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specterchasing-a · 3 years

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Hold On (Part One) || Eddie & Alfie

TIMING: One month ago.

LOCATION: Alfie’s apartment.

PARTIES: @yikesimonfire & @specterchasing

SUMMARY: Eddie wants Alfie to accompany him on a little adventure. A lot of things go unsaid, but that’s probably for the best.

CONTENT: Internalized homophobia

Eddie carefully straddled the knee-high barrier that divided the apartment balconies. With a quiet grunt, he raised his leg and landed safely on Alfie’s property. He never locked the sliding door and Eddie didn’t have the patience to wait for him in the hallway. In all likelihood, the door would be shut in his face if Alfie had the option to block him out. Eddie didn’t appreciate being rejected, so things were better this way.

“Alfie?” Eddie announced himself curiously as he opened the balcony door. “I need your help with something.”

The sound of Eddie’s voice from his living room broke Alfie’s concentration, pulling him away from the string of code he was helplessly scratching his head over. One of these days he’d learn to lock the balcony door — at least while he worked. “‘Course you do,” Alfie mumbled to himself as he ran a hand down the length of his face.

“I’m in here,” he called out, pushing his chair away from the desk until he latched onto the doorknob. With a faint click, Alfie swung the office door open and rolled back to his desk. “This important?”

As soon as Eddie heard Alfie’s voice, he made a beeline for the office. He stood at the door, grinning from ear to ear, and offered a small wave. “All work and no play makes Alfie a dull boy. You’re aware of that, right?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe. He liked his neighbor, quite a bit actually, but he wished Alfie was a little more social. Getting him to commit to a conversation for more than a few sentences felt like pulling teeth. More often than not, Alfie regarded him with enthusiasm of someone having their teeth pulled, too. Eddie was used to it.

“It’s monumentally important, actually,” Eddie answered with a nod. “I have plans tonight, filming plans, and I want you to come with me.” He raised his brow provocatively. “I know you’re gonna say no or fabricate some brand-new illness that you don’t have, but c’mon, it could be really fun, don’t you think? We never hang out.”

Alfie’s gaze shifted from the computer screen to the doorway where Eddie stood. He wished he could wipe the smug smile from the other man’s face that came along with that ridiculous proverb. Another part of him wished Eddie’s smile wasn’t contagious. “I’ll have you know, I did not make up conjunctivitis,” retorted Alfie with the hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wouldn’t comment on any of his other recent ‘diagnoses’.

“What kind of filming plans, exactly?” he asked, his fingers locked behind his head as he swiveled to face Eddie, giving him his undivided attention. It was still a long shot that Alfie would bite, but he’d entertain the idea before crushing Eddie’s hopes and dreams.

“You sure? Sounds pretty fake to me,” Eddie said with a smirk. He knew conjunctivitis was real, but that didn’t stop him from playing dumb in the hopes that it might elicit a reaction from Alfie. He liked getting under his skin almost as much as he liked making him laugh. He wished he had more chances to do both.

“I need to go to the woods again. You know the couple that went missing recently? I saw on the news that their bodies were found somewhere near Dark Score Lake, but here’s the kicker; all that was left of them were their bones. They went missing last fuckin’ week and that’s all that’s left. Vines had already taken over the remains.”

“I have a theory about what’s behind it, but I wanna know for certain. More importantly, I want evidence.” Eddie’s gaze remained on Alfie. Barely concealed hope shone in his eyes. “So, yeah, company would be appreciated.”

“So let me get this straight…” Alfie’s brow was raised skeptically as he carefully reiterated Eddie’s proposal. “You want to go to the woods where people died… all to prove your little theory on video, and you want me to do what exactly? Be your bodyguard?” A small laugh swelled within his chest. “You’re joking, right?”

Shaking his head, Alfie turned back to his desktop. “Some bodyguard I’d be — more of a meat shield than anything else.” He knew full well that Eddie wouldn’t be that easy to turn down. He’d most likely hang around, maybe even get on his hands and knees to beg Alfie to go with him. “‘Sides, I haven’t even checked the weather. You know how my joints get when it rains. I’d only slow you down and before you know it, a week’s gone by and they’re reporting our bones on the news.”

Eddie’s mood deflated somewhat when Alfie outright laughed at his proposal. He understood but, just once, he thought it might be nice to have someone accompany him without needing to be begged. “Not a bodyguard—a friend,” he corrected him with a more mild smile than before. “Friends, y’know, do things together sometimes. Sounds zany, I know, but I hear it helps make them into even better friends.”

“I already checked the weather,” Eddie said, not that it would’ve taken Alfie more than 10 seconds to do it himself. He loved his excuses, even the fragile ones. “There shouldn’t be any rain tonight, just some wind. I wouldn’t invite you if there was even a 10% chance it would storm.” Eddie raised his chin slightly, an expectant look on his face. “You should come with me, Alfie. You’re due for a little fun.”

Much to his chagrin, Alfie hadn’t been successful at turning Eddie down. It was nothing new; he was notorious for avoiding things by the skin of his teeth. But there was something in the tone of Eddie’s voice that made Alfie’s heart sink. His eyes flickered back to Eddie whose face was drained of enthusiasm. “A friend,” Alfie parroted. It really wasn’t fair that Eddie could worm his way into his heart like this, but he had a suspicion that this feeling was not exclusive to him. It was just... Eddie.

“Say I do go with you,” he finally chirped. “Aside from what I presume will be a fuckton of fun and friendly bonding time… What’s in it for me?” It sounded selfish, Alfie knew that. Even still, it didn’t stop him from dragging out the inevitable. “I mean, y’know, you get your video out of it too, right? Doesn’t seem like a level playing field.”

Eddie nodded when Alfie repeated the dreaded “f” word. He knew his shut-in of a neighbor didn’t value things like genuine human connections, but Eddie felt determined to make himself an exception. “Proud of you for saying it out loud, I know ‘friend’ is like an obscenity to you,” Eddie teased with his hand over his heart. He didn’t understand Alfie; the guy could be surrounded by people who loved him if he would only put forth a little effort. Eddie would be among them, no question.

As Alfie spoke up again, Eddie’s brow raised in hopeful curiosity. The questions that followed immediately made it fall into a furrow. “That’s so fucked up,” he asserted. “I offer you pure platonic love and you’re telling me it’s not enough motivation for you, Alfie Ramirez?” He pushed off from the doorframe and firmly planted his hands on either hip. “You’re lucky that I don’t have more dignity, is all I’m saying. What do you want? Money? My HBOMax login info? Name it, you greedy fuck. Your wish is my command.”

Alfie’s face flushed when Eddie drew attention to his repetition of the word ‘friend’. In truth, Alfie hadn’t noticed he’d done it at all, though he could understand why it stood out. Things like that didn’t usually bear repeating. "Har har," he rolled his eyes. Alfie wasn't about to die on a hill proclaiming he had more friends than he knew what to do with. Eddie might have been his neighbor, but he was also the closest Alfie had to a friend in years.

A terse laugh escaped his lips at the mention of "pure platonic love". With a broad grin, Alfie quickly intercepted. "No, Ed. You offered imminent death. But same difference, right?" The smile never wavered from his face as he listened to Eddie prattle off various options. The corner of his mouth twitched mischievously. "I already have your HBOMax login, by the way. You really need to change your passwords," he smirked.

Alfie wasn't usually someone who wanted for anything; he kept to himself and got what he needed. But there was one thing that would make it worthwhile. "Alright, fine. I'll go with you," he decided. "But after all's said and done, you owe me a box of Baby Ruths. I'm talkin' unopened retail box, nothin' but Baby Ruth goodness inside."

Imminent death. Eddie rolled his eyes playfully. “You are so dramatic,” he insisted. Most of his content-related adventures were potentially perilous but, lo and behold, Eddie still had a pulse. He couldn’t imagine what would make tonight any different. “You’re stealing from me?” he asked, feigning shock. “I’ll change them immediately, alfieisatool69 should do just fine—wait, shit, I shouldn’t have said that out loud.” Truthfully, Eddie couldn’t care less if Alfie used his login info, it felt like something friends would do. Granted, friends probably asked first, but that was neither here nor there.

“That’s it?” Eddie asked. “You could have asked for anything in the world and you went with candy bars.” It would’ve been physically impossible for him to be grinning any wider. “You’re a simple kind of guy, I respect that. Consider those candy bars signed, sealed, and delivered. Now, get your shit and let’s go solve a murder.”

“Technically,” Alfie stressed, unlocking his hands from behind his head to raise one of his fingers, “I’m stealing from WarnerMedia.” His brow raised at the new password Eddie threw out. After a brief lull, Alfie’s hands dropped to the arm rests of his chair, and gave a soft snort. “Alfieisatool69 — really? You’d use my name as a password? Gotta be honest with ya, Ed, that’s kinda gay.” Throughout their years as neighbors, Eddie’s feet remained firmly planted in his heterosexuality. It was rare that Alfie made friends at all, let alone with straight guys. This, he figured, was exactly the kind of ribbing to be expected in the friendship dynamic they shared — not that he had anything to compare it to.

With a shrug, Alfie pushed himself from his seat. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good nougat.” No amount of candy bars would be able to prepare him for what was sure to come. But Alfie wasn’t in the position to demand egregious compensation when someone he considered a friend was essentially begging for his company.

“What all do I need?” he finally asked as he slipped his wallet into his back pocket.

Eddie’s hand raised and mimicked a flapping jaw when Alfie corrected him with a technicality. When his new password was deemed gay, he scoffed. “You caught me—I’m so gay for you, the guy I need to bribe to spend time with me.” Eddie’s lips pursed as he proffered an exaggerated shrug. “I think if I was gay, which I’m not, I’d probably be more interested in someone who, I dunno, liked spending time with me.” He sounded more terse than he intended to, as if what he said held more genuine feelings than it did. So he thought, anyway. “The syphilis is also kind of a turn-off,” he added to make-up for the weight of his previous comment.

“Whatever the Alfie-essentials are. We’re just going to the woods and I’ve already got all of the filming equipment packed and ready to go,” Eddie informed him with a bright grin. “You are so not gonna regret this.”

“You caught me—I’m so gay for you...” The declaration caught Alfie off guard. For a moment he could feel his heart racing in his chest. After all this time? But before he could say anything irrational, Eddie pulled him back down to Earth fast enough to give him whiplash. Same old Eddie; he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Alfie was silent for a moment as he shuffled into a pair of sneakers haphazardly strewn across the floor. “Oh, right — the syphilis,” he half-laughed. “Good news is, Doc says I’m cured! I would have mentioned it sooner if I’d known that was a deal-breaker for you.” With a low grunt, he wiggled his heel into its shoe and scooped his phone up from the desk.

“Just gotta grab my keys,” Alfie added with a nod towards the office door, hoping Eddie would lead the way out so he didn’t have to walk past him. He didn’t know what else to say. Eddie didn’t think he enjoyed their time together; that much was made clear by the resulting whiplash. Granted, Alfie hadn’t given him reason to believe otherwise, but that didn’t keep him from climbing the balcony rails to visit.

You could start by apologizing, his inner voice rang. While Alfie knew he probably should, he was worried it wouldn’t seem genuine enough. “You’re wrong, by the way,” he offered instead. He refused to make eye-contact and instead stared at the floor, but it was a start. “I like spending time with you. I mean, y’know… when it doesn’t pull me away from work. But — I do.”

“Well, clearly, we have no choice but to run away together, if that’s the case,” Eddie teased. He hated the way he didn’t hate the sound of that. He liked Alfie a lot, too much for comfort sometimes. Eddie noticed little things about his neighbor that shouldn’t have stood out to him: the rasp in his voice when he first woke up, the flash of his teeth when he spoke, the subtle crinkle around his eyes when he smiled. Seeing all of that and having his heart push him to do things he didn’t want to was agonizing. He told himself that must be what caring about a friend felt like, and usually he could convince himself to believe that, but sometimes…. Sometimes, he knew better.

Eddie stepped aside to let Alfie pass. To his surprise, he had something to say before he did. He studied his friend’s face as he spoke; flash of teeth, he was fucked. For the first time since he arrived, Eddie’s face bore a serious expression. “You do?” he asked before he could catch himself. “I mean, yeah, I was only teasing.… I know you do, Alfie.” He offered him a small smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

Alfie managed to skirt past Eddie with minimal effort; head lowered and shoulders down. Something in the way the other man spoke made it sound like a suggestion rather than a jest. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Besides, no matter how much truth it held, Alfie was better off alone. He’d die sooner than later and he wasn’t going to put his friend — or anyone for that matter — in that situation.

“That’s what this is all about, right?” Alfie teased back, deciding that was what was expected of him. “I thought that’s what ‘let’s go solve a murder’ was code for.”

In no time at all, he led the way down the short hall, only stopping at the front door long enough to snatch the keys off the hand-me-down entry-way table. “Cool,” blurted Alfie as he nodded along. “I didn’t want you thinking I don’t want you around, y’know?” His eyes shot up to meet Eddie’s for a brief moment and flashed an apologetic smile as he held the door open for him.

#c: alfie #wickedswriting #writing #hold on #// this is the first installment to something that is going to end up being longer than my life #but yolo

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bidaubadeadieu · 4 years

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Ten Favorite Fictional Characters

I was tagged by @skullhaver who chose some rlly choice people. We love so many of the same characters, for so many of the same reasons, but for the sake of fun, I’ll try to pick ones that don’t overlap theirs, or pick some characters off of the beaten path. I find this prompt a little tricky because I tend to fall in love more with worlds than characters. Sunless Skies and Dark Souls jump out to me as worlds that I really like but with no characters that I was really able to latch onto.

1. Rose Quartz, Steven Universe I love Rose Quartz’s selfishness. She spends the whole show kind of oblivious to the way she’s hurting people, although I think she is good of heart and intention. I think her deep empathy for other people manifests as this weird projection where by getting what she wants she genuinely thinks she’s helping others, and has no understanding that other people may not benefit from this. I like the way the narrative slowly reveals more about her, and it was a really exciting mystery to uncover, and to go, like Steven, from kind of revering her, to kind of resenting her, to kind of finding a middle path and acknowledging her complexity. Honorable mention goes to Stevonnie, also from Steven Universe, who is some great nonbinary rep.

2. Satine, Moulin Rouge! When I was in high school, I might have put Satine’s love interest, Christian, on this list, but thanks to gender discovery, I have been able to radically shift the way that I interpret romantic pursuit and seduction. I don’t think this was the intention of the writers, but I think there is ambiguity to be had in Satine’s character. Christian is charming, and the duke is rapey and awful, so I think the audience is supposed to feel that it’s obvious that she will fall for Christian, and of course her appeals to the Duke are only for show, but yet the only thing we know about Satine’s past is she has had a lifelong struggle for security, and I think the choice she is making is a real one. In my read of her character, Satine is like, actually so distant from her own emotional needs that she is not ready to fall in love, and I think she could find Christian’s in-touchness with his aesthetic ideals perturbing and alienating.

3. Karin, Naruto: Shippuden I have to love Karin because no one else will. She is not a good character; the writers make her fawn over Sasuke like 5 years after they should have realized that trope was dumb and juvenile, they gave her a shitty biting-linked power purely to titillate the audience as fanservice, and she gets treated like a punching bag. She’s like literally Naruto’s fucking cousin and they’ve never talked in canon. She represents every missed opportunity that show ever had, and is a perfect example of the way that misogyny hurts worldbuilding. In the New Era, she is kind and gentle with Sarada. Gay aunt vibes. Honorable mention goes to Orochimaru (Boruto only, when he’s in dad-mode) as questionable nonbinary rep, and honorable mentions go to to the rest of the Akatsuki for being absolute freaks, great villain writing, and finally honorable mention goes to Rock Lee for inspiring in me a certain kind of motivation and drive when I need it.

4. Iroh, Avatar: the Last Airbender Legit what is there not to love about this guy? His comic relief holds up after a decade, his wise and compassionate guidance helped foster one of the greatest redemption arcs of all time, and his physical prowess makes from some extremely well-choreographed fights. He really has the range.

5. Clare, The Nightingale (2019) This movie is far more violent than I usually enjoy, but there’s something about Clare’s descent into madness that was done really well. So many people talk these days about “feral women” but like, Clare, she’s feral, in the worst and ugliest ways. Her vengeance is completely justified, and its a rare story that while watching it I find myself thinking “yeah. i want her to commit murder. she deserves it :)” This is Rosemary’s Baby if Rosemary was a Tasmanian tiger.

6. April May, An Absolutely Remarkable Thing (2018) I bet you didn’t know this, but I like shitty, selfish women with hubris. I think they’re good characters. At least April, by virtue of being a protagonist, gets a serious growth arc the the second book, which none of the other characters above are afforded because their writers didn’t take them serious enough.

7. The Biologist, Annihilation (2014) Hey, I bet you didn’t know this, but I resonate with cold women making difficult decisions in survival situations. She is savvy and mostly self-aware, but still struggles with being out of her depth, and I resonate with the the way she is somewhat alienated from her past and her regrets.

8. Zaroff, The Most Dangerous Game (1924) It’s silly, and oversincere, and tropey, but I love the vintage horror of a lawful evil guy who hunts humans for sport. I like his weird period-appropriate racism. I like his faux-sophistication and worldliness. I find him oddly realistic. See also: my love for the Akatsuki, mentioned above.

9. Konata, Lucky Star I haven’t watched this show in over a decade, and I don’t want to, I am positive that it won’t hold up and it’ll be major cringe, but the fact of the matter is that Konata’s personality of gamer grrl, small-titty (because it’s fkn anime so that’s a personality I guess) innuendo-ridden persona despite deep naivete, it all left an indelible impact on my psyche. For better or for worse.

10. Viren, The Dragon Prince We love a power-hungry villain who is like, low-key a freak! We love somebody who sacrifices their humanity to get what they want! I love the way that Viren lies to his son, I love the way he and King Harrow were definitely gay for one another, I love the way that he takes advice from a magic caterpillar that lives in his hear. Honorable mention for Aunt Amaya, who is just wonderful, and we love the lady knight tropes she’s bringing

I will tag: @kit-kaboodle @theclockistickingwrite @fairy-creed @wymanthewalrus @soldier-author-batman @colcoction and you know, anybody else who wants in on the fun

#skullhaver #tag meme #fiction #also honorable mention goes to Helene from Who Am I This Time the Vonnegut short story

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becasbelt · 4 years

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Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: G Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell Characters: Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale, Stacie Conrad Additional Tags: Basketball AU, cheerleader Chloe, Beca ft. gay panic

Summary:

Beca’s not really a basketball fan, but that redheaded member of the cheer squad sure is cute.

* * *

“And that’s another two points for the Knights!”

Beca barely even glances up from her phone when the announcer proclaims the fact, seeing as the team is up by fifteen points. She figures she’s not really missing anything anyways.

Normally Beca wouldn’t even be at a basketball game, but her roommate and self-proclaimed best friend Stacie is on the team, and she liked to drag Beca out of the apartment once a week so she could watch her play. She was also technically there to “cheer on the team,” but she figured Stacie should be grateful she’s there at all.

Barden University’s women’s basketball team was actually pretty decent. They were currently number two in their conference, so at least Beca didn’t have to watch the team lose every week.

Still, no one really went to the women’s games. Beca thought it was dumb, since they won way more than the men’s team did, but because the world was full of sexist jerks nobody cared about the girls. The average crowd was about fifty people, all spread out through the admittedly small basketball arena. Beca recognized most of them due to the fact that the same people went every week.

So Beca went to the games because Stacie wanted her to, and because she felt bad that no one really went to them. Even so, that didn’t mean she really knew what was going on or payed attention all that much.

Beca hears the announcer say Stacie’s name and number, so she looks up from the game on her phone to see what was happening on the court. The team is high fiving Stacie and moving into their positions for foul shots, Stacie standing behind the line. The tall brunette makes the first shot easily and sinks the second as well. Half-hearted applause follows as the game resumes, and Beca feels a twinge of sympathy for her friend.

Maybe she actually should be more supportive. At least a little bit.

So, when Stacie sinks a 3-pointer a few minutes later, Beca cups her hands around her mouth and yells, “Atta girl, Stace! That’s the stuff!”

Stacie turns to look at Beca and smiles widely, blowing her a kiss. Beca rolls her eyes affectionately and winks sarcastically in return. One plus of no one attending women’s games was that she could always sit court-side, right behind the cheer squad from where they stood lining the court, making it easy to interact with Stacie like this.

One of the cheerleaders glances briefly over her shoulder at Beca when she shouts for Stacie and Beca can see an amused grin on her face. The girl is pretty. Like, really pretty. Which, Beca supposes is a given since she’s a cheerleader, but still.

Wow.

She’s got shiny red curls that tumble freely down her back, stopping somewhere in the middle of her shoulder blades. Her sleeveless, short skirted uniform shows off tan, toned arms and legs that look as smooth as silk. And her ass-

Well, Beca doesn’t want to objectify anyone. As a fellow woman who does not want to be seen as an object, she knows she shouldn’t.

But hot damn.

Beca’s never really paid attention to the cheer squad before. They’re always just there; turning around to cheer at the empty seats whenever the team scores, performing once or twice during halftime and timeouts. They’re a constant presence that has never really caught Beca’s attention.

For some reason (a pretty redheaded reason, to be specific), Beca finds herself paying a lot more attention to the cheer squad for the remainder of the game. She notices how they all stand the same; hands behind their backs, feet shoulder-width apart, heads held high. They’re always super in-sync, which boggles Beca’s mind, because it’s not like any of them ever shout out instructions at any point. They just know what to do.

She finds herself becoming more and more curious about the redhead. What was her name? What year in school was she? How long has she been on the cheer squad?

Was she single?

Beca shakes her head at the thought. She probably wasn’t single. Someone that attractive was surely taken by an equally attractive person, which sucked. Even if the redhead was single, Beca wasn’t good-looking enough to stand a chance. Beca, in all her combat boots, worn-out flannel, ear monstrosity glory was definitely not a good fit for this beautiful human masterpiece.

Still, a girl could dream, couldn’t she?

Before Beca knew it, the final buzzer signaling the end of the game was going off and the school’s fight song was blaring over the speakers. The team rushes towards each other and celebrates their victory out on the court for a moment before rushing off to the locker room. Beca stands up and stretches out her stiff limbs in preparation of climbing the steps out of the arena. From there she would meet Stacie outside the locker room to go get dinner.

She can’t help but steal one last glance at the redhead, though, and turns her head to where she is chatting with some of her fellow cheer squad members. To her embarrassment, the girl happens to look in her direction in the same time and the two of them make eye contact. Beca feels herself blush and immediately looks away. It had been no problem staring creepily at her for the entirety of the game when the girl had been facing away from her, but being caught in the act was a completely different story.

Beca makes her way up the stairs quickly to go meet Stacie, feeling thoroughly humiliated.

She hated basketball.

* * *

The redhead is at the next game Beca attends, too. Which isn’t a surprise, exactly. She is a cheerleader, after all.

Stacie’s surprised at Beca’s lack of reluctance at being dragged to the game. Usually it’s only after promises of buying her food that Beca agrees to go, but today Beca had simply rolled her eyes and let herself be led to the car.

Not that Beca would ever tell Stacie why, exactly, she was more eager to go, of course. That would surely provoke weeks of teasing comments that Beca did not want to deal with.

Beca sits down in her usual seat by the sidelines and watches the team warm up. Like always, she’s there before anyone else has shown up, including the cheer squad. Stacie had to be there super early since she was on the team, which meant that Beca had to be there early as well.

Today, however, Beca didn’t immediately pull out her phone to entertain herself with. She would never admit it out loud, but a (big) part of her was eagerly awaiting the cheer squad’s arrival.

Their arrival comes about fifteen minutes before the game is supposed to start. They all walk down the tunnel together, conversing and laughing as they make their way to their spots on the sideline, and Beca’s eyes immediately latch onto the redhead from the last game. She indulges in a brief moment of checking out the cheerleader before feigning indifference and turning her attention back to the team.

She actually ends up lost in thought, focusing so hard on not looking at the cheer squad that she doesn’t notice someone approaching.

“Hi there.”

Beca blinks in surprise and moves her eyes away from the court to see the redheaded cheerleader standing in front of her, separated by the barrier separating the seats from the court. The girl rests her arms against it casually, pom-poms grasped firmly in her hands. Her eyes are blue, like bluer than the sky blue.

For a moment, Beca completely forgets how to speak. All of her basic motor skills fail her because the hot cheerleader that she’s quickly grown a crush on is talking to her.

Say something, her brain tells her. Say anything. Don’t just stare at her, you useless idiot.

“Uh, your eyes are really blue,” is the thing that comes out of her mouth.

It would honestly be best if she just knocked herself out now. Or, at the very least, change her name and flee the country.

Luckily, the girl doesn’t seem too weirded out by Beca’s apparent lack of social skills. A smile lights up her face and she giggles. “Thanks,” she gushes, then looks at Beca expectantly, as if she’s waiting for her to say something else.

Beca, unfortunately, does not currently possess the ability to say something else. So she sits there, like an idiot, saying nothing.

The girl’s smile turns into more a smirk. “I’m Chloe, by the way,” she says when it becomes clear Beca’s not going to speak.

“Beca,” Beca squeaks out, followed by another awkward pause.

“I’ve seen you at a lot of games before,” Chloe starts again. “Do you know someone on the team, or are you just a big basketball fan?”

A snicker escapes Beca at the implication that she was a sports fan, and the thought allows her to shake herself from her internal panic. “No, definitely not a basketball fan. My roommate’s on the team,” she manages to say without sounding too nervous. “Number 10, Stacie Conrad.”

Chloe turns around to look for Stacie, and she nods her head in recognition when she spots the tall brunette. “That’s super cool,” she says, facing Beca once again. “It’s also super cool that you come to support her every week.”

Beca shrugs like it’s no big deal, because it really isn’t. “Yeah, well, I usually get free food afterwards, so,” Beca clicks her tongue. “There’s at least one good reason to come.”

Chloe raises one perfect eyebrow, a sultry look sliding onto her face. “Is that the only good reason to come?” she asks slyly.

Beca cheeks heat up at what she thinks Chloe’s implying. She knows that Chloe caught her checking her out last week, and now the redhead was using that as ammunition to tease her. Beca opens her mouth to respond, though she’s not sure exactly how, but Chloe’s name gets called by one of her fellow cheer squad members, beckoning her over.

The redhead smirks and gives Beca a once-over that sends heat shooting through Beca’s system before turning around, skipping over to the person who called for her. Beca watches her go, thoroughly shocked at the other girl’s actions. It was almost as if Chloe had been… flirting with her. Which was absurd, because Beca had already established with herself that the cheerleader was way out of her league.

But just maybe….

Chloe continues to surprise Beca throughout the rest of the game. Beca tries not to stare, she really does, but once again, she can’t help herself. The only problem is that now, every time Chloe turns around to cheer, she looks right at Beca. She shoots Beca blinding smiles and subtle winks that cause Beca’s face to burn, which seems to bring great amusement to the redhead.

When the cheer squad rushes onto the court to perform during a timeout, Beca is mesmerized. Sure, all the cheerleaders are good dancers, but Chloe seems to be really giving it her all. Her movements seem more sensual, more purposeful, and the way her eyes keep flicking over to Beca lets Beca get a pretty good idea why.

By the time the game ends, Beca doesn’t even know where she is anymore. It feels like she’s stepped into an alternate universe; one where hot, cheerleading redheads are somehow interested in her- or, at least, interested in teasing her.

Honestly, Beca’s not picky. She’ll take the attention, no matter what the purpose behind it is.

Beca hadn’t been paying attention to a single second of the basketball game, too focused on the game that Chloe was playing instead. She looked at the final score as the fight song blared on over the speakers to see that Barden had won again- big surprise. The team runs off the court and the spectators start leaving, so Beca figures she should get up as well. She stands up onto stiff legs and looks down to see Chloe approaching her once again.

“So it was, Beca, right?” Chloe checks once she’s close enough to Beca. Beca nods her head quickly. Chloe smiles and her next question is said more teasingly than the first. “How’d you like the game?”

Beca chokes a little. “It was fine. Good, great. Fun,” she coughs out weakly. She clears her throat. “I thought it was great,” she tries again, more clearly this time.

“Good, I’m glad,” Chloe says, all pretenses of teasing gone from her tone. “I had fun, too.” Beca blushes and Chloe looks over her shoulder to see the rest of the cheer squad starting to walk out of the arena. “Well, I guess I have to go. See you at the next game?”

Beca nods her head rapidly. “Yeah, definitely,” she says too quickly.

Chloe giggles. “Good. See you then, Beca.”

With that, the redhead rushes off to join her group, leaving a flustered Beca standing rooted to her spot. Beca replays the way her name sounded coming from Chloe’s lips over and over in her head, and a goofy smile sliding onto her face.

She walks up the steps to meet Stacie with a little more gumption than usual. When her roommate finally emerges from the locker room a while later, she gives Beca a curious look upon seeing the smile on her face. “You seem awfully chipper,” she says as they start to walk out to her car. “Did your angst subscription finally expire, or are you just actually enjoying the games now?”

Beca swats her arm as the taller girl laughs, scowling. “You’re hilarious,” she deadpans. They reach the car and Stacie unlocks it before the two of them climb in. “You know, this is why I never let you know when I’m in a good mood,” she grumbles as she puts on her seatbelt. “You always make fun of me when I do. I think you hate seeing me happy.”

“Au contraire, my little friend,” Stacie counters as she starts the car. “I care deeply about your happiness. You’re just too much fun to tease about the littlest of things because of how worked up you get.”

Beca huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, pouting a little. “I hate you.”

Stacie leans over and places a loud, wet kiss on Beca’s cheek, which immediately causes Beca to make a noise of disgust and wipe the wetness away. “That’s too bad,” Stacie says in a sing-song voice as she starts to pull out of the parking lot. “Because I loooove you, little one.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she mumbles. “Where are we eating? I’m starving.”

* * *

The next few weeks pass by in much the same fashion. Game day rolls around, Beca pretends to be grumpy about going to the game while secretly being really excited, Chloe flirts with her throughout the match, and Beca goes to get food while Stacie teases her.

By the second week of Beca talking to Chloe, Stacie had found out exactly why she was always so smiley by the end of the games. The intuitive athlete got enough bench time during blowout matches that she was able to watch Beca and Chloe closely, and soon discovered their flirtatious behavior.

Stacie teases Beca about it relentlessly, and Beca hates it.

But also, Chloe was cute and funny, so she couldn’t exactly be totally upset about the whole situation.

One Saturday game is following the normal routine, with Beca currently staring dedicatedly at Chloe’s amazing arms, when a timeout is called on floor. The teams huddle up separately while the sponsored entertainment starts up: the kiss cam. Beca just rolls her eyes because of how awkward the whole thing was. There wasn’t enough people at the games most of the time, so it always just showed the same five or six old married couples at every single game.

The old people didn’t seem to mind, though. They were steadily getting bolder and bolder every time they were shown, which made Beca feel uncomfortable in all sorts of ways.

She’s wrinkling her nose in disgust at two people getting pretty steamy on the cam when a shadow suddenly looms over her. Beca shifts her attention in front of her to see Chloe propped up on the barrier in front of her, waving at the camera to get its attention. Beca’s eyes widen.

“What are you doing-” Beca starts to question before she’s cut off by Chloe leaning over the barrier, grabbing onto the collar of Beca’s flannel, and pressing their lips together.

Beca thinks she sees stars when Chloe’s lips touch her own. Her hands flail uselessly for a moment before winding into that damn red hair she loves so much as she sinks fully into the kiss. The kiss doesn’t last too long, though, and soon enough Chloe is pulling back and looking at Beca, the corner of her bottom lip snagged between perfect white teeth.

“I hope that was okay,” Chloe says smoothly. “I was getting pretty tired of watching old people make out.”

Beca swallows and tries to form a coherent thought in her brain. “Uh, yeah, totally fine,” she stammers out. “I do not mind at all.”

Chloe giggles and leans in to give her one last peck before pulling back all together, returning to her spot on the sideline. Her cheer friends elbow her and tease her, but the smile on Chloe’s face never falls. She looks back at where Beca is still sitting in shock and winks at her before turning to give her full attention to the game.

Beca, on the other hand, pretty much remains in a daze for the remainder of the match. She thinks someone gets injured, and maybe Stacie makes a couple 3-pointers, but she honestly doesn’t know. Her eyes just follow the ball lazily as her mind tries to process the kiss.

She’s just getting her wits back when the final buzzer goes off. The cheer squad dances to the fight song as the team runs off the court, and as soon as they’re done Chloe’s in front of her again.

“Do you want to get food?” the redhead asks, and Beca thinks this is the first time she’s ever heard the other girl sound nervous. “I know you usually go out to eat with Stacie after games, but I’ve been kind of really wanting to ask you out for a while now.”

Beca smirks at her confession, Chloe’s shyness making her feel bolder. “I might be down for that,” she says with fake nonchalance.

A smile brightens up Chloe’s face. “Are you sure Stacie won’t mind?”

Beca snorts. “Honestly? I couldn’t care less if she did,” she replies, standing up so she and Chloe can climb the steps towards the exit. “In fact, it almost makes this whole thing even better if she does get upset.”

Chloe laughs and reaches down to lace their fingers together, causing Beca to blush at the small action.

Okay, so maybe basketball games weren’t so bad after all.

#fanfic #pitch perfect #bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #so i went to a women's basketball game recently #and this was the result #so yeah

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novaviis · 4 years

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Snaibsel Renaissance Fair AU

Part One.

@ghost-in-the-stalls briefly mentioned snaibsel going to renfairs like months ago in my inbox and my dumb gay brain latched onto it like a corvid to a shiny piece of tinfoil, and now it’s a full-on au.

Artemis is a former high school dropout, got her GED, troubled past, the whole deal. She's on the mend, trying to earn money to go to college. Doing really well for herself. She just got a job at the local Renn Fair for the summer. Not thrilled about it at first, but it's something, right? She’s decent on horseback, so she’s got that under her belt already (her Dad was obsessed with training her and her sister in every sport on fucking Earth, along with some more… nonconventional ones.) She’s been hired to ride in the jousting tournaments and give snot-nosed little kids horse rides around a little circle, shit like that. She’ll give it a trial run for a week or two, at least until she finds something better.

Zee is a bit of a veteran at the Fair already as a Sorceress. This absolute powerhouse of a woman in full renaissance garb, like Morticia Addams and Morgan le Fay were mixed together in one 5’5” bombshell. She runs the magic show, held every weekend on the jousting field for the crowd of wide-eyed spectators in the stands. She’s no amateur magician, that’s for sure. She’s not pulling bunnies out of hats or pulling off cheap illusions.

Artemis stays behind from her orientation on her first day to watch the show – mostly because he brother in law isn’t picking her up until later and she needs to kill time. She’s heard of this “Sorceress Zatanna” show, but hasn’t really seen her yet. She’s sitting in the front row, amused enough opening act of musicians and the Fair Jester to not be completely bored, but she’d definitely checking her phone for the whole show to be over.

And then Zatanna comes on. She owns the stage set up on the patchy grass immediately. In the torchlights she really sells the whole medieval vibe (the extra florescent lights and the microphone kind take points away from authenticity but they’re easy enough to ignore). Zatanna starts off small. She pulls a crow out of her sleeve and releasing it, having it swoop at the crowd for some thrills before perching on her shoulder. She takes a broomstick and makes it levitate several feet off the ground, even sitting on it and raising it higher. At one point, Artemis looks down at her phone and sees Roy texting that he’ll be there in 20 minutes. As she’s putting her phone back into her sweater though, she looks up and Zatanna is right there. In front of her, at the edge of the stand, grinning back at her. Claims that since someone is obviously not satisfied enough with her show, she’ll make it a little more emersive. Before Artemis can say now, Zatanna is taking her hand and guiding her out into the centre of the field and the rickety wooden stage. Artemis can barely see the faces of the crowd anymore, but she can feel them all watching her and it’s more than a little unnerving.

Zatanna pulls out a deck of cards that Artemis vaguely identify as Tarot. She announces to the audience that she’s going to give her new friend here a reading. Artemis picks four cards out of the deck and Zatanna spreads them out on the table, and turns the first three over.

Judgement, Ace of Cups reversed, and The Star.

There’s a bit of a pause on Zatanna’s face as she reads the cards, before she smiles fleetingly and looks up at Artemis – for a half second too long, if only because Artemis can’t breathe through it. Finally, though, Zatanna announces her reading. “Your past has been clouded by harsh Judgement, from others, from those close to you, and mostly from yourself. You’ve been binding to what people have expected of you. Your present, however, reveals a new sense of self-love and intuition. Though you still struggle with repressed emotions, this card shows progress….” Zatanna stops there, and looks up at Artemis. “Hitting the mark?”

“Yeah,” Artemis shrugs a little nervously, echoed by the laugher of the crowd. “A little too close.”

Zatanna raises her hands. “Don’t shoot the messanger. I only read the cards,” she smiles. “Your third card predicts the future, with the path you are on right now. The Star represents renewal – in hope, in faith, and in purpose. So, at least you know you’re on the right track. This last card, however…” She picks up the card and shows it face out to Artemis without looking at it herself. “Is a message directly to you, and overall look at who you are at heart. And,” with a grin, she flicks her fingers and the card vanishes in a puff of violet smoke, “it will only reveal itself to you.”

The crowd applauds the slight of hand, and Artemis is left a little perplexed as Zatanna calls for more applause for her assistant, before allowing her to go back to her seat. Artemis does slink back to the stands, but not without a few glances back over her shoulder, still wondering what just happened.

After that, Zatanna is done with the small tricks. Evidently, the tarot reading was a bit of a halftime show. She pulls out the grander illusions, vanishing from the stand only to reappear in the balcony reserved for the “King and Queen” of the Fair, who play along in delight as Zatanna steals a bottle of mead and reappears in another burst of smoke back on the stage. She chants in a strange tongue, that almost sounds like backwards English, before each trick. Artemis is completely entranced. Zatanna finishes the show by telling a story of an ancient witch who was so powerful and feared that it took a King’s entire army to take her down. Before she was burnt at the stake she put a curse on the King’s most valued treasure – the very Chalise that the Knights fought for at the Fair every summer. The King’s soul was bound to the Chalise, and the curse would only be lifted once one she deemed worthy won it.

To prove to any “doubters” that the story was true, she has the Chalise itself appear on the clothed table in the centre of the stage. Then, with all the fanfare of a grand finale, she chants a spell that causes all of the torches and electric lights to go out in one burst. Once the thrilled shrieks of the crowd have died down, a glowing figure remerges out of the Chalise from the pitch darkness, taking the form of an undead King. The figure rises into the air and flies over the crowd, until Zatanna “seals” it back into the Chalise. Cue all the torches reigniting and the lights coming on, to the standing ovation of the crowd. Artemis remains seated, honestly still blown away by the show.

She hadn’t thought that this place had that big of a budget for special effects, damn.

With the rest of the crowd on their feet and slowly beginning to shuffle out of the Fairgrounds, Zatanna takes her bow and makes her exit – but not before looking back to Artemis and giving her a little wink. Artemis, still confused as ever, doesn’t think much of it beyond wow. She joines the rest of the crowd in heading out of the grounds, through a long forest path to the parking lot were Roy was waiting to get her.

An hour later, as she’s taking her clothes off to get into her pajamas, she sits on her bed and pulls her socks off – only for something to fall out and slip under her bed. She hadn’t even felt it there. Artemis reaches under her bed for it, expecting a leaf or something from the stable where she’d been getting acquainted with the horses.

It’s a tarot card.

Artemis sits there, on her bedroom floor, holding the little card in her hand. The gold foil catches the light of her bedside lamp. She’s too dumbfounded to really react at first, but as she turns it over to see the Queen of Swords, her mind absolutely spins with every possible way Zatanna could have pulled off that trick without her noticing.

Artemis can barely sleep that night. She spends an hour sitting in bed just staring at the card like it’s going to give her the answers. How the hell did she do that?

#snaibsel #artemis crock #zatanna zatara #young justice #young justice outsiders #yjo #yj #yj fanfic

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faveficarchive · 5 years

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The High Road to Low Expectations

Number 666 of the White Trash Series

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: In the final installment of the White Trash series, Cyrene fucks up the weed, Gabrielle is on a mad search for the right kind of weed, and not-so-surprising new facts arise when Eli starts a film project and chooses Dahak’s.

CW: There’s some off-screen sexual assault in this one. Two lines, but it’s there.

You wonder why we're only half-ashamed

Because enough is too much

And look around…

Can you blame us? Can you blame us?

—Morrisey, "Interesting Drug"

1. The Mother of Peace

In 1967, just before she dropped out of the honors program at Berkeley in order to join Strawberry Alarm Clock on tour, Cyrene had participated in a student takeover of the president’s office on campus.

It was her finest moment: She was the Revolution incarnate. Wearing a beret, armed with a bullhorn, she lectured, cajoled, exhorted her fellow students to leave the past behind, to join with the Students Against Totalitarianism and Nostalgia (SATAN) in rebuilding the university for the future. The past was dead, she proclaimed. "Marx was wrong!" she spat into her bullhorn. "Religion isn’t the opiate of the people, it’s nostalgia!"

She was quoted for weeks, photographed for all the local newspapers and her FBI file, and propositioned by the grooviest guys on campus.

Thirty-three years later, the present was now the past, but it still looked pretty damn good. Especially when one lived in a day and age when Ché Guervara’s image was used to sell computers and a chain of stores selling bad coffee had taken over the planet. Now, Cyrene realized, she was beginning to understand nostalgia. She wanted to go back in a time capsule and apologize to nostalgia for all the mean things she said about it. Because now she was an old woman—albeit a relatively content old woman—reduced to selling pot to ungrateful young people who would just use it while watching cartoons and not as a break from fighting for the proletariat, or world peace, or the environment, or for an endangered species.

And then there was Gabrielle—who now stood before Cyrene, irritable and clad in her trusty old Carhart jacket. Once upon a time she thought her daughter’s main squeeze had enormous potential to do something—precisely what, the old hippie hadn’t the faintest idea. But ever since the trés sensitive poet had secured an academic career (with stripping on the side—some career choices were best left unexamined, thought the terminally unemployed Cyrene), she had become terribly dour and authoritarian. Gabrielle was now part of the problem, as they used to say.

"Got my dope, Cyrene?" A tad impatient, Gabrielle was shifting her weight from leg to leg.

The aging hippie sighed. "Of course, man." Cyrene pulled out her briefcase. While it was not a briefcase in the traditional leathery sense, she thought that the old Kung Fu lunchbox (which Zina had used for 3rd and 4th grade before advancing to the practice of bullying other children for food, money, and homework) served her purposes well.

"Here ya go, honey." She flipped a Ziploc bag of pot to Gabrielle, who examined it with the exaggerated self-importance of a nascent connoisseur.

Little golden eyebrows furrowed, like caterpillars plotting a coup. "Is this the Rhine Gold?"

"Absolutely!"

"It doesn't look like the Rhine Gold."

"Since when are you an expert?"

"Since you became my dealer—I've been smoking it for the past five years."

Cyrene squinted at the bag. And grew less convinced herself. She thought she had saved the last of the current crop for Gabrielle…unless she accidentally gave it to Eli. Which would explain why he was so fuckin’ happy at the food co-op last night! "Well, I'm pretty sure it's the Rhine Gold."

"'Pretty sure' doesn't cut it."

"Do you use that snotty tone with your students, man?"

Actually, yes, I do, Gabrielle thought, wincing. "Sorry, Cyrene. It's just a stressful time of year. The semester is over, I have finals to grade, not to mention the term papers. It's—"

"—it's coming on Christmas, they're cuttin' down trees, they're puttin' up reindeer and singin' songs of joy and peace—"

"Cyrene."

"Honey?"

"Christmas is over."

The old hippie smiled in the glorious, reassuring fashion that made her a darling of the counterculture for 15 minutes, that is, with a freewheeling, easy, bullshit charm that totally suckered the always-guileless Gabrielle. Cyrene patted the young woman’s arm. "Just give it a try for me, honey, okay?"

* * *

Zina discarded a sooty jacket and a well-worn helmet in a pile beside the door. Another hellish shift. How many kitty cats could get stuck up in a tree in one frigging day? And then there was another case of blatant fireplace abuse—it happened frequently during and after Christmas, the most festive and mindless time of the year. Somehow people failed to understand that the chestnuts should merely roast over an open fire, and not turn into splitting, hissing flameballs that freak you out and make you inexplicably throw toward the window so that the curtains light up as well.

She yawned, stretched, and ambled into the living room. Gabrielle was standing in the middle of the room, dressed in her standard lazy-ass Sunday gear: green flannel pajama bottoms and an Olympus County Community College t-shirt. "Hey bitch, where's my chicken pot pie?" the firefighter trotted out her standard greeting.

Instead of a playful giggle or a semi-sarcastic retort, the poet met this with stony silence and a baleful glare.

"Just kidding," the firefighter added lamely.

"Your mother dicked me over again."

Zina smirked suggestively. "Come again?"

"She gave me inferior weed, Zina. I'm not high. I'm not getting a good high." The poet blew out a frustrated breath. "This is not Rhine Gold."

"You sure?" The firefighter walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Rolling Rock out of the fridge. "I though Mom woulda learned her lesson the last time she didn't give you Rhine." In response to the last time she did not get Rhine Gold as requested, the vengeful Gabrielle—perhaps over-inspired by Titus Andronicus—cooked a tofu casserole in chicken broth and fed it to the unsuspecting hippie. However, the only salient result of the incident was Gabrielle's overwhelming guilt and Cyrene's endless tirades on fucked-up karma.

"Obviously not. In fact, I'll prove it to you." The poet dropped her gaze. "Say it."

"I'm tired," Zina whined, as if four syllables would push her into physical collapse.

"Come on."

"Okay, okay." The firefighter took a breath, then wiggled her eyebrows for good measure. "Machu Picchu."

Half a minute lapsed into eternity. Gabrielle remained staring at her blankly. "Try again," the poet-pothead requested.

"Machu Picchu." This time Zina drawled it out a bit, sounding like a Pokeman on Quaaludes.

The silence continued. Zina frowned. Normally—meaning under the proper influence of Rhine Gold—upon hearing the name of the ancient Inca city, Gabrielle would dissolve into giggles that eventually escalated into hysterics and threatened the stability of her bladder.

Zina’s sooty brow furrowed with an almost genuine concern. This was indeed serious. She opened the refrigerator again to continue her reconnaissance mission for leftovers.

2. Somehow, Pacino’s Career Survived

Within the confines of Dahak's, Chad waved at an unusual sight: Eli, clutching a small, old film camera, was leaning nervously against the bar. He was intrigued enough to go over and speak with Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy.

"Welcome to the dark side," Chad purred mischievously.

"Hey man, how ya doing? Look, I'm not here because I'm gay."

"Sure, you’re not. I mean, where else can a straight guy indulge his love of 20-year-old dance songs?"

"No, really." Eli held up the camera. "This is for my semester project in Film 404. We have to do a short piece that remakes a Hollywood film about minorities. I chose Cruising."

"I see." Chad's eyes narrowed.

"No, you don't—I'm going to do it better, trust me."

"Good luck," Chad muttered.

"What?" Eli shouted. The sound of Dee-Lite's "Groove is in the Heart" now pounded over them, rendering embarrassed mumbling impossible.

"Never mind!" Chad yelled back. "But you better be careful."

"Why?"

"It’s contagious!" Chad laughed and pointed at a burly man on the dance floor, dressed in black Levis and a leather vest. "I mean, I never thought I'd see him here, but there he is! And I even got his number!" he crowed.

Eli watched as the magic man spun around. It was Artie.

"This is so going into the movie." He held up his super 8.

* * *

Zina had settled in on the couch to watch the latest offering from Fox: When Overeducated White Women Attack. The show was finally displaying some promise: After ten tedious minutes of observing a comparative literature professor balancing her checkbook—resulting in tears and a torn register—Zina now watched as a woman with a Ph.D. in art history from Yale contemplated sticking a butter knife into a still-plugged toaster.

"Do it, you dumb bitch!" the firefighter hissed at the TV, just as Gabrielle came in the house.

"Zina," the poet began breathlessly.

The butter knife hesitated about the toaster slot.

"Are you listening to me?"

The firefighter nibbled her lips with anticipation.

"Damn it, Zina!" Gabrielle latched onto a dark and brooding—yet terribly sensitive—earlobe, giving it a violent twist.

"Ow!" the firefighter roared. It was the first part of Gabrielle's fabled one-two punch: First the earlobe, then cranial battering with the world's ugliest throw pillow—a brightly colored, quasi-Pennsylvania Dutch mess of hexagons that resembled nothing so much as an Amish pap smear. Having the discordant colors so close to her face was worse than the actual physical pain.

Zina ducked a blow from the pillow and rolled off the couch to avoid further abuse. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she shouted. "Ever since you stopped smoking dope you've been out of your fucking gourd!"

"Bullshit!" snapped Gabrielle.

The firefighter rubbed her delicate, doughy earlobe. "Oh yeah? What about all those American Gladiators you were so hot to beat up, the other night when we went out for pizza?"

Gabrielle held up a menacing finger—and snarled. "I just didn't like they way they were lookin' at you."

Zina blinked. Shouldn't that be my line? Is this what it's like to live with me? Mommy, I'm confused.

"We got a problem, Zina. Artie beat up Eli, outside of Dahak's."

"What was Artie doin' hanging around—oh."

"Uh-huh. And it's Gay Night too. This adds to my theory that he's a big fat fucking closet case."

"Or it could support my theory that he's just horny as hell." So very proud of actually having a theory on anything, Zina folded her arms with a minor sense of triumph.

Gabrielle was pacing now. "Fuck the theories. All I know is that I'm gonna kick his ass. Are you in or not?"

Zina now slumped, defeated. In reality, she wanted nothing more than to drink beer in front of the TV until she fell asleep. And maybe mess around a little with her girlfriend on the couch. Add some pretzels to that pleasure equation, and thus an evening was made, nay, would achieve an unrivaled, unparalleled perfection. She recycled the only line she could think of that might get her out of this potential mess. "Violence is not the way, grasshopper."

"Don't you dare quote Lao Ma to me!" barked Gabrielle. She stopped pacing. "I want vengeance!"

A sharp buzzing noise and canned laughter from the TV indicated that the Yalie had just fried herself.

The firefighter sighed. What else could she do? "Will we be home in time for Smackdown?"

"Count on it." Gabrielle sailed out the door, expecting her backup to follow.

* * *

Artie swaggered down a quiet, peaceful main street while fragments of "Stayin’ Alive" provided a rather dated personal soundtrack within his mind. He felt good. Fifteen minutes of sin in a bathroom, easily absolved by lots of prayer and repentant tears, made him feel like a new man. He sniffed at his arm, drinking in the powerful yet sublime scent of cologne that was not his—a heady (oh yeah, baby! he thought), Proustian remnant of his earlier toilet-side encounter.

A lone car passed. Then it executed an abrupt u-turn and came toward him. Immediately he recognized the battered, ugly economy vehicle as Gabrielle’s. When it pulled to a halt near the curb in front of him and both women emerged simultaneously from the Escort—even slamming their respective doors in unison—he giggled. "Hey! Cagney and Lacey! Arrest me and molest me!"

In response Zina leaped over the hood of the car with magnificent, MacGyver-like grace. Somehow he couldn’t picture Sharon Gless doing that. Nonetheless, as usual, her beauty broke his heart, almost literally in this instance as she head-butted him in the chest. He stumbled backward, and she slammed him into a wall. "Zina!" he cried. "What gives?"

"You know what gives, you little shit. You beat up Eli."

Fist curled, Zina leaned in closer to Artie. She sniffed at him. He flinched. Then he noticed that her eyes had that old, familiar look, that look he thought he would never see again, in his wildest, wettest dreams: Desire. "What's that you're wearing?" she growled sensually.

"Um, I think it's called Aroma Mist—"

"You mean Aramis?" The height-challenged Gabrielle was trying to interject herself between them; if doing so physically wouldn’t work, she would settle for verbally. Aramis was dangerous stuff—this she knew from Chad. The demon scent could arouse anyone, her worldly friend had told her. And while a conflation of appetites was an unfortunate aspect of the firefighter’s character—the smell of fresh meatloaf could have Zina naked and ready to pounce within seconds—Gabrielle was quite certain that she did not want to know to what ends Aramis would compel her lover.

The firefighter’s nostrils flared again. Artie almost came on the spot.

"It's nice. Real nice," Zina murmured. Her pupils were obscenely dilated, as if giving birth to a new lust.

"Zina—" Gabrielle ground out the "you-are-on-the-verge-of-infidelity" warning between her teeth.

"Thanks!" Artie gushed. He grinned. "Say, ah, my place ain't that far away. How about we have a little drink, get caught up on old times?"

Zina grunted thoughtfully, like a sensitive orangutan making her TV debut on Nova.

It was the last thing she remembered clearly. For the intoxicating scent carried her away, she flew on the wings of night, her heart swelled and thundered like a storm. To paraphrase John Denver, it filled up her senses.

And then, the scent of the fabled cologne faded—or rather, was taken hostage and pummeled to death by the joint, brute force of stale TV dinners and ancient laundry that happily coexisted in Artie’s trailer. Now, sitting on a couch more wretched and stinky than her own, Zina blinked in confusion, wondering how in the hell she had gotten there.

Artie was smiling at her in his smarmy way from the entrance of his eat-in kitchen. "I’m makin’ ya a Long Island Iced Tea, baby," he crooned. Which meant that he was frantically throwing every kind of liquor he had into a blender.

That goddamn cologne. Geez, it's no wonder straight women fall in love with gay men all the time! Gabrielle is gonna kill me.

"An’ you just sit back and enjoy that cee-gar," he was saying.

Zina looked at her hands. A cigar was cradled between the first two fingers of her left hand. Not just any cigar, she realized, but a good one, straight from the Ghurkhan plantation in Cuba! Now that brought back memories, she thought. She cut off the tip with her switchblade, then lit up, making sure that he could hear the soft, sensual sound of her lips going puh as she puffed away. Might as well torture him while I’m here.

Artie cast a nervous look into the living room. Seeing her here once again, within his home, made him realize that he wanted her to be there, always. This AM radio sentiment prompted a decisive action. He wiped his sweaty palms on his black jeans, darted into the living room, and knelt in front of her. "Zina, I—"

"Where's my drink?"

"I'll get to it in a minute. I—" He made the mistake of looking into her cold, uncompromising eyes. Suppressing a sigh, he stood up and went back to the kitchen. After five minutes, some cursing, and a whirring blender, he was back with a frothy concoction that he hoped would lower whatever teeny inhibitions—like, say, incest or a certain blonde pussywhipper—that now prevented her from sleeping with him.

Gleefully she gulped down half the drink, her lip smacking and groans of pleasure a delightful torture to him.

"Zina, I got to talk to you about something. I've been doing a lot of thinking about you and me."

She burped.

"I can't deny how I feel about you any longer. I reckon my feelings for you never changed in the first place. No matter how much I fought 'em. So I got to ask you this." He lowered his head, sent a quick prayer to the Lord, then looked once again into her eyes. "Would you marry me, Zina?"

"Ain't that illegal, marryin' your kin?"

His face turned red. "They can't prove that, and you know it!"

Zina paused thoughtfully and tortured him some more as she fellated the cigar. "I dunno, Artie. What's in it for me?"

"A devoted, loving husband."

"Not the answer I want, and you know it."

It had been The Issue in their relationship; Artie had prayed that she would not remember. But, alas and alack, she did. "What you ask of me is unnatural," he mumbled, which had been his Standard Retort in the matter—and it was true, because the Bible never said a damn thing about It.

"My ass," she grunted. "I bet if I asked Gabrielle to eat me out every night, she'd do it." She neglected to add that this would most certainly be true only if chocolate and/or margaritas were involved in said oral activity.

His expression curdled. What you won't do, do for love. Then he scowled. Damn that song! "All right!" he spat. "You got it."

The firefighter blinked in surprise; she was impressed. "Okay. What about the housework?"

"Zina," he began patiently, "I am a working man. And the Lord dictates that the home is the woman's realm."

"I work too, asshole. So I would have to do all the cooking and the cleaning?"

His nostrils flared. He would not back down on this one. Never. Absolutely not. "We split it, fifty-fifty! And I'm not doing the laundry."

It was an admirable gamble, and a good offer, she thought. And she knew that Artie could never boss her around like Gabrielle did—he wouldn’t force her to eat vegetables, especially with some lowdown, dirty trick like hiding mushrooms under slices of pepperoni on a pizza! Still, her mind was made up; it always had been. She grinned and drained her drink. "Shit, Artie, Gabrielle already does all that cleaning stuff anyway." She stretched, patted his cheek, and stood up. "Thanks for the drink and the smoke."

As Zina left Artie's trailer, all the while marveling at how easy it was to block out the sound of his sobbing (which possessed a quality similar to the primal wailing of rhinoceroses in mourning), she realized that she had made a mistake. Even though nothing had happened, she had left Gabrielle high and dry, no doubt thinking that something was going on with her and Artie. Well, it wasn't her fault, really, that Artie had smelled so good. Still, Zina knew that one thing—and one thing only—mattered. Only one thing would rectify this mistake: One way or another, she would get Gabrielle the Rhine Gold.

3. Like a Bridge Over Troubled Kung Pao

On his first day out of the hospital, Eli agreed to lunch with Gabrielle at the Green Dragon. This, in spite of the fact that he felt embarrassed about how he looked: His shaven head was completely bandaged, and he resembled a partially bearded blue-eyed egg. But despite his tender condition, Eli was more concerned about his friend; he had detected a serious mood change in Gabrielle since she no longer had access to Rhine Gold. She was moody, irritable, and prone to violence. And maybe just plain weird: She was now arranging the peanuts of her Kung Pao Chicken into an impressive fortress around a particularly large floret of broccoli. She was about to send a lump of chicken careening into the peanuts when Eli announced his intention to speak by clearing his throat.

"So Zina's out of town?" He frowned as Gabrielle got the snow peas in on the action, creating a little drawbridge across the peanuts and into the broccoli.

"Yeah," the poet finally mumbled.

It was like trying to coax conversation out of an autistic child. "Where is she?"

Gabrielle sighed dramatically. Acting as deus ex machina in the culinary warfare, she stabbed the chicken battering ram with a chopstick. "Visiting an old boyfriend. Supposedly to get me some Rhine Gold." She devoured the meat.

Eli shuddered at this carnivorous act. "You don't trust her?"

"I dunno, Eli. I'm not sure anymore—not after the way she was sniffing around Artie."

"Well, geez—that was just Artie. This doesn't mean—"

"Why would she have to go all the way to New York to get the stuff?" Gabrielle burst out with exasperation.

The hippie cinemaphile attempted an explanation. "Gab, this stuff is actually pretty rare. It's powerful shit, and you should just count yourself lucky that Cyrene had a crop going for as long as she did. I'm not surprised Zina would have to go to a big city to score some."

This appeared to assuage Gabrielle somewhat. "I guess, but still…I don't know if I should trust this guy."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Marcus. I actually meant to tell you sooner, 'cause I knew you'd be interested in this—Zina says he's in the movies, like he works for a studio or something."

Eli's jaw dropped. "Holy shit!"

The poet furrowed her brows. "What?"

"Zina knows Marcus Pebble? Oh my GOD."

"Who is he?"

Eli shook his head in disbelief. Of course, he wasn't really surprised that she didn't know who Marcus was—most moviegoers today were so vastly ignorant of their cinematic heritage. He quoted directly from his own lonely, neglected unfinished dissertation: "In the early 1980s, Marcus almost revived the blaxploitation genre and almost returned it to its glory days in the 1970s with one amazing film: White Chocolate Comes to Harlem."

"'Almost?'" Gabrielle interjected skeptically.

"Okay, it bombed. But it's a great film, man. It provides a valuable and much-needed transition between classics like Shaft and Foxy Brown to the new genre of gangsta films which began with New Jack City."

"Is he still directing?"

Eli sighed sadly. "Unfortunately, no. He's leading a living death as a low-level Miramax exec."

Lao Ma stopped by the table to refill their water glasses. "You speak of Marcus Pebble," she announced.

"Ooooh, eavesdropping, how mystical!" Whereas Gabrielle was concerned, Lao never failed in stirring the sarcasm pot.

Nonetheless, Zina's ex ignored the temperamental poet and addressed her remarks to Eli. "I did feng shui for Marcus's townhouse."

Eli gazed at her, amazed, worshipful, and tempted to kiss her feet, even though her filthy New Balance sneakers were encrusted with old "Happy Royal Family of Prawns" sauce.

The proprietress of the Green Dragon merely shrugged. "It's a living."

4. The Face on the Cutting Room Floor

[A scene from White Chocolate Comes to Harlem. Zina, lying on a bed, is wearing a leopard-skin spaghetti string top and mauve hotpants. She has a typical Medusa-like early 80s perm, as perfected by the various members of the Bangles. She is pretending to be high or actually is; to this day no one is really sure. ]

[Marcus enters. His is a more restrained version of the classic pimp suit—black with a hot pink shirt and matching headband around his flying-saucer like hat.]

Marcus: Bitch, what did I tell you? Get your lazy ass on that street now! [He grabs Zina by the wrist and hauls her out of the bed. She stands before him, wavering slightly, glassy-eyed. Due to her three-inch stiletto heels, she towers over him.]

Zina: Huh?

Marcus: You heard me! [He slaps Zina—lightly—across the face. This snaps her out of whatever stupor—and pretense at characterization—she inhabits. Her eyes narrow with rage, she snarls, and knocks Marcus across the set with a vicious backhand. Off camera, a thud and a shriek of pain is heard. The camera follows the sound and twirls toward Marcus, now sprawled on the floor, clutching a bloody nose.]

Zina (off camera): Aw, baby, I'm sorry—I didn't mean to— [She totters over to him, kneels down and tries to help him sit up. Bleeding profusely, he tries, feebly, to crawl away from her.]

Marcus: GodDAMN, Zina! Remember that little discussion—ACTING? GodDAMNit. [To camera.] Floyd, turn off the camera!

Floyd (off camera): Huh?

Marcus: Fuck, are you all idiots? TURN OFF THE CAMERA.

Floyd: Sorry, man, I thought it was part of the scene. [Camera remains on.]

Zina: I'm sorry, honey, I really am. [Marcus is still crawling away from her, leaving a trail of blood. She is now crawling as well, right behind him.] You know how I get, I'm, like, more of a Method actor…I react, not act!

Marcus: I gave up a chance working with Pam Grier for this. [Still crawling, still bleeding. She watches helplessly, tries to approach him again. He is now off camera.] Do you hear me? PAM GRIER.

A Mercedes-Benz mired in traffic at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 76th, 6:42 PM EST.

Marcus drummed his fingers on the armrest, his cell phone glued to his head like the tumor it was probably already causing within his brain. "Right, Harvey. Right." He stared at the driver's thick pink neck and suppressed a sigh. "I'll take care of it as soon as I'm back in the office."

As Harvey droned on about the Gilligan's Island remake, Marcus gazed longingly toward Central Park, at the treetops that peeked over a long stone wall separating the green splendor from the sidewalk. His eyes widened when he saw a white hand appear at the top of the wall. A head, crowned with black flowing hair, followed this. A woman was pulling herself over the wall. Oh dear God. It can't be. Yet the pure grace of that body’s motion indicated it could only be one person, and one person only.

Marcus gasped; he couldn't find his voice. And even if he could have, the driver wouldn't have locked the doors in time anyway.

Gracefully, Zina zigzagged through the traffic, found the dark Mercedes, opened the door, and piled into the back seat. She grabbed Marcus's cell. "Hiya, Harvey. Yeah, I found him. Thanks a lot. Now promise me you'll think about that Billy Jack remake? 'Cause I tell ya, Harvey, that film is like my Bible, and I could be Billy Jack in my sleep, ya know?" A pause. "That Angelina Jolie weirdo as the hippie teacher, of course. Think about it. Okay, babe. Thanks again. Bye." Zina stared at the phone, couldn't figure out how to turn it off, and tossed it into Marcus's lap. "He'll never do it," she muttered to herself. "Damn shame." She sighed regretfully, but then, as she turned her attention on her ex-lover, the wattage on her smile increased exponentially. "Hiya, Marcus!"

Marcus, now plastered against the car door, wondered if he could possibly outrun her. Even if he could, the attention he might draw to himself would be questionable, at least to the easily confused members of New York's Finest. A black man running from a Mercedes? I don't think so. "Zina, what the hell are you doing here?" he barked.

She tried pouting. "Miss me, baby?"

"Like I would miss the plague."

"That ain't nice, Marcus."

"What do you want?"

"What makes you think I want somethin'?" Her eyes—those beautiful, beautiful eyes—went wide. "Couldn't I just stop by to say hi?"

Marcus held up a hand. "Girl, don't even. You always want somethin', Zina. There's always an angle. So just tell me what it is."

She attempted mixing in wounded, sullen pride with the pouting—which sometimes worked with Gabrielle, but only if you were already on your knees—yet he continued glaring at her until she finally broke down. "Okay, baby, you got me. I want some Rhine Gold."

"Rhine Gold!" he exclaimed. "What makes you think I still dabble in shit like that?"

Zina frowned. "Yeah, I guess you're right. You're playing with power suits now. It's all coke."

"Zina!" Marcus shouted. "I do not do coke! Don't oppress me with your assumptions."

"What?"

Remember that this is Zina, he told himself. "Don't be an asshole."

"Oh." Silence fell over them. He folded his arms and remained crushed against the car door, wondering just how the hell he was going to get rid of her. And how in hell was he going to talk Harvey out of a Billy Jack remake. For despite what Zina thought, when it all came down to it, Harvey was just a massive, balding spittoon for bad ideas involving recycled B movies.

"Marcus, you at least gotta know where I can get some," she remarked, disgruntled, for he was wasting her very valuable time.

"Well…" He pursed his lips in thought. Granted, it was dangerous, but it would get her off his back, and far, far away. But can she handle it? he wondered. Marcus looked at her again, into eyes so blue they’d make Joanne Woodward dump Paul Newman in a nanosecond, and so crazy that Robert DeNiro would cry with envy. "I know where you can get some, but it is dangerous, and you gotta go south. Way south." His gaze flicked to his driver. "I’ve give you the details when we hit my office."

"Oh yeah? Okay, I can deal with that." Now that this most difficult phase of her mission was complete complete, Zina stretched with both relief and an air of self-satisfaction. They rode for a while in contented silence. "Hey, Marcus?"

"Now what?"

"Can I drive the car?"

5. Our Dyke in Havana

The retinue surrounding Castro was as thick as flies over a garbage can. The group of heavily armed men surrounding the leader of the small nation pushed through the crowd toward the baseball field.

Castro paused for a moment to shake hands with his people—the workers, the children, the huddled masses longing for decent TV stations. And also because he wanted a better look at the tall, pale senorita in the tight, sheath-like black dress and sunglasses, who grinned at him like a beacon.

With his guards watching warily, the mystery woman inched closer to Castro. Suddenly she flung her arms around the Cuban leader, crushing him in an affectionate hug. Several guards already had their hands on their weapons, but Castro was laughing and patting the woman's back.

Then, just as quickly, she disentangled herself from his embrace, still smiling. The pressure of the crowd urged Castro on, and reluctantly he moved away from her, with a final, longing glance backwards. Only a minute later he was patting his secret pocket for his stash and realized it was gone. He stopped and turned around. In the distance he could see her kicking off her heels, tearing her skirt for better mobility, and running. "Consigala!" he shouted.

Zina was tempted to take a moment to taunt them by shouting "Viva La Rhine Gold!" but as the adrenaline pumped through her and her legs kicked up increasing speed, she became more invested in keeping her sorry ass alive. Shit, I hope this swimming-to-Miami thing is as easy as Marcus says it is, she thought.

6. Husker Don't

Vendela Van Hoek nursed a damp, cold Heineken while a stripper's boobs shook in her face. Unimpressed, the Swedish musician simply leaned back, the gesture dismissing the dancer, who—untalented yet nonetheless working hard for the money, so hard for it, honey—took her mammaries elsewhere.

She had left Sven and Benny at the garage, thoroughly disgusted with her cousins' inane arguments with the idiot mechanic who could not fix their Saab motorbus. Of course it would take a week for a new exhaust pipe to arrive in this American backwater, and all the screaming and Laplander obscenities in the world would not change that. She placed the blame squarely on the domineering Sven. If he hadn't insisted on touring more rural areas, they wouldn't be here, she thought angrily. Her thumbnail slashed into the soggy beer label.

"I knew I would find you here." Benny's voice floated from above.

Vendela glanced up. Her bandmate, a truly gifted guitarist, was cradling a Heineken himself. He sat down.

"Don't say anything, Benny."

He shrugged and said nothing. Yet Benny's flaccid lips were quivering as much as the dancer's hips. Vendela knew it was only a matter of seconds.

"He didn't mean anything by it," the guitarist blurted.

"Like hell he didn't," she snapped.

"Vendela, we are all under a great deal of stress right now."

"That is no excuse!"

"It was just because you were off beat—" Benny winced at her icy glare.

"Oh, so now you are taking his side."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are, you fat fuck! Go on, tell me—say it! You think I am a 'second-rate Geddy Lee' too—you think that, just like Sven does!"

"I didn't say that!" he shouted. Mortified, he noticed that some of the people in strip club were staring at them. He lowered his voice. "You are Keith Moon, Vendela. Purely Moon."

"Liar!"

"Keep your voice down! You're embarrassing me!"

"Fuck you and your embarrassment!"

Just when Benny thought it could get no worse, the opening strains of the Divinyls' "I Touch Myself," began over the sound system, hypnotic layers of guitar that, nonetheless, he detested and thought so clichéd, so ridiculous for a strip club. Could they ever think of anything new? Who, he thought, is this pathetic bimbo who dares to use such an old, gimmicky song?

However, his heart clenched inside his chest when confronted with precisely the kind of bimbo who would use such a song: a delicious, voluptuous woman of perfection, with short blonde hair and in a white fringe bikini, slithering seductively around the pole on stage. He could not tear his eyes away from her. She moved with such leonine self-possession and controlled grace that his imagination begged to see her unleashed in the throes of passion.

May the heavens forgive me for slighting you, o nameless American goddess!

The goddess was now in front of him, gyrating slowly, her eyes glowing with faint disdain as she stared down upon him, awaiting her tribute. By the time that he had the presence of mind to dig for money in his pocket, the impatient goddess had moved on to Vendela. And now, watching his cousin brush a bill along those perfectly sculpted abs, Benny saw that Vendela was just as enraptured.

* * *

Sid Moskowitz narrowed his eyes at the sight of the two out-of-towners loitering in front of the dressing room. He knew they had to be from out of town since they were wearing leather pants and were stupid enough to believe they had a chance in hell with Gabrielle. The fact that they were shouting at each other in Swedish was also a big tip-off.

"Can I help you?" he murmured suspiciously at them. His eyes traveled freely over the statuesque blonde woman, who did not seem pleased at his attentions.

The stocky fellow in the chain-mail shirt, who looked like a scruffy Jon Lovitz, decided to answer for her. Before he spoke, his chest puffed out dramatically, as if he were indeed Master Thespian. "We come to offer frottage to a fellow artist! It is a certainty that She is the most talented dancer in your valley, and it is common for all far and wide to pay tribute to the genius who is She with White Undergarments Resembling Spaghetti!"

Sid had to hand it to this one; usually the potential stalkers lacked any kind of chutzpah and freely admitted that they simply wanted another gander at Gabrielle's tits. Nonetheless, Sid's paternal, protective instincts outweighed his admiration of the creative freak. "Sorry, sweetcakes, but Gabrielle does not receive visitors after she performs, okay? Now run along and abuse the English language elsewhere."

"Who are you?" the blonde beauty growled at Sid.

"I own this place, dumpling."

"And why should we believe that?" she retorted loudly, placing her hands on her hips.

Sid was caught among arousal, indignation, and abject fear—for him, a common state of existence. "Because I do, honeylamb. Now listen, I was just beginning to like you and I was even gonna offer you a tryout—"

Suddenly the dressing room's door flung open. Gabrielle's Olympus County Community College t-shirt and her cutoff jeans undermined her diva turn. "What the hell is all the racket about?" she snapped. However, the underachieving poet's erect nipples held them in thrall.

The proprietor of the Shimmy Shack, however, was accustomed to this glorious sight and he found his voice first. "These foreigners have come to stare at you, sugar pop." He sniffed disdainfully at Benny and Vendela. "What are you guys? French? You're fucking rude enough for it."

The tall blonde woman ignored him. She took Gabrielle's hand. "I am Vendela Van Hoek, drummer for Gravid Havarti. My cousin and I have come to praise you. You have given us three minutes and forty-five seconds of pleasure despite our hatred of the Divinyls. I, in particular, wish very much to prove my great admiration for you." Her full lips brushed the dancer's knuckles.

Gabrielle was only momentarily impressed at the smooth move. "I'm not giving back the twenty dollar bill. Sorry."

"Twenty?" Benny blurted.

Vendela silenced him with a hiss worthy of the most commanding cobra.

Benny fumed. His English was not as precise and mellifluous as his cousin's. Nonetheless, he knew one phrase, and one phrase only, that might get him into Gabrielle's good graces, or maybe even her tight jeans. His barrel chest puffed out once again. "And I have killer weed!" he proclaimed.

He smirked as Gabrielle's green eyes flitted to him. "Wait—wait a minute." She pulled her hand away from Vendela. "Just what kind of weed is this?"

7. Love Songs, Nothing But Love Songs

Carrying a bucket of ice, Vendela tried creeping by Room 604 of the Red Roof Inn as quietly as possible. She, Benny, and Gabrielle had managed to elude Sven when they first came up to the room that she and Benny shared, but somehow the drummer knew she would not be so fortunate in avoiding the overbearing band leader a second time.

And she wasn't. The door of Sven's room swung open and the skinny lead singer, clad in his black silk silver-studded bathrobe and his hairnet, violently hissed her name. "Vendela! What do you think you're doing!"

Sven was the ultimate killjoy. Nothing sucked the life and desire out of her like the sight of his tight, disapproving face. It was like being caught masturbating by a maiden aunt. "Nothing!" she retorted defensively. "Leave us alone! We are adults, you know."

"You're horny idiots, both of you. I know who is in that room with you."

Vendela glared at him defiantly.

"Her name is Gabrielle and her girlfriend is a violent, sociopathic ex-convict." He smirked with triumph at the surprised look on her face. "Obviously, you weren't paying attention to the mechanic at the garage. He knows this Gabrielle—he used to be in love with her. She's off limits, Vendela. Get rid of her before you get us all in trouble."

"Go to hell!" she growled. He slammed the door shut as she stomped over to Room 606. She fumbled with the card, then, exasperated, pounded on the door. "It's me, open up!"

Benny opened the door. Vendela was relieved to see that he was still dressed, as was Gabrielle, who was sprawled on one of the two beds in the room. The poet wore a simple outfit of jeans and a hooded green pullover sweatshirt. Such clothing is an affront to the perfections of that body! Vendela wanted to shout. Most of their vodka had served as a chaser to the big, fat, primo Rhine Gold joint that the stripper had polished off earlier. She was now thoroughly trashed.

And still muttering about Zina. Always with this Zina person, Vendela thought with disgust. As far as she could figure out, Zina was a whore of epic proportions who watched bad TV and made a pretense out of atoning for a half-assed criminal record. I would treat you far better, my queen! Even Benny would, for God's sake.

Her bandmate was now noodling around on his guitar, plucking a simple repetitive chord and singing softly: "Gab-ri-elle/My heart will swell...."

"Don't quit your day job," muttered the poet in a rare—albeit stoned—moment of insensitivity. "Oh, wait...this is your day job." She burst into giggles.

Vendela felt a pang of pity for her sensitive cousin. "Benny, perhaps you should turn on the radio," she suggested. The guitarist nodded, and fumbled at the knobs on the nightstand's dusty, fake wood-paneled clock radio. "Gabrielle," she continued, "I have brought you ice, as you requested."

Like a reanimated corpse in a horror film, Gabrielle sat up all herky-jerky. "Excellent. Gimme." The Swedish drummer handed her the bucket of ice. Over the course of the next few minutes the musicians watched as Gabrielle—ice bucket balanced precariously on her lap—fumbled to remove her sports watch, a much-loved acquisition courtesy of 50 Cap’n Crunch box-tops. Finally she liberated it from her wrist and noisily buried it within the ice.

She handed the bucket back to Vendela, who exchanged a look with her cousin. Do you want to ask her? Vendela's look said. No. She's freaking me out now, Benny's retorted. The drummer took a breath. "Why," she slowly asked, "did you do that?"

Gabrielle's verdant, unfocused eyes locked with hers. "I'm trying to stop time."

She flopped back onto the bed and grabbed an empty bong near her head. She cradled it, humming, as if it were an infant.

Does she have any brain cells left? Vendela wondered. The drummer returned the ice bucket to the dresser. Emboldened by a tiny sliver of bare tummy visible from where Gabrielle's sweatshirt had ridden up, Vendela sat on the bed next to the poet. She was about to lie down next to that delectable body when, in sudden woozy distress, Gabrielle sat up. At the sound of sniffling, Vendela leaned forward and Benny knelt anxiously in front of his goddess. A large, glittering teardrop splashed against the bong that she held.

"Gabrielle, what is it? What's wrong?" Vendela cried.

More shiny, silvery tears fell from the poet's eyes. "This is…our song."

Radiohead's "Creep" was on the station.

The Swedish musicians gaped at one another. This was inconceivable. A love song? A love song was "Chiquitita." A love song was "Babe." A love song was "My Heart Will Go On." A love song was "You Light Up My Life." It was not this.

But Gabrielle could only remember the magic of that night at the Horn, when Zina—after seven Rolling Rocks—finally convinced Effie to let her sing the song while backed up by the Amazons, to Gabrielle and the tattered, late-night remnants of the crowd. Initially, the bar's patrons had actually grooved on the laid-back melody and Zina's soft, angelic alto. Then the drunken, menacing, six-foot tall lead singer snarled the beginning of the chorus at them: I wish I were special/You're so fucking special and Sally punctuated the mood's turn with that sinister, slashing guitar chord. By the end of the song, Gabrielle truly felt that Zina was only singing to her, only to her, and no one else. And she was: Everyone else had left, even Ray Bob, the bouncer.

The spirit of song, nonetheless, now infected the discourse at Room 606 of the Red Roof Inn:

"But she's a creep!" Vendela spat.

"She's a weirdo," added Benny.

Gabrielle jumped up. "What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here." The poet wavered. "I don't belong here," she repeated. The sudden lack of blood to the brain—and the pot and the booze—conspired like the three witches in Macbeth to send her toppling back onto the bed, utterly unconscious.

The salacious Swedes gazed upon the obtuse object of their desire, now snoring softly.

"Now what?" grumbled Benny.

Reluctantly, Vendela opted to do the right thing. "We take her back home. Sven wanted us to get rid of her anyway," she sighed.

"In this condition?" the guitarist asked nervously.

Vendela groaned in exasperation. "What other choice do we have?" She lifted one of the poet's deadweight arms by its wrist. "Look at her!" She dropped the arm, which fell on Gabrielle's stomach and caused an inadvertent squeak from the unconscious woman that startled them both. "Time to eat the doughnuts," Gabrielle murmured in a soft, dreamy singsong.

Benny's eyes lit up. "Krispy Kreme!"

His bandmate smiled in approval. "Excellent idea." Once more she gave the stoner poet a longing, wistful glance. "Benny?"

"Yes?"

"You don't suppose—I mean, how wrong could it be—?" The drummer's hand wavered above a tantalizing breast. "—just to touch them? Once?"

The guitarist's jaw dropped. "Vendela!" he hissed, appalled.

Vendela was not fooled by his outrage. She raised an eyebrow as temptation and sneaky lust danced across his face, his moral compass now crushed under their weight.

8. This is Not My Beautiful House. This is Not My Beautiful Wife.

In half-sleep, Zina sighed and squirmed. The bed felt good—too good. And the sheets were so soft. Must be that new fabric softener Gabrielle is using, she thought. Because they feel like silk. Just like when I used to sleep at Julie's…

Her eyes opened. The room was startlingly pristine, a crisp cream white. And it was not covered with faded blue wallpaper. And the dartboard was gone! And the sheets, which matched the walls, were truly spun from silk. Fuck. I am at Julie's! And I'm naked too! Gabrielle is gonna freak! She leaped out of the bed. Fuck! How did I get here? Fuck! I was just sitting at home—I didn't drink that much! Fuck!

The soft wall-to-wall carpet soothed her somewhat, and she took a deep breath. Don't panic. Find your clothes. Zina looked around the tidy room and its minimalist decor. Not a stitch of clothing was in sight. Not on the floor, or draped over the chair, or—she looked under the bed. Or under the bed. Frantically she opened one of the drawers of the teak dresser in the room. And found row upon row of neatly folded, clean t-shirts and jerseys. What the hell? Julie wouldn't be caught dead in stuff like this. She pulled out a large, Green Bay Packer jersey and slipped it on. Unless it's…The firefighter opened a second drawer, and saw many variations upon the standard, faded Levi's 501s that she always wore. Mine. This is my stuff.

And suddenly, like Saul on the road to Damascus, like Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life, like Connie Selleca in Lifetime's But My Adopted Chinese Baby Has AIDS, she got it. She was doing the Alternate Universe Thingy, as introduced in the original Star Trek and expounded upon brilliantly in South Park. And she had no idea what to expect, except that Artie would not have a goatee and would be really nice and that Gabrielle would have a goatee and would be really evil. Right? The thought of Evil Goatee Gabrielle, she confessed to herself, was strangely, thrillingly scintillating.

She was now eager to see her brave new world. Zina padded through Julie's luxurious house—our luxurious house! She walked past a state-of-the-art weight room—in the blinding light of the chrome, she gasped with joy. Mine! Mine! Mine! She chanted this capitalist mantra as she dashed down the spiral staircase, past the big screen TV, the Mitchell Gold leather sofa, and into the kitchen. A middle-aged Latina woman in a sleek maid's uniform was cooking an omelet and ignoring her with the practiced coolness of hired help. Zina opened the refrigerator, and gasped once again at the most beautiful, most wondrous sight of all: Fields of shining, vivid green! Rolling Rock as far as the eye could see!

"Oh," she burbled, helpless with joy. Tears clogged her eyes.

Julie's stormtrooper staccato preceded her into the kitchen. Even so, Zina was not prepared for the affectionate nip upon her neck from the Culinary Fascist. "Good morning, darling. Sleep well?"

Zina said nothing, but remained staring into the nirvana of the open fridge.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart. You seem to be running a bit low. I'll put a call in to Latrobe right away."

The firefighter tried to say "thanks," but could only manage a childlike squeak of happiness.

Julie turned her attention to the maid. "Macarena, you did remember to cook Zina's omelet directly in the bacon fat this time, did you not?"

"Si, Signora Caesar," the woman replied serenely, while quietly entertaining thoughts of murdering them all.

At the mention of "bacon fat" Zina slammed shut the refrigerator door and spun around. "Excellent!" she growled, following Julie into the dining room.

Julie sipped coffee as Zina sprawled in a chair, lazily awaiting her food. "Darling, I'm afraid I won't be able to breakfast with you this morning," she began, as Macarena entered and placed the steaming omelet in front of Zina, who tucked into it without hesitation. "But I'll leave the Porsche for you, since the Mustang is still being repaired."

Zina's baby blues bulged. Porsche? Mustang? Dear God in heaven, it's all perfect!

"Perhaps we could meet up later for lunch."

Zina, always a mere step away from turning into a happily mindless Sybarite anyway, nodded vigorously.

Julie leaned down for a quick kiss. "'Bye, darling. Oh, and one last thing…"

Zina, gobbling furiously, looked up.

"The pool cleaner is here." Julie patted her puffed-out cheek. "Pay her with the money I left in the dresser, would you? And don't get too flirty, dear. I know you like blondes, but really!" Julie's forced laughter ricocheted off the chandelier and the crystal ware, then splattered quite appropriately against the original Julian Schnabel lithograph on the wall.

And then Zina's feeling of euphoria tucked itself into Julie's Coach handbag and left with her. Damn. The unease filled her. She tried to ignore it as she decimated the omelet, but it lingered, like Julie's Chanel No. 5. She got up, stalked through the kitchen and past Macarena—who deigned to raise a questioning eyebrow—and slid open the door to the patio.

There, in front of the glistening pool, was pure pulchritude: A blonde woman—nay, the blonde woman to end all blonde women—in a tight sports bra and lycra shorts. She sprayed her sweaty face with a garden hose. Zina thought for a moment that Macarena had put hallucinogens in her omelet, for the pool girl flung her head back in a Flashdance-like slow mo and drops of water fell from her skin like rare, translucent, glowing pearls.

You would have to show up this soon and fuck up everything, wouldn’t ya?

The pool girl smiled at Zina.

And one hour later, the pool girl was coming in Zina's face. Her orgasmic bellows for God, Jesus, and country were laced with tasty bits of profanity as she dug her chlorine'd fingertips into Zina's scalp.

When she finally relinquished her hold on the dark hair, Zina came up for air, pillowing her head on a firm, sweet thigh. Absently, she wiped her face with the back of her hand as the girl's breath caught up with her.

"Wow, that was incredible!" the pool girl cried.

"Why is it that, even in the parallel universe, I'm still dumb as a doornail?" Zina muttered aloud. Everything is perfect, I have money, sex, freedom, even a Porsche, and all the beer I can drink…and I have to fuck it up somehow.

This time the girl's touch was gentle, as she raked her fingers through the black strands. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"No. Nothing."

She was still breathing heavily. Then she giggled. "I didn't get a chance to tell you my name—well, you didn't give me much of a chance, actually. I'm Gabrielle."

"I know," Zina retorted glumly.

"Oh. I guess Miss Caesar told you." There was a pause, and Gabrielle drew a deep satisfied breath, and Zina knew well that postcoital rambling would follow. "Hey. Um…"

"Zina."

"Zina? That's a pretty name." The comely pool girl—gee, you really went far in this existence, Gabrielle—was propped up on her elbows. "Zina, um, would you…like to go out sometime? Like just for a drink, even? I mean, I know it's really weird...we hardly know each other. Except carnally—you know, sexually. Um, I know—well, I assume you've got something going on with Miss Caesar, but I kinda like you. It's—well, you just seem like a nice person. And even if you just wanted to be friends that would be cool. But really, I gotta tell you, that mouth of yours...." She shook her head in pure admiration.

Oh, hell. Go on and do it, look at her and say yes. You know you want to, you frigging wuss. And so Zina looked up at Gabrielle, whose eyes were not as clear and dazzling as a Rolling Rock bottle, but something there—perhaps her innate kindness—made the firefighter feel weak. "Okay," she said softly.

Predictably, the door flung open. It was the Evil Parallel Universe Lieutenant Sulu and three red shirts. Actually, it was merely Julie and Macarena, the latter cradling an impressive-looking Glock handgun.

"Zina," Julie sighed. "I thought you would at least wait until you got to drive your new Harley."

A Harley? Zina's mind screamed. She glared at the naked, satiated Gabrielle. Who shrugged apologetically.

"I'm sure Crassus would like some company in his unmarked grave."

"Hey!" Gabrielle yelled. "How did you know—"

Julie waved a dismissive hand. "Macarena, if you will…"

Zina was leaping forward, covering Gabrielle's body with her own, when the shots rang out…

…and she woke with a violent, gasping shudder, her body spasming at the memory of each bullet. And with each twitch of her legs, the channels on the TV were changing. What the fuck? It was then that she realized the remote was lodged between her legs. She pressed her thighs together. WWF Smackdown flicked onto the screen. Hey. Cool.

The phone rang. She growled in frustration, jumped off the couch, and grabbed the receiver. "Yeah?"

"Hi! Uhhhh...is this Zina?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Well, um, I'm the manager of the Krispy Kreme—"

"Hey, I paid off our account there." The account was her euphemism for the time when Gabrielle—needing sugar and short of cash—ran out of the shop without paying for a dozen.

"—oh, I know. So you are Zina?"

Zina chose for once to ignore the paranoid little voices in her head—some of which sounded suspiciously like her mother—that told her this chirpy woman was a CIA agent. "Yeah."

"Well, um..." The woman trailed off and giggled self-consciously. "I'm your cousin. My name's Eve."

"Who?"

"Eve."

"Never heard of ya."

"Artie never mentioned me?" The young woman sounded hurt.

"Nope. But listen here, if he ever says he's sterile, or that he never had the clap, he's lyin', okay? Save yourself some trouble."

There was a long silence. "Oh."

"So why the hell are you callin' me, Evie?"

"Well, um, it's your girlfriend...she's passed out in the parking lot."

"What?" Zina shouted.

"Some weird foreigners left her here."

Zina's eyes bugged with anger. Earlier in the day, upon arriving home from her Rhine Gold expedition, she'd stopped at Sid's place, deciding to spread the wealth of her newly stolen stash. Sid had mentioned the members of the strange Scandinavian speed metal band who had taken a collective fancy to Gabrielle, and who had offered her some dope.

"She was sitting inside for a while. Then she walked out the exit and conked out, like, the minute she got outside. But, um, the people she was with put some pylons around her, so she should be okay." Eve's bright, chipper tone slashed through Zina's thoughts, both convincing herself and the brooding firefighter that nothing less than patently bizarre could be expected when a pothead slacker lesbian and a mediocre rock band collide.

* * *

And thus, Zina sailed to the rescue on her Harley.

She found Gabrielle just as Eve said—lying within a parking space surrounded by four bright orange pylons. It reminded her of when Lao Ma was going through her Yoko Ono phase and started doing weird art installment things at a gallery in New Mexico ("Lao at Taos," it was called). Lao had placed a half-eaten chocolate brownie on the gallery floor, in between two pylons. The viewer had to lie on the floor to read the message in 7-point type: Will the pylons of your soul protect you from your desires? (Zina, responsible for eating part of the brownie, was billed as a collaborator on the piece.)

Frowning with concern, Zina knelt beside Gabrielle. Her companion looked unharmed and was obviously just sleeping it off. Upon closer inspection the firefighter saw that Gabrielle's breasts appeared strangely rumpled. She tugged at the sweatshirt and quickly discerned that the poet's bra had been unhooked.

Zina felt a psychotic flash of red rage. I'm going to kill those fucking foreigners! She knew that her lover—no matter how furious or hurt she had been with Zina—would never permit tacky strangers to feel her up. Or worse. If only because she knew that Gabrielle detested metal music and thought anyone in such a band was "grody." She shivered away the anger, shaking her head violently. Relax. Later. She bit her lip in worry. Then, as if to dispel all her fears, she leaned in and quickly kissed Gabrielle on the mouth.

Just like in the fairy tale, the poet's eyelids fluttered open and a series of expressions passed over her face: fear, confusion, bliss. "Zina."

Zina's face burst into a grin at hearing her name spoken so softly, so reverently. "Hey."

"Why do I smell motor oil?"

"You're in the Krispy Kreme parking lot. Your, uh, little friends dropped you off here, then you passed out. The manager called me to come get you."

Gabrielle's fuzzy brain had no choice but to accept this strange tale. "Oh." Slowly, she sat up.

"Let me help you up. You ready to stand?"

"I think so." The poet latched onto her girlfriend's strong arms, and stood up. She stretched, then took a few moments to get her bearings. Something felt odd—something limp hung from her chest. "Hey, my bra!" She shot a look at Zina, who was trying to blink herself into an innocent state. "Oh, honey," Gabrielle cooed, "you just couldn't wait till we got home, could you?"

Could Zina bear to tell Gabrielle that horny Eurotrash had molested her? The firefighter smiled sheepishly. "Nope. I couldn't, baby."

"So we got our groove back, then?" The poet's expression was timidly hopeful.

"Yeah." Zina watched her own feet shuffle nervously. "Hell, I don't think we ever really lost it, ya know?"

Once again Zina's lawyer, parole officer, and the judge of her court case were proven wrong—a little white lie could be an enormously rewarding endeavor: The lovely poet jumped into the firefighter's embrace, wrapping her legs tightly around Zina's waist, and from there they proceeded to make out as if the world were ending.

And, in a strange way, it was. As Zina playfully tried to barricade Gabrielle's tongue from entering her mouth, she heard the distant, repetitive sound of a police siren. Despite the serious turn-on of publicly groping her girlfriend in a Krispy Kreme parking lot, the firefighter resolutely decided that she did not want to be anywhere near law enforcement officials of any kind. With the limpet-like Gabrielle firmly attached to her, Zina began to maneuver them in the general direction of the Harley. But instead of backing up against the worn leather and warm chrome of her hog, she literally delivered her ass into the welcoming grasp of Officer Minya.

Zina's lips did a cease-and-desist with her beloved's. A wary blue eyeball found Minya grinning slyly at them.

"Hey guys," the amiable trooper drawled.

"Minya?" Gabrielle was breathless. "What's up?" The poet disengaged herself from Zina, which gave Minya the opportunity to do what she was, nonetheless, very reluctant to do: She snared Zina's wrists—somewhat surprised at the lack of resistance—and clapped a pair of handcuffs on the firefighter.

"What the fuck is going on?" Gabrielle demanded. She looked at her lover. "Zina?"

"Er, Miss Amphisyphilis is under arrest for arson—"

Zina dipped her head, silently acknowledging the truth of the charge. She had known that someday this particular crime would catch up with her.

"Arson?" Gabrielle echoed. She threw up her hands in dismay. "What is it with you and fire?" she shouted.

"—and one count sexual relations with a minor. Do I have to do the Miranda thing with you?" Minya asked Zina. "Seems to me you should have it memorized by now."

But the outraged firefighter was too distracted by the second charge. "Minor? Minor? That fucking bitch told me she was 21!"

Of course—another ex-girlfriend, thought Gabrielle. Zina was being dragged with little effort from Minya—the cop was surprisingly strong. Yet she was placed into the back seat of the police car with care, Minya's hand on Zina's dark head gently shoving her in, like a midwife returning the baby to its well-deserved womb. The cop slammed the door shut and ambled over to the driver's side.

Desperately, Gabrielle lunged at the door and spoke to Zina through the open window. "Explain," she snarled.

"It happened 10 years ago."

"Why did everything happened 10 years ago?"

"Harmonic Convergence?" Zina hazarded a guess.

More like Unharmonic Psychosis, Gabrielle thought. "Never mind. Just tell me what happened."

"I was just showing Kimmy my little firebreathing trick…"

"Kimmy?" Gabrielle couldn't help it—her voice oozed with sarcastic cuteness. You never showed me the firebreathing trick!

"Kimmy."

"God, with a stupid name like that, I hope she was good."

"Nah." Zina shook her head. "Phony virgin," she mumbled. It was the truth, and they both knew it. For Zina could never keep her mouth shut about former lovers: Lao Ma made her multiorgasmic, Boris couldn't be tantric to save his life, Hank would sometimes yell "touchdown!" after coming, spanking with spatulas proved to be Julie's favorite foreplay...the list went on with excruciating detail. There were times when Gabrielle feared that she might be just another bit of minutiae in Zina's Sexual Trivial Pursuit, that someday the firefighter would be telling a new lover about her old flame Gabrielle, who used her firefighting helmet in a multitude of wanton ways, who had a toe fetish, who would sing "Now I’m a Cowgirl" while riding Zina….

Gabrielle shuddered at the list of sexual depravities that Zina could use against her. This was one reason for keeping the ex-con around. That and the love thing. God, I’m an idiot. "Don’t tell me—for the firebreathing, you used…"

"…tequila." Zina confirmed sadly.

It was the most flammable of drinks. "Fuck, Zina."

9. When Obligatory Flashbacks Attack: Ten Years Ago in Yokohama, Japan

Boris returned from losing a match with the local chessmaster—a seven-year-old who had him in check within two minutes—to find that his lover was not alone in their bedroom. He had every intention of being cool about it—he had learned his lesson with Lao Ma, or so he thought—until he heard himself screaming and stomping out of the bedroom with a dramatic slam of the door.

He paced and seethed. A few minutes later, Zina stumbled out of the bedroom, dressed, yet with wild, seriously tangled bed hair.

"Shouldn’t you comb your hair?" Boris suggested with his usual yet unique passive-aggressive flair.

"Go fuck yourself."

"I suppose I will have to, Zeeena. Since I noticed that someone else is in our bed."

She guzzled her morning beer. "Oh—her. Boris, I know it looks bad."

"It smells bad, too. You could at least wash your face."

"Hey—" She grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. He winced as eau de muff diving slapped him in the face, and her voice dropped to a menacing whisper: "This is a big opportunity for us. The girl's father is Yodoshi Hirohito, one of the biggest 'Hello Kitty' distributors in North America!"

"Hel-lo Kit-tee?" he echoed.

* * *

"Hello Kitty?" Gabrielle interrupted the flashback in an accent considerably less charming than Boris's. "You mean like that stupid t-shirt Ming Tien is always wearing?"

Zina nodded. "It just got out of hand. The warehouse caught on fire." She paused, and her voice dropped to a cracked, anguished whisper. "Forty thousand 'Hello Kitty' purses, gone."

There was a moment of silence for the dearly departed merchandise.

"Well good fucking riddance!" Gabrielle yelled.

"That's my cue to peel out, right?" Minya asked hopefully, from behind the wheel.

"No!" cried the poet. Her vision swam with tears, yet Gabrielle's resolve—her faithful, steadfast love—did not waver. She clutched the car door, white knuckled. And while original words of inspiration and solace failed to come to her, something did float through to the forefront of her troubled mind, and thus she intoned the following: "I will find you. No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you." No sooner were the sentences out of her mouth than she realized she was being Daniel Day Lewis in Last of the Mohicans.

Zina, however, was ill informed of her role in the make-believe and winced with both irritation and confusion. "Gabrielle, I'm just goin' to jail."

Minya hit the gas and the police cruiser pulled out of the parking lot.

10. Girlfriend in a Stupor

There were times when I could have murdered her

But you know I would hate anything to happen to her

—the Smiths, "Girlfriend in a Coma"

With a majesty possessed by those who are vastly ignorant of their own innate dignity, Gabrielle sat atop the Saab motorbus with a 7-11 Big Gulp. She felt bad about taking the Saab from Bob's Garage (Purdy, of course, had been quite compliant in allowing her to abscond with the now-functioning vehicle owned by the Swedes who had insulted him), but she comforted herself—rather, justified the theft—by recalling Vendela's touching words of devotion: What I have is yours, my love. For fate would have it, the motorbus's registration was in the drummer's name.

So far being a fugitive from justice was fun: She was an accomplice to a known felon, in a stolen vehicle no less, and with a large stash of dope and several peyote tablets in the glove department. Well, she thought with sanctimonious irritation, it was all Minya’s fault. If the sheriff hadn’t been so innately, irresistibly corruptible, and thus hadn’t succumbed to the temptation of a lap dance in exchange for Zina’s freedom, Gabrielle would still be a law-abiding citizen. Although Zina would be still rotting in jail.She hoped that Minya would be successful in at least convincing the Hirohitos to drop the charges; perhaps Eli’s offer of unlimited anime rentals would help soften their hard hearts.

Putting aside these tumultuous thoughts, Gabrielle reclined on the bus, eyes closed, drinking in the sun. Cyrene was right, there was nothing quite like sunbathing on top of a motor vehicle. She could feel the light and the heat sink deep into her bones, dissolving them. She was liquid, expanding, flowing free from the constraints of her body and from time. She was seeing and experiencing alternate time lines, the past, the future, and a new present.

In this vision of the present, Zina was still in jail and about to be executed for her crimes. All of her crimes, even sleeping with the 16-year-old girl scout. She was strapped into an electric chair, with a really bad, fucked-up Siousxie-and-the-Banshees kind of short hairdo. The switch was thrown and a gazillion bolts of electricity fried her lover into a pile of ashes.

"Zina," she whimpered aloud.

"Gabrielle."

The poet opened her eyes, attempting to blink away the effects of phosphene, even though multicolored dots and blobs and dashes remained floating in her sight. She was curled fetally, still on top of the motorbus, face to face with the Big Gulp. The voice came from the benevolent font of bubbling Sprite within the red container. "Zina?" she repeated.

"Gabrielle, what the fuck are you doing?" the Big Gulp demanded.

"Zina? Why are you there? Come back to me!" Lovingly she stroked the sweaty container.

The large red cup sighed. "Oh, for Christ's sake."

The world thundered, and the poet sat up with a gasp, knocking over the Big Gulp, spilling its sticky clear fluid all over the bonnet of the Saab.

Zina had jumped up onto the roof of the motorbus. Crouched like a panther, she grinned, pleased with herself. Then she shot a mock-scowl at the poet. "You ate a peyote tablet, didn't you?"

"I—" Gabrielle's eyes shifted guiltily.

"Eli told you to wait until we got into the Mojave."

"Aren't we?"

"Toto, we're still in fuckin’ Kansas."

"Oh."

"You probably got sunstroke now too."

The poet covered her eyes. "Do not."

Zina sighed and sat down next to her, yet as far away from the Sprite spill as possible. She pulled an old Oakland Raiders cap out of her back pocket and gently placed it on Gabrielle's head, shielding her eyes from the sun.

The poet basked in the musty, sweaty scent emanating from the cap. "Wow, you're letting me wear your Raiders cap. We must be in love or something."

"I reckon so." The firefighter sighed again, this time happily. They were quiet for a minute. "How long do you think before they drop the charges?"

"I dunno, baby. I figure it won't be too long. They'll soon get bored hanging around the county."

"Ya think? Hell, we never got bored hanging around the county."

"We’re idiots. They’re city types. They need neon lights and people driving badly."

Zina hummed skeptically. "So after we go to the desert, then what?"

"Oh, I don't know. We can go anywhere you want."

"We could go to Mexico!" Zina's blue eyes brightened.

"Don't you need a passport for that? I don't have one."

"I dunno—but we can get you one, easy. I know this fella in El Paso, he can put together a passport for you just like that." Zina snapped her fingers and pulled her own passport out of a back pocket. "He did one for me."

Gabrielle took the small document and opened its cover. The photo was Zina, sure enough, although the name read "Ellie Mae Ghurkhan." At the poet's look of puzzlement, Zina said, "Well, it always helps to have an alias, and Ghurkhan was my married name…" In a hapless attempt to take back the words, she bit the inside of her mouth. Oh fuck.

"You were married?"

"Just for a teeny bit..."

"Who's Ghurkhan?"

"It don't matter now, he's dead."

"How did he die?"

"Can we not talk about this now?" Zina tried furiously to work up some crocodile tears. "Let's just say I was the happiest woman in Denmark." When he died, that is.

Gabrielle scowled.

Zina patted the poet’s thigh. "Don't fret, baby, I just married him for his cigar plantation."

"Like that should make me feel better." Gabrielle put her arms behind her head. "So why do you want to go to Mexico?"

"I got an idea."

"That's what I was afraid of."

Zina ignored this and pulled out a picture of Harley—their niece, not Zina's beloved hog. "What we do is this: We get to some little town—a nice town—an' show this picture to all the locals, see, an' they'll think I'm in league with the Chupacabra, an' they'll, like, start payin' me tribute to protect them from the beast!" She grinned with maniacal pleasure.

"And then maybe if things go real well, we could buy our own boat. And we could sail around everywhere do a little, ah, tradin' here and there—or maybe not," she added quickly, at Gabrielle's disapproving look. "But there's quite a business in white slavery, ya know." Zina's eyes darkened, recalling the time that Boris knocked her unconscious with a bottle of Jack Daniels and tried to sell her to Lao Ma's uncle. She shook the thought from her mind. "Or," she continued, "we could just open a casino on board..."

Gabrielle stared at her. Was she serious? Was she joking? Was she crazy? The poet burst out laughing. Because it didn't matter. "God, you are so fucked up."

"But you still love me, right?" Zina dipped her head expectantly. She hesitated a second, perhaps wondering—and fearing—what Gabrielle's response would really be. Could you still love me, even though I put you through so much crap? Even though I ruined your original copy of On the Road, even though I dragged you across the lawn when your shoelace got caught in the weed-whacker, even though I knocked you unconscious while playing Frisbee with the lid of a crock pot? I still love you, but is that enough?

Gabrielle just smiled and lifted her head. Her answer was in the kiss.

The End

#xena #xena warrior princess #xena/gabrielle #xena/gabrielle fanfiction #femslash #fanfiction #author: vivian darkbloom #mature

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bkanvas-fairy · 5 years

Note

Could you tell us a little about your characters?

Y E S !

but due to me having at least over a thousand characters I’ll just give a quick summary of the 25 I manage to dig up over 3 sketchbooks.

Y’all can pick and choose which of them interest yall or who you wanna hear more about!

Also because I’m extra, I made sketch icons for the 25 characters, info under the cut

I’ll talk a bit more about my actual Original Characters first, starting with

Aiko! Otherwise known as Echo

- A marked individual in a steampunk world that gets mixed with magic, because I like both of those things

- Echo runs an underground lab that does helps the underground world with replacing body parts, illegal surgeries etc etc

- Even though she marked, which puts a bounty on her head already, she is well respected by the community for not cheating for your money, stealing your cash, or shanking/killing you mid-surgery

- however, Echo does long for adventure and sometimes do get bored in the lab

oh yeah,, Echo like stealing eyeballs, so if you’re low on cash and wouldn’t mind losing an eye, you know who to call!!

Bonus:

Here’s Echo’s boring, undeveloped sidekick!! I don’t like her and I don’t know how to make her better. Yes, she doesn’t have a name.

here’s my god playboy that left “heaven” due to having an early mid-life crisis, I call him God boi cause;

- He goes by many names!

tbh, he’s probably the closest character I have to being genderfluid/-neutral? I’m not sure,,

- The god has many powers, from lightning to shapeshifting

- The shapeshifting part allows him to change every part of himself, allowing him to change depending on his situation.

- God boyo, or originally Aristide, is obsessed with the idea of perfection. A god should be perfect, if a god is out of line, he is no god.

- Same goes for him, which means whenever something is wrong with him, it affects him, extremely

However, leaving the land of gods to live among humans aren’t all perks

- Aris isn’t immune to diseases or injuries. In fact, he actually fell down and died on impact when he came to earth, being reborn into another child immediately.

- He doesn’t gain his memories back automatically tho!! He has to have a major shock to the brain in order for him to remember his previous lives

- Sometimes the shock isn’t enough either, when you have a thousand over lives, you won’t remember every single one of them. So forgotten lovers coming back to haunt because your brain hates you? That’s everyday for him!

i just,, i like playing with the concepts of god,,

Up next we got Ayeka Himura! A japanese student going to a neighborhood, but still a pretty good, school living close to poverty due to her father’s constant spending habits and obsession with art supplies. With the household lacking a mother due to wacky shenanigans, Ayeka takes care of her two younger siblings and the house, all while maintaining a very well-paid job and slowly loosing interest in actually studying for a good, honest job.

also she likes birds!!

Yes her design is heavily “based” off Toga but I love her current design too much to change it, h e l p

So like,, I suck at chinese and I made ocs that exclusively spoke in chinese to help with that but I’m still stuck at 40~marks

I forgot his scar but remembered his earring i hate myself

my og chinese kiddo! he was was first to come and I love his design ever since

he radiates fuck you energy except the girl below. He’s neighbors with her and they acknowledge each other existence ever since. he has a dumb cliche crush on her and is a bit protective of her because nothing says having issues than latching onto someone that makes you happy

Only this girl got named!! even tho she was the second character.

Li Shen, yes she doesnt have a surname, is apparently main ho now, according to my old oc chart of my “main” ocs

She’s the group’s resident sweetheart and really does not want you to do stupid shit, stop doing stupid shit. She tutors my son up there ^^ even though he’s actually smart and just refuses to do his work properly. But she still deeply cares for him.

As well as the girl below shdifhd

the last girl of the ching chong trio and the reason I had to switch up my son’s design is this girly over here! Her design was too business-y and formal so I enrolled all of them into college. A rich girl who doesn’t know how to deal with her g a y thoughts. Tried sending Li Shen some flowers once. She didn’t realize attaching her name would be a good idea and son got a good laugh.

i like paranormal stuff so they apparently look into that shit in their spare time. They’re all actually really fun characters to do prompts with I swear!! send some in and I’ll write them

I had a previous concept for son and Li Shen before last girl came and if yall want me to talk about it,,, i found my sketchbook with the old ideas,,

NEXT UP IS MY OLD GIRL ELORA!!

Elora herself used to be a fan character but I pulled her out and wow\

cant fucking believe she used to be straight for Vylad

shes the outgoing, fun adventure type! bit of mommy issues here and there tho,, I don’t want to say too much since I have an entire for her +

her now upgraded bro, Vincent

i really like the name vincent,,

also now he has mommy issues

Ead, the knight who used to have armor

I hate drawing armor

he also have issues

AND IRIS MY SWEET GIRL IM SO SORRY

she doesnt have that much issues tho

basically I made elora and her bro have mommy issues, I’m sorry in advance if that spoils anything

I, sometimes, post about these 4 over on @eloradiesismydocsname and its a gay ol’ time

not that gay tho because uhh,, medieval times,, but I need prompts for a modern au of them and I am happy to talk about their personalities and even go semi in-depth for any of them!!

here we have ghoster.png,, which is her file name cause I didn’t name her,,

A horror enthusiast + film student that goes to a supposedly haunted shack to film her upcoming project with the boys. wacky shenanigans occur and the boys left leaving ghoster here to starve and eventually fall to her death. But because it’s my oc i get to bring her back from the dead, now hungry as ever and will fucking eat you, its not a kink thing, shes just that hungry and angry

tax fraud.png

a robo girl that i created during social studies cause they were talking about taxes and i just went, “what if,, a robo runs on taxes,,, and like,, she haunts you down for not paying your taxes,,” thus she was born! I don’t know what to name her but she is set in the future so-

Time to go future-apocalypse style because I love that setting too and was upset that I didn’t have any ocs in that style. So I created Alex A. ! A cybrog filled with memories of the previous generations as a sad attempt to preserve human life.

He’s accompanied by his sister/cousin idr i didn’t draw an icon for her, didnt like her design. they go on a hunt for food and to return with nothing. She gets to meet this other dude who has a plant arm im pretty sure i based him off someone’s elses oc but i cant remember. The 3 are forgotten. Kinda want to bring them back tho.

Neon! A character set in the future utopia of lazy people, where gamers rise up. its the best I can describe her story without getting too deep. She the new hacker on the block, joining the underground gang of elite hackers. She’s another one of those wacky characters that just has fun. I mean, when you know your way around codes and the world you live in is full of it, would you not take advantage of that?

as for fan characters,, uhh,, i have em

STARTING WITH MY WIFE!

Alexzandra Zara oh my god i forgot to draw her necklace and shirt

anyways,, Alexzandra is one of the more older ocs I have that didnt get a big revamp. Only an au I develop to the point I forgot the actual shows and the original cast are a little different from the source haha what? She’s the emotionally unstable german war veteran, yes the wife thing isn’t mutual, and haha shes only 27~. I cling onto her so much?? She’s hits a lot of “edgy” points but I still love her cause idk,, the story I made for her is something I hold dear cause Alexzandra was one of my first ACTUALLY DEVELOPED CHARACTER. Is it wrong to say I hold her really close to my heart? Is that weird? probably a little cringy sorry haha. I probably project a little into her which might have strengthened my love for her ack. Her story delves more into the depression very unstable needs to talk to someone side and i get scared talking about my wife’s story online so uhh, idk ask me specific questions about her, I’ll be more inclined to talk.

Dr Watts! The spoiled ass dick that stole dst Wilson’s house and yes this is a dst oc, yes im slightly sorry.

He’s just fun?? almost ran a blog with him and a friend’s oc. He’s your typical uptight old science gramps that took advantage of the fact that no one knows his real name that he calls himself a doc. He’s not. I put everything about him up to a 9-10? He’s one of those wacky characters and I love him for it! His story is really wonky tho so might need help solidifying that part

and from the angry old man to my sweet man that will adopt you even if you’re noisy or call him ginger. Pilot here is a TF2 OC I made to interact with other tf2 OCs cause some of them are fun and i wanna join in :((

He’s the Canadian stereotype, and yes, he adopted scout, that was one of my character notes.

Like the actual cast of tf2, there’s barely any real story to him. I only gave him a vague I don’t know my past but hey, i fly really really well. He participated in war unlike certain men but he’s still really nice and will only kill you if you hurt his family. Which he doesn’t know so he just considers the cast his family. He keeps mentioning a wife though, pretty sure he doesn’t have one but you do what makes you happy son.

Ai! an oc I HEAVILY revamped oh my god i hate her old vers. So if yall remember my random shouting of missing my og son, Aru. Here’s his bff. cause he barely has any actual friends that give a shit. And I just cant have that. but here’s your yandere revamped into a last minute addition. I actually feel like I did Ai a lot of justice. I don’t want to delve too deep cause I will start making charts. I’ll do that in a separate post if yall are keen

Isamu Aena! a mp100 oc I made by accident cause idk,, I was thinking about lolita fashion and all of a sudden, the actual oc I was going to make turned into a mob psycho oc. She’s one of my few ocs where her sexuality matters (she’s gay yeah) cause it plays a role in her storyline. She went from being “manipulated”/used to Mob’s wingwomen. She spots out things that can help him in the romantic department cause she’s into romance. A student of the school Mob infiltrated and a fantastic tailor, not to mention a pretty decent pyschic. wait where do models get their lolita stuff from,,

im gonna ignore that and move onto Lillian Yi! Who, i swear i did not meant for it, is very close to lloyd. I mean,, none of the ninjas were with him after s3, who you think he’d meet. Lillian is a survivor from the Great Devourour and yes I’m still pissed LEGO stole my backstory for Lillian to use for Harumi. FUCK YOU LEGO, i still love both of em tho,, The event did leave a big scar and it made Lillian job jumping for a bit, ending at Chen’s Noodles in S6~, where ya know,, stuff got better. She was a medalist for gymnastics and continue the activity, even after her parents’ death, to please others. She was already lost at the time so staying in the sport would help, right? Needless to say, after being rejected at a cop academy for youths, or something similar, she gave up for a while but got back into the idea of saving people by using her skills she already had. It helped with the weight and feelings and meeting the green ninja was a very big bonus. Also Lloyd dubbed her the “mysterious stranger” when she refused to speak in fear of her identity, slight shame, and maybe a bit of being star struck. It helped Lloyd too in a sense where he had something to distract him from Zane’s passing.

Their relationship was eventually formed, strong and almost unbreakable, except for harumi but uhh thats a different story. Throughout the seasons, they stayed close and lloyd was always comforted by Lillian went times get ruff.

Also Lillian is my most light-hearted characters and I think that says a lot

Then there’s Nite “I don’t want to be your dad”. A character that is supposed to be in the ninjago world but barely interacts with the main story and only stays in his self contained plot. He was supposed to get a bf but uhhh idk. He’s the master of shifting and streams that online, taking out small crimes, and is actually really shy and doesn’t like interacting with people.

also haha fortnite

Nora Akino, the sin of despair! its an ad thing, I think. She speaks only in a foreign language that only Odin understands and is either big gay for Ava or Maggi, she can’t pick. And yes she did drink the vial, when TITAN attacks your planet and you accidentally die, how else can you meet your family again? also my grandpa walked in and said she looks like royalty. cool-

she wouldn’t leave my hand for like,, 3 days or something

Petri, a fellow troublemaker at camp campbell’s music camp. She managed to pick the camp because apparently a parent who doesn’t acknowledge your hard work don’t read the fine print! Please let David adopt her,,

LASTLY! Yukimaru Atsuko, hero name; Gummie. She goes by Yuki and is a big dick. She’s a studious student but gets more thrills on the actual battlefield. Living with her uptight grandma and her big bottom energy bro, she has the dom energy thing going. and apparently folks on G+, or the people who comment about her, thinks she’s really pretty, which was oddly a thing back before UA. She’s the dick you can like, not like Bakugou but she will definitely want to fight Bakugou.

A gum-related quirk is not full of perks when its only your hands. I’d dive more into her like her insecurities and stuff but I’ve been here for probably 3hrs. Sorry anon.

Also I’m so sorry to anyone who reads this all the way through.

#not an ask #bkanvas' ocs #ocs

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richiefuckfacetozier · 6 years

Text

Chapter 16: My Funny Valentine

Story: It’s Not My Fault

Note: I commissioned the incredible @soft-hart to draw the Valentine’s date. I am in awe.

Pairing: Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak

Located on Archive of our own

For other chapters - | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 |

Title - My Funny Valentine by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart (Listen to Ella Fitzgerald or Frank Sinatra Version)

Eddie hated Valentine’s Day with a passion. He thought for sure if he ever got into a relationship, his partner would agree it is a dumb pointless holiday. Except Eddie was not such a lucky person. Instead, he was dating the cheesiest, most dramatic person ever. Which meant they had to celebrate a holiday that was so sappy and gross it was not even romantic to him.

Richie basically guilt tripped him into celebrating Valentine’s Day. He claimed to be tired of their secret relationship and wanted to go on a real date out of town. Eddie understood those feelings and agreed their situation sucked. They were spoiled during the Vermont trip when they got to kiss, hold hands, and be a couple. Richie wanted to experience that freely again and so did Eddie. He tended to feel this overwhelming dread that Richie would leave him over their closeted relationship, so if he had to suffer the romance for a day to keep things fresh then he would.

Richie also pointed out that they will have been dating for 5 months exactly on February 14. Which seemed to be a cruel twist of fate for someone who hates Valentine’s Day. His main reason for disliking the holiday stems from the years his mother has endured being alone. He would make her Valentine’s Day gifts or bring her single flowers, but when she smiled her thanks it never reached her eyes. Apparently, his father really loved celebrating every holiday with as much flash as he could. Constantly embarrassing his mother but she loved all the same. He found it hard to believe she would tolerate that kind of behavior, except his aunts confirmed his father was a corny man.

Eddie snatched up the blank Valentine’s Day card he got his mother, trying to think of something to write. He had gone with Stanley and Bill to Mr. Keene’s pharmacy to pick out cards for their mothers. His two friends had the advantage of picking any generic card since they still had fathers who would pick up the slack of this stupid holiday. Eddie took longer trying to pick a nice one that would not hurt her feelings.

As they were browsing the cards, Eddie noticed Stanley take a second card and admire it with a side smile.

“Which are you going to buy?” Eddie asked curiously.

“What?” Stanley glanced at him in confusion.

Eddie pointed at the cards, “Which one are you giving your mom?”

“Oh, this one.” Stanley held up a card that read ‘Mom, Thank you for always being there. We both know you love me more than dad, just admit it.’

Eddie smiled, “Are you giving the second one to your dad?” Eddie reached for the card to read the inside but Stanley drew his hand away.

“No,” He said in embarrassment. Stanley was not someone who blushed often, but his cheeks were definitely rosy.

“Stan, are you b-blushin’?” Bill strolled over and pinched his cheek teasingly. Stanley smacked his hand away with a sneer.

“Don’t be like Richie.” He said seriously.

“Who is she?” Bill’s face was filled with giddy mirth as he ruffled Stanley’s curls, receiving another hand smack and a glare.

“Or he!” Eddie corrected Bill with a shove. “You should know better Big Bill.” Eddie tried to grab the card again except Stanley’s long arms extended out of his reach. He was attempting to put the card on the top shelf as far from Eddie as possible.

Bill managed to capture the card, Stanley tried to take it back, letting out an angry shout in the process. He handed it quickly to Eddie like they were kids playing a game of keep away.

“This isn’t funny! Stop guys!” Stanley yelled trying to reach around Eddie and get the card.

“Boys!” Mr. Keene’s voice came from the register. “Knock it off.”

Eddie looked at the front of the card. It had two cows gazing at each other with heart eyes. He opened the inside which read,‘You moooooove me’ The card was ripped out of his hands and Stanley put it back roughly. He was livid as he marched toward the register bought the other Valentine’s card and went outside. Eddie felt a bit guilty they had teased him. Even being best friends, Stanley was a pretty private person that got embarrassed easily. Eddie and him had the easily embarrassed part in common. Stanley usually hides it well, therefore, he must like this person a lot to have gotten so defensive.

Eddie grabbed the cow card and a blank one to write his own Valentine’s message for his mother later. He bought the two cards and headed outside where Stanley was standing alone.

“Stan?” Eddie had an idea of who the person might be. There is only one friend who would laugh at a farm animal valentine. Eddie was worried about pushing him with this new knowledge.

“What.” Stanley bit out. “Going to make fun of me more? Go ahead. It was stupid anyway.”

Eddie tentatively handed him the cow card. Stanley looked at it and his expression softened a little as he took it hesitantly. His eyes met Eddie’s warily, “You know who it is, don’t you.”

Eddie smiled encouragingly, “I think Mike would love it.”

“It’s for Mike?!” Bill yelled in surprise when he walked out of the store.

Stanley glared at Eddie, “Thanks for that. I hope Trashmouth makes you wear matching couples shirts and serenades you in front of a giant audience for Valentine’s Day. I know how much you LOVE public attention.”

Eddie laughed to himself thinking about how livid Stanley had been. When he tried to push the subject of Mike and him further, he shook his head saying it was complicated and to drop it.

For the morning of the dreaded holiday, Eddie’s biggest concern was figuring out how to convince his mother to let him leave the house. She had barely given him any freedom since he tried to come out. They had not spoken to each other, or rather, he would not speak to her. Not at dinner or after school, he avoided her whenever he was in the house. There was a guilt that washed over him when he saw her hurt eyes, but if she wouldn’t let him even say the word ‘gay’ then he would not say anything at all.

He decided to go the easiest route for escaping the house, which was to sneak out without her seeing. He would place the Valentine’s Day card on the table downstairs and walk directly out the door. Every part of him wanted to not write her anything but he knew how lonely she would feel when he was not home.

He quickly wrote down on the Valentine’s card, ‘No matter what we go through, I will love you. Even if we don’t understand each other, I will love you. If you stop loving me, I will still love you’. A little on the depressing side but that has been Eddie’s mood lately anyway.

It was 6:00 AM, an hour earlier than when his mother wakes up on weekends. He put a coat on over his pajamas, grabbed his boots, and backpack with the outfit he was wearing for the date. He tiptoed downstairs, as quietly as possible, put the Valentine’s card on the kitchen table, then carefully walked out the door.

When he arrived at Richie’s, he couldn’t decide whether to use the key Mrs. Tozier’s gave him or go through Richie’s bedroom window. If Mr. Tozier caught him, it would be a disaster. He decided to go the safe route and climb through the window. Richie had left it open a crack, probably just for him. Eddie threw the bag inside then hoisted himself into the first story room. He landed with a bit of a thump on the messy floor. Richie was snoring away, his gangly arms sprawled out covering almost the whole bed.

Eddie slipped out of his boots and coat, then crawled into bed with him. Richie’s body immediately latched onto Eddie’s warmth as if by instinct. He held him tight like a stuffed animal. Eddie put an arm around Richie’s shirtless torso, feeling butterflies in his stomach at the contact. Richie hugged him tighter, throwing his leg over him. His eyes were still closed, which meant he was either half awake or aggressively dreaming.

“Hey Rich?” Eddie whispered.

He only mumbled a little. Eddie decided on going to sleep instead of waking him up. When he did wake up for the second time that day, it was to lips being planted on every part of his face. The lips kissed both his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, and his neck. When he smiled sleepily, the lips moved to his mouth. They were minty, which meant Richie brushed his teeth just so he could kiss him good morning. Eddie didn’t open his eyes as he deepened the kiss, letting the feeling and smell of Richie engulf him. Richie’s hands moved under Eddie’s pajama shirt. His fingers were warm against his cold skin. Since Eddie was always freezing, this gave him goosebumps. He melted into the touch as Richie slowly traced small circles up and down his spine, making his skin tingle. Eddie rolled himself on top of Richie wanting to be as close as possible. He ran his hands through Richie’s hair receiving a satisfying moan from the man beneath him.

Eddie pulled out of the kiss to open his eyes. Richie looked disheveled but in a frustratingly beautiful way. “Morning, babe.” Eddie said groggily.

“You looked so cute, I had to wake you up and I am glad I fucking did.” Richie grinned goofily still running his hands across Eddie’s skin distractingly. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Eddie rolled off him and shoved his face into the pillow in anguish. “Ugh…don’t remind me.”

“Hey!” Richie poked his side making Eddie squirm. “You have to be receptive to all romantic shit I say to you today. That’s part of our deal.”

Eddie peeked an eye at him begrudgingly. “Fine. Happy Losertine’s Day, loser.”

Richie kissed the back of his neck, putting his hands low on Eddie’s back. “My hands are cold. Can I stick them down your pants to warm them up?”

Eddie groaned into the pillow. “If I have to endure horrible pick up lines, I am going back to sleep.”

“How do you like your sausage in the morning… scrambled or blown?”

Eddie turned to him with a sly smile. He brought his hands to Richie’s sides and started tickling him. This immediately made him start howling with laughter and trying to wiggle away. “Have mercy, Eds!” Eddie moved his fingers quickly over Richie’s stomach, loving the barking laugh erupting from him. Richie got enough control over him to grab his hands and pin them above him. He hovered over Eddie with his legs on either side of him.

Eddie’s breathing became ragged as he saw the way Richie was looking at him. His eyes blown out and needy. Eddie licked his lips racking his eyes down and back up Richie’s body. This seemed to be the wrong thing to do because Richie let go of his hands and got off the bed.

Eddie looked at him in confusion, suddenly worried. “Are you ok? Did I…um…make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry.”

“Are you kidding me? You were being sexy as fuck just now. But I need to shower and we both have to get ready.”

Eddie rolled his eyes at being called sexy. Then he smirked as Richie went to open his bedroom door, towel, and clothes in hand.

“I think I’ll join you, Rich.”

Richie choked and sputtered looking at him in disbelief. “What?”

Eddie got off the bed and walked toward him, “I didn’t take a shower this morning either. So I’ll join you.” He pulled a barely breathing Richie out of the room and toward the bathroom.

Eddie got dressed in a nice button up light blue shirt with dark jeans. He wore the rainbow socks Richie got him as a joke a couple days ago and tied the laces of his nice snow boots that would cover them.

Richie wore a black v-neck that Eddie made him buy a couple weeks ago with jeans. Richie looked so attractive that Eddie wanted to kiss him some more. Then he put on a colorful Hawaiian button up. Eddie laughed and rolled his eyes.

“I can’t let you get too distracted by my sexiness with this v-neck.” Richie wiggled his eyebrows. “Gotta keep your head in the game.”

“What game?” Eddie laughed incredulously.

Richie got right up in his face, brought their lips so close they were brushing each other as he whispered, “The game of romance, my rosy redvine.”

Eddie whispered back, “We will lose that game because I hate romance.”

“I know it makes it more fun for me.” Richie smiled and kissed him quickly.

When they got outside, Richie opened the passenger door for him then ran to the driver’s side. He turned the heat on high and reached into his pocket to grab something. “Alright, put this on.” Richie handed him a bandana.

Eddie frowned at it in confusion. “Why am I wearing a bandana?”

“Like a blindfold!” He said excitedly.

Eddie sighed at Richie’s childishness. “For how long?”

“An hour.” He grinned.

Eddie groaned throwing the bandana in his face. “No. I don’t like surprises. You know that.”

“Awwww, come on Eddie! You said I could do as much romantic crap to you today as I want.”

Eddie pointed at him, “I said that on the condition I don’t get hurt or murdered.”

“I am not going to let you get hurt!” Richie whined.

“What about murdered?”

“Eddie! You are just going to sit in the car, with a blindfold on until we get to where we are going.”

Eddie looked at him defiantly then snatched the bandana back to tie around his eyes. “Fine, but you better have brought snacks. I didn’t have breakfast.”

“Do you even know me? I have to eat every two minutes.” Richie waved his hand in front of Eddie’s face and when he was satisfied that he couldn’t see, drove out of the driveway.

The hour ride was really relaxing for Eddie. Richie’s usual loud rock music was replaced by ballad love songs. Richie had bought him a giant chocolate bar that he was eating along with an orange. A very balanced breakfast.

He wouldn’t admit it, but not knowing where they were going was a little exciting. His imagination was coming up with a ton of possibilities.

“Amusement park?” He guessed.

“We don’t have any within an hour near us, fool.”

“Fancy restaurant?”

Richie scoffed, “With my invisible money, yes.”

Eddie huffed out and decided to yell out a silly possibility, “One of those Gay Pride parades.”

Richie laughed, “No. But what we are doing can be considered gay.”

“How so?”

“Because we are together.”

Eddie tried to hit him but since he couldn’t see, missed and hit the stereo making the music skip a beat. Richie laughed at him putting his arm out so Eddie could hit him for real. Which he did. “I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Please do.”

When Richie finally parked at their mysterious place and let Eddie take his blindfold off, he was super confused. He got out of the car and the cold was even harsher than Derry.

“Are we closer to the coast?” Eddie took in their surroundings. It was a nice town with buildings similar to Derry’s but way more shops and people milling about.

“Nope! We are by Kennebec River.” Richie said gleefully.

“In Augusta? Our state’s capital?” Eddie spun to look at his thrilled boyfriend. “That’s so random.”

“I did research. It’s like the second most accepting gay-friendly city in the state.” Richie took in the town with a huge smile.

“You did research?” Eddie looked at him impressed. “Where’s the first?”

“Portland, Maine. But that’s about 2 and a half hours from Derry.”

“So we are in a gay-friendly town because…” Richie took Eddie’s hand, kissed it and pulled him along.

Eddie was in shock. Richie really did just want to spend a day as a normal couple. Walk around holding hands and freely kissing each other when they wanted too.

As they walked around the shops, there were tons of couples out and about. They were all straight but no one really cared when Eddie put his arm around Richie’s waist. Some people even smiled as Richie placed his own around Eddie’s shoulders and kissed the side of his face.

They found a sweet little cafe to eat at with decent prices. Eddie held Richie’s hand the whole time, which made it hard to eat his burger, not that Richie cared. Eddie paid, much to Richie’s protesting, but the boy had been paying for them too much all day.

They strolled through downtown Augusta and got to the river. Eddie stood by the edge listening to the quiet flow of the water. He was thinking about how easy today had been, none of the usual stress of being together. Any nerves about their relationship practically non-existent. It was like a dream he never wanted to be woken from. Unlike Derry, the nightmare he is trapped in.

Richie came up behind him, hugging him right below his belly button. Even through all the layers, he was wearing, he felt his body immediately heat up. Richie put his lips by his ear, nibbling at it lightly, “What are you thinking about, my tasty Toblerone.”

“Whether you will ever run out of candy nicknames.” Eddie retorted quickly.

“Nope, never going to happen.” Richie kept kissing him languidly.

Eddie sighed still staring deeply at the water, wondering if he could throw himself into its icy depths before letting slip what he was actually bothering him. “I’m thinking about the only thing I ever think about.”

“Me?”

He refused to answer because giving Richie the satisfaction of hearing yes was not worth the teasing. Richie turned Eddie around still keeping his arms securely on him. He moved his hands in the back pocket of Eddie’s jeans.

Eddie placed his arms on Richie’s shoulders with a smirk, “Are your hands cold? Or are you grabbing my ass?”

“Can it be both?” Richie leaned their foreheads together.

Eddie’s eyes refused to meet Richie’s. He played with his scarf absentmindedly, trying to ignore any insecurities and fears threatening to surface. He wanted to stay in this moment and trying to push his worry aside, but all he ever does is worry. “I’m thinking about how I wish every day was like this.”

Richie shrugged unconcerned, “It can be or, rather, it will be.”

Eddie played with the zipper on Richie’s jacket. He honestly wished his mouth would cease speaking his mind sometimes. Except the words started tumbling out before he could prevent them. “Does it bother you that we can’t be publically out?” He flinched a little at his own pathetic question.

“Yes.” Richie said immediately making Eddie’s stomach clench. “And no.”

He sighed miserably, “What does that mean?”

Richie dug his forehead into Eddie’s harder, which made him look up and concentrate on his words. “Yes, because I want us to be our true selves. No, because as long as I am with you it doesn’t really matter.”

Eddie’s heart soared and he tried to hold back the tears of happiness that threatened to fall. “I love you so much, you know that right?”

“I love you too, Eds.” Richie went to kiss him but he pulled away making Richie chase his lips a little.

He giggled at the boy’s ridiculousness. “Like I love you with every wheezing breath I take.” They both laughed.

“I love you with all my blindness.” Eddie brought his lips forward to kiss him gently. He retracted one of his hands and reached into his pocket for something. He took out a small black stringed up bag.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, babe.” Richie removed his hands to open the bag. Inside was a silver chain necklace. On the end of it were two letters, E and R. Richie put it around his neck trying to lock it on.

“Help.” He groaned. “My fingers are too big.”

Eddie laughed, took his gloves off and went behind Richie to hook the necklace. When he got it on, he went back to facing Richie placing his hand over the necklace that lined up perfectly with his heart.

“So you know I am always close to your heart.”

“Oh Eds,” They stared at each other. “Don’t you know by now? You are my heart.”

Eddie thought his brain would burst at those words. He was absolutely speechless. Richie was cheesy and inappropriate and yet perfect in every way. Eddie did the only thing he could think of. He kissed him hard. Richie was surprisingly slow to get into the kiss but laughed at the enthusiasm. He all but whimpered when Eddie licked his bottom lip, eliciting a moan from Eddie.

“Can we go to your car?” Eddie said desperately. Richie did not respond, he just grabbed his arm and pulled Eddie along.

When Richie parked in his driveway after dropping Eddie off, he put his hand over his smiling lips trying to calm himself down. He was on cloud nine from how incredible their day had been. His heart was pounding and stomach fluttering just how he used to feel at the beginning of their relationship. It seemed miraculous that Eddie could make him feel so light and wonderful.

He got out of the car and ran toward his house and unlocked the front door. He planned to brush his teeth and go to bed immediately because he was so tired. Although, with how much adrenaline he was on, he wondered if he would be able to sleep at all.

He opened the door to his father sitting on the couch watching television. Richie rolled his eyes out of habit and strolled right past him.

“Richard.”

He wanted to keep walking. The last thing he needed was his father to ruin the best day. Except instead of continuing toward his room, he stopped. There was something menacing in his father’s speaking voice that always made him listen to him. Even if his father said he never listened, Richie always did.

“I’m tired.” Richie replied loudly. The louder his voice, the angrier he could make the man.

“We need to talk.” He said sternly.

“Wentworth,“ Richie sighed deeply. "I really don’t care what you want to talk about with me right now.”

“Look at me, young man.”

He crossed his arms, thinking he would ignore the request and go to bed. After their conversation, he certainly wished he had.

Richie turned around as annoyingly slow as he could. His father was holding up a small piece of paper. Richie squinted his eyes, even with his strong prescription, seeing was not his forte. He walked toward him slowly then froze. His throat dried up and his stomach felt like it was going to extricate the burger he ate that afternoon. The best meal of his life because he was holding Eddie’s hand the whole time was about to betray him.

Because in his father’s hand was not just a piece of paper.

It was a photo.

A photo of him and Eddie kissing as if no one else in the world was there.

Mature Ending

By @slashpalooza

@dandeliontozier @sam-i-am2468 @reddie-brasil @takemetothetide @ohheydatsme @slashpalooza @averym14 @fucking-reddie

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tumblunni · 6 years

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Man, god, im just suddenly thinking about "ak/ur/oku" and like.. How the fuck did that even become such a huge thing in early 2000s fandom? Dear god so much early gay shipping in fandom was super unhealthy "sinful" bullshit made by straight people for fetishy purposes rather than genuine representation. But a/kurok/u was such a weird one because it was like.. Just globally accepted and never aknowledged to be problematic?? Man i still remember how lil 13 year old me didnt know there was anything wrong with it, like seriously when stuff like this becomes popularized it ends up sending bad messages to actual queer youth. Learning about your sexuality via the internet cos there's no sex ed irl for you, abd you end up stumbling into toxic fandoms before you have the critical thinking skills necessary to know that this stuff is bad and shouldnt be imitated. Like seriously one of the things i worry about EVERY NIGHT AT 2AM THAT KEEPS ME FROM SLEEPING is that stupid lil 15 year old me made a post on deviantart going like "are pedophiles really all bad? I mean it sounds like an illness. I mean maybe theyre just scared and they want help." Like im terrified constantly that someone will find that old thing and judge me as if i still believe that apologist crap, or as if it was actually an opinion i formed from a fully developed mind, rather than from a kid who (as far as i knew) had never met a pedophile, thinking about pedophiles in the abstract, while being influenced by fuckin pedophile-dominated fandoms and having NO IDEA. and of cooooourse i wanted to believe that i was mature for my age, i thought that was a compliment.. Uuuuugh...

Sorry, going a little offtopic there.

But anyway isnt it kinda weird how akur/oku was just.. Not even regarded as pedophilia? And when i was a kid it wasnt just me not understanding the gross parts of the fandom, i legit never thought axel was that much older than roxas. And it was one of the more popular gay ships cos at that point as far as we knew it was the only person axel had any sort of backstory with, and he cared so much about this guy that he was willing to sacrifice his life to help sora even when he knew roxas would never come back. At the time without further context it seemed like a reasonable assumption to make? And it wasnt until Days that i realized axel was intended to be an adult rather than a teenager, and even worse A LOT OF PEOPLE WHO MADE THAT SHIPPING ART KNEW THAT. Uuugh it was so gross in retrospect to go back and see all the clues i missed that these people were fetishizing roxas's inexperience and veey much writing him as underage. AAAAAAA!

Anyway im glad that shit is now recognized as shit and now we have canon evidence of this dude being old as balls. And honestly i love the relationship of him as a big brother/dad to roxas and xion a lot more, even though as a kid i was desperate for any kind of queer representation in kh. Like.. I never really actually liked the ship that much or felt any chemistry? I just latched onto a few bad writing flubs that could potentially be interpreted as Gay Evidence because i was SO damn desperate! Like i felt like i had to support all these gross abusive ships in fandom cos if i wasnt then i was being 'homophobic', i mean they were THE ONLY AVAILABLE OPTIONS, right? :( Its only now ive grown up i can see how wrong that was, and how people just used it as an excuse to make gross shit and get away with it. Like how in Black Butler all these 'yaoi fangirls' kept erasing the rarest of rare things, a canon trans woman, because 'its sexier if its gay'. Ughhhh. And seriously that discourse still exists for poor Grell, and there's still a lot of these shitty bigoted people pretending to be allies, but like seriously this was EVERYWHERE in 2005! And lgbt rights and even lgbt communities at all were way smaller and less available to the poor teenagers who really needed that positive influence while they were figuring out who they are. So man the abusive side of yaoi fandom was WAY more powerful, and wya more.mainstream, with barely any criticism. And the whole content of this fandom was creepy fuckin adults making pedo porn, and kids who just discovered they were queer and tried to headcanon their favourote characters as being like them. Fucking predator heaven! So yeh that ruined KH for me and definately made me scared of returning to Black Butler for almost a decade. And then i found out that the manga itself has none of that pedo shit and that one of the fandom's biggest abusive gay man archetypes was actually a trans woman this entire time, and just gahhhhh....

Also like seriously this is a tad offtopic but can we kill the anime trope of either everyone looking young or everyone looking old? Or creepy things where just one character looks the wrong age in order to fetishize pedophilia? I dont think kingdom hearts was one of those intentional ones, like i mean there's super bad shit where its like 'this 5 year old looking person is really 9000 years old/actually 18 and just hasnt had their growth spurt yet' (somehow its even more insulting when theres not even a magical excuse) Or the other way around and we have a character thats canonically underage but drawn looking sexually mature with big ol knockers so its somehow okay. The existence of those horrible things is why i end up feeling uncomfortable even seeing ambiguous ages as just a trope in completely innocent anime, yknow? Like in pokemon and digimon all the 10 year old protagonists are exactly the same height as all the adults, and all the female love interests for ash have to be early bloomers in terms of chest and hips, while notably Iris is the only one who actually looks her age and also the first non love interest. Its another reason why i prefer the new art style for the latest season, they make everyone look like kids and Lillie continues to look like a kid even though she's the main girl and has all the cute scenes with Ash. The girls even got very normal looking kiddy swimsuits in the beach episode! Why is that so uncommon, to find the bare minimum thing of underage kids not being sexualized at the beach??

Soooooo yeah, thats at least part of why kid me thought axel and roxas were within a similar age range. Like i thought roxas was maybe 16 and axel was 18?? Somehow?? I dont even know, kingdom hearts isnt even SUPER bad with the 'kids look like older teens,all adults look like age 20 at the most' anime syndrome. Its probably more because id been raised on games and anime that followed that trope, before i played kh. And as a kid you just dont really know the exact differences between 'old', like i mean i knew teenagers were tall and boys get a growth spurt, so somehow it made sense to me that axel could be the same age as roxas?? And man even if i knew he wasnt, i was barely educated at all about pedophilia and i didnt know the nuances of it. I just knew 'its bad for adults to marry kids' like man i was really behind the curve in general learning due to my undiagnosed autism and abusive parenting so like HERE'S 12 YEAR OLD ME NOT EVEN THINKING ABOUT THE SEX ASPECT. And i didnt know that adults in relationships with teenagers was bad too, or like 16/17 year old teens dating kids... I was so fuckin dumb... I really cant believe that not only did i believe stupid adults saying 'pedophilia isnt bad if you're non offending, its okay to make cartoon child porn as long as you dont physically abuse real kids' but also i somehow just DID NOT EVER REALIZE that axel was an adult and roxas wasnt even a goddamn older teen...

So yeh im making a lot of excuses for why my stupid younger self was blindly parroting bullshit, but im not trying to excuse how goddamn wrong and bad it was. I still wake up ashamed in the middle of the night for crapoy decisions i made as a dumb kid, and in terrified that some shreds of it might still exist out there on the internet and maybe someone else could read it?! Gahhhh! Seriously could i have accidentally helped spread that bullshit brainwashing to other kids? And seriously when people say this shit is harmless they just need to look at this, look at how being into problematic yaoi is such a common 'phase' for ACTUAL CHILDREN. Like its not fuckin NATURAL for kids to fall into this stuff, they do it because they dont know any better but the people making the goddamn founding blocks of the fandom are fuckin grown women fetishizing gay men or grown men fetishing lesbians. There's people who do know better who actually conciously decide that a/kurok/u is a good ship while knowing all the goddamn details of what it actually is and exactly what theyre supporting by shipping it. Ughhhhh!

So yeh fuckin Please Stay Safe In Fandom, Kids

And pedophiles have absolutely none of my sympathy, please ignore that goddamn shit i wrote as a little kid being fuckin groomed by a fandom without even knowing it.

This also applies a lot to the rest of LGBT+ aside from just gay shipping, like seriously it took me til age 18 to find any positive representation of trans people or even a proper explanation of what being trans is, yet before i was even 8 years old i'd seen a million 'lol gross man in a dress who gets sexual gratification from wearing women's underwear' jokes in kids shows. And when i was 12 i'd already been exposed to the fuckin hell of m/pre/g thanks to its prevelance of untagged n/sf/w shit in the kh fandom. And by age 15 i'd been exposed to pedophile apologists arguing whether child porn was okay if they only got off to that and didnt personally abuse that kid with their own hands. All of that shit but actually learning about homosexuality and gender in sex ed would have been 'too much' for someone my age...

God what a fuckin mess. Fuck im really really fuckin worried that any of my ignorant comments at those ages could have been read by other ignorant kids and contributed to that disgusting fandom atmosphere. Fuck i think about this so damn often im so damn ashamed of how ignorant i used to be yet i know the adult fuckfaces making pedo shit never reel one lick of shame any damn day of their life. I used to excuse their shit as an actual kid cos i just ASSUMED they would be ashamed and want to seek help! Gahhhh..

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not-just-any-fangirl · 6 years

Text

Days Of Summer CH 8

A/N; Hey y’all! Ready for some fun dumb summer camp au? Cus we are!! Go shout some love at @hannah-nobody and feel free to drop by my inbox with song ideas/recs! I maaaaaaaaaaay have have Waving Through A Window on repeat for the last lmao whoops

Here’s the updated playlist!

Summer has arrived, and with it the start of the two month long music camp; Fairy Tail! Full of new songs, friends, and adventures, the campers learn things they never knew about themselves and one another. And just how easy it is to sneak booze and a full sized karaoke machine out into the middle of the woods.

Camp Rock!AU

Pairing: Nalu, Gajevy, Gruvia, others mentioned; Fairy Tail

Words: 4956

Rating: T

Parts: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Warm Blood

And I can not control it

The way you're making me feel

And you have got me going

Spinning in circles 'round your warm blood

For the first time since arriving at camp, Natsu didn’t feel like a bundle of butterflies were trying to escape his gut. He was still pretty sure his friends were only being nice out of pity, but at least he was confident in the fact that they didn’t hate him. Well, Gray might still but Natsu was fine with that, seeing as the feeling was mutual.

Okay, so Natsu didn’t hate him, but Gray sure as fuck pissed him off.

“For the last time, it’d be way worse to have a monster live under the bed than to run across a monster in the woods.”

Natsu turned on his heel, walking backwards so he could more properly shout at Gray’s stupid opinions. “Honestly, a monster that lives under your bed could kill you at anytime! Just grab your ankle and bam! Monster late night snack.”

“If you can’t successfully run from something in the woods that’s your own fault for going out there.” Levy added, arm linked with Cana’s. “What are you going to do if it’s in your house? Move?”

Cana balked at Levy, clearly affronted by her side. “I can’t believe my bed mate could be so blind.”

“We don’t have to be bedmates, you know,” Cana waved off her wry comment, nose in the air as she continued to speak.

“Who said the monster under your bed is mean? Maybe they just want to be nice and dry. Now, a monster in the woods is a mean son of a bitch who wants to skin you and suck the marrow from your bones.”

“This is blatant mothman erasure and I will not stand for it.” Loke gasped, holding his phone to his chest, pausing in his texting to perform the dramatic action.

“We get it, you’re gay,” Cana rolled her eyes, sharing a cheeky grin with Juvia who at least had the courtesy to cover her snort with her hand. Natsu and Gray shared their own snigger at Loke’s offended gasp, hands placed on his hips while he lectured Cana.

“Firstly, a proper love of cryptids is LGBTQ culture, not just gay culture, and secondly,” Loke cocked an eyebrow, dragging his hand along his body as though he were showing off a trophy, “I’m bi, I don’t deny anyone the opportunity to get a piece of this.”

“I wish you would,” Gajeel grunted, face relaxed as he glared at innocent leaves caught in the light breeze along the path. Natsu threw his head back, howling. The rest of the group followed suit, Loke’s sputters drowned out by their raucous laughter.

“Juvia is deeply saddened to betray Gray, but she must agree with Natsu and Levy. How are we sure the wooded monster is the unkind one? Juvia would much rather face a beast in the wild than where she is supposed to be safe.” Juvia shuddered, arms wrapped around herself. Natsu couldn’t understand how she was even close to cold, long jeans and long sleeved black shirt with an ankle length fur-lined vest both confusing him and making him sweat just by looking at her.

“Juvia!” Gray gasped. Natsu blinked, chortling at his betrayed expression and Juvia’s following plea of forgiveness. Gajeel slung his arm over Juvia's shoulders, rolling his eyes at her squeak. Natsu grinned as he watched his cousin, the beast of a teenager looking as though he’d rather shove someone through a plane glass window before hugging them, when in actuality if you gave him a kitten he’d kill for you. Natsu would know. Lily is what made Gajeel give Juvia the spare bedroom all those years ago.

“I hope I get paired with someone cute,” Loke sighed. Natsu rolled his eyes at his friend’s comment, turning back to face the front and kicking a stray pebble.

“We know,” he groaned, falling back into the group between Levy and Gray. “You want someone to run away with into the night and live your rockstar dream. It’s all you’ve been talkin’ ‘bout since breakfast!”

Loke snorted, making a face at Natsu before turning back to his phone.

“I just hope I don’t get paired with someone I hate,” Gray said flatly. Natsu pulled down an eyelid at Gray’s pointed look, sneering at the pale boy’s middle finger in return.

“Feeling’s mutual, dickhead.”

“Oh be civil, you two twats,” Cana glared over Levy’s head, eerily reminding Natsu of Erza for a second. “Besides, despite as tight lipped as Mr. Only-Drummers-Are-Emo-Enough-For-Me has been about his second talent, I can guarantee you all it won’t be guitar. Boy has two left thumbs.”

“Oi, I'mma lefty.” Gajeel grunted, easily ignored by the group as they neared the surrounding crowd that swarmed the announcement board.

From his pretty average 5”7’ standpoint, Natsu couldn’t see over the heads of the crowd, but Gajeel most definitely could, and he had stopped dead in his tracks.

“What’s up metalhead?” Natsu turned back to ask.

“The photo.”

“What?”

“The application form photo. I didn’t think anyone else would see it.”

Natsu frowned, remembering taking his own photo. The form had said to include a photo of yourself that accurately describes you, but still showed your face. His own was just a photo of him standing against a white wall. It was pretty much the same as a passport photo, except he wasn’t looking at the camera.

“What’s wrong with your application photo?” Levy asked, leaving the group behind to say with Natsu and Gajeel.

Gajeel avoided looking at her. Instead, his eyes slid to Natsu, cringing as he revealed precisely what was wrong with it.

“The suit.”

Natsu’s chest swelled with joy.

“You fucking idiot.”

He ran towards the crowd, ignoring Gajeel’s groans of shame behind him. He pushed Gray out of the way- the other boy landing on his backside with a very satisfying thud- and shoved through the rest of the mass of bodies, desperate to get to the board and see his cousin’s embarrassment on show for all to see.

Once at the front, Natsu’s eyes went straight to the photo of his cousin. It wasn’t hard to miss. It was awful. Not only was Gajeel wearing the hideous white suit purchased for him by his father, but he also wore sunglasses and a fucking fedora. An honest-to-god white brimmed m’lady fedora. Natsu let out a howl of laughter, not caring about the people around him looking at him strangely. It wasn’t until after he’d gotten over his cousins wide-legged, rock signs in the air like he just didn’t care stance, that he realized that Gajeel has been paired with none other than Levy.

Oh ho ho, Gajeel was going to love that.

Natsu’s eyes slid over the rest of the announcement sheet, snorting over Gray’s own heavily eye-linered photo. The snort turned into a laugh when he noticed the moron was paired with Juvia.

It wasn’t until his eyes reached the bottom of the list that he found his own partner. His eyes fixed on her photo, all his laughter dying out.

Fuck.

Sitting next to his own photo was a candid of Lucy, smiling and reaching for the camera, obviously just discovering she was being photographed and unable to hide her laughter even as she reached for the person. Her eyes danced, clear and bright, her hair swirling around her as if the breeze had known just when to blow to make her golden hair catch the afternoon sun. She was so pretty. She was so good.

She was breathtaking.

Natsu’s fingers itched to grab his guitar and a notepad and find a little nook with a bean bag and an amp so he could lose himself in the music. The crowd milled and brushed against him, their own excited chatter swelling as they looked at their assigned partners.

“Juvia is so happy!”

“Aw fuck.”

Natsu turned at the familiar voices, Juvia latched onto Gray’s arm and swooning, Gray trying to lean away as respectfully as he could and looking as comfortable as Natsu would feel in a tutu and pointe shoes. And he’d know, considering all the things Juvia had managed to trick Natsu into when Gajeel absolutely refused. Two boys Natsu didn’t know were wailing beside them, Levy trying her best to console them with an apologetic smile.

“Levy why,” the dark haired one wailed. The ginger one was hugging her, kids around them casting the trio a wary look before pushing by, and Levy increasingly getting flustered by all the attention.

Natsu was saved from having to abandon the melody playing in the back of his head by Cana appearing from the ether and pushing herself between Levy and the taller boy, her arm slung carelessly over Levy’s shoulder and her grin lazy and purposefully relaxed.

“Now, now boys,” she cooed, “there’s enough of our little Levy to share. You’ll still have down time to steal her away from Gajeel to your hearts’ content.”

Natsu didn’t laugh. He was too busy wondering if Lucy had seen the announcement yet. What did she think? Had she asked to be switched yet? Natsu didn’t know if they were even allowed to do that, but he figured if there’d be an exemption it would be for Lucy to not have to deal with him for hours on end everyday.

“Natsu shouldn’t worry,” Juvia said from behind him, her hand comforting on his shoulder. “Juvia knows how silly that is to say, and she may have only known Lucy for a few days, but Juvia knows that Lucy enjoys spending time with her friends, and Natsu, Lucy has already decided you are her friend. Even if you doubt Juvia and the other’s thoughts on being more, please do not doubt your friendship with Bunny Girl.”

“That’s going to be a thing now, isn’t it?”

Natsu stiffened at the voice behind him, light and sweet and bouncy like a giggle was just begging to break free. Natsu had made her giggle at breakfast. A fuck ton. Or maybe she had just been laughing at him.

“Lucy!” Juvia exclaimed happily before a sudden shyness was stealing her voice pushing her to put Natsu between her and Lucy. Natsu cocked his head in confusion as he looked at his cousin’s best friend, seeing as how once Juvia had decided some one was her friend she lived up to her talent in musical theatre and the drama of the stage, as Juvia liked to put it. Natsu called it batshit crazy. He looked over his shoulder, avoiding Lucy’s warm grin as he realized who she was standing arm in arm with. Juvia cast him a kind smile before slipping away, murmuring to herself about finding her beloved once more.

“Yo, Mira. What’re you doing with Luce, shouldn’t ya be rounding up all the brats for a rave or something?” Natsu asked, relaxing at the familiar face.

“Natsu, you know Laxus and his friends are older than you.” Mira Jane smiled at him, a mix of fond and exasperated that was one of her more honest expressions. Natsu knew how hard being the face of the camp was on her, and how she fell back into the persona if she wasn’t careful. “Besides, do you really think Ever would risk getting sweat in her hair at a rave?”

Natsu barked out a laugh, picturing the stuck up brunette screaming at a crowd of uncaring people. He wasn’t as close with Ever, Bickslow, and Freed as Mira was, her main connection being her friendship with Laxus while Natsu was closer with Mira’s little sister, Lisanna.

His joy at picturing Ever’s disgust melted away as he thought of his friend. Natsu hadn’t seen her in a year or two, not since she had been accepted into Edolas’ advanced medical program, her dream of being a vet snowballing with her talent in school and easy to love personality propelling her two years ahead so she had already graduated and was on her first year of university. He knew he’d only have held her back, but he missed his best friend so much it hurt sometimes. Natsu had never opened up to someone like he had with her, and there were days that a certain feeling nagging in his gut told him he had annoyed her so much that she decided to throw herself into her education and run to a new continent.

Just like how Lucy would probably run away after a week of being forced to work with him.

“So,” Natsu said, forcing a grin and his thoughts away from Lisanna and how much fun she was having without him around, “You decide Lucy’ll be your new protégée?”

Mira gave him a knowing grin that reminded Natsu far too much of her earlier years in the She Devils, pulling Lucy closer to her side and speaking sweetly. “Of course! Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Natsu, and Erza has been keeping me updated on all the happenings of the campers.”

“Snitch,” Natsu hissed under his breath. Mira continued speaking as if she hadn’t heard anything at all.

“So you’ll be seeing me much more often, can’t let all you babies have all the fun you know.” Natsu cringed, tucking into his scarf to hide his frown. Mira was speaking in the same sweet voice, but Natsu could hear her words for what they really were; a threat. If there was something Mira loved more than her music it was meddling in people’s lives, particularly in the affairs of the heart. Which meant Natsu didn’t even want to imagine the horrific and scarring things that might happen if she decided to ‘help’ Natsu woo Lucy, which would not only be a futile effort but might actually ruin Lucy’s time at camp, which was the absolute worst thing Natsu could imagine. “And you know how much I love helping out new talent, especially one with as much raw potential as Lucy.”

“You think I have talent?” Lucy awed. Mira giggled and nodded, either unaware of Lucy’s adoration or simply used to it. Natsu felt a pang as he watched Lucy make heart eyes at Mira. She would definitely have preferred to have the silver haired girl as her partner. That would make her entire time at camp, let alone week.

Natsu jolted when Lucy turned to look at him, still giddy off of Mira’s praise as she smiled at him.

“So have you seen the names for who’s being partnered?” she asked.

“Erm,” Natsu replied, tucking deeper into his scarf.

“You think your partner will be that bad?” Lucy asked sympathetically. She gave him a reassuring smile, Natsu losing himself in how pretty her eyes were and the way the noon sun lit them up. “Whoever they are, they won’t be as hopeless with the guitar as I am, I can guarantee you that much.”

Natsu smiled awkwardly before turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd, both to stop himself from saying something stupid like ‘The only hopeless you are is hopelessly cute’ or other dumb shit, and to save himself from having to see the disappointment on Lucy’s face when she found out he was her partner.

Lucy blinked in shock as she watched Natsu’s back. She turned to Mira Jane, worrying her lower lip.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Mira Jane patted her arm before leading her to the board, shaking her head ruefully and making the silver hair framing her face bounce. It was so pretty and shiney. Lucy would have to ask her her shower routine to get it so soft and healthy.

“Natsu is just a little shy sometimes. He’ll get a thought in his head and honestly, it’s easier to convince Erza of something than Natsu.” Mira Jane gave her another smile, kind but a little strained. “He’s best friends with my little sister, Lisanna, have been since they were children, but I still can’t read him. It's quite annoying.”

Lucy laughed awkwardly, unsure of how Mira Jane’s sweet tone lined up with her words. “I don’t think I’ve seen her at camp.” Lucy said, diverting the topic away from a certain pink haired boy who had given Lucy the cold shoulder. Just after they had agreed to be friends. “What talent does she focus on?”

“Oh, no no no. Lisanna is in Edolas for her veterinary degree. She skipped the last two grades and got accepted early. You should hear Elfman go on about how proud he is of our genius sister. ” Mira Jane grinned, easily maneuvering through the crowd until they stood in front of the board, only a few feet from where they had been talking with Natsu. Lucy half heartedly scanned the pictures in front of her, looking for herself. So Natsu’s best friend was a genius going to school in a different country to save animal lives. Okay. Not like he had high standards for who he hung out with then. Of course, he seemed to be as thick as thieves with Gajeel, so maybe Lucy wasn’t too out of her depth. She frowned, feeling a headache growing behind her eyes. Hard to read indeed.

“Oh,” Lucy breathed, finally finding her own picture. Right beside Natsu’s.

They were partners.

“Do you think he’s upset?” Lucy asked Mira Jane, tearing her gaze away from the candid photo Natsu had submitted that looked like it belonged on a magazine or album cover.

“Yes, but not for the reasons you’re thinking of,” Mira Jane soothed. “Natsu’s always been a little nervous of what people think of him, and from what I understand, your opinion is ranked very high on that list. You just need to give him time to get used to the idea that you wouldn’t actually prefer to die than spend an hour or two with him, and then it will be smooth sailing for you too.”

Lucy felt her cheeks heat as Mira Jane spoke, looking at the ground and tightening her arm on the one Mira Jane had looped through. She didn’t know why, but the thought of Natsu caring that much about what she thought made her both nervous and a little happy. Which was ridiculous. Because Lucy was here to learn music theory and how to improve herself as a musician, not to find a summer love.

But oh, Lucy didn’t think it would be all that bad to have Natsu come and sweep her off her feet. Especially if he were shirtless again...

Lucy squeaked as she tore herself from her thoughts. She ignored Mira Jane’s curious look, and distracted herself by waving to where Juvia stood with Cana and Loke and a shorter girl with long blue pigtails and a nervous look in her eye.

“C’mon, Lucy, why don’t you introduce me to your friends!” Mira suggested. Lucy blinked at her, already being pulled forward by a giggling and excited Mira Jane before she had the chance to form any words. Thoughts of maybe-shirtless Natsu’s drifted away as Lucy went back to aweing over how she was linked arms with her idol, and about to introduce her to Lucy’s friends. God, if Loke tried to hit on her Lucy would throw his damn phone in the lake. See how much he’d call her his sunshine then.

If there was one thing Gray was thankful for, it was the privacy of his cabin. And noise cancelling headphones. But he had left those in the jacket he had accidentally stripped out of at Lucy’s cabin, so he was stuck simply ignoring his two mentally imploding bunkmates as he dealt with his own, actual, catastrophe.

He couldn’t believe there was no one else at camp who played the violin. What was worse, was he couldn’t believe he had actually been stupid enough to put down violin as his second talent. He should have put costume design like Loke, or bullshitted and put piano like Cana. But no, he had decided to be a complete dumbass and be open and vulnerable and honest.

And now. Now Gray was going to have to dance.

“I’m so fucked.”

“You’re fucked?” Natsu squeaked, pausing in his spot where he had been pacing for the last three minutes. “I’m paired with Lucy and she’s going to hate me? What if I can’t teach her how to play guitar? What if she can’t teach me how to sing? I’m going to make a fucking fool out myself, holy shit.”

“Yeah, you are,” Gray said flatly. He had more important things to do than coddle Natsu right now. Like planning how to fake his death, which frankly would be easier than turning down Juvia. He hadn’t known the girl very long, but he already had an inkling that she was even more stubborn than Cana. It didn’t help that every time she looked at him it was with adoration. His friends might call him emotionless, but even he couldn’t crush her so flatly. Also, saying no to people he didn’t hate made him break out in hives.

A pair of flying pillows pulled him from his thoughts, both nailing him in the face.

“Oi!”

“Don’t be a dick, Strawberry’s got enough issues without ya agreeing with the voice in his head.” Gajeel grunted, going back to petting Lily obsessively.

“I don’t have a voice in my head,” Natsu scowled. He resumed pacing, sending Gray a middle finger at his disgruntled noise. Gray watched Natsu walk, changing his step mid stride as Happy wound around his ankles, eager for the muffin Natsu had shoved in his pocket at breakfast that the moron had forgotten about. “And I’m not the only one hiding in here. Juvia was searching for ya high and low when I was heading back.”

“Fleeing from Bunny Girl,” Gajeel interjected, still glaring at the wall under Gray’s bunk and above Loke’s. Gray was seriously considering the idea that Gajeel was trying to burn down the cabin with his mind. Natsu ignored his cousin, turning on his heel and pacing back towards the door.

“You don’t have to worry about screwin’ up in front of her like we all know you will, you could sneeze in her face and she’d still basically worship you,” Natsu scoffed. Happy meowed, tiring with his chase and batting at Natsu’s ankle. He slowed, allowing Happy to crawl up his leg and his body so he could perch on his human’s shoulder.

Gray groaned, claiming all three of what were now his pillows, burying his face in them. Maybe if he was lucky he’d suffocate and this conversation would end.

“Is she like this with everyone she meets?” he asked, not really caring if Gajeel or Natsu heard him.

“Nope,” Gajeel said flatly, shattering all of Gray’s hopes.

“Whyyy,” he complained, smothering his whine into his pillows. Great. He was going to act like a dipshit in front of a girl who had an apparently massive and unique crush on him. He didn’t know why that thought bothered him, but it did, which meant Gray was not looking forward to these next three weeks.

“Trust us when we say we have no fuckin’ idea what she sees in you, dude,” Natsu said, helpful as always.

“Go jack off to your fantasies of Lucy telling you she hates you,” Gray snapped.

“Why, you wanna listen in or something, you pervert?” Natsu snarled back. Gray threw Gajeel’s pillow at him, cursing to himself when he almost hit Natsu’s dumb cat. Fucking cheater had an adorable built in shield that stopped Gray from maiming him. Natsu sneered at him, lips twitching between a frown and a smile at their fighting. Why were his friends so weird.

Shit.

Natsu wasn’t his friend and he definitely didn’t think that. He was getting cabin-fever was all. Or the stress of mentally preparing himself to do a musical number from Cats was getting to him. Yeah, that made more sense.

Gray looked back at Gajeel.

“Why the fuck are you so catatonic?”

“Shove it,” Gajeel grunted. Lily sat in his arms, not minding the heavy pets his human was using on him, obviously used to being Gajeel’s comfort in times of stress. What the giant had to be stressed about that Gajeel couldn’t punch into submittance was beyond him, but Gray wasn’t about to risk being said punching bag.

“Nah, pervert here has a point,” Natsu agreed, crossing his arms over his chest. Happy chirped in agreement, a strange ‘aye’ sound that made Gray think he’d choked on a kernel of food as a kitten and had done some damage that Natsu was too oblivious to notice. “What’s your issue? Levy seems nice enough to wait at least three sessions before laughing at your horrible singing.”

“How the fuck am I gonna teach her how to play guitar?” Gajeel asked, more like he was talking to himself than answering Natsu’s question. “She’s the same fucking size as it!”

Gray wondered if Gajeel knew how often he said ‘fuck’.

“I’m more worried about how she’s going to teach you how to sing,” Gray said instead of answering his question.

Natsu held up his hand for a high five from Gray.

Gray threw Natsu’s pillow back at him, hitting him in the face. Happy meowed angrily as his perch was disturbed, jumping from a sputtering Natsu. Gray blinked in surprise as the cat was suddenly on his bunk, having scaled the bed. He curled on Gray’s shins, purring as the fluffball pinned Gray to his bed.

“Oi!” Natsu spat, glowering up at Gray. He ignored how the yellow was still noticeable on Natsu’s jaw, and the following twinge in his gut, scowling at Natsu before a smug grin broke out and he began to pet Happy. “Don’t steal my cat!”

“He chose me. Blame Fluffy here.” He mocked. Gajeel remained impassive as he pet his own cat and muttered to himself about breakable girls and guitar scales. Natsu sneered at him, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets as he stopped pacing the room, finally.

“His name’s Happy and ya know it!”

Gray snorted, looking back at the cat curled into a tight ball on him. He didn’t know that many cats, and as he scratched behind an ear and pulled deeper purrs he wondered if they were all clingy like Happy seemed to be. Then his mind drifted to other cute, clingy, blue creatures and he flopped back into the bed with a groan. How the fuck was he going to deal with Juvia? What if he was weak to her wide eyes? Would he snap at her and make her cry? God, he hated when girls cried. What the fuck was he supposed to do with his hands? What if she tried to touch him while they danced? Gray didn’t do casual touching.

“Do you really think Lucy will hate me?”

Gray whipped his head back at Natsu, the dumbass having lowered his gaze and worrying his lip after asking his question. He pulled on the edge of his beanie, dragging the dark gray fabric down so no part of his hair escaped it. Gray scowled as he thought about how it looked like Natsu was trying to hide in the damn fabric.

“Of course not,” he spat, huffing as he looked away from Natsu while sitting up. Because he didn’t want to look at him. Not because he looked like a fucking puppy with hopeful and wide eyes as he gave his full attention to Gray. His hair might be natural but Gray was adamant that he wore coloured contacts. “I don’t know why but she’s decided she likes you, and once Lucy has decided you're her friend literally nothing you could do can change that. Trust me.”

“She’s not just being nice and pitying me?” Natsu asked, hope gone from his expression as he looked over Gray warily.

“Oh definitely,” Gray yawned. He scratched under Happy’s chin, smiling to himself at the loud purrs he pulled from the odd coloured cat. He sensed Natsu’s mood drop, his smile slipping from his face slightly. “But that’s just because I can’t fathom a reason as to why I’d hang out with you outside of being bunkmates, and in case you haven’t noticed, Lucy’s a bit better at not being a horrible person to other people than I am. Actually likes most people too, that freak.” Gray snorted. Happy rolled into his back and batted at Gray’s hand, both offering his white tummy for belly rubs and threatening Gray’s wrist. He decided it was worth it and rubbed the softness of Happy’s stomach.

“Okay,” Natsu said. Gray looked away from Happy, quickly turning back to the cat when he saw Natsu’s small smile. It was a little shy, a little soft. It was sickening.

Happy meowed once before slinking away from Gray and abandoning him. He curled onto Gajeel’s lap next to Lily and Gray couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

“Juvia means well,” Natsu called suddenly. “She can be a bit crazy, and weird, but nothing she ever does is fake or half hearted. You don’t have to worry about what she thinks of ya, Numbnuts.”

That wasn't what he was freaking out about, but Gray nodded anyway, appreciating Natsu’s attempt. “Ok, no need to worry.”

“But are you sure Lucy doesn’t hate me.”

Gray groaned, loudly and trying to convey all of his annoyance through a single sound.

“Oi,” Gajeel called. Gray looked at him, ignoring Natsu’s resumed pacing and wringing of Gajeel’s pillow in his hands. “You hurt Juvia and I’ll kill you.”

Gray let his head fall back into his pillow. He really fucking should have put ‘more drums’ as his second talent.

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