#god I love operation tiger bomb it was so good

[neon-draws-sometimes]

I’ve never really seen it pointed out, but when Fliqpy’s text glitches at the end of Operation Tiger Bomb, it actually says “30 MINS OR DEATH”, a play on “30 mins or less”.

[zahri-melitor]

I then proceeded to look up Rick Flag on Wikipedia for further character history and uhhhhhh

After his death, Flag appeared in an issue of Captain Atom, where his soul was saved from an eternity in Purgatory and reunited with Karin in Paradise. His Purgatory self also appears in the Day of Judgement, limited series. Along with other Purgatory bound souls, he battles heavenly agents on the behalf of a still living superhero team. As stated in issue five of the series, his rebellious actions earned him another after-life chance.

All pretty normal so far, this is pretty standard shenanigans for a dead character during the 90s.

One Year Later in Checkmate (vol. 2) #6, Rick Flag is revealed to be alive and is rescued from a secret Quraci prison by the Bronze Tiger. He had been imprisoned there for four years until Amanda Waller discovered him and alerted the Tiger to his whereabouts. Rick was later revealed to be leading a clandestine Suicide Squad unit at the behest of Amanda Waller, and against the expressed mandate of the Checkmate organization.

…well timeline wise at least 4 years is consistent with other readings on the passage of time in DC. This is gonna be some Superboy Prime nonsense isn’t it? Also typical Waller move.

Bob Greenberger, who co-created the Suicide Squad alongside John Ostrander, has publicly objected to the resurrection of Rick Flag. According to Greg Rucka, Rick Flag's subsequent re-appearance had nothing to do with Infinite Crisis, and John Ostrander has stated that he knew how Rick Flag could survive the explosion at Jotunheim when he first wrote it.

NOT SUPERBOY PRIME????

Rucka. Rucka I love you but how did you and Ostrander figure out how to get Rick Flag out of standing immediately next to an atomic bomb as it went off?

As seen in Suicide Squad: Raise the Flag #2, Rustam used his Scimitar to teleport both Rick Flag and himself to Skartaris.

OH COME ONNNNNN

Though admittedly I can’t not laugh at the idea of escaping an old USSR bomb by travelling to Skartaris. Mariah Romanova would approve.

In Raise the Flag #5, General Wade Eiling admits that Rick Flag Jr. is not actually the son of Rick Flag Sr., but is a soldier named Anthony Miller who was brainwashed by Eiling into believing he was Flag's son.

*pinches nose* was this necessary?

Miller's conditioning means that Eiling still has control of him, and uses him as part of his takeover of the Suicide Squad. Forced to activate an explosive implant in Amanda Waller's brain, Miller breaks free from his mind control enough to activate Eiling's implant instead, leaving him helpless enough to be captured. Confronted with the possibility to give up his presumed identity and return home, Miller decides that the Suicide Squad needs a Rick Flag, and refuses the offer.

… comics, man. This is the most OH MY GOD COMICS thing I’ve read this week.

Why does this plot exist. Who thought teleporting out from a nuclear explosion into Skartaris was a good idea. How did Rick Flag end up BACK in that Quraci prison? Did he and Rustam share a classic Skartaris sword fight that ended up in Rustam’s favour?

According to Raza he [Rustam] was a US covert operative in Qurac who was apparently betrayed by the United States, a situation which led to the deaths of his entire family.

FFS!

All of these wild shenanigans are going on in comics written in 2007, might I add. You don’t even have the excuse over the start of the Iraq war - that was 2003, four years prior!!!

[art-i-know-yes]

HIIIUUHHH I'm finally ready tooooooo LISTEN TO EPISODE 67 aaaaaannnnddd mmmnnnnbhhh. So let's carry on. Also I will be doing several other things while listening so my attention is a liiiittttlllllee spread out.

SPOILERS FOR EP 67

freddiieeeeee. GLEEEEEENNNNNNN. SO WE'RE STARTING IMMEDIATELY WITH THE TEARS.

"This must be my comic retribution. My time is done. Think of my son. Wish you all well. See you in hell." It's so GOOD. And now I remember all of this.

"IT'S ACTUALLY A REALLY SAD DND PODCAST" BETH CANT EVEN GET THROUGH THE INTRO

"I DONT CARE I DONT WANT TO TALK TO YOU" "FVCK OFF ANTHONY" "You don't get to talk Anthony"

"I used to play Glenn Close"

Respect to that dude on reddit. Savin himself

THEIR FAVORITE THING ABOUT GLENN. AWH.

HE DIED THE WAY HE LIVED.

Awwwhh Henry

Awwwwh Rooon

He's fvckin chillin

Glenn got the moral victory

They TRIED. FVCK ANTHONY AND FVCK WILLY

Poor Nick Jr.

Oh you mean this episode is a speed run of their trauma responses when someone they actually care about dies

The kids are gonna have to see it eventually

Also I can't get over the fact that every single parent Nick has had is technically dead except for the Foster Morgan

NICK JR DOING CPR

Ron is about make me cry again

Grant was already suuuper fvcked up. Of course Terry is horrified, probably had the clearest mindset. Sparrow becoming a lovewolf definitely brought down his resistance to this. Lark baby bring hell.

I'm scream.

Reincarnation that's what I was thinking

That's the thing. The willing soul thing. I don't think he would be. All he wanted was his son, he was already thinking about staying because there's NOTHING for him in the real world, and when he's dead he gets to be with Nick, he could do magic and play. Like I don't think there would be a reason he would come back. I mean yeah the dads but like that was his reasoning

"Mmmnnhh in THIS economy"

A DRAGONBORN

I KNEW IT

RON HAS SO MUCH GUILT ABOUT THAT

I mEan Henry's right

We get to jump him FVCK YEAH SCREW HIM

The thing about Glenn's death that upsets me the most was that he figured one thing could like make him feel better was killing his dad AND NOW HE CANT

OOOHHHH Dream spell

Honestly I think it would be better if it was just Ron

"YOU READY FOR THIS BABABABUMBUM"

"Kick his fvckin azz Ron" I can't wait for them to kill Willy

We gotta reassure Terry whoops scared him

"We'll talk about this later. Omg I'm like a Wilson"

Oooooo Beth is going full force

"You're enough just as you are. And you are nothing" A. That feels like something Willy said to Ron and now is just saying back and B. Beth has had that ready for a bit.

OOOOOOOOOOO FVCK YOU WILLY

We gotta speed this up a little

You right you right Henry

3 dad try to roll their dead friend into a blunt

We smoke Glenn's anchor

Henry been done this

All or nothing AHHHHHHHHH

McRadical my dudes

PROMOTION FOR DOUG

"I knew killing those people would be worth it"

"I know you're a murderer Doug"

Always Be Grinding

I love Doug so much

Wait I thought about this last time. They can't get the car back without Glenn and with how spells work the fake car is gone too

"Darryl, Darryl slow down"

Glenn's some really did something

OOOOO WE'RE BREAKING HENRY'S ANCHOR. I'm so scared they're just releasing the Doodler.

Your inner ability is the fvcking Doodler

Also I thought they had to break their anchors once they were at the portal for some reason. I probably had reasons but now I don't remember

Henry has issues and this is why your kids probably eat mold

"You guys were judging me for not putting water in Terry Jr's oatmeal."

Everyone really I'm WATCHING you lose your insides

Mmmmm bacteria

The resistance

Henry's body bacteria literally jumps the mold

"You walked into the wrong mircobiome"

I hope Lark doesn't like hate him when they get back

The kids get to do something safe... Which is laying the explosives

RONBAT

You go Doug

I mean we basically have one (1) solid success with Ron

Darryl you're scaring me

HENRY you're scaring me

WHEEEEEWWWWW

We kill Darryl at noon

Let's hope they don't kill Doug

God they like playing fvcking VOLLEYBALL with my heart

Even Anthony seemed relieved

YEAH MURDER

It's what Glenn would've wanted

But it AINT BOMB PROOF

We love Freddie wombat facts

THEYRE FVCKING FLYING

"Sorry something in my throat"

You have operation for this

I fvcking screeched

WHIRLWIND

TRY to escape

"Dadly"

Imagine trying to figure out a noise complaint and then being slurped into the ground

I don't think Willy ate 6 month old overnight oats with the mold

Sir, you're religion was 2 kids in a trench coat that happened to be his kids

This is why Henry quit smoking

Just imagine Barry hears this explosion and is like Henry's had weed

"Is it going to explode" "no shvt"

Really gassed them

WOOO DAD SENSE

Henry is a loose cannon

Sneaky sneaky Ron

Also the switch from a heratwrenching drama to an action comedy is mwah

Oh there's 2 ad things that's why I got confused

Awwww the nunchunks

Back to the drama

Glennades

The kids? Oh yeah because they literally just want the kids for their daddy magic

Oh yeah like we kill Paedan, huh

AWWHHHH

Damn Matt

I felt that in my throat I thought it was a burp at first I hate it

AHHHHHHHHH

What did he do whatdidhedo *iheardthescream*

Gotdammit

EYE OF THE TIGER

AWWHHHHH HE GOT IT

No Glenn sorry

DOODLERS ASSEMBLE

Scam Actually

My poor damaged heart

[redemptionbaby]

Out of Touch | Arthur/Reader

Summary: With some liquid courage, you finally decide to tell Arthur how you feel. 80′s AU.

Notes: This is what I’ve been working on. Reader has a lot of personality in this one. 3321 words.

Warnings: Very slight dubcon because you’re tipsy

Liquid sloshed in your mouth, and you barely had the wherewithal to swallow it instead of letting it flow down your chin as you swayed. This party was fierce, but the liquor was fiercer. Your breath was probably acrid by now, a grim portent to your future in the bathroom. Neon lights beat down on the crowd and illuminated choice slivers of their writhing bodies. The growl of synth and bass was invasive in a way that felt enlightening. Like the vibrations were showing you the truth. 

Not an outrageous idea, coming from someone who’d had a few too many fruity drinks instead of dancing, sulking while watching someone else sulk. You could spy Arthur from across the room, settled into a sticky couch despite having gotten numerous offers to dance, with implications of much more. His tropical shirt was a sharp contrast to the bags beneath his blue eyes, unbuttoned to his comfort and showing off some chest hair. His hair was wild with stress. The look screamed I’d love to be on vacation right now, but my circumstances have made this impossible. You could tell he stayed out of some sick obligation to the people who had told him to loosen up and have fun, other members of your shared enterprise. You stayed for him. 

Another swig of tequila sunrise put you over the edge, imbuing you with either courage or foolishness. Or perhaps, honesty. The walk across the room was in slow motion, you could feel your heels clacking against the floor, your arms impassively maneuvering out of the anonymous grasps of the mass of people. You could see from the corner of your eye as Arthur’s gaze flicked to you, but just as quickly moved again. He was trying to give you an out. Pretending not to see you so you could take the chance, come to your senses, go have fun with someone else. Someone better. Too bad you’re too wasted to be able to think of someone else. 

The way you fall onto the couch, spineless and heavy, is far from graceful. You put a hand to your face to begin combing the hair out of your eyes and Arthur can no longer hide being so utterly transfixed by you. Even when you’re sweating vodka and strawberry syrup, half illuminated by burning neon lights, he can’t help but rake his eyes over your entire form, trying to memorize it. He’d rather die than be caught trying to draw you or take a Polaroid. He’d feel like even more of a creep than he already does, but for some reason he’s convinced himself that just looking isn’t as bad. 

A calloused hand cautiously claps the back of your shoulder instinctually. 

“Y’alright there, tiger? Have a lil’ too much?” The tenderness oozes from his voice even when he’s attempting to be joking. He’s nicer than even he knows. 

“I’m— I’m ok. Just working up some nerve… I guess,” you garble out, unknowingly making his stomach sink like a rock. 

“Who’s the lucky one?”

“What?”

“The lucky, uh, person. The one yer gonna… ask for a dance from?”

“Jesus, Arthur, what is this— a highschool dance? From the fifties? Nevermind, don’t answer that.” Great job. You’re really winning him over with that one. 

“... You want me to take ya home?” Arthur would not be nearly as cute if he was a mind reader. But sometimes you wish he was. But it’s nice to know that you’re bombing this and not looking so good. 

“No, no. If I don’t say this now, it’s not gonna happen,” you take advantage of the hand on your shoulder and move in, leaning towards him with your arms slung across each other. Not your most romantic move, but that ship sailed with your sobriety. 

“I like you Arthur. I know you think you’re some unlovable old man, past his prime and destined to be alone, but you’re not,” geez, you’re a brutal drunk. “You’re the best man I know, and I’ve met plenty. You’re nice to me, to everyone, but it’s not just common decency, y’know? Even when I’m looking like I’m about to vomit my soul, you’d drive me home, and I know how much you love that car. Even when I couldn’t give a damn about myself you’re always watching, making sure I don’t trip and fall. You’re handsome and gorgeous, and so comfy to be with. I got it bad for you. And I don’t expect you to say nothin’ about it, I know you’ve been hurt before and I’m not exactly looking like Miss America right now, but I had to tell you.”

As expected, he’s stunned into silence. Like the whole world has turned off. There’s no music, no crowd, just you and him on this sweaty leather couch breathing alcohol into each other’s faces. His first instinct is to refuse you, like every other good thing that comes his way these days. But you know him, and he knows you. The selfless and self deprecating excuses to keep himself alone and in misery can’t work forever. And he’s been out with you enough to know you’re an honest drunk. Those kinda feelings can’t be faked. Not like that. Not by you. 

But Arthur is still Arthur. He wouldn’t want you to do something you’d regret. So he cradles your cheek with his palm and watches your eyelids flutter as you lean into it, hope and anticipation stinging your eyes. His lips ghost over yours before making full contact, always giving you that window of opportunity, to stop him and turn him away, to take it all back. 

But you don’t. And the relief is almost enough to make him cry. 

Your free hand moves up, tracing the color of his shirt before sliding the tips of your painted nails over the hairs on the back of his neck, feeling the shiver that wracks his spine at the intimacy— something he hasn’t known for a long time. 

His kiss is chaste. A closed mouth, not daring to try anything else, but he doesn’t have to. You can almost feel the blood beneath the skin of his lips. He parts from you, opening his eyes to reveal a joy that Arthur doesn’t usually allow himself. The slight draw of his brows revealing that he still isn’t 100% certain this moment won’t end without rejection. 

Arthur Morgan is not a man who prides himself on self reflection. He’s not a man who’s often encouraged to improve, or to change. When you’re hired muscle, just coming back alive is enough. But for once, he wants to change. You inspire him to change. So for once, he’ll take a page out of your book, and ride this feeling instead of dreading an assumed shattering of the illusion. 

“I’d still like to take ya home, sweetheart, if that’s alright with you.”

——————————-

Arthur’s apartment was surprisingly quiet for being above a club. It still had that hum from the muffled music, but it was more relaxing than annoying. He hadn’t been all over you when he walked you up, but he fumbled with his keys like he was. Sat on his bed, your face in his hands, he kissed you more desperately, like a man starved. It felt so dreamlike. You had to summon the will to pull away. 

“Arthur. Tell me how you feel about me.” 

Arthur was by no means an inarticulate man, if his journal entries were anything to go by. But he was a man of action, one not used to being asked to share his thoughts and feelings. But silence wasn’t how you operated. 

“I… I think I love you. You make me wanna be a better man, angel. You don’t look at me like a source of favors. You look at me like… like I matter. And hell, I’m startin’ to believe it.”

He grabs your chin. His thumb traces over the soft edge of your lower lip. His eyes are avoiding yours in an attempt to compose his thoughts. 

But he spoke the words before even really thinking. 

“It’s like you don’t just want me to love you. You want me to feel loved.”

“Bingo.” God you feel like such a seductive genius. And apparently you’re right to feel that way, because Arthur’s grip on your body only becomes tighter as he presses kiss after kiss, trailing down your neck. In the meantime, your hands mindlessly work at the buttons of his shirt, and he’s too busy showing his affection to feel self conscious. 

He parts from you, sliding the shirt from his back with a facade of confidence before moving his fingers to the hem of your own, looking to your eyes for silent permission before lifting. The way you shake your hair out as you finish pulling it off enraptures him. Despite, or maybe because of, your smeared makeup and the way you grimace as the collar catches on your nose, he thinks you look gorgeous. Your hair crests your head like a halo for a perfect moment, you look like a goddamned album cover. Arthur’s sure to file all this inspiration away for later. 

“I can’t believe you— way too cute to be real,” he coos quietly, bringing his hands to the base of your ribs, flushing your skin with their heat, sliding them upwards. His thumbs graze your nipples before finding confidence in their movement, making you keen in a way you might have been able to suppress if you were stone cold sober. Arthur’s eyes flick up to your heated face with a sudden look of predation— like he’s a lion and you’re a wounded gazelle. 

Funny, you’ve never seen a lion fuck a gazelle on nature documentaries. But right now it doesn’t seem all that unlikely. 

Arthur doesn’t feel any of the confidence he exudes. He feels like a teenager who’s just seen his first pair of tits in a playboy magazine he stole from under his older brother’s mattress. His practiced hands undo your shorts, smoothly sliding them down before you kick them the rest of the way off. He undoes his belt almost with panic, like if he delays any longer you’re gonna get fed up and leave. 

The both of you are in your underwear, and it feels like hours have passed since you stepped through the threshold of Arthur’s apartment, but at the same time like no time has passed at all. 

“Even when yer wasted, you can’t help lookin’ so pretty, can ya?” 

“Says the man who hasn’t shaved or combed his hair in two days, but still looks like a Hollywood Star in a western,” you tease, sticking your tongue out to punctuate it. 

“Think I’d make a good Blondie?”

“Oh please. Clint Eastwood wishes he had as much personality.” You did it again. It was like you could trick him into loving himself a little more everyday, without even trying. It makes him chuckle, and you cock your head, not thinking it was that funny.

Feeling emboldened, Arthur lightly pushes the tips of his fingers against your collar bones, urging you to lie back so he can take his sweet time getting to know your body. You comply, a little giddy and almost doll-like, as he manhandles you slightly. He sinks his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs and delights in the sensation while spreading them, staring in reverie at your vulnerable body, as well as the wet spot forming on your panties. He leans over you while his hand does a broad swipe over the clothed lips of your pussy, and you shudder a little from the stimulus. 

Arthur leans back to take a good look while he moves the bridge of your underwear to the side, using his other hand to stroke and spread your intimate parts playfully. He pulls the elastic past the expanse of your legs, leaving you completely exposed. Not to say that Arthur himself is completely modest in his briefs— you can see the outline of his hard cock and a spot of wetness where it’s already dribbling pre-cum. He had been drinking as well, but clearly it hadn’t held him back. Before you know it he’s got your legs pinned back and his face in your crotch, pressing kisses to your mound before diving in with his tongue, worming it into you. In the middle of giving you the lickout of your life, he parts with a hard suck to your clit, face red and breathing heavy just as you are. 

“Maybe I, uh— I shoulda asked first. Sorry, darlin’, it’s just, lookin’ like you do… you could drive a man crazy.” And in fact, you just might, he thinks. You throw an eye roll and a lazy, lidded gaze his way. 

“Fella, if I look like a lady who’s gonna complain about getting her pussy ate, you got the wrong impression. I’m not gonna get in the way of art,” you trail off, flicking your gaze south, “but I do wanna see you.”

This is usually the part where Arthur would bite back with a no, you really don’t. But the way you said it was just so… sweet. And juxtaposed against the downright filthy thing you’d just said, he couldn’t help but be charmed, and believe you. 

Thought not exactly uncharacteristically, Arthur slid his briefs down silently, like he was waiting for you to say something first. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, thick and slightly veined. It was in moments like these that it really hit you how truly and honestly Arthur didn’t see what there was to love about him. Here he kneels, between your legs, with his solid build and girthy dick, strong jaw and mana blue eyes, having just licked your soul out of your body unprompted, and he’s still nervous. About what, that his dick is small? He must have been in enough public bathrooms by now to know that isn’t true. You take it upon yourself to reassure him. 

You reach down between your legs to stroke his length, trying to seem appreciative, because you are. Thank you Arthur’s parents, and thank you God, for giving this man such a perfect dick. You’re hoping to telekinetically express this feeling to Arthur, as there’s no way in hell you’d ever say that out loud, drunk or not. Between the light drag of of your nails, gentle as can be, and your focused, starry eyes, he kinda gets what you’re trying to convey. Your paramour delicately slides your hand from him, lacing his fingers with yours and pinning your arm back to the bed. 

“Not that I don’t like bein’ in your grasp, baby, but I can think of somewhere else I’d rather be. I think you and I have waited long enough, don’tcha think?” He rumbles, almost possessed by the seductive heartbreaker persona he had in his youth. Arthur can deny it all he likes, but past a certain point, charm comes naturally to him. You take in a deep breath and steel your resolve. 

“I’m ready, Arthur. I want you.” Six words he could live on. Even if it all ended now, if you suddenly rejected him and tried to forget this ever happened, just the memory those six words could sustain him. For a time, anyway. 

He frotted against you, gathering your slick on his cock before using his unoccupied hand to prod the warm, velvety head at your entrance. He leaned down to give you a lingering kiss before continuing eye contact and gently pushing his hips forward. After a short time and a bit of stretch, his head suddenly popped its way inside, making you gasp and squeeze Arthur’s hand. He watched you carefully for any sign of pain before continuing on, letting out a low groan when you’d finally taken him all the way to the base. He angled your hips up, and you could feel his pelvis against your clit as he started shallowly thrusting. He grunted and knitted his brows together a little before cracking a smile for you. 

“Tight, real tight... Relax a little sweetheart, let me in,” you were so hyper focused on Arthur, you hadn’t realized how tense you were. You did a deep exhale, attempting to relax more, and Arthur seemed relieved, and you shot him an apologetic smile. “Not that it don’t feel good honey, but I don’t want this to be over before it’s even begun, y’know?” he glanced to the side, bashful, but not ashamed. 

His thrusts became deeper, and gradually picked up until you were getting pounded. With the steady slap of his balls against your ass, the wet sound from where the two of you were joined, and the repeated moans of Arthur and oh god and fuck AH! coming from you, you felt like this must look like some cheap, cliché porno. Arthur growled and purred against you like a beast in a rut, alternating between attacking your neck with lips and teeth, and worshipping your face with less than coordinated kisses. You wrenched your eyes open to catch his gaze. 

“Does it feel good?” You asked nervously, unusually lacking in confidence. Or maybe you just wanted to play virgin for him, seeing as he made you feel like one. Meanwhile the depth of your compassion and concern for his enjoyment nearly made Arthur blow his load right then and there. 

“Good?” He huffs out, “baby, you got no idea. Incredible, more like. Like yer pussy was made for me.” Arthur wasn’t particularly thinking about what he was saying. Then again, he never really did with you. That was part of what made loving you so easy— it just came naturally to him. 

Your lover’s hips began to stutter more and more as the both of you neared breathlessness, his free hand dipping down to put the rough pad of his thumb against your clit while he stole a glance at where the two of your were connected. 

“You close, darlin’? I am.”

“Oh god— yes, Arthur,” you gasped. 

“Then cum for me. Cum with me.”

The kiss you two shared in that moment would be one to rival the final pages of the Princess Bride in terms of pure love and passion. What an idea for roleplay that would be, huh? With your fluttering walls stroking his cock, Arthur came tumbling with you in ecstasy. His hips were completely and instinctually flush to yours, you’d never felt so full and warm in your life. 

Arthur heaved himself, sweaty and out of breath, off of you to lay at your side and stick to the sheets. For once, he didn’t even consider lighting a cigarette. He wouldn’t dare do anything to distract himself from your complete and total company in that moment. Slowed by liquor and sex, you could already feel yourself drifting off, and it didn’t escape your bedmate, who just sheepishly recalled how much you’d drank and felt a pang of guilt in the back of his head. But that was a problem for tomorrow Arthur, not tonight Arthur. Tonight Arthur just pulled the sheets of his bed up over you before begrudgingly getting out of bed, and coming back with a wet towel and a glass of water. The water was placed gently on the nightstand on your side of the bed, the towel used to clean the both of you. Luckily you had been sleepy and pliable enough not to fuss over the cold of the wet towel, but you did scrunch your nose and pout adorably. 

Arthur, laying on his side and facing you, held your face and kissed your forehead before looking at your eyes, blinking slowly, your eyes spending more time closed than open. 

“You better not forget this tomorrow morning, y’hear?”

“If I do, remind me?”

Arthur could live with that. 

[twilighthooves]

The Dead Mask Caper

This is an RP-turned-story I did with @sandiegosquadrp​ as my blog @rymccrimmon10​. in it, an alternate version of Ryan is their Carmen’s Player.

"Heya Princess how's it going this morning?" Player shouted. Carmen jolted awake with a start.

“HUH?! WHAT?!” She looked around her hotel room and settled back down, grabbing her phone.

"Carmen, you didn't sleep in did you?" Player inquired.

“W... what are you talking about?” She mumbled, grabbing her phone. “Am I late for something?”

"No, but you'd probably like to know I just hacked into a security camera and saw a young woman with white hair. And we both know we know only one person like that." Carmen groaned.

“I don’t want to get out of bed for a stupid ass furry...” She complained.

"You will when I say she's heading for...The Portland Art Museum."

“Uuuuggghhhh...” Carmen whined. “Why?”

"Y'know, the place where art of the Day of The Dead is displayed? I only assume if she doesn't steal something from the showing on the Day of The Dead, it's something from one of the other exhibits. Sorry Red, no sleeping in today."

“I know, I know...” Carmen said. She groggily got up and began to get ready for the day. “Call Zach and Ivy and tell them to meet me here.”

"No prob." Player switched over to his line to Zach and Ivy. "Yo twins, Tigress is on the move. Carmen needs you at the hotel."

“Right-io! Ivy wake up!” Zach shouts into the receiver.

“Uuugghhh!!! I don’t wanna fight no dumb ass furry!!” Ivy complained.

”Carmen said the same thing, but it's the Portland Art Museum. She could be stealing something from the Day of The Dead showcase." A few minutes later, Carmen and the Twins met at the hotel.

“Aw!” Zach complains. “What about breakfast?”

"Typical." Player scoffed.

“No time for breakfast, Zach. But, I do know that I’m getting a bagel later. But, right now, we gotta move.” Carmen says.

"Focus Z, food's the least of your concerns right now." Player added. "It's Carmen and Ivy you should be worrying about."

“Aw, but my tummy hurts...” Zach says.

“Whatever, Zach-Attack! You heard the boss! Let’s get movin’!” Ivy barks. They all head out the door. It’s the middle of the day in Florida, and it’s HOT. Ivy and Zach are dying on the walk over. “Cahmeh, how ain’t you DYIN’ of heat stroke?!” Ivy said.

“I guess the heat makes me feel energized,” Carmen said, tipping her hat. “Now come on.”

"Careful Red." Player warned. "I know you're probably sick of me saying that but we all know how Tigress operates."

“Relax, I got it. Any clue where she is now?”

"Looking now.” Player told her. “Ngh, either the museum's gotten smart or she jammed the security cameras. either way, you're unfortunately stuck going in blind."

“Works for me. After I’m done kicking her ass, I’m getting a nap in,” Carmen boasts, smiling. Smiles are rare in her line of work.

“Uh... boss?” Ivy says.

“Si?” Carmen replied.

“We’ve got a Mime, 12:00 o clock.” Carmen glances upward.

“There he is.” She hissed. “The furry’s little errand boy.”

”I’ll work on the cameras while you take care of him." Player assured them. It looked like Mime Bomb went out of sight while they were talking.

“Twins, split up, get inside.” Carmen instructed. “Looks like our friends in there are going to try to work in plain sight.” The Twins nodded and went in opposite directions while Carmen walked into the museum.

"Got it." Player said as the camera feed blipped . "Looks like I could be right. She's going in the Day of The Dead showcase. But take it easy Red, I can't tell if she's just passing through to another exhibit."

“I can’t just attack her either. It’s crowded in here,” Carmen observed. There were people everywhere. “I wonder what she plan to-“ Carmen stops, having spotted Tigress. She was wearing a trench coat and seemed to be loitering around the back entrance. “What is she up to? Waiting for Mime Bomb or something?”

"SHITE!" Player hissed. "She's not stealing anything thing, it's Mime Bomb!" Carmen was surprised to hear her buddy swear, even if it wasn’t really a swearword.

“What do you mean?” She asks.

"She's just waiting for him to pass the....whatever! Maybe...I don't know. Better find out Red." Carmen realizes what he means.

“I think I got it. Give me a second, I’m going to swipe it when he comes by.” As if on cue, Mime Bomb approaches. He does a little bow to her, which looks a bit dorky. Carmen bites her lip. “What is he hiding?” Her question is answered when he gives her a mask. Carmen reaches for it from her hiding spot, but she misses. She can’t risk getting seen. Tigress takes it.

“Thank you. I’m sure you can get back to your post now?” Tigress says to Mime Bomb, who begins to make all sorts of miming motions. Tigress giggles.

“Hold on a minute are they flirting right now?” Carmen whispers, in awe.

"Gross." Player stated.

“Aww...” Carmen cooed. But then she snapped back to attention once she realized Tigress was leaving with the mask!

"Focus Carmen!" Player whisper-shouted. "She's heading towards an emergency exit!"

“I know I know!” She whisper shouted back. She darted frantically back to the outside. “Ugh! Where did she go?”

“Boss!” Ivy shouted, from somewhere to the side. “We’ve got company!”

Carmen turned and... oh shit! It was Virus!

“Hehe. You didn’t think we wouldn’t take extra precautions with you around, did you?” Virus said, and with a loud CRACK!! her electric arm activated.

“Nope! I just was hoping you wouldn’t be here!” Carmen said as she backflipped out of the way. On top of the building, she could see Tigress getting away.

"Damn it!" Player swore, hitting a fist against his table. "Carmen, you'd better think of something!"

"Wait a minute!" He snapped his fingers. "Any police copters around?"

"Or anything related to the police."

“Uh, kind of preoccupied!” Carmen said, trying and struggling to keep Virus’s claw away from her.

“Don’t worry, Boss!” The Twins shouted. They jumped on Virus and pulled her off of Carmen, allowing her to escape. She sprinted after Tigress.

“Doesn’t look like it, Player,” Carmen panted.

"Ngh, I was hoping to send a signal to warn them about Tigress to a police car, but the station itself will have to do." Player stated. "Keep her in your sights for as long as you can while I rig up a code for the message."

“Good. Great. Gun wielding air heads,” Carmen said grouchily.

"At least it's something to maybe throw her off!" Player retorted.

“Ugh fine!” She began to run over the roofs of buildings, chasing the Tiger girl.

“Hey! Betcha can’t catch me!” Tigress yelled.

“How much you wanna bet?!” Carmen screamed back. “I say 100 bucks! Cuz I’m gonna get you!” Player scrambled to get the code up and running. Carmen quickly tackled Tigress and they fought over the mask. Carmen won. She starts to sprint away until Zach and Ivy pulls up in a car.

“Get in!”

"Phew." Player sighed. "Thanks Z, didn't want to actually send the message if I could avoid it. You know how Carmen is with cops.” Carmen suddenly started breathing heavily and sweating.

“Oh god not now...” she whines, as the heat takes over her.

“Boss?!” Ivy and Zach said with worry.

"She's fainting!" Player assumed. "GUN IT ZACH!" He screamed. Ivy gives Carmen some water, or at least attempts to while Zach NYOOMS the car.

"I swear it's that coat." Player scoffs. Carmen fell asleep, as Player can hear from her steadied breathing. Soon, night falls, and they are out of Florida, skull mask in hand.

Later....

"Carmen!? Carmen, you okay?" Player was trying to get her to speak. Carmen slowly awoke. “Hm... You have a... lovely voice...” That threw everyone for a loop.

“She’s higher than a seagull!” Ivy exclaimed.

“Speaking of, Mime Bomb and Tigress were flirting before she took off." Player said in disgust.

“What? Why?” Zach said.

“Aw! That’s cute, but not what we’re worrying about here,” Ivy interjected.

"Carmen, focus!" Player cried.

“Wha... what happened?” Carmen said, groggily. “Ugh, my head hurts...”

“Give ‘er water, Zach!” Ivy said.

"And now!” Player added. Carmen practically downed the whole gallon of water when Zach gave it to her.

“Yikes." Player said, hearing it all.

“What happened? Did we get the mask?” Carmen asked.

“Yeah! It’s here!” Zach said.

"What was that?" Player asked. "I think you flirted with me."

“... What?” Carmen asked.

"You said I 'had a lovely voice'." Ivy snorted.

“It’s true, ya did!”

“What?!” Carmen said, a blush flying to her face. “I did not!”

"It's okay, you were delirious." Player said. "You probably heard Crackle or something, who knows."

“Yeah, probably...” Carmen said, shifting. The Twins glanced at each other.

“OH MY GOD YOU WERE THINKING ABOUT HIM!!!” Ivy screamed.

“N-no! I wasn’t! I would never think of Player that way!” Carmen says, now desperate to defend herself.

"What?" He shook his head. "Guys leave her alone." Ivy and Zach are laugh and cheer loudly as they leave the room. Carmen is now pouting. “I can’t believe them... thinking I was trying to flirt with you...” She grumbles.

"To be fair, it did seem that way.” Player noted. “I was trying to get you to think straight after all."

“Well, I don’t have any feelings for you. You’re like, what 16?”  She realized that was incorrect. It’s been 3 years since she first met him when he was 16. “Wait, you must be 18 now?”

“Yeah, I’m 18, why?" Then he thought-. “Oh my god Carmen, seriously!?””

I-I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT!!!” Carmen screamed.

"Oh, sorry." Carmen blushed deeply, her mind now racing with new possibilities. Possibilities and thoughts that disgust her.

"So....now what?” Player asked, mind still reeling. “Do we just let that go?" Carmen’s breathing was unnaturally slow.

“I... I’m uncomfortable...” She has always been so good at telling him how she was feeling. But, now it felt.... well, she didn’t know. Her face was burning and she wanted to cry, just a little.

"Should I clock out for the night?" Player inquired cautiously.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to...” Carmen says. Her voice sounds... shaky. Not like her. Player didn’t like it.

“I feel like you need to be left alone." He said.

”Do I...?” Carmen asked.

"You sound like it." Player noted.

“I’m… I’m sorry... I... didn’t mean to yell or any of those other things...”

"I know." Player stated. He looked at his map screen blankly, trying to think of something to change the topic to. "Hey, did you know blood isn't actually red? It's clear, it's just that the red cells make it look red." He knew it wasn't a good fact, but he was desperate to distract Carmen.

“Heh... did you know that red is my favorite color?” Carmen asked. Her stomach hurt. She hadn’t eaten all day.

"Huh, remind me to wear my red t-shirt if we ever have to meet in person." Player quipped. Realizing something, he spoke again. "For once Zach was right to complain about food. You should eat something."

“Actually, I’m tough so I don’t get hungry...” Her stomach rumbled. She wanted to curse herself for it.

"C'mon Carmen, we've known each other for a long time." Player stated. "I've kinda learned how to read you.”

“Have you...?” Carmen said, through grit teeth and rubbing her stomach. It suddenly hurt to move.

"CARMEN!?" Player yelled. “Something's wrong!" There is no answer for a few seconds. Then...

“I’m fine I’m fine!”

"ZACH, IVY, GET IN THERE! SOMETHING'S UP WITH CARMEN!" Player wasn't buying it. The Twins rush in and they’re trying to shovel food in their mouths.

“What?!” Zach screams with a mouthful of peanut butter. Carmen looked at the nice bagel Ivy was holding and her mouth watered.

“I’m... I’m fine! Don’t worry, guys.” She was a bad liar to her friends at the best of times, but especially now that Player had deducted what happened.

"Carmen hasn't eaten anything." Player said. "Force-feed her if you have to."

“Oh, really?” Ivy said, a mischievous look on her face. Carmen’s eyes went wide and she shot up.

“NO! That’s not happening again!” She screamed.

"Then eat!" Player insisted. Carmen looked like a kicked puppy.

“You heard the man, “Princess”,” Ivy teases, mocking Player’s voice.

"Hey, I thought we agreed only I get to call her that! Wait...Shut up!" Player realized too late how what he said could be taken out of context. Zach handed Carmen a plate and dumped food on it. Carmen was visibly grumpy. Ivy was snickering.

“Eat up, pretty Princess,” Ivy teased.

“Stop or I’ll chop out your tongue,” Carmen growled.

"Maybe for me Red?" Player asked. Ivy and Zach both laughed loudly as they left the room.

“If she calls me a “Pretty Princess” again, we’re going to have an issue,” Carmen said, before taking a bite out of a everything bagel.

"Yeah, only I get that right.” Player said defensively. “Wait...no...not like that." He flushed with embarassment Carmen finds herself grinning.

“You do. You have that right.”

"Stop it, I can't explain how I know, but you're grinning." Player grumbled.

“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re still here.”Carmen told him.

"Thanks?" Player didn't know how to respond. Carmen sighed and continued eating. She started to feel less pain in her stomach "Maybe I should've listened to Zach for once and let you eat.” Player said guiltily. “I feel like this is my fault for rushing you into the job. Well, you did, but I enforced it." Carmen felt herself flinch.

“No. It was my decision, Player. It wasn’t your fault. I’m glad, because if we hadn’t left at that time, Tigress would have gotten away. And who knows what Virus would have done to those poor people?”

”What about that new recruit?" Player asked abruptly.

“What new recruit?” Carmen asked.

"Biohazard, remember?" Player clarified. Carmen breathed a little awkwardly.

“Right. Biohazard...”

"You okay?" Player asked.

“Yeah... Yeah, I’m fine.” Carmen insisted.

"That's what you said about being hungry." Player teased.

“Christine Greater isn’t with VILE anymore, Player.” Carmen told him. “I think you know that.”

"Carmen, you do realize I meant the new recruit for us right? She helped us when you first met her in Austrailia?" Carmen’s eyes went wide.

“Oh... oh! I’m sorry, I... I’m not thinking straight tonight...” She muttered

"Clearly.”Player stated. "Okay, I'm gonna clock out. I'll let you and/or the twins know if something comes up."

“Wait! Player!” Carmen cried.

"Huh?" Player had just had just been about to turn his computer off when she’d shouted.

”C-can you... stay? Just until I go to sleep... please?”

"Huh. Never asked me to do that before." Player stated.

“Is it odd?” Carmen asked, uncharacteristically worried.

"No, just...unusual." Player mused.

“So... is that a yes?” Carmen asked tentatively.

"It's not a no." Player said. Carmen sighs and lays down in bed. She gets comfy under the covers.

"Need a lullaby?" Player joked, struggling not to laugh. "Sorry, I couldn't help it."

“Do you sing?” Carmen asks, after a few seconds of silence.

"Well, I made up a song, but I'm not sure I'm good." Player had answered without thinking. "Wait, what?" He realized what he said.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Carmen giggles.

“All I have on hand is my ukulele." Player said. "My real guitar's in the other room. Do you mind? I think the ukulele's more soothing in this case anyway."

“Of course not,” Carmen says sleepily.

"In that case..." Player picked it up and started playing. "Well she sneaks around the world from Kiev to Carolina, she's a sticky-fingered filcher from Berlin down to Belize! She'll take you for a ride on a slow boat to China! Tell me where in the world is Carmen Sandiego? Steal their Seoul in South Korea, make Antarctica cry Uncle! From the Red Sea to Greenland they'll be singing the blues! Well they never Arkansas her steal the Mekong from the jungle Tell me where in the world is Carmen Sandiego? She go from Nashville to Norway, Bonaire to Zimbabwe, Chicago to Czechoslovakia and back! Well she'll ransack Pakistan and run a scam in Scandinavia, then she'll stick 'em up Down Under and go pick-pocket Perth! She put the Miss in misdemeanor when she stole the beans from Lima. Tell me where in the world is Carmen Sandiego? Oh tell me where in the world is, oh tell me where can she be? Ooh, Botswana to Thailand, Milan via Amsterdam Mali to Bali, Ohio, Oahu!” A pause, then-. “Well she glides around the globe and she'll flimflam every nation! She's a double-dealing diva with a taste for thievery! Her itinerary's loaded up with moving violations! Tell me where in the world is Carmen Sandiego? Oh, tell me where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?" Player stopped. "That's the first time I've ever sang for anyone." Carmen was smiling like a dork and small tears fell down her face. “You... you should pitch that and make it big.”

"Only if you buy my albums...or steal them." The last part was a joke of course. Carmen smiled wider than she has in a while.

“You should sing more.” She insisted

"That was the only one I got.” Player admitted. “Anything already written you like?"

“Well... do you know “Pretty Lies” by Written By Wolves? I like that one.”

"I'll try. I don't mean to brag, but these fingers aren't just good on a keyboard." Carmen blushes, but she knows what he meant.

“G-go for it then...” Player did.

“I’ve been starting to accept that, maybe this is all there is and dreams that I've held in my head. Should be forgotten just forget…That you thought you were bound for greatness; rock and roll could be a savior. Keep that to yourself and just fit in. Don't stand out or they'll destroy you…Words are sharp and filed with poison. Every step that you take forward, they'll pull you back a thousand more. So give up your imagination. Take the pill it's just sedation. Be a member of society..That's not worth living for. I won't be afraid anymore. Like a thief in the night, armed with their pretty lies…they will haunt you, consume you. But you can't let them win, Let the fear be your friend. Let it guide you, fulfill you. Like a thief in the night, armed with their pretty lies…They will haunt you, consume you…But you can't let them win. Let the fear be your friend. Let it guide you…Fulfill you. You close your eyes and dreams start racing…Feels so real that you can taste it, See the crowd and all their faces. Hear them screaming out your name and wish this was more than a vision, you could break out of this prison! Taking back control defiantly. Feel the fear and let it guide you. Let the fire burn inside you. Think of all that they've denied you, Remember and use the drive you've always had but buried deeper. You give up they get what they want; Don't let them win. Like a thief in the night, armed with their pretty lies They will haunt you, Consume you. But you can't let them win. Let the fear be your friend; Let it guide you, Fulfill you. Like a thief in the night. Armed with their pretty lies. They will haunt you, Consume you…But you can't let them win. Let the fear be your friend. Let it guide you, Fulfill you…I’m sick of all their pretty lies, They sparkle like a blade. But I will make damn sure that I will not die wondering What could have been…I’ll take nothing to the grave! That's not worth living for…I won't be afraid anymore! Like a thief in the night, Armed with their pretty lies. They will haunt you..Consume you. But you can't let them win. Let the fear be your friend. Let it guide you, Fulfill you. Like a thief in the night. Armed with their pretty lies..They will haunt you..Consume you…But you can't let them win. Let the fear be your friend…Let it guide you…Fulfill you." Player smirked when he finished. "Of course you like it. It mentions a thief." Carmen was fast asleep. He can tell from her heart rate and breathing. "'Night Carmen." Player sighed, content. He put down his ukulele and went to get ready for bed.

END

[ohalemalia]

Daily Dose - (Part 3) (S.M Imagine)

Pairing: Scott x Reader

Warnings: none, really

A\N: thank you for being so patient with me. I know this is a day late, things (again) came up and classes officially start tomorrow (they started today, hi it’s me from the future). how exciting yayayay. It's a long part but y’all deserve it

Word Count: 2950

Summary: Detective Melissa McCall cracks down on Scott and Y/N’s little smuggling operation. Scott, being the little puppy he is, invites Y/N over for dinner.

It had been a couple weeks of Scott coming in, smuggling me outside food and chatting with me. We were a) getting away with it and b) bonding incredibly well. I learned that Scott wanted to be a vet after high school and was thinking about going to UC Davis. He worked at an animal clinic right now and when he talked about it you could just see the way his eyes lit up.

He showed me pictures of his friends, one named Stiles (which isn’t the weirdest name I’ve heard, but it’s on the list), a beautiful strawberry blonde girl named Lydia, there was Allison and Isaac and Kira too. Seeing all of Scott’s friends and hearing the way he talked about them made me realize that I was utterly and quite pathetically alone. I had friends, yeah, but they were all in the hometown I left, living normal lives.

“Don’t worry,” Scott smiled at me, “When you get out of here, you’re totally invited into our pack.”

“Your pack,” I laughed, “You make it sound like you’re a pack of animals.”

Scott gave me a sheepish smile and continued the conversation on.

All in all, things were great.

Until, well, they weren’t.

“Alright, you’re all done,” Melissa took her gloves off with a satisfying snap and picked up her clipboard, “I just have a couple questions for you.”

“Fire away,” I reply.

“How are you? Any dizziness? Nausea? Constipation?”

“Fine. No, no and god no, thankfully not.”

Melissa wrote the things I said down, nodding as she went along, “Okay, okay. And would you mind telling me how this ended up in your trashcan?”

She held up in her hand a greasy Fatburger bag. My Fatburger bag.

“I, uh…” I was at a loss for words Melissa knew she had caught me red handed. Red with the contraband ketchup from Fatburger.

“Where did you even get this?” She asked.

“I, uh…”

Melissa scoffed, “You’re gonna need a better answer than that, pal.”

I tilted my chin up, “I’m not at liberty to say.”

With a sigh, Melissa set the bag down, “Don’t you know this stuff is no good for you? I mean it’s no good for anyone but it’s definitely not good for you.”

“It was just one burger...and some fries...and a large milkshake,” I muttered.

“That’s enough to cause damage, Y/N.”

I frowned, “I’m not a fragile porcelain doll or--or--or a ticking time bomb, y’know? One slightly greasy meal isn’t going to make me explode.”

“You’re right,” Melissa sighed, making me think I had won the fight, “You’re not a doll or time bomb. You’re also not a licensed professional and you’re also never doing this again under my watch. Someone had to sneak this into you and I’m going to find out who.”

At that exact moment, who else would come strolling up to my door but Scott McCall himself? He was all big smiles until he saw the back of Melissa’s head. I shook my head at him ever so slightly, but Melissa saw. She whipped her head around and looked at her son right in his eyes. Scott’s eyes widened and I could see his lips form the explicit, “Oh shit.” He turned around and headed down the hall but Melissa was hot on his trail. She swung the door open and popped her head out, “Scott! Get your butt over here, right now!”

Moments later, in came Scott. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on mine. I gave him a look that said, “We’re screwed.” His eyes landed on the Fatburger bag and his angry mother. He turned his gaze back to me and his eyes said, “Yeah, definitely.”

“Yeah, care to explain this?” Melissa held the bag up.

“I don’t know, I just got here,” Scott was playing the act of clueless bystander quite well. But not well enough to fool his own mother.

“Uh huh,” Melissa rifled through the bag, “That’s funny considering the last four digits of the card it was charged on, well, would you look at that, they coincidentally match the last four digits of the debit card that’s in your name.”

“Wow,” Scott blinked, “What a coincidence.”

Melissa gave her son a look, “Cut the crap, Scott. Leave the compulsive lying to Stiles. I can’t believe you, Scott. This is NOT okay and you know better.”

“I was just trying to be nice, she can’t eat cold turkey everyday, Mom,” Scott explained, “You said it yourself that you wouldn’t eat in that cafeteria if they gave you a pay raise and you never had to clean bed pans again.”

I folded my arms and looked at Melissa.

“Yeah, okay, here’s the difference,” Melissa pressed her hands together, “I am not a patient here and I’m not going to lose my job or my health if I get a milkshake every once in a while.”

“It would just be nice to have something different to eat,” I interjected with a frown, “I’m sorry, Melissa.”

Melissa sighed, “Just please, let’s not do this again, okay? You want real food, you let me know.”

Suddenly, Scott’s eyes lit up, “What if she has dinner with us?”

“What?” Melissa and I asked simultaneously.

“Who else knows what’s better for her than her own nurse?” Scott grinned, very proud of his idea, “It’ll get her out of this hospital, it’ll get her some real food and you can keep an eye on her.”

“Scott,” Melissa’s tone was cautionary.

“I would love that,” I grinned, “Please Melissa? Please?”

“Look, guys,” Melissa started with a tone that already told me I wouldn’t like what she had to say, “As great of an idea as that sounds, it just isn’t a good idea. I’m your nurse and as your nurse and having you over for dinner would be inappropriate.”

My shoulders slumped in disappointment. Looks like it was going to be powdered mashed potatoes from here on out.

“Mom…” Scott was trying to appeal on my behalf but Melissa held her hand up.

“It’s out of my hands. As her nurse, it’s just not a good idea.” There was a silence as Scott accepted the fact that I was doomed to my hospital bed.

“But,” Melissa looked out of the door, “When her condition improves and she’s discharged, I won’t be her nurse and it’ll just be one of Scott’s friends over for dinner.”

Scott and I grinned at each other.

“When am I getting released?” I asked Melissa, ready to hop out of the hospital bed then and there.

“Easy tiger,” Melissa said, “We have to monitor you for about another two to three weeks and then we’ll talk. In the meantime...what’s your favorite food?”

This was going to be the longest three weeks of my life.

Scott’s POV

“Guess what, Scott,” It was lunch time and Stiles hopped over the picnic bench to sit next to Scott.

“Um...what?” Scott asked with no idea what Stiles had up his sleeve.

“Tomorrow night, it’s me, you and a lot of drinks and pretty girls at Danny’s party tonight,” Stiles grinned at his best friend and patted his shoulder.

“How did you get invited to Danny’s party?” Scott furrowed his brows.

“Easy. I was coming around the corner and heard Danny and Ethan--”

“Oh great,” Lydia rolled her eyes.

“--talking about having a crazy party. Danny gave Ethan the address, I wrote the address down on my hand, copied it into my phone and badda bing, badda boom, now we’re going to a party.”

“That’s not exactly an invite as it is crashing a party,” Kira frowned at Stiles.

“What? No,” Stiles looked around at his friends who all had varying degrees of uncertainty on their faces, “No, guys, it’s an open invite and its Danny’s party. Danny’s our friend.”

The silence he got from his friends was a testament that, no, Danny was not their friend.

“Okay, well, there’s going to be enough people there that no one is going to even know we’re there without an invitation.”

“Except I’m not going to be there,” Scott shied away from his friend, knowing by the look on his face he was going to have a whole tirade.

“What do you mean you’re not gonna--okay,” Stiles placed a hand on his hip and rubbed his face in frustration, “Okay,  Scott, I don’t think you’re comprehending what I said.”

Stiles began counting them off on his fingers, “Me, you, that’s a very important part, free drinks and pretty, pretty, very beautiful girls. Did I mention beautiful girls?”

“Yeah, you did a couple times,” Kira grumbled.

“And,” Stiles continued, “Do you not remember the conversation we had the locker room, about Stiles and his needs?”

“Many, many, times,” Scott sighed, “But I have plans. I’m having dinner with my mom and, Y/N.”

“Y/N?” Lydia looked up from her salad, “The Y/N you keep visiting at the hospital?”

“Wait,” Stiles squinted, trying to compute all of this in his head, “I thought she was like attached to her bed.”

“Well, if she’s doing well they’re going to let her out,” Scott explained, “And it’s like a little celebration dinner for her.”

Lydia placed her hands on the table, “Well she’s going to need something to wear. Those drab hospital clothes aren’t going to cut it. Trust me, I would know.”

“What?” Scott laughed, “It’s not anything special, it’s just dinner with me and my mom.”

“Scott,” Lydia gave him a look, “This girl has been in the hospital for, what, six months now? It’s not a huge deal to you but to her it means everything. And friends don’t let friends wear ugly hospital gowns. And any friend of yours is a friend of ours.”

Scott smiled, “Wow, thanks, Lydia.”

Lydia smiled and stood up from the table, “So I expect you at my house at 4:00pm sharp to pick up her clothes and accessories. I’ll also need a picture or description of her so I can pick pieces that’ll compliment her. I’ll also need to know what you’re wearing so I can coordinate with you. What sort of flowers does she like, that’ll be important too. Oooh! If you bring her over I can curl her hair and put some makeup on her. Maybe I can--”

Stiles leaned over to whisper to Scott as Lydia drowned on, “See, you could’ve been going to a party with me but instead you’re spending the night Miss Congeniality.”

Scott frowned, but as long as Y/N was going to be happy, he could handle whatever Lydia threw at him.

Y/N’s POV

The hours seem to tick by forever as I waited for 3:00pm to arrive. That was my discharge time. I had been cleared for everything. I felt great (mostly), my body wasn’t doing crazy things to me, my lupus was dying down and taking a backseat (for now).

By eleven am I had already packed up my belongings and had them waiting.

By noon, instead of eating the cold pasta salad that was for lunch, I counted all the cotton balls in the jar on my counter (256) and the Q-tips (117).

By one pm, I had made eighteen figurines with the cotton balls and Q-tips and was staging a very dramatic reenactment of every cheesy high school movie I had seen.

By two pm, I was laying across my bed, having an existential crisis. What if people didn’t like me at my new high school? What if I was known as that girl with lupus?

By 2:15, I remembered I was being stupid and that Scott said I could count on him and his friends to have my back, so I had nothing to worry about.

By 2:45, I needed to get out of that room.

At 2:50. Nurse Jenkins came to open my door and I bolted out of my room. I had a small suitcase with my belongings in it and I was wearing the clothes I came into the hospital in, some sneakers, some jeans and a plain old t-shirt. As I made my way to the front desk, I could see all the people who really needed help. The people who would be here for a long time (or the rest of their lives). I felt a chill down my spine and counted myself lucky.

I bet the receptionist had never seen someone so excited to sign paperwork. I was still a minor though, so I had to get verbal consent from my parents and someone to sign as an emergency contact for me. Who else better than The Melissa McCall? The receptionist looked over my forms and snorted, “Mhm, I figured.”

She made a couple copies, stamped a couple things, handed me some pamphlets and wished me good luck. I grinned at her, tucked the papers under my arm and headed out.

The fresh air of the outside world hit me like waves crashing on the shore. I closed my eyes, basking in the warmth of direct sunlight. I heard a car horn in my direction and opened my eyes.

Scott waved at me from the driver seat of a dark blue car. I grinned as I waved back. I looked both ways (because it would suck to get out of the hospital just to end up back in it) and ran over to his car. I pulled on the handle of the car but it was locked. Scott leaned over and pulled the lock up.

“No motorcycle today?” I teased as I got in the passenger seat.

“My mom wasn’t a big fan of me picking you up and riding around on the back of my death mobile,” Scott smiled and started the car, “Maybe soon though.”

I pulled out my notebook and grabbed a glitter gel pen, “I’ll add it to my list. My new list I might add, since you took my original.”

Scott grinned sheepishly and started the car, “Sorry about that. But hey, to make up for it, there’s a gift in the backseat. Courtesy of Lydia.”

“Lydia?” I craned my head to see a medium sized light blue box complete with a white bow and a smaller box of the same color scheme on top of it, “Why would she get me something?”

“Because my friends are your friends and it’s what friends do,” Scott nodded toward it, “Open it.”

I undid the bow and lifted the top to reveal a simple but cute little black dress.

“Lydia said you can’t go wrong with black,” Scot had started driving at his point, so he was taking quick side glances at me, “The other is like, diamond Tiffany earrings and a necklace. You can wear them for the dinner.”

“Oh, wow,” My eyes glistened and I couldn’t tell if it was because I was crying or because the diamonds were super bright, “I can’t--holy--I can’t accept these. I can’t pay for them if I lose them.”

“It’s fine,” Scott laughed, “It’s like, it’s a gift and this is a celebration for you. Don’t sweat it.”

But my eyes were definitely sweating it.

---

I came out of Scott’s bathroom, pulling the skirt of the black dress down to make sure I wasn’t flashing the poor McCalls. I could smell my favorite dish wafting through the house. I made my way to the kitchen, not expecting what I saw. There were candles on the table, which gave the room a nice ethereal glow. The table was set, which made the whole thing look really, well, a lot more classy than it needed to be. Scott stood up when I came in, a smile on his face (I could swear I saw his eyes briefly travel down my body, but I could totally be making it up).

I did a little (awkward) spin and held the skirt up, “This is a nice upgrade from that hospital gown.”

“Yeah,” Scott smiled at me, “Yeah, definitely.”

“Enough gawking at each other,” Melissa shouted from the kitchen, “We gotta eat before I either burn the house down or the food gets cold and I only fix one of those.”

Scott and I laughed before Scott pulled my chair out and gestured toward it. My face flushed as I sat down. As soon as I sat down, there was a bouquet of flowers in my face. I looked up at Scott quizzically. He rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh, Lydia said I had to get them. I hope they’re not too much.”

“They’re not,” I felt slightly embarrassed at the gesture, even if he had good intentions, but what exactly did Lydia think this was? What did she think we were? Were we anything?

“Thank you, Scott.”

Scott nodded at me and took the seat across from me.

“Okay,” Melissa carried a steaming hot plate of food from out of the kitchen, “It took a lot of time, research and a couple fingers but I present to you, your dinner.”

My eyes lit up at the sight of my favorite dish, “Oh my god.”

“Now,” Melissa held her hands up, “It might not be exactly like the recipe you gave me, but I did my best.”

“It’s great,” I picked up my fork, “I mean, anything is better than powdered mash.”

“Amen to that,” Melissa grabbed a serving spoon.

The rest of the night was filled with good laughs, good food and good company. I actually felt, okay, great even. Normal, you could even say. It was the best I had felt in a really long time.

And then the morning came.

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18 NEW YEAR’S GOLF RESOLUTIONS FOR 2016 (& 2017)

OK………. You’ve heard of an ” Oldie but Goodie”…….. well here’s one for you. One worth repeating and maybe, just maybe, worth grabbing a few suggestions off of.  This “Resolution” List is worth reading and worth implementing! Especially….. “Get Away Golf Outings”, Dressing the Part” and “Cussing Less”. A few of my favorites.  Can’t “walk” here at Hollywood Beach Golf Course, but you can talk to one of our pros about course management, course strategies or golf lessons! They certainly know what they’re talking about! See ya on the links. I’ll be the one dressed well and cussing less!!!

Normally I’m against New Year’s resolutions. Why wait for an arbitrary date to better yourself, rather than begin said improvement immediately? Plus, “New Year’s resolution” is really just a synonym for, “Your gym is going to be a zoo for the next six weeks.” However, in our realm, New Year’s initiatives are pertinent, as it’s a time of genesis in golf. The PGA Tour season, after a brief sabbatical, returns on Jan. 7, and, as a large chunk of the Midwest and East Coast are experiencing unseasonably warm weather, hackers don’t have to wait until spring to satiate their golf appetite. Plus, according to a 1992 Encyclopaedia Britannica I found, the month of January is named for “Janus,” the Roman god of beginnings, making this a perfect juncture for new resolves. While lowering one’s handicap or playing more rounds are nice ambitions, they’re not pragmatically attainable, either.

Instead, we offer 18 realistic endeavors for golfers seeking New Year’s resolutions: Minimize on-course cussing:

I adhere to Ron Swanson’s view on swearing. Mainly, that there’s only one profanity: Taxes. If any other word is good enough for sailors, it’s good enough for you. Yet, while cursing is fun, simple and — sometimes — just feels right, it goes against golf’s “gentleman’s game” ethos. It reveals a weak grasp of the English language, and creativity. Furthermore, a curse’s impact losses luster if dropped in every sentence. In short, try to keep the f-bombs to a minimum. Avoid hyperbolizing the pros: Both fans and media are guilty of this faux pas. There is no room for centrism; everyone is the best, or a bum. A year ago, we crowned Rory McIlroy the new emperor of the golf kingdom; a new era was born. Twelve months later, in a season where McIlroy won four times — an amount that would be a hell of a career, let alone campaign — we chalked 2015 as a “lost year” for Rors. I’ve certainly harbored these sentiments, particularly at Dustin Johnson’s shortcomings. While he didn’t rise to the occasion this past summer, he did manage to finish in the top 10 at three of the four majors. Impressive in itself, it’s especially true once remembering he took a six-month leave from the game earlier in the year. So, when someone misses a putt, don’t Tweet “(Player X) is a choke.” Conversely, we’ll cut back on the “Is Jordan Spieth on pace for the greatest career ever?” rhetoric. Deal? Dress the part:

The golf dress code has become too casual at public joints. T-shirts, gym shorts, flip flops; somehow golf apparel mirrors the wardrobe of a college freshman who overslept. I’d throw in the lack of tucked-in shirts as well. You don’t need to wear slacks, or even golf shoes, to the course. But if there’s any question regarding ensembles, always err on the side of dressing up.

Campaign to get Bill Murray on the Ryder Cup:

There’s an open assistant spot on the U.S. squad, many which presume is saved for Phil Mickelson. But if Lefty makes the team virtue of his play, we need to fill that void. What better presence than Murray? He’s in the Caddie Hall of Fame, he’s won at Pebble Beach, he’s served his country, and he can keep the mood light, a valuable asset given the uptight nature of the event. Besides, Michael Jordan has been an assistant at past Presidents Cups, and it’s not like these positions really matter. Davis Love III is accessible via Twitter, so let’s start a year-long social drive to get Murray to Hazeltine. Walk the walk: I get the appeal of carts: Cup holders, GPS, you don’t have to carry your bag…all well and good. But we’re the only country where able-bodied golfers need wheels to get around the links; we look like a nation of sloths. Remember, the game is “a good walk spoiled,” not “enjoyable ride ruined.” Walking and carrying your bag can burn double the amount of calories as opposed to riding. For those looking to keep the bag weight off their shoulders, grab a caddie or a pull cart. Speaking of caddies… Treat a caddie like a king: Everyone has their own monetary, fiscal constraints. But if you have the means, go generous on paying the looper. For four-plus hours, they’re manning your WAY-too-heavy bag, giving advice, keeping spirits up, doing everything in their power to make sure you’re having the best experience possible. That they have to do that while watching you hack it up is borderline valorous. Travel back in time: Oh, you can break par? Whoop-de-doo: You have a driver the size of a hubcap and irons more forgiving than Nelson Mendela. To decipher your true merit as a golfer, tee it up with persimmon woods and blades, and see if you can break 80. Take an aspiring golfer under your wing:

A lot of us will strive for spending extra time at the range or practice green as a New Year’s goal. However, a better use of that time is assisting a fledging golfer. You don’t have to impart swing tips or playing instruction; save that for the club professionals. But you can teach them etiquette, general procedures and norms, even just accompany them to the range. Not only will you be sharing your love with the sport, but chances are you’ll learn something new in the process as well. Shame “Baba Booey!” out of existence: Howard Stern? Hilarious. His fans’ “Baba Booey!” catch phrase? Alright. Yelling said mantra at golf tournaments? Worse than getting the (rhymes with “blanks”). We need to raise awareness against this ill. I never condone violence, but if you find yourself in proximity to a jabroni that screams this nonsense, feel free to pour your drink on them. Pretty sure that rationale will hold up in court. Pen Jim Nantz’ victory call at the Masters:

I love Jim, but he’s toned his signature ending cries considerably. Flood Twitter during this year’s Masters with potential final calls — “Amidst the Augusta azaleas, a Rose blooms in Georgia!” — in the hopes that it gets on the CBS truck’s radar. Devise a comically-bad alibi to skip work to watch, play golf: When you die — SPOILER ALERT: You will die — I don’t think you’re going to be on your deathbed counting all those hours you spent laboring in the office. Instead of spending another Monday morning arguing with the IT desk about email connection, make a concerted effort to grab friends and head towards the fairways. Trust me, the work isn’t going anywhere. But pleasurable experiences are fleeting, and should be cherished at every opportunity. (By the way, the above paragraph is going to cost me dearly in the “Job Effort” portion of my work review.) Orchestra a get-away golf outing: Doesn’t have to be to Bandon Dunes or Myrtle Beach; it could simply be a course that’s off the beaten path from your usual commute. An out-of-the-way destination will take you out of your element, which is needed from time to time. Better yet, the journey adds another level of excitement, speciality and aura to the round. No gimmes:

By all means, be as generous as possible towards others. To your own game, play the entire year without giving yourself a freebie. We’ve become too liberal towards gimme putts, and our collective putting has suffered because of it. Not only will this improve your touch, it can serve as a barometer for the state of your game. Play in a high-stakes match: You discover a lot about yourself, as well as your partner, in a competitive setting. It gives a sense of what tour pros go through on a daily basis, and a purpose that’s sometimes missing in amateur golf. Warning: Don’t let your enjoyment be dictated by your result. The aim is to enjoy the combative backdrop. Refrain from any conversation regarding Tiger Woods’ future: You may think he’s done. You may think he’s got eight major victories in the tank. Honestly, it doesn’t matter what you think, because he’s not going to be on the course anytime soon. And when he does, let’s not race to make any sweeping pronouncements on his performance. Let it breathe, people. Keep an open mind regarding golf’s return to the Olympics: I’m all for ripping the Olympic committee, a group so corrupt it makes Spiro Agnew look like Robin Hood. But while many are lukewarm on golf’s return to the, ahem, “amateur” games, give it a chance. The format won’t facilitate the strongest field, yet any event boasting the likes of Spieth, McIlroy, Jason Day, Rickie Fowler, Justin Rose and Dustin Johnson is worth watching. Call out a friend for behaving like a butthead: We all have that colleague whose competitive fire burns a tad too bright. The one who sends emails with Vince Lombardi quotes the week before the outing or wants to discuss course management. This isn’t Operation Overlord; it’s a couple rounds of friendly golf. Note: if you can’t think of a buddy that this applies to, it means you’re probably the criminal in question.

If you’re like me, it’s easy to keep to yourself when a friend or playing companion is acting up. On the opposite end of the spectrum, the course is supposed to be a safe haven, a place to enjoy one’s self. You can say it doesn’t bother you, but no one is totally immune from a jackass’ disposition. As much as I hate confrontation, I’m making a point this year to call people out on such expression. It’s one thing to let loose displeasure, another to act like a spoiled brat from “My Super Sweet 16”.  It might create an awkward moment, but those around you, as well as the guilty party, will be better off for it.

Finally,

Quit drinking while on the course:

Hey, everyone makes one resolution they have no chance of keeping!!! SOURCE: Joel Beall, Golf Digest

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