothing more than do ravish her companion…after that.

She kicked open the door. Cyrene rolled her eyes. Drama queen.

Zina's baby blues were greeted by the sight of Natalie painting Gabrielle's toenails while the poet pored over the Castaneda book. She did not miss the adoring look that the strange blonde woman was giving to her scantily-clad girlfriend, even though Gabrielle was clearly clueless to the attentions of the ex-professor. Indeed, if Oblivion were a town, Gabrielle would be mayor.

Nonetheless, at the startling sound of the door bursting open, both women turned their attention to the dark-haired firefighter.

"Baby!" Gabrielle squealed. "What did ya think?" She jumped up and ran over to Zina. The furious exchange of saliva prompted Natalie to read the label on the bottle of Dangerous Pomegranate nail polish and Cyrene to examine a selection of tassels hanging from the wall.

Zina broke off the kiss. "You were fantastic, baby. The best ever."

"Thanks…hey, I made almost $25 in tips!" she pointed to the bureau, littered with crumpled currency.

"That's great!"

"Yeah, I mean, I can't believe it…couple more weeks, we should have your fine paid off."

"Er, Gabrielle, why don't you introduce me to your—partner?" Natalie piped up unctuously.

" 'Partner?' " echoed Zina. "We don't work together. We sleep together."

She glowered at Natalie.

"Oh, uh, Zina, this is Natalie…she, uh, used to teach at Olympus." Nervously, Gabrielle looked from one woman to the other. Her new "mentor" and her beloved were not getting on well at all. "Honey, Natalie taught me how to dance. Ain't it great?"

Zina arched an eyebrow. Natalie smirked. "Yeah, great," muttered the firefighter.

"Well, I'm off…" said the blonde stripper breezily. She sailed past the three women, giving Gabrielle a wink. "See you tomorrow, Gabrielle." And she was gone.

Gabrielle disentangled herself from Zina. "You coulda been nicer, you know," she chastised sullenly, as she slipped on a t-shirt.

"I never said I was a nice person," Zina shot back.

In the interim, Cyrene had noticed the book lying on the bureau. She picked it up. "Oh man!" she cackled. "I haven't seen this used as a seduction technique since 1972!"

"Whaddya mean, seduction?" snarled Zina. Her blue eyes snapped to Gabrielle. Who looked away.

"Don't be silly, Cyrene," scoffed Gabrielle. "Excuse me, I have to go see Sid about my schedule for next week." With a cultivated, haughty air borne of careful examination of Joan Collins in Dynasty, the exotic dancer left the room.

Zina half-leaned, half-sat against the makeup table, looking defeated. "Shit, Mom."

Ah, my articulate child. "Look, honey, who knows what this chick is all about. But I'm sure Gabrielle is happy with you…and doesn't want to look elsewhere."

"I'm not so sure," mumbled the firefighter. "Maybe she needs to be with someone…like that. You know, who reads and stuff. Who understands poetry."

"…And who doesn't sit in an open pot of rouge." Cyrene concluded, nodding at Zina's behind. Zina jumped up, cursing. Her mother patted her arm affectionately. "I'll wait outside, in the car." The older woman ambled out the door.

*****

After confirming her schedule with Sid for the following week, Gabrielle was about to return to her dressing room when she was intercepted at the bar.

"Sweetie!" shrieked Chad, her fellow homo student at OCCC. He hugged Gabrielle. "You were fabulous!" Gabrielle was relieved to note that Chad wore no incendiary t-shirts, like I'M NOT GAY BUT MY ACADEMIC ADVISOR IS (an advertisement actually true). Although sporting a lilac-colored Ralph Lauren Polo shirt among the Shimmy Shack crowd was asking to be noticed.

"Aw, Chad, you came! I'm really glad."

"Oh, mary…" He took her face in his hands. "You have no idea how many screwdrivers I had to get through this…"

Vodka-influenced breath wafted over her. She blanched. "Yes, Chad. Yes I do."

"But Good God, Gab. I didn't know Natalie Hood was strutting her stuff here too."

"Hey, so you know her?"

Chad's eyes widened. "Oh yeah…man, I'm so glad they fired her."

"Fired? She told me they closed the philosophy department."

"Oh. that little liar!" Chad exclaimed petulantly. "No, she was canned for sexual harassment. She would pick a student she liked, and try to seduce them. You know, say she'd give them a higher grade." His thin lips trembled. "She even tried it with me once!"

"Duh, can't she tell you're gay?"

"That's what I said!" Chad wailed.

Gabrielle frowned in thought. Maybe Zina was right not to be suspicious of her. I mean, the big dope is right about some things…I should give her more credit. "Chad, I gotta go…I have to finish dressing" –the collective eyes of the bar were devouring her bikini'ed bottom, making her nervous—"and Zina's waiting for me."

" 'Kay, sweetie…Tell Zina I said hi, and that I want a date with a firefighter real soon."

When Gabrielle returned to the dressing room, Zina was swatting her Levi-clad butt with a towel.

"Baby, what the hell are you doing?"

"I got…stuff on my ass." Upon closer examination, the poet saw that some reddish powder clung to the denim. She chuckled. Zina scowled.

"I swear, you're like a big kid sometimes…" Gabrielle took the towel from her companion's hands. She dampened a corner with some bottled water left behind by Natalie, then successfully removed the powder. "Maybe this'll teach you not to sit on things a body shouldn't be sitting on."

"Yeah, right," grumbled Zina.

They were quiet for almost a minute.

"Do you…like her?" prompted the firefighter quietly. To mask her nervousness—which only emphasized it even more—she toyed with a stray cosmetic applicator…what it was exactly, she had no frigging idea.

"Who? Natalie?"

"Well, yeah."

Gabrielle shrugged. "I guess I did at first. I thought she was kinda cool…"

"And you thought she was cute."

" Yeah, she's cute…but so what? I just saw Chad outside, and he told me she's really an asshole."

"Really?" Zina frowned. "I had a bad feeling about her."

"You were right, honey. I'm sorry." The poet wrapped her arms around Zina's waist and propped her chin on the firefighter's broad shoulder. "So, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you jealous or anything. I love you, you big jerk."

Zina grinned. "And I love you too, you little bitch." She exhaled with relief. "Wow…so I was right about her, huh?" Gabrielle nodded. "I'm glad I'm right about something."

"You have good instincts, Zina. Except about your own strength."

"Huh?"

Gabrielle nodded at Zina's hand. Which was covered in inky black stuff. "You just crushed my eyeliner."

*****

Three weeks passed and the appropriate funds were procured, upon which Killer was sprung from the pound. Now, Boris was sprawled happily in the backyard with his dog. "There's my boy," he cooed, as Killer charged at him, the dachshund's ears flopping merrily.

"Your move," Zina grunted. The firefighter sat at the picnic table, where a chessboard lay before her. She had spent 20 minutes pondering how to put Boris into check. Having failed this particular objective, she opted for rearranging some of his pieces.

With a sigh, Boris stood up and returned to their chess match. Tomorrow he was off to Brussels for another tournament, with Killer in tow, and had decided to get in some practice with Zina before leaving. She was a good player, he admitted to himself, but her endgame was a weakness: She would grow impatient and then, ultimately, lose.

He sat down in front of the board and frowned, glaring at her. She simpered. He restored his knight and queen to their original positions.

Meanwhile, inside the farmhouse, Gabrielle was fending off Sid's advances, such as they were: "But, honey tits, are you sure you wanna hang up your G-string? You're my most popular dancer now!" the club owner protested as he stood in the kitchen and watched the lovely blonde make chocolate chip cookies.

"It's tempting, Sid…"

"I'll say."

Gabrielle stopped mixing cookie dough. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

"I got a good look at that car of yours. Oy, baby. An Escort? And it's gotta be rustier than Jesse Helms's dick."

A new car would be nice…Her lips twitched, but she said nothing.

Sid stroked his beard thoughtfully. He knew she was tempted. He decided to try another offer. "Look, sweetie, you know…I make movies too." He sidled up next to her. "And the money for that is even bigger than the dancing!" he whispered gleefully.

Gabrielle dropped her wooden spoon, covered in yummy cookie dough gunk. "You want me to be in porno?" she sputtered.

"Baby lamb, just one film will net you close to ten thou. You could buy yourself a Saturn, for God's sake!"

Her expression remained doubtful.

Damn. I almost had her. "Look, Gab, it's not really porno. It's erotica. There's a difference, y'know. Smart girl like you should know that." Still, she looked less than convinced as she rinsed off the wooden spoon. "This film that I want you to be in…it's ground-breaking, sugar cake. It really is. I can honestly say that there is no other film like it in existence. It touches me on a deep, religious level—in fact, I consider it a service to my people, because it's the first of its kind." Her green eyes fluttered with intrigue. He grinned. "You wanna know what it is?" he said eagerly.

"Yeah!" she exclaimed, caught up in his enthusiasm.

"The first ever Orthodox Jewish erotic film: Rabbi or Not, Here I Come."

Gabrielle groaned. "Jesus, Sid."

"Now that's one personage who will not be in this film." She shook her head and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. "Come on, Hasidim deserve to have lively sex lives too, you know."

Through the back door Gabrielle saw a flash of movement: It was Zina, pinning Boris to the ground and trying to jam a rook into his ear. "Poor baby, she lost again," the poet murmured.

Sid noticed this too. "Ah, good old Zina. Making the world a little more dangerous," he sighed appreciatively.

"Yep, good old Zina," Gabrielle agreed happily.

"Who's that fine-looking fellow, babycakes? I think he would make a good rabbi."

Gabrielle flung open the back door. "Zina! Boris! Both of you knock it off, or no cookies!"

"She started it!" shouted Boris.

Zina sulked from her position, sitting on Boris's chest. Angrily he slapped her muscular thigh. "Get off me, you eeediot! I want cookies!"

She raised an eyebrow in disdain, and stood up.

Sid bustled past Gabrielle. "Zina, baby, what do you think of your girlfriend starring in a porn movie of her own? Eh?"

The blue eyes froze. Sid raised his hands in hapless self-defense. "But sugar lump, I got this great idea...maybe you could play the rabbi who seduces Gabrielle..." Sid brightened at his own idea. "This is great," he murmured to himself. "It increases the kink factor!"

"Rabbi?" Both dark eyebrows lifted, and a strange expression came over Zina's lovely face. With a shock, Gabrielle realized her lover was...thinking.

"Zina!" she cried. "You can't be serious!"

"Well, why not? You were real good in that home video we made—"

From his position on the ground, Boris nodded vigorously. "I agree! It was a wonderful performance!"

The blonde poet went pale. "You showed him...the tape?" Many months ago, a rainy Sunday and a borrowed video camera had yielded a long-playing tape filled with about five hours of frenetic sex, fifteen minutes of arguing, twenty minutes of eating pizza, and twenty-five minutes of Gabrielle napping and snoring between orgasms.

"Well, when Hank and Effie saw it they both thought that you were faking it in that one scene, you know, the one with the"—the firefighter made a vague hand gesture which could have represented anything from a kumquat to a plastic water gun—"and Ed wasn't sure, so I wanted another opinion..."

"For myself, I must say I was very convinced!" Boris declared solemnly. "A scream like that, it comes from the heart. Or someplace, um, similar."

"That’s what Mom said too." Zina replied, feeling affirmed.

Sid, hands on hips, whined, "Now why haven't I seen this?"

Zina recognized the fury in her companion's green eyes and, throwing down the gauntlet of a shit-eating grin, took off running.

"Oh, you better run!" Gabrielle shouted after her. "'Cause someone's gonna be on the receiving end of the strap-on tonight, and it ain't me, missy!" Which is probably exactly what she wants anyway. As she dashed into the twilight, leaving the menfolk alone with the cookie dough, Gabrielle felt her anger dissipate as she followed the unmistakable laughter of the firefighter.

THE END 

[ramheavenandhell]

Rick and Morty Forever and One Hundred Years – Chapter 5: Saving or Ruining the Evening

AN: Would you look at that! It's an update! And this time it didn't took me years. On another note, I finally finished the basic outline for this story, so I finally have a plan where to go with this. The bad news is that my muse got hyped over a different high school AU now, so prepare that that will be a thing in the future -_-' Warnings: Rick/Morty, a tiny bit Morty/Jessica, still slow burn (but we're getting a few moments in this one)

Rick and Morty Forever and One Hundred Years – Chapter 5: Saving or Ruining the Evening Morty closed the door of his locker and pulled his books tighter to his chest as his eyes landed on his crush. 'C'mon! Just go over there and ask her!' he mentally motivated himself. Swallowing heavily, he slowly approached the red head, who was currently chatting with her friends, two lockers down from him. Only when he came to a stop right next to them, did they stop talking and all of the girls' attention was suddenly focused on him. "H—" Morty quickly cleared his throat as only a squeaky rasp escaped him. "Hi, Je-Jessica." While the other girls fixed him with a look of annoyance, Jessica put a friendly smile on her face. "Hi, Morty." She kindly greeted back. The brunet swallowed once more, still feeling that annoying clump in his throat. "I-I wanted to ask if you m-might want to go to the dance? I mean wis-with me?" He laughed awkwardly at the end of the sentence, hoping that it would come across as charming or something like that…which it didn't. Jessica retained her smile when she answered politely. "Sorry, but I'm already going with my boyfriend. Brad." It should have been obvious that she already had a date for the upcoming school dance, so this answer shouldn't have surprised him. Still, Morty felt upset although he tried to hide it in front of his crush. "Oh o-okay." He stuttered with a nervous smile. Just in this moment, none other than Brad had to show up, wrapping an arm possessively around the red-haired girl. "Hey, babe. Is this guy bothering you?" He threw a glance at Morty that could potentially kill and made the smaller boy cringe. "It's okay, Brad. He was just asking me out to the dance, but I told him that I'm going with you." Jessica replied calmly. "Dude, how can you even ask her something like that? Don't you see how pretty she is? You should go and play in your own league!" The taller boy bellowed. Morty only shrunk further and wanted to stutter an apology, scared that the other might even go and beat him up now. "Calm down, Brad. I'm sure he didn't know that I have a boyfriend." Jessica threw in. That was actually a lie. Of course, Morty knew that even though it was sometimes hard to keep track with how often those two broke up before getting back together again. He still had something like hope though…but that was only meant to be crushed. "Girl, the whole school knows that we're together. There's no chance that he didn't know." The redhead only shrugged and let herself be steered away, her girlfriends following. Brad, who had still one arm wrapped around his girl, turned once more back to the brunet and gave him a look that promised that this conversation wasn't over yet. And it also promised pain. Morty didn't look forward to the continuation and mentally scolded himself for being so stupid at even attempting to ask Jessica out.

"Hey, Morty!" Rick greeted him in the classroom, sitting on his desk and looking like he had only waited for him. "What's up? Why're making that face?" The brunet slouched into his seat, not just his face but his entire posture spelling defeat. With a sigh at the beginning, he explained, "I asked Jessica if she would go to the dance with me. She said no. And not only that but Brad also showed up…and he's probably going to beat the shit out of me later…" "Then I'll go to the dance with you." Rick offered in a heartbeat. Morty did a double take, not believing that he had heard that right. "Really? You would go to the dance with me?" He was honestly surprised by the offer because he had thought for sure that Rick would actually ask a girl to go with him. A few of the popular girls were in fact just waiting for Rick to ask one of them, as far as Morty had overheard them in the hallways. Rick didn't seem to care about that at all though. "Sure, dawg! If you wanna, that is." "Yeah!! I-I mean, I'd like that, Rick." The brunet blushed at his way too exciting answer. After the rejection, he hadn't even been sure if he wanted to attend the school dance anymore, but now he was actually looking forward to it. It had him in such high spirits that even the biology test that they had to face now couldn't put a damper on his good mood. Or the most likely unavoidable run-in with Brad later on…

Morty tried to fix his bow tie for the umpteenth time in front of the mirror, convinced that it was still somehow wrong. It was finally the evening of the school dance and his parents had been kind enough to suspend his punishment just for today – though his dad quickly changed his mind about it after hearing that he would be going together with Rick. Luckily, Beth had shut him up again and said that it's fine as long as he was back before midnight. And he was expected to be back sober – not that Morty would have a problem with that since he didn't plan to drink anything tonight. Though, he wouldn't be able to say the same thing for his best friend. Said blue-haired boy would be here really soon to pick him up and Morty was unexplainably nervous and felt like he wasn't ready yet. So, he stood in front of the mirror in the hallway and fidget with his clothes, being in two minds about going back upstairs and re-dressing again. He wore a dark-grey suit, a white dress shirt and a yellow bow tie and had hoped that this assembly looked somewhat good, but he only felt really self-conscious about it. "You look fine, Morty." Summer suddenly appeared in the mirror and gave her make-up a last quick check. She wore a dark purple sleeveless dress and had her hair tied in a bun, held up by a beautiful hair clip that perfectly matched her earrings, necklace and bracelet. "Thanks. You look great, Summer." Morty smiled, his nerves a little eased after hearing that statement. "I know." His sister replied cockily and hurried to the door after hearing a car honk, only shouting a quick goodbye towards the parlor where their parents were and a 'later' to him. Her girlfriends were picking her up since they had decided to drive to the dance together. Well, Morty's own drive would also be here any moment now and gosh, why did he feel so nervous again?! He couldn't remember that he had even been this excited over a school dance. Then again, it was also the first time that he wouldn't go to one alone. The sound of a revving engine alerted him that Rick was finally here. "Mom! Dad! I'm leaving now!" He also yelled and stormed outside. Instead of waiting on the running bike for him, Rick had dismounted it and pulled his helmet off. Morty instantly felt self-conscious again as his best friend's gaze wandered him up and down once. Though Rick's appreciative smile relieved him. "Nice outfit, Morty. Looking real good." "Tha-thanks. You, too, Rick." The brunet couldn't help but blush a little. Rick actually looked amazing. The other teen wore a beige jacket and dress pants and a nice dark-blue button-up shirt and a white tie. Honestly, it's not what Morty would have expected, but then again, he really didn't know what exactly he thought his friend would be wearing tonight. The only thing that he was convinced about was that it really suited Rick and Morty wouldn't even been looking halfway as good as the other boy did if he were to wear the same thing. "Shall we?" Rick made a little bow and handed him the helmet, finally ripping the brunet out of his state of admiration. With a small smile and a shy blush, he accepted the offered accessory and put it on before following his friend's example and getting on the motorcycle.

The drive to school was short and uneventful. When they arrived, the parking lot was full and so was the gym hall. Music from the live band was blearing from the speakers and small decorations had been hung up to fit with some kind of festive theme while colorful lights illuminated the high schoolers that flocked on the dancefloor. As soon as they entered a few people greeted Rick and the teen greeted back, even shouting at some people to get their attention. "Hey, Gearhead!" He called out to one of the boys that stood near the punch table. The teen, whose actual name was Garry, wasn't happy about the nickname that he was given and instantly complained about it. "My name isn't "Gearhead", Sanchez. It is really rude to give such a nickname to a person who just happens to have a slightly unusually shaped head. Besides my head doesn't even look remotely like a gear! You don't see me going around and calling you Pillhead or Dorittohair or something like that either!!" Rick ignored him, not being bothered by the kvetching at all. Instead, he pulled Morty closer when he spotted Jessica and talked with him in a hushed tone that was still loud enough for the brunet to hear over the loud music. "Look, Morty! There's Jessica!" "Yeah, I can see that, Rick." The teen replied and his face fell at the sight. "And Brad is there, too." Indeed, the redhead was currently dancing together with her boyfriend. The sight was nothing to be excited about, though, she did look really pretty in her mint green dress. Before he could drift off in a dreamy state of admiring while imagining what it would be like if he could be next to her now, Rick continued. "Don't worry about that, Dawg! I'll give you a chance to be with Jessica by distracting Brad." "What?! How are you going to do that?" Morty couldn't believe it. Would Rick really do something like that for him? If he did, he would really owe something to the blue haired boy. Though, to be fair, it wouldn't be the first time that Rick bought him some alone time with his crush. This was going to be the best evening of his life if that would really work out! "Don't worry about that. Just leave it up to me." Without elaborating further, he steered Morty over to one of the tables and told him to wait there before vanishing seemingly into thin air. Not knowing what else to do with his time, he grabbed a red paper cup and filled some of the punch in it. After taking a sip, he could taste something bitter mixed in with the sweetness and his face instantly scrunched up. It was spiked! And this early in the evening already. With a sigh, he placed the cup on the table and decided that he wasn't really that thirsty. Taking another look around the gym hall, he suddenly noticed that Jessica was chatting with her girlfriends now and there was no sight of Brad anymore. How did that happen? Where did he go? He couldn't wonder for long as Rick suddenly returned to his side and nudged him. "C'mon, Morty! It's free rein now for you. Go over and talk to her!" Morty had no did idea how his friend did it or what exactly he had done, but he wasn't about to let that chance go to waste. He reached the girl when her friends scattered to dance with their dates and Jessica looked around in search for her own boyfriend. "Hey, Jessica!" He cringed a little at how shrill his voice sounded. She turned to him, looking surprised for a moment, but smiling friendly the next second. "Hello, Morty." "You look b-pr-gorgeous!" Damn his stutter! "Thank you. You look quite good yourself." She kindly returned the compliment. He laughed a little nervously, face turning even redder than after his little word tumble and he embarrassedly scratch the back of his head. "Would yo—" he had to clear his throat, "D-do you want to uh…dance?" "Well, I guess since my date left me hanging…" Her eyes roamed once more through the room. "Sure. Why not?" Morty visibly brightened up and eagerly made his way to the dancefloor with his crush, moving a little awkwardly, but clearly having fun.

Rick walked through the halls of the school. After seeing Morty dance with Jessica, he had some fun on the dancefloor himself with someone else, but suddenly the boy was gone. So he was searching for him now. After all, he would be a bad date if he wouldn't look for him and people could say many things about Rick Sanchez, but not that he was a bad date. Figuring that the boy was probably just using the toilet, he steered towards one of the restrooms when the door opened and the teen in question just came out. However, he looked anything but happy and his head as well as the neck of his shirt and jacket were wet. "Hey, what happened, Morty?" The brunet stared down at his feet when he answered. "Brad suddenly showed up. He saw me dancing with Jessica and didn't like it. So he beat me up and shoved my head in the toilet…" When he finally dared to look Rick in the eyes, he looked so pitiful, one of his eyes turning a purplish color and his cheek slowly swelling up. "Can we please just go home now?" The blue-haired boy's face hardened and he grabbed Morty's wrist. However, instead of dragging him to the exit, he urged the other teen back into the restroom again – much to the brunet's confusion. "Take of your jacket and shirt and then wash your face, Morty." He instructed. Despite still not understanding why he was supposed to do that, he followed Rick's directions without comment or hesitation and undressed before he went to the sink and splashed water in his face. Rick meanwhile had taken his clothes and proceeded to dry them using the hand dryer. After he was done with that, he helped Morty with drying his face and hair off as best as he could. After he told Morty to put his clothes back on, he handed him a comb that he handily had in one of his jacket pocket, fixed his yellow bow tie and lastly put some perfume on him that he also carried around. The brunet was actually surprised after all of the fussing was over and stared in the mirror. He looked presentable again (if you didn't count the slight bruising) and top of that, he smelled like Rick now. Actually, he had always figured that Rick would be using aftershave and not an actual perfume and the scent was an unusual one, but fitting. He needed to remember its name because it was actually really nice to be surrounded by that smell. "C'mon, Morty." Once more, Rick grabbed his wrist – something that he honestly did more often than not – and led him back into the gym hall again. The blue-haired teen dragged him all the way on the dancefloor just when a new and funky song started to play. It was the prefect opportunity for Rick to show off some of his cool dance moves again – like he always did at parties. The crowd quickly noticed that and made room on the floor, cheering him on as he moved gracefully. Morty actually felt a little embarrassed even though all eyes were on Rick right now. Still, he felt exposed with everyone standing around them and froze up, not wanting to make a fool of himself by attempting to dance alongside the much cooler teen. Besides, he really enjoyed watching Rick like everyone else did, so he was fine with this. However, the other seemed to have different plans as he kept making motions with his hands towards Morty, urging him to join him. Shyly the brunet shook his head, still refusing in fear of becoming the laughing stock of the school for the entire rest of the year because of this. Rick refused to give up though, dancing closer towards him and holding out his hand. As Morty kept looking at his expectant face – at that exciting smile – he slowly felt his resolve waning. He looked long enough into Rick's beautiful bright ice-blue eyes that he lost himself in them as well as the feel for reality and finally grabbed the inviting hand. Rick pulled him closer towards the middle and somehow the brunet fell easily into rhythm with him, dancing far more smoothly than he ever did before. For the entire time, he continued to look only at Rick and it felt to him like they were the only ones in the room. He didn't notice how the crowd around them kept cheering them both on. He couldn't even feel the pain anymore that he had thanks to Brad's beating. Everything else had just suddenly ceased to exist. Only after the song eventually ended, did he realize where he was again. The next song that came up was a slow one and Morty tried to leave the dancefloor again, when Rick stopped him. "Where do you think you're going, Morty?" the blue-haired teen asked. "Wh-wha—I-I th-thought—" The brunet poorly stuttered, convinced that his friend would actually want to dance with a girl now. Rick cut him short. "Everyone is entitled to one slow dance." With a grin, he pulled the stunned Morty closer towards him, putting his arms around him and began swaying to the music. The brunet felt once more distressed, although it wasn't quite like before. The crowd that had gathered around them had dissolved again as couples began to dance around them, so he didn't feel the pressure of hundreds of eyes on him anymore. Relaxing again, he went along with it, putting his own arms shyly around the other and following his lead. While they danced, Morty couldn't help but think about how kind Rick was tonight. Somehow, he had managed to make this school dance really enjoyable for him even after the entire fiasco with Brad. Dreamily he looked at Rick, his cheeks dusted with a cute flush and the other teen smiled gently back at him. Only when Morty realized that he was starring, did he avert his eyes in embarrassment. Still, he couldn't help but think that this was actually really nice…

The evening eventually came to an end and Rick brought him back home. Thankfully, the teen didn't had too much of the spiked punch and was still sober enough to drive properly without Morty having to worry too much about them getting into an accident. Rick stopped the motorcycle in front of the brunet's house and turned the engine off as he dismounted it. Like a gentleman, he walked Morty all the way to the door, which was almost silly since he never did that before. When they came to a stop at the front door, the brunet turned towards him. "Thank you, Rick, for the great evening and everything. I had really fun." It was true. For a moment, he had believed that everything was over and would be remembered as a horrible occurrence, but his genius friend had managed to turn it all around and made it into the best and most unforgettable night that Morty had ever experienced. "Don't sweat it." Rick waved him off with a grin. There was a brief silence between them and suddenly Rick looked as if he wanted to say something but stopped himself again. "Good night, Morty." With those words, he quickly took his leave and the brunet watched him till he was out of sight before going inside. For the rest of the night he wondered what Rick might have wanted to tell him…

AN: Kinda short chapter again, but you already know by now that consistent chapter length is not a thing for this story.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

[redjayson]

Okay so in Batman Beyond there's an episode where Bruce and Terry go see a 'Batman Musical', just imagine that goes on in Gotham and Jason finds out and asks(forces/tricks) the batfam to go.

i’m finally answering this! i had a really rough week, which is why this took a while, but i kept thinking about this prompt and laughing, so thank you for that.

and on that note: are you serious, that’s amazing. i vaguely remember watching batman beyond but i don’t actually remember all that much about it. i’ll need to look this up.

but yes. yes. i want this to be a Thing.

i want to imagine it as something between holy musical b@man! and the ember island players. like. just picture the kind of crazy misinformed shit that these people are tossing into the mix because what’s the truth and what’s the lie, no one knows, they’re going to make a musical about batman and his however many kids/sidekicks anyway

(they people putting on this play are probably college students)

(stephanie has probably dropped by to help with set designs and laughed herself sick in the process)

getting back on track, how does jason find out about it?

there are two ways i think it could happen. one: jason loves lit. we know this. he collected first editions with alfred and bruce when he was a kid. in my personal experience, if you like lit, you almost definitely like theater in some sense as well. at the very least you’ve read plays. 

jason holds his goddamn red hood helmet like he’s hamlet and it’s yorick.

trust me, he likes plays.

so maybe he pays attention to the kinds of plays that are being shown around gotham. he likes going to some of the matinee performances on saturday and sunday afternoons – he can’t go in the evening because he has to patrol. sometimes alfred goes with him. it’s…nice. and yeah, going to performances means that sometimes he goes to the gotham university performances as well. they actually have pretty good ones. a couple years ago they put on the importance of being earnest and then twelfth night the next semester. he was too busy when they were putting on godspell and west side story to be able to go see them, which he’s still disappointed about.

anyway. it’s not like whoever’s putting on this ridiculous play is keeping secret about the fact that they’re making it about batman and co. 

(i’ve made up my mind: it’s definitely the university kids that are putting it on. they’re the team starkid of gotham city. i bet a bunch of them said, “hey, we should do this, and also i bet it could count as our senior thesis” and they all went along with it and now they can’t turn back. they don’t want to turn back. this is going to amazing or they’re going to be arrested by batman, but god, what a way to go.)

so jason finds out, and, like steph, he busts a gut laughing about it before deciding that this is awesome and he’s definitely going to bully the rest of the family into seeing it with him. every time he thinks about bruce’s face he just starts laughing all over again. oh man. it’s going to be amazing. 

the other way that jason finds out, though: 

campus isn’t his usual haunt, but he’s been following some jackass with a connection to one of his open cases. spoiler has too much homework to help him, but she’s already given him the go-ahead to work on campus, which is nominally her space to patrol/operate in. 

and this dude – it doesn’t really matter what he did. he’s connected to drugs or he’s friends with the wrong person or he’s done something else. jason’s going to get everything he needs from the guy and then drop him off at the precinct. with a bullet to the leg if he really annoys jason. 

the thing is, the dude’s a member of the make-up crew for the batman musical. they’re doing dress rehearsals tonight. jason’s in full armor because he just wants to get this done and get back to his regular patrol routes as soon as possible. (like the rest of gotham, the campus is easy to grapple around. jason doesn’t have to touch the ground and shadows his target from the rooftops.)

the guy goes into the theater building. jason needs to make sure that he’s not meeting with anyone before jason grabs him. that’s why he didn’t take him out during any of the time that it took for the guy to cross campus to the theater building. meeting at the theater would be a good cover; there’s so much happening when rehearsing, so many people coming in and out, in all sorts of costumes and make up – if you needed to meet someone clandestinely, there are worse places that civilians have thought were secret. 

jason slides through a window, makes his way up into the balcony seats so he can spy (gotham university has a very nice theater. in the past, the waynes have donated generously to it), and –

“oh my god,” jason says, staring at the stage. 

he ducks down so that none of the actors can see him if they look up from their acting and past the lights to the balcony. jason tries to keep his laughter quiet, but it’s so fucking funny.

when he’s finally regained control of himself, he decides to just go for it. he feels a little bad about interrupting their rehearsal, but hey. gotham is all about unexpected surprises, and really, what else were they expecting when they decided to make a play about batman?

“can anyone point me to where brad merritt is?” jason calls as he strolls into the auditorium. his shit-eating grin is hidden beneath the helmet.

the actors all grind to a sudden stop. 

“um,” says an actor who’s probably meant to be the replacement. he looks at actor-nightwing. actor-nightwing turns to actor-batman. 

“he’s in the back with the rest of the make-up crew,” actor-batman says. 

“cool,” jason says, hopping up onto the stage and walking past them. he shoots them friendly finger guns. “you’ll need to replace him. he’s going to be in jail opening week.”

behind the stage, jason catches a glimpse of brad before he takes in red hood stalking towards him and bolts. 

“you get the assholes on campus next time, spoiler,” jason grumbles, and then he’s taking off after his target. 

so jason knows and he is all about that. he is going to see that shit opening night. he’s so damn ready. 

“stephanie,” he complains, sprawled out on her couch and finishing off the leftover lo mein that was in her fridge. “why didn’t you tell me what the university kids were doing?”

“what university kids?” steph asks, head still bent over her chemistry textbook. 

“the theater kids,” jason says. “the batman play.”

stephanie looks up, already laughing. “i know, right?” she says. “i’ve been helping out with some of the sets in my spare time and i’ve heard bits of it and it’s going to be a thing of wonder.” she grins. “they’ve even got spoiler in it!”

“hell yeah,” jason says, getting up to throw away the lo mein carton and high-fiving steph as he passes. he sits next to her at the table. “you think we can convince the rest of the family to go?”

“i can get cass and tim,” steph says. 

“i can definitely get alfred,” jason says. “probably also dick.”

they look at each other. 

“he’s your dad,” steph says. 

“he’s not my–” jason starts, then shakes his head. “goddammit. fine. if i get bruce to go, he’ll make damian go, as a…family bonding thing or something. two for one.”

“awesome,” steph says. “i didn’t want to try to convince the little hellion to go, anyway.”

“you’re in charge of babs,” jason says. 

“sure,” steph says. 

they fall into an easy silence. steph turns back to her chemistry work. 

“you did that last problem wrong,” jason says, craning his head to look at her work.

steph throws her pencil at his head. 

it takes two bribes, a guilt trip, and five minutes for dick to stop laughing (which jason will tolerate, because he did the exact same thing), but the entire wayne family, stephanie brown, and barbara gordon show up to the gotham university theater the opening night of The Batman Musical. 

the actual name of the musical is something else, but to their family, it’s just The Batman Musical.

jason’s still horrendously disappointed he didn’t get to surprise bruce with the news of there being a play about their family. he was treasuring the idea of what bruce’s face was going to do.

“i pay attention to the theater scene, jason,” bruce said when jason brought it up. “as does alfred.”

yes, jason knew. 

“and i pay attention to anything to do with batman,” bruce added. in case they get anywhere too close to the truth, he didn’t say out loud, but jason could hear the subtext just fine. paranoia, thy name is bat. 

“but you’ll go see it with us, right?” jason asked. 

bruce turned back to his computer.

cue the guilt trip and bruce’s eventual acquiescence. if jason didn’t get to see bruce’s face at the whole idea of it, then at the very least he was going to make absolutely sure that bruce would be at the performance. 

damian’s look of disgust at the whole idea of it nearly made up for the disappointment with bruce, anyway. 

they show their tickets at the door and are shown to their seats. they take up a good portion of an entire row. jason makes sure to place himself between steph and alfred. there’s a brief scuffle when tim almost ends up sitting next to damian, before bruce sighs, pushes them apart, and sits between the two of them. cass leans her head against steph’s shoulder, half-asleep; she’d had a long night, apparently. barbara catches jason’s eye and looks reluctantly amused at this whole thing. dick is flipping through the playbill on damian’s other side and laughing very, very quietly. 

the musical starts and it is, indeed, a thing of wonder. 

highlights of the play, since i’m not going to actually figure out what the plot of it would be:

batman dealing with villains and every so often just picking up a child and handing them a domino mask. congratulations you are now my vigilante sidekick. 

in the audience, in reaction to one scene in the play jason and stephanie say, perfectly in sync: “did robin just die?”

cass, her head still leaning against steph’s shoulder: “you know...it was really unclear.”

jason and stephanie burst into raucous laughter

people don’t know much about about oracle, but she’s been active for a while, and some information must have spread. still. the general public has no idea what oracle looks like or what gender they are, so i present to you that the role of oracle in The Batman Musical is played by someone who wanders around in a bright green morphsuit and occasionally disseminates information when the batfam needs it

so many wonderful songs. jason and stephanie are already making plans to ask if the university is going to put out an album afterwards. if not, they’re pretty sure that they can convince dick and/or bruce to let them help fund one

damian is So Offended at first, but he gradually gets into it, because there’s some poking fun at batman and the idea of vigilantes in general, etc., but at the core of it the love that gotham feels for batman and his family really seeps through.

[junker-town]

Odell Beckham Jr’s beef with Josh Norman was a hard-hitting, media-fueled drama

It was incredible while it lasted, and those covering it made sure the beef lasted a long time

The first time Odell Beckham, Jr. and Josh Norman met, they gave us plenty of reasons to remember it. From there, the media would never let us - or them - forget it.

Beckham and Norman faced off for the first time late in the 2015 season. The Panthers were undefeated, the six-win Giants were still very much in the NFC East conversation, and yet the receiver-corner duo took top billing. Beckham was putting together a very good second season, which was really just the continuation of an incredible rookie year. Meanwhile, Norman had established himself as one of the league’s top shutdown corners - and one of the top trash talkers.

It quickly looked like everyone was right about the must-see matchup.

On just the fourth snap of the game, Odell blew past Norman. With the ball in the air, less than 90 seconds off the clock, he was steps away from proving that no one in the league could cover him...and he dropped it. Norman barked at the receiver, Beckham responded as he headed to the line, and they moved on to the next play. Odell engaged Norman, then ended up on the ground. And with that, things went zero-to-beefy in a split second.

Corbis via Getty Images

When I dip, you dip, we dip.

Beckham caught Norman with his eyes in the backfield on the Giants next possession, sending both to the turf. They’d find each other again. And again. And again.

The refs finally decided to do something, and flagged Beckham for this helmet-to-helmet hit. Norman stopped shadowing Odell for the rest of the first half, so it seemed the fireworks were over. Whether this made Beckham bored or his frustrations of being catchless through the first half were growing, he found a new friend in Cortland Finnegan - who also isn’t a stranger to beef, his just had a much shorter shelf life thanks to the hands of Andre Johnson.

Beckham got his first two catches late in the 3rd. He converted a 4th down on the second one, then picked up a personal foul. After this, even Aikman and Buck had cooled to the display. So naturally, on the very next play, Beckham sprinted from 15-yards away and left his feet to catch Norman in the facemask with the crown of his helmet. A scrum ensued, both players got personal fouls, and no one was going to be able to chalk this up as just another game.

At this point, it felt like this kind of just popped off. But knowing who each guy was before today paints a bigger picture.

This was all before any Miami yacht trips, or fighting-then-making-up with kicking nets, or anything the media would consider a tantrum. Odell Beckham was only 25 games into his career and already a poster boy for the NFL. He became a household name in just his 7th game when he made one of the greatest catches in NFL history against the Cowboys - a catch so good that it earned him a spot in Canton and earned Nike an estimated 2.1 million dollars just because he was wearing their gloves. He was the youngest player to be on the cover of Madden, and while none of that was guaranteed being drafted in the first round out of a major program to a team in New York raised the expectations just a little bit.

And to someone looking in from the outside, it could’ve felt like the success was laid out for him on a platter thanks to playing in a major market for a team not that far removed from winning a Super Bowl.

As for Josh Norman, nothing had come easy. He had to fight to stay on the Panthers roster. He had to fight to get a starting job. He even fought Cam Newton in training camp. So once he found the spotlight in 2015, he wasn’t going to give it up. He’d prove to be one of the league’s best shutdown corners, keeping top receivers in check on a routine basis, and playing so well that he nicknamed himself “Batman.”

Norman knew the work he put in to go from 4th round pick to a piece that offenses were planning around, but it would make sense he still felt some need to keep proving himself against the first round talents opposite him. His play hadn’t gone unnoticed by Beckham who even sounded eager to face him, despite not necessarily agreeing with the new monicker.

But then there was a proper beefception.

Norman reimagined “Batman” by bringing an actual baseball bat onto the field before the game. Charles Tillman said it came about from a story told by one of their coaches about needing to protect what was theirs, but another member of the Panthers took it a step further.

He approached Beckham, who reportedly offered a handshake that the unidentified batsman declined, then allegedly told Beckham, “I’ll be the reason this will be your last game.” which first off - not a cool move, and second, justified Beckham not being thrilled to face the Carolina defense, no matter who lined up across from him. I’m not saying that excuses him for spearing Norman in the head multiple times, but it helps clear up how we got to this point.

AP

They’re just both checking on their friends down there.

Norman would respond two plays later and pick up his second personal foul. Beckham scored the tying touchdown on a trailing Norman, then treated him like Tyronn Lue. Carolina won with a last second field goal. Lost in the shuffle was an incredible Giants comeback, but afterwards no one but the teams cared about the score.

Speaking to the media, Norman let everyone know that today they saw the real Odell. As for Beckham, he did his best to just dodge the topic. What he couldn’t dodge was a one-game suspension from the league. Norman received a fine, but kept on playing and made it to the Super Bowl where the Broncos defense bailed out Peyton Manning.

That March the Panthers gave Norman the franchise tag, and in April they rescinded it - so he conveniently joined New York’s division rival in Washington. And the media appreciated that so very much.

The reason that he’s become so relevant is because of me.

Not to say there wasn’t some level of animosity between them, but everyone else was far thirstier to keep this going than the actual players themselves. Beckham was asked about the Norman signing during a presser. First Take rolled into Washington’s training camp so Max Kellerman could further hound Norman. On Boomer and Carton, Odell was asked about their rivalry, but he brought up the fact they were trying to move past it and had tried to meet up that offseason to talk it out.

Even when one of them actually spoke about the other, context was cast aside. Beckham gave an interview to GQ and ended a quote saying, “The reason [Norman’s] relevant is because of me.” Norman was asked about this, and replied, “He’s relevant because of a catch, but we’re not gonna go there. I’m not into the war of words.” An attempted back-and-forth ensued, but Norman quickly tried to move on from the he-said-he-said.

He did an interview with ESPN the Magazine and cleanly laid out his feelings: “[Odell’s] skilled and talented. I won’t take that away from him. But he’s never been through any adversity in his life.”

All of that stemmed from Beckham’s full quote to GQ, which had a preface of “If I wasn’t playing him twice a year, maybe people wouldn’t bring it up so much, but now it’ll be a lot more media attention for him, attention that I don’t really look for, attention that I don’t need. The reason that he’s become so relevant is because of me.”

Yes, the end reads as egotistical, but his actual point had been largely left out.

While they let their first matchup get out of hand, neither of them had wanted this to become a thing. Norman joined the team offering 5-million per year more than Carolina. The reason they paid him so much was they needed a corner who could help cover someone of Beckham’s talent twice a year.

Really there were two beefs at play. The first was simply from things escalating once on the field between two of the best players at their positions who viewed the other as a challenge. The other was a beef that everyone else wanted to see play out and lead to more fireworks, which was fully recognized by the players, but at this point the narrative would continue no matter what they said.

Brad Penner-USA TODAY Sports

The players catch up on field to discuss future commercial opportunities

By the time their first rematch rolled around, both players were simply looking past all that, and towards the competition. They met after the game and shook hands, while all future battles were put under a microscope that they did their best to dodge. Norman got flagged for a couple personal fouls against Beckham in the 2016 season finale, including one that some claimed was a punch while he tried to knock the ball out, but Odell didn’t care to address it afterwards.

Beckham missed both games against Washington in 2017 which helped cool things in the media. Norman even lobbied for Beckham to stay with the Giants amid trade rumors, recognizing that the headache caused by the media was worth it to keep going against one of the best.

It may have ended before many wanted to admit, but Odell Beckham and Josh Norman’s beef was exciting, if not complex, for the short time it was real.

[georgeluz]

Hi! i wanted to let you know you are quality af!! and I feel a bit inferior but my selfie tag is /tagged/adlytam, pisces, intj, I LIVE hbo war (mostly gen kill), also star wars/trek & hp, i like the ocean and travel and ballet and reading! 💜

IM SORRY THiS toOK SO LONG WOW. I’m gonna do Star Wars and Gen Kill!

The Character I See You As: Leia Organa. I love this girl, she’s a jack-of-all-trades kind of person, very analytical, decisive; she has some flair to her, but she’s incredibly intelligent and hard-working. She’s just. She’s badass. Also clueless in romance. Don’t tell me that Han didn’t completely thrown her off, she was too busy with the rebellion.

Your Three Best Friends: Rey, Finn, Han Solo

The One You Don’t Get Along With: ANAKIN SKYWALKER LMFAO. I took the easy way out. Shoot me for it.

Who I Ship You With: Poe Dameron! My saucy pilot. I love this guy so freaking much, and he has so much extraness to compete with you. But what I love about Poe is that he’s not as inherently selfish as Han is (thought I was gonna pair you with Han? U THOUGHT). Poe is caring and maybe even a little awkward about this whole thing (he, shockingly, doesn’t have a long history of dating), but not afraid to make it known that you are absolutely and completely his. And eventually, when you get him out of his shell, he’s SUCH A ROMANTIC I just. I love POE.

Wildcard: Rebel, born and raised on Coruscant.

—————————–

The Character I See You As: Nate Fick! I love the INTJ personality because we’re talking natural leaders, but good, solid leaders. Generally they’re either the best heroes or the worst villains, you feel? Quick, imaginative and strategic mind? High self-confidence (enough that you’re comfortable leading, doesn’t mean that you’re an extrovert or… you know what I mean), independent, hard-working, but a little arrogant (listen, you are more QUALIFIED THAN EVERYONE EL-), occasionally judgemental but open-minded, I MEAN. Nate, as wonderful as he is, can be just a “smidge” sassy and absolutely sees himself as better suited as a leader compared to others (ahem, Sixta). I love Nate, because he’s confident enough to be comfortable leading, but he’s friendly and trusts his guys and I just. NATE.

Your Three Best Friends: Brad Colbert, Ray Person, Walt Hasser

The One You Don’t Get Along With: Trombley. Trombley gets the job done, don’t get me wrong, but his careless attitude is troubling, because you care about how you get the job done. You care about your impact and how others see you. Trombley is not afraid to make mistakes it doesn’t seem, in fact, almost eager. Insensitive would be the word.

Who I Ship You With: BRAD. OH MY GOD. The pairing. The “it” couple. I’m crying. I love Brad, because Brad is the more emotional of the pairing (though he won’t admit it, Brad is very easily affected by what he sees on the job, he just compartmentalizes well). And Nate is always there for him. And the same would be for you two, gravitating towards each other inbetween missions to debrief, making sure the other is okay, taking care of each other. And the best thing about the romance is that there is actually very minimal romance, because neither of you are mushy. Instead you have a deep, emotional bond that keeps you from breaking apart. And you aren’t necessarily afraid of physical touches either, but it’s all very purposeful, direct, and all of it means something.

Wildcard: Rifleman. Corporal. Bravo Company.

LIL BLURB: You had no idea what your next mission was going to be, and you knew you needed to enjoy the lull in action. And yet you were restless after the last recon mission through Iraq, feeling frustrated, wrapping your hands around the barrel of your weapon. The incompetence of your fellow marines, the way the last mission had gone, was like a thorn in your side. When you had joined the military, you had expected to do great things, not leave a burning wake behind you. Would they really remember you as a hero?

You tried not to think about the victims of the bombs that had fallen. You knew there was some greater good involved in what you were doing, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t getting to you. The sand was getting to you, the hot wind chafing your cheeks was getting to you, the sweat beading on your forehead and underneath your helmet, it was getting to you. Months and months since you had been in the states. You were missing your favorite foods, but you would never admit it, not to the men.

You found yourself laying flat in the sand. You swore you could see the heat radiating off of your body. Lord, what you would give for cold lemonade, soda, tea–

“Getting your tan on?”

That familiar voice struck you, and you sat up, the smallest of smiles flickering across your face. “I think I’m burning.” You wiped your face with the back of your hand and squinted up at Brad. He was smiling down at you, not moving, just taking you in. You shivered, spreading your arms out in the dry shrubs and sand, digging your fingers into the soil.

“You think it’ll all be okay?” Brad posed the question a little too innocently, casual–he was wearing a mask of indifference. If things were bothering you, you knew they must have been bothering him. “It’s been sort of a mess,” Brad finally rumbled, slowly moving to sit down next to you, shoulder brushing shoulder, both hands threaded in the sand. He didn’t look at you, you knew he was being shy. Somehow, you both ended up in a sort of daily debriefing together as the sun began to descend.

“Yeah, it’ll be okay, Brad,” you replied. “We just gotta do what we gotta do, then we get to leave.” You weren’t sure if you were trying to comfort him as much as yourself, but he nodded anyway, seemingly satisfied by the response. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m worried about Trombley’s behavior,” he admitted, but said nothing else.

“Yeah, so am I. Just watch out for him, Brad, it’ll be alright. I trust you with him out of everyone.”

He bumped your shoulder with his and nodded, reaching to pat your hand with his. “You okay?”

“Of course.”

“You sure?”

You stopped, turned your head, and gave him an amused look, trying to push off any worry. “Not your job to worry about me,” you retort, but lean your head against his shoulder anyway, burying your nose into the material of his uniform.