#HES THE FUCKER RESPONSIBLE FOR ME WANTING TO BE A FIREFIGHTER

[sarai-the-furry]

AUUUU SO THIS PAST SATURDAY I FINALLY WENT ON MY RIDE ALONG WITH THE FIRE DEPARTMENT THATS OUTSIDE MY NEIGHBORHOOD AND IT WAS FUCKIGNFN AWESOME

I was there from 8am to 8pm and we only got 5 calls the entire time I was there

First call: fire at a local fast food place

Second call: structure fire but we were called off en route, ended up going to Walmart to buy some stuff for dinner and breakfast

Third call: some crazy burning plywood in a burn barrel behind a gas station

Fourth call: lift assist

Fifth call: another lift assist

I REALLY WANT TO DO ANOTHER RIDE ALONG TO REALLY SEE IF BEING A FIREFIGHTER IS MY CALLING AAAAA

So sad that their main rig (ladder truck) was outta commission and we were using a pumper that belonged to a different station i think. I still had so much fun tho!! Im hoping I'll be able to do a ride along with the same station and shift when they get their normal rig back from the shop auauauauaua

[luckycharmdust]

Get Me, FunPoison

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29127885/chapters/71564064

Warnings for injury, major character death, and grief

I don’t know if i like this one or not, but thanks for the ask!

writing below the cut:

“You good, Pois?” Jet asked as Poison climbed in the passenger’s seat of the ‘Am. They took the driver’s seat and started the engine, feeling a bump as the car ran over the body of one of the dracs they and Poison had just ghosted. Jet thought they saw Poison wince at the movement. A glance to the right and they were even more concerned. “Dude, you’re covered in blood.”

“It’s just drac blood, don’ worry. Not mine,” they said, but they held themself too carefully and spoke through gritted teeth, and Jet didn’t buy it for a second.

“Can you make it to the diner?”

“I told you, Jet, nothin’s wrong. ‘M all good.”

“Motherfucker,” Jet cursed as they stopped the ‘Am as gently as they could. Poison was a pain in the ass when they weren’t hurt badly - Jet had heard enough of their complaining about skinned knees to know that much - but they always tried to hide serious injuries. Something about not wanting to worry the crew or waste supplies.

“Show me where you’re hurt,” they said as they got out of the car and circled around to Poison’s side.

“‘M not!” they protested.

“Don’t pull this shit. Not like Ghoul did.”

Jet helped Poison out of the car and their words hit them late. “Ghoul?” they asked, confused, before their legs gave out and they fell to the sand. Jet dropped to their knees beside them and leaned them against the side of the ‘Am.

“Tell me where you’re hurt, Pois,” they ordered, but figured it out pretty quickly from the growing bloodstain on Poison’s thigh.

Poison let out a small shout as Jet pulled the fabric of their pants up off the wound so they could cut it off without accidentally cutting Poison’s skin. Their knife, freshly sharpened, cut through the fabric in one stroke and exposed Poison’s wound.

“Destroya,” they cursed. A raygun blast has hit Poison’s thigh straight on. The area around it had a bad flashrash that Jet knew had to be cleaned lest an infection set in. It might be too late for that, though, considering Poison had hidden the injury and Jet could spot grains of sand mixed in with the ripped flesh and blood. They were lucky they had a strong stomach.

“I’ll be right back, got it Pois? Don’t move.” Jet grabbed the first aid kit from the back of the car and was back at Poison’s side faster than you could say ‘Sub-atomic never get the best of me’.

Jet narrated their movements as they tried to clean the wound. “I’m gonna pour some alcohol over your blast wound, alright? It’ll hurt but I have to do it, you know that.”

Poison let out an agonizing scream as Jet started cleaning the wound. “Go away!” they shouted, voice laced with pain. “Get away from me!”

“I’ve got to fix you up, Pois,” they said, ignoring their words. People didn’t mean when they said when they were in pain, right?

Poison had resorted to trying to push Jet away from them but they didn’t have the strength to do so. Their screams turned to tortured sobs. “Please, just get Ghoul.”

Jet froze, halfway through dabbing the blood away with a towel. Their voice was quiet as they replayed what Poison had asked for and whispered, “What?”

“Go get Ghoul!” they repeated, hysterical. “Please, Jet. He’s the only one who can patch me up without it hurting like hell.”

“Poison,” Jet started oddly. “Where do you think Ghoul is?”

“I don’t know, back at the diner or somethin’. Just radio him and he can be out here in- ah!” they cut out with a strangled scream as Jet touched the area around the wound.

“You need stitches,” they decided. “I need you to try and stay still as I do them.”

Poison tried to pull back. “No! Why can’t Ghoul do it?”

Jet weighed the pros and cons in their head, before deciding honesty was the safest choice here. Poison may not let Jet do the stitches if they thought Ghoul was alive to do them.

“Ghoul was ghosted six months ago.” Even after all this time, it hurt to say it aloud, especially so bluntly. Speaking it like it was a fact made it all too real.

“What? No, he’s just at the diner. Radio him here!”

Jet sat back on their heels and looked Poison in the eye with a stern, cold gaze. “Poison, listen to me. Ghoul was shot in the gut six months ago, and because he hid the wound and refused medical attention, it killed him. Do you want to end up with the Witch?”

The pain at the edge of Poison’s vision became fuzzy and they would’ve recoiled backward if they weren’t propped against the ‘Am. They remembered. Fuck, they remembered it like it was yesterday.

-----------------------------------------------------

The diner bell rang out as Ghoul pushed the door open aggressively and yelled a warning to the rest of his crew. “Scarecrows on my tail!

“Shit,” Poison cursed as they tossed Ghoul his raygun and grabbed their own. “Ghoul, you take the right side of the door and I’ve got the left. Shoot ‘em as they come it. Jet and Kobra, you two go out back and circle around. Let’s dust these fuckers.”

The four fell into formation like they were born to do it, and maybe they were. This wasn’t their first firefight and it certainly wasn’t their last; well, for Ghoul it was. But he didn’t know it yet. None of them did.

“Down!” Poison shouted as a command to Ghoul and he complied, shooting the first ‘Crow in the leg as Poison hit their mark on its head. The two were a well-oiled machine together; always anticipating the other’s movements a few steps ahead and working with it. Through the window, Poison could see the ‘Crows in the back of the patrol realize that they were walking straight into an ambush, only to turn around and find themselves at the barrels of Jet and Kobra’s guns.

Ghoul kicked the corpse of the last ‘Crow on the floor of the diner, spitting blood into its face. “Fuckin’ hate ‘Crows,” they mumbled. “I’d take two clovers of Dracs over them any day.”

“Couldn’t agree more. You good, Ghoulie?”

“Mhm,” he hummed in response to Poison’s question.

“You better be, used up the last of our supplies on Kobra’s track burn last week. Stop by Tommy’s with me to buy more?”

Ghoul hesitated. “Tomorrow? I’m fuckin’ tired from running that patrol all the way here.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t land a shot,” Poison said, waving at Kobra and Jet as the two came back inside the diner and confirmed they were okay. “Get some rest, Ghoulie.”

“Join me?” he asked, his voice quiet and timid and a stark contrast to how it usually was.

They smiled at their boyfriend. “I’d love nothing more.”

Poison wished they could say that Ghoul made it through the night. They wished they could say that they didn’t wake up the next morning in a pool of his blood, seeping out from a raygun blast in his back.

-----------------------------------------------------

The memory had hit Poison like a train. “Ghoulie,” they let out in a choked sob.

“Almost done, Pois. Just hang in there.” Jet pulled the last of the stitches tight and tied it off. Poison didn’t know if the pain was from their wound or the memory. “I may not be as gentle as Ghoul was, but I get the job done.”

Poison let a wrecked noise escape their throat at the past tense. “I miss him, Jet.”

They focused on bandaging Poison’s wound, but Poison didn’t miss how they faltered. “Yeah,” they said, simply. “So do I.”

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Hey fuckers! I've had this sitting in a doc for a while and eventually decided i wasn't getting any happier with it, so have a missing scene from let me be the one to save you (link here)! This occurs in between Cherri first waking up and the end of chapter three.

Title: coming out of this place/in a bullet’s embrace

Wordcount: 464

Summary:

Cherri Cola and Jet Star have an important conversation. (Missing scene from let me be the one to save you.)

Warnings: very lightly implied suicide/suicidal thoughts, lots of mentions of death, and a lot of guilt from jet.

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen @no-braincells-here @piratecherricola (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

(Actual fic under the cut)

It’s another day before Jet Star visits Cherri again, and they don’t look him in the eye as they ask “How are you?”

“Bored, a little achy, but not bad, overall.” He tries to smile.

“Sorry.” The word is mumbled.

“Jet, what are you sorry for?”

They’re staring at the ground. “It’s my fault you got hurt.” 

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is!”

Cherri pats the bed next to him, and Jet obligingly sits down. “How is it your fault?”

“I asked you to come to Batt City.”

“And I said yes. I could have easily said no.”

“It’s still my fault you were there, though. And then you and Ghoul- you and Ghoul-“ Jet doesn’t finish that sentence.

“Ghoul and I bought you time to run,” Cherri finishes for him. “That was our choice.”

“You could have died, though!” Jet rarely raises their voice, but it’s louder than normal now, more alarmed. “You almost did.”

“I’m not dead, though. And if I had died, it still wouldn’t have been your fault.”

“But-“

“Jet, it is not your responsibility to look after everyone.” His voice is as firm as he can make it. “I’m a grown adult, I can make my own choices. If I had died, it would have been my fault and my fault alone. And I wouldn’t have regretted it, you know why?”

“Why?” Their voice is back down to barely more than a whisper.

“Because I love you,” Cherri says simply. “Because I love Poison and Ghoul and Kobra and Motorbaby. You’re my friends- no, scratch that, my family. I would have died for you in a heartbeat, just the same as I would live for you.”

“But-“

“No buts. I owe you my life, you know.”

Jet actually looks at him for the first time since entering the room. “I don’t think we’ve saved you from Better Living, you don’t fight much.”

Cherri gives them a sad smile. “Saving someone’s life doesn’t always mean a firefight. Sometimes it’s as simple as being there.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m very glad you’re alive, Cherri.”

“I am too. And I’m very glad you’re alive, too.”

“We’re alive because you came with us,” Jet mumbles.

“Then I’m so glad I did.” He reaches out for a hug, and they lean into him carefully. He almost thinks they’re holding their breath, that’s how gentle they are. “Jet, I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me if you hug me too hard.”

“I might,” Jet mutters.

Cherri laughs quietly. “I might not be a fighter, but I’m not that fragile.”

They don’t reply, but they do hold on a little bit tighter, and he rubs their back gently.

"It's going to be okay, Jet."

For once, that's not an empty promise.

[writinginthesecrettrees]

New Year 2008

Currently thinking of Special Agent Matt Guntram, and he’s been elected by the team to knock on Henriksen’s office door because the boss shut himself in hours ago and hasn’t come out.  There’s no answer, not even when he says “Sir, I’m coming in,” pauses for a response, and turns the knob.

Henriksen’s sitting in the dark, slouched over in his chair, a tumbler in his hand and a half-empty bottle of scotch on his desk. He looks up when Matt walks in, squints at the light, grumbles at him to “shut the damn door, rookie,” before he lays his head back on his arm.

“Thought you were using my name now, boss,” Matt says, but he obeys the order, walks into the office and shuts the door behind him. Henriksen grunts, then sits up straighter, pulls a second tumbler from his desk drawer and pours a couple fingers, shoves the glass towards Guntram.

“Drink up, rookie.”

Matt takes the glass, cradles it in his hands as he sits across from Henriksen. “I’m on duty.”

Henriksen doesn’t seem to hear him. “Was savin’ this,” he says, waving a hand at the bottle, barely missing knocking it over. “Thought we’d be celebratin’ because those brotherfuckers were done. Finished. Locked up or dead. But they’re not. They’re out there, somewhere, killing someone right fucking now because that’s how they like to ring in the new year.” He laughs, brief and bitter. “They’ve been ringin’ in the new year with a fresh body since nineteen-fucking-ninety-seven. Eleven years now. Fuck, Matt, they’ve been killin’ since they were kids. I don’t even want to know how long they’ve been fucking.”

“They are sick puppies, that’s for sure,” is all Matt can think to say.

“Little Sammy was all of thirteen, first time I can confirm a kill to them. Their daddy was killing for years. Probably had them watch. Probably killed their mom, way back in the way back. Think he knew what his boys got up to?”

“Does it matter? I doubt John Winchester gave a damn what they did. Too focused on his mission.”

“Hmm.” Henriksen pours himself another drink, holds the tumbler in his hands. “What really gets me is how they keep getting away with it.”

“They’re just… fast. Careful.”

“But it’s more than that. Sammy was killing people when he was thirteen, Dean was seventeen, and no one even caught on it was them until three years back. Kids aren’t that careful, kids get sloppy. And not one witness, not one slip-up, nothing that even hinted at who they were. How’d they do it?”

“Maybe they made a deal with the devil?” Matt tries to smile at his joke, but sitting in the dark office, wrapped in the aroma of scotch and cigars, it doesn’t feel as ridiculous as he meant.

The phone rings then, first bodies of the new year, and he helps Henriksen get his jacket on, straightens his tie, keeps him upright until they get to the plane.

There’s plenty of time for the boss to sober up on the flight to Miami.

🍾

It’s a strip club, because of course it is, because of course Dean wants to celebrate with strippers and champagne.

It’s partially burnt down, because of course it is, because of course Sam wants to celebrate with fire after Dean’s had his turn.

Some of the women were left untouched, died from the smoke while they tried to break through the door to get out of the burning building. Some were less lucky, burned alive because they were left bound alive at the site of ignition.

Two had no luck at all, and the champagne room was practically untouched by the fire, left the carnage glistening red for investigators to find. They’re both tall, brunette, bloody where Dean carved away skin, wrists bound with duct tape holding them suspended from the ceiling, toes barely brushing the floor.

One of them died from a slashing cut to the abdomen, intestines spilling out in slick pink loops. The other’s head is nearly severed, hangs backwards from the body exposing her trachea. The final blows were a mercy to these two.

Agent Guntram and the rest of the team work steadily, taking statements from firefighters and cops, investigating the scene, splitting up to cover the morgue and club, sending info to highway patrol to hopefully find two men in a black ‘67 Impala, and Henriksen says nothing. Stares at the corpses of women he didn’t manage to save this year, stares at their photos in the plane on the way back to DC.

There’s a package on his desk when they get back to the office. He puts on gloves before opening it, finds a bottle of champagne with a gold ribbon tied in a noose around the neck, a scrap of paper tucked into the knot.

Happy New Year Vicky. It’s gonna be a good one for us. ❤️

🍾

(masterpost)

[fieldofcain]

OC Companion Meme!

(thanks to  @yesjejunus​ and @socksual-innuendos​ for giving me the template and telling me to do this! :D)

General

Name: Cain Braun

Location: Wandering in and around Freeside during the day, in his room or the lobby of The Caldera Motel at night

How to obtain: The player walks up and interacts with Cain and has an option to help with a quest to regain lost cargo from raiders and ends up uncovering a lot more than he bargained for.

Companion Wheel

I think we should travel together:

“Alright, lead the way.”

“Sure, what’s our destination, Courier?”

Use Melee:

“Rough and tumble, let’s do it.”

“Finishing ‘em off? Sure, let’s go.”

Use Ranged:

“They’ll be ashes.”

“One shot is all I need.”

Open Inventory:

“Take what you like, just don’t get greedy.”

“Okay, life is a give and take, right?”

Stay Close:

“I’ll cover you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

Keep Distance:

“Sure, I’ll let you breathe.”

“I’ll scope it out.”

Stealth:

“Getting the jump on ‘em, I like it.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

Back Up:

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll get out of your way, sorry.”

Be Passive:

“Sure, but if they go for their weapon, I’ll toast ‘em.”

“Negotiation was never a strong suit of mine, go get ‘em.”

Be Aggressive:

“Time to burn some cells!”

“Taking the fight to them, let’s go!”

Use Stimpack:

“Ah, much better, thank you.”

“Nice, thanks.”

Wait Here:

“Okay, give me a signal if things go south.”

“Sure, I’ll keep watch here.”

Follow Me:

“Getting back to it? Sounds good.”

“Sure.”

Send to the Lucky 38:

“Okay, you can find me up top.”

“Fun, back to the Strip. See you later.”

Send Home: (can be found where?)

“Sure, I’ll be at the Caldera when you need me again.”

“Okay, just be safe out there.”

Injured:

“Ah, shit. I’m gonna need a stimpak here, quickly!”

“This is getting a little to hot for my tastes, I’m getting fried!”

Death:

“Give…my mother…letter…guhhh.”

“I’m…I’m sorry…”

 Aggression: aggressive/not aggressive/very aggressive/frenzied

Confidence: cowardly/cautious/average/brave/foolhardy

Assistance: helps nobody/helps allies/helps friends and allies

Karma: very evil/evil/neutral/good/very good

Perks

“Care-avan Guard”: Cain and the Courier get a 2% hp/sec passive health regen out of combat

“Practiced Hand”: Energy Weapons and Rifle weapons gain a 50% increase to reload and aim speed for Cain and the Courier

(This perk is achieved by getting the ‘Good’ result from Cain’s personal quest)

“Raising Cain”: Cain gains invulnerability from damage for 2 seconds after killing an enemy

(This perk is achieved by getting the ‘Bad’ result from Cain’s personal quest)

 Drops

“The Caldera”:

Legendary Laser Rifle, 50% faster reload and aim speed with fire damage

(3) Stimpaks

Cain’s Leathers:

AV 14 medium armor, WT 4

 Quests and Recruitment

Recruitment:

The Courier finds Cain in Freeside and simply approaches him at either the Caldera Motel or the street. They must be on good terms with the Gun Runners and not have joined the Legion. Upon talking to him, Cain asks the Courier for some help if they are willing to give it. He has been contracted to retrieve some confiscated caravan goods from raiders for a client. His partner has mysteriously disappeared and asks the Courier to be another gun.

Upon acceptance of the quest, Cain will make his way to his room in The Caldera (or if he’s there already) and start gearing up. All loot in this room is a [Steal] prompt. You can either follow him or meet him outside Freeside. Upon arrival at the start site, Cain makes conversation briefly about who The Courier is and who he is before setting out. The player follows him to a location where raiders have set up camp in a cave. After clearing them out, Cain finds his friend’s body with a scribbled note on top. It reads:

“They found me, the fuckers. They’re leaving me for dead. Gecks will get me, or the nightstalkers…damn. Saw some bandits around here earlier, I’m sure they’ll come for the caravan once they see the smoke. Shit, Cain, I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ll make it to the bar tonight. Tell the Runners that…”

The rest is smudged, as if the man was surprised. Cain is sad and says a few words over his friend’s body before turning to the Courier and heading back to Freeside after a brief conversation. He then offers to tag along since they worked well together, but he asks for five hundred caps. Merc’s fee, you know?

Personal Quest:

         Upon gaining enough positive rep with Cain through various means (Includes positive interactions with NCR, kindness to children, mercenary work, etc.) and rep with the NCR, Cain approaches the Courier and asks for a favor. It deals with the caravan mystery that he had come across in the recruitment quest, and he seems to have a lead. One of the caravan hands that traveled with him on his first journey to the Sierra Nevadas was behind the attack on the caravan. Once accepted, Cain is visibly relieved and tells the Courier that he’s happy he has an ally for this one. The old associate is camped out in a parking garage just south of Primm, and upon reaching the destination, Cain asks the Courier to stay their hand if they find the man, at least for a little bit. They are met with raiders guarding the garage. Upon clearing them out, a small office is left, and the door unlocks. Out walks a man, who proceeds to try to hug Cain, who refuses. If the Courier is aggressive and angry in response, it will get Cain angry as well, and after some dialogue, Cain will shoot the man on the spot. If taking the softer approach, Cain gains through information that the man was forced by his employer to do the act…the very same employer who employed Cain. He explains that he must have wanted to hold the mercs in contempt and collect the fee for failure. Cain can also gain this information by reading the terminal in the office if he kills his friend.

Either way, the next stop is New Vegas, in an old office building outside the city. It seems this is where the businessman is based. You can go in guns blazing or take a stealthy approach. Either way, Cain will confront the man about the death of his friend and the man’s greed. The man is not remorseful in the slightest, and even if you convince Cain not to kill him, he will attack, and Cain will kill him in self-defense.

If you let the old associate live and kill the businessman, you will receive the “Practiced Hands” perk.

If you killed both of the men, you will receive the “Raising Cain” perk.

  Ending Slides

Personal Quest Unfinished: Cain continued working for various employers (regardless of their credibility) until a stray bullet ended up hitting his leg, which he eventually had to have amputated. Unable to work, Cain turned to drinking and became a regular at Freeside’s seedier establishments.

 If the Courier sides with Legion and…

Completion ending 1: Cain never did understand why the Courier showed such kindness then sided with such monsters as the Legion. Overcome with a kind of sad resoluteness, he enlisted in the NCR Military, in the hopes that he would one day meet the Courier on the filed of battle and ask why. And if need be, put them down.

Completion ending 2: Cain was furious that the person that had helped him kill his enemies joined with the Legion to kill his friends. He immediately joined the NCR Military and would distinguish himself as a crack shot and a ruthless soldier. If he met the Courier in a firefight, that bastard would be dead before they could say ‘Traitor’.

 If the Courier sides with NCR and…

Completion ending 1: Cain fully endorsed the Courier’s decision and would council them to keep trading relatively free to operate as usual. He knew all too well the dangers of bureaucracy. Whenever the Courier had a meeting to go to the NCR leadership, Cain was always there, giving helpful advice and keeping his friend safe.

Completion ending 2: Cain was all too happy to smoke some Legionnaires, and happily followed the Courier into every firefight. Every time there was a mission to infiltrate and secure camps or even hunt down patrols, Cain was the first to volunteer. He would eventually be known among the NCR troops as “Hurricane” Braun, laser-merc of the Mojave.

If the Courier sides with House and…

·        Completion ending 1: Cain knew that House was a big player in the Mojave, but when he saw what he was, the greed of House put a sour taste in his mouth. He would visit the Courier every now and then to talk and catch up, but he returned to guard-work and did quite well for himself.

·        Completion ending 2: Cain thought the Courier had been had but being a lackey for a lackey was nothing new to him. He continued his duty of guarding the Courier, and while he planned and plotted to kill the skeletal man in the tower for his greed, he never could.  

If the Courier makes New Vegas independent and…

Completion ending 1: Cain knew that the NCR’s grip on New Vegas was weak, so when the Courier booted up the bots and seized control of New Vegas, he wasn’t all that surprised. Maybe a free New Vegas was good? And good it was. Trade blossomed, and Cain found himself on the elite council of guards and caravan masters who could usher in this new era of prosperity.

Completion ending 2: Cain wasn’t too thrilled about the bots taking over New Vegas, but he trusted the Courier with his life, so he stayed. Turns out a free city makes for crime, and while the bots could get most of it, Cain found himself in a position to be security detail for the Courier’s most personal assignments. It is said that a man in leather stalks the streets at night, looking for trouble…

[bow-down-im-your-queen-now]

Happy faces and Boy shorts

Prompt: Its all fun and games until someone accidentally burns the clubhouse down. Or in which the gang always knew Happy was serious in claiming you as his girl, but they didn't realize just how serious he was.

Paring: Happy Lowman x Reader

Fandom: Sons of anarchy

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: Language, Sexual situations, fire

A/N: I adore the characters from this show so i figured it was high time i wrote something! I know the fandom is smaller but i highly suggest checking out the show if you haven’t had the chance yet. Enjoy feed back is appreciated!

Standing in the parking lot of Teller-Morrow clad in only your underwear and a slightly over sized tee shirt at 6 am was not the ideal way you wanted to start your Sunday. Yet there you stood tired, pissy, and barely clothed.

“This sucks.” Was all you whined. Happy simply grunted in agreement.

The shrill sound of the fire alarm had stirred the clubhouse awake a while ago, a slight panic filled everyone as they jumped up more focused on quickly hiding any illegal paraphernalia rather than getting dressed.

“We good?” You mumbled to Happy as you watched the fire department enter the lot to tackle the growing fire. You could only imagine what he might have had laying around his room just ready to get him in trouble.

“Mhmm, don’t you worry girl.” Was all he rumble pulling you closer as the firefighters began to unload from the truck.

It wasn't that long before Gemma and Clay were pulling into the already crowded parking lot. Tig had been the one to call them not long after the fire started.

"Is everyone okay?" Gemma called out as she ran up, Clay in tow behind her.

"Yeah Gem, we're okay, everyone got out in time." You said as you walked towards her. She was quick to tightly embrace you squeezing hard. She held on to you for a while and you didn't have to see the boys to know they were rolling their eyes at her dramatics. She finally pulled away but still held you at arms length, looking at you closely as if trying to make sure you weren't lying. "Gemma I'm okay, we're all okay."

She purses her lips for a second before finally nodding and letting you go. Clay walked up behind her and gave you a quick hug. "Glad you're alright kid."

You smiled up at him and you all walked towards the rest of the group where Gemma attacked everyone lingering around with the same tight hug you had received.

"So what happened?" Clay finally said as he watched the firemen stream in and out of the building, the fire was mostly controlled from what you could tell.

"Fucking Chuck happened." Tig gripped from the other side of happy. "Decided he wanted to make everyone breakfast at the crack ass of dawn, set the kitchen on fire."

Clay sighed loudly bring a hand up to rub his temples. "Idiot."

"He better not have burned those damn hands I bought him." Gemma quipped.

A little while later one of the head firemen began to approach the group tentatively, obviously wary of the tattooed, half dressed, and sleep deprived bikers. Gemma had disappeared into the office and the rest of the men, Clay included seemed disinterested in hearing a lecture from the man about whatever fire hazards were in the building.

"Excuse me, is there someone I can talk to?" He called out as he approached.

Everyone in the group looked back and forth at one another, no one wants to bite the bullet and you finally sighed stepping forward.

"Yes, sir?" You walked to meet him halfway and the guys chuckled behind you.

The man began droning on about the cause of the fire and you did your best to keep a polite smile plastered across your face.

"Holy shit." Tig chuckles as he watched you. "Is that what I think it is?"

This drew the attention of the rest of the men and they followed his gaze to where you stood, back facing them. While listening to the man you had placed your hands on your hips, causing the shirt you wore to rise up without you realizing it.

There on your left ass cheek was a tattoo of a happy face. The top part was covered by your lacy black boyshorts but there was no denying what it was. All eyes turned to Happy shocked and slightly impressed.

"No fuckin way." Jax laughed and Chibs let out an impressed whistle.

"You do that to your girl, Happy?" Tig continued a huge smile stretched across his face.

Happy glared back at the men, pissed that they had been staring at your ass in the first place. He was silent for a second thinking over Tig's words and a smirk crossed his lips finally. "Oh hell yeah."

Laughter erupted from the men just as you finished talking with the firefighter and turned to walk back towards the group.

"Clay there is a laundry list of fire hazards that need to be fixed-" you cut yourself off as you took in all of their wide taunting smiles. "What?"

"Come here, baby." Happy called out reaching for you. Eyes narrowed and watching the men carefully you walked over to where Happy leaned against his bike. He turned you and pulled you between his open legs, your back resting again his chest. His hands moved to rest on your thighs possessively

"We like your ink ______." Jax finally snickered and you frowned for a second unsure of what he meant, knowing that the boys had already seen all of the tattoos that decorated your body. That was except for one. A flush crossed your cheeks and embarrassment filled you.

"Oh my god." Was all you could think to mutter and you could fell Happy's chest rumble with laughter. You jabbed an elbow back into him and more laughter was all that you were met with.

It was at this point Gemma came walking up, having caught just the tail end of the conversation.

"What's going on?"

"_____'s got a-" Tig started at the same time you rushed to say 'nothing'

Tig looked back amused and you sent him a stern look to hush but you knew his mouth would be running the moment you weren’t around. Gemma only rolled her eyes before calling Clay over presumably to talk about what to do next and you narrowed your eyes at the rest of the men daring them to say anything else. Of course, the towering man begins you was also a convincing reason for them to keep their mouths shut but the smirks didn’t leave their lips.

Happy finally patted your thighs motioning for you to move. You stood up from where you had been leaned back against him. He followed suit after you took a few steps away and rose to his towering height.

"I'm going to get dressed." You announced turning around to face him.

The damage has thankfully only been limited to the kitchen and was, considering the circumstances, fairly minimal. The fire department had finally green-lighted entering the building.

Happy only grunted in response, nodding and you smiled beginning to walk away.

You didn't get very far before you felt him being an open palm against your left ass cheek. A small squeal left you at the momentary sting that followed and you whirled around to glare at him although there was no heat in your gaze.

"What was that for?"

"Mine." Was his all he responded with bluntly. And you rolled your eyes at his stake of claim.

"You're barbaric, Lowman." You snorted, you ass still stinging and you knew a red mark was probably forming not that you really minded much. Although yet another flush filled your cheeks as you realized that the sharp sound had attracted everyone's attention.

"You love it." He grinned and a small smirk crossed your lips as you bit your lip and reached a hand out to him.

"You know it." You teased back and he looked at the open invitation you reached out to him.

He took it finally and pulled you closer, his voice lower when he spoke again.

"What's the matter, little girl? Need help getting dressed?" His voice was husk and eyes dark and you were thankful that he spoke low enough for only the two of you to hear.

"Something like that." You whispered back trying not to show how much his words affected you but he saw through it.

"After you." He finally said and you grinned pulling on his hand once more as you tugged him along with you. Happy stood from his bike and followed. A few wolf whistles filled the air as the guys watched the two of you walk away.

"Oh and let me catch any of you fuckers starring at my girl's ass again and I'll gut you." Happy turned around and called out.

You glanced back in time to see a majority of the guys throw their hands up in defense and you piped up once again.

"Aww come on Hap, can't blame them for enjoying the view." You joked shaking your hips for added effect. It was at that point that Happy let go of your hands and rushed towards you quickly. He scooped you up with ease and before you knew it you were thrown over his shoulder.

Apparently, It was going to be a good morning after all.

[faveficarchive]

Mayonnaise and Its Discontents

(The tres exciting third part of a "White Trash" trilogy)

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Zina and Gabrielle head out on a road trip, and trip up on Zina’s exes along the way.

1. Precious and Few are the Moments We Two Can Share

The firefighter filled out the broken-down plaid couch with her long body. A walkman lay against her muscular stomach, and a wire traipsed seductively over a swelling breast, galloped down into the valley of muscle, skin, and tendons around the neck and shoulder, blended into dark tresses, and climbed over the crevices of the ears, where it was attached to an earpiece blaring out beautiful musical dissonance: Black hole sun, woncha come, and wash away the raaaaaaaain….

Her eyes were closed tightly against the world. It had been a long, horrible day. Three fires in one day. Flames, dirt, near-death. She came right home after the third one, exhausted, took a bath, and flung herself on the couch. She craved the oblivion of loud music, so she put on her walkman, since she knew Gabrielle was upstairs studying.

And she calls me insensitive, Zina thought grumpily. I can be kinda sorta sensitive when I want to be. She had drifted off into a light sleep when she felt a familiar weight straddle her lap. The weight wriggled around suggestively. She smiled and opened her eyes.

"Hey stud," Gabrielle said. Her beautiful girlfriend wore a t-shirt that said FIREFIGHTERS DO IT WITH RUBBER HOSES (better than the last such shirt she saw, which said FIREFIGHTERS DO IT WITH DALMATIANS) and a pair of Daisy Dukes—the shortest of blue jean shorts. It's like she's takin' fashion tips from Callie or somethin', thought Zina. (Not that she minded that much.) Gabrielle held a dirty slip of paper in one hand. "I found this attached to the bottom of your work boot."

Zina peered at it. "Uh…looks like my pay stub."

"Thought so. You want it?"

Zina gave her a Look. Then she shoved the earphones back in her ears.

Gabrielle wriggled again. Zina opened her eyes again, and plucked the 'phones out of her ears…again. "What?" A thin line of patience was threatening to snap.

"Zina, do you ever look at these things?"

"Why should I? I know how much I get paid. Plus I really don't want to know how much money the goddamn government is stealing from me." Maybe I should join the Militia…her eyes darkened at the thought. Sure, they were all a bunch of fat wads who could barely pull a trigger, but give her two weeks, she'd whip those pussies into shape, and soon, they'd be chanting her name as they took over the county courthouse…

A slap stung her thigh. "Zina! Stop having daydreams about the Militia!" Gabrielle barked.

The firefighter sulked. Of course, I'm kinda whipped myself.

"Now listen to me. There's this column on your pay stub, says 'Vacation'…"

"Uh huh."

"And under it is a number: 1,055."

"Yeah."

Gabrielle blinked in astonishment. "So…you have over a thousand days of vacation coming to you?"

"No."

"Oh." The little poet hid her disappointment.

"It means I have over a thousand hours of vacation." With this, Zina placed the phones back in her ears, and her head started thrashing in a very Beavis-and-Butthead-like fashion to "Spoonman."

"Holy shit! Over a thousand hours of vacation???" shrieked Gabrielle. Alas, her beloved could not hear her joy. She wriggled again, but got no response from Zina. Then she yanked the earphones out of the lovely ears all by her own self.

She was rewarded with a glare worthy of the most disturbed serial killer.

"Sorry, baby, but I'm trying to talk to you. " Gabrielle replied patiently. Love means never having to expect social skills above a third-grade level, the poet realized.

Zina's black bangs flew as she released an air of exasperation. "All right," she growled.

"Since you have so much time coming to you, why don't we have a vacation?"

The blue eyes blinked at her in utter incomprehension.

"Oh, wow," Gabrielle breathed with awe. "You've never had a vacation. Have you?"

"Vacations are for wimps, Gabrielle," muttered Zina.

"Bull. Every summer, my parents took us on a vacation. Sure, it was usually camping, or Graceland, or something like that…but we always went, every year." And every year it was hell. Her parents always argued, they always got lost, and Lila always won every back-seat slugfest they had. But Zina doesn't need to know that.

"I guess that sounds nice. But my mother's idea of a vacation was following around the Grateful Dead." Zina winced, trying to quash the memories that flooded back: greasy smelly hippie guys pawing at her, portable toilets that—mystifyingly enough—smelled better than the guys did, spilled beer going rancid in the harsh sun, pot, acid tabs, and more pot, and those goddamned fifteen-minute drum solos.

Hmmm, Gabrielle thought. It sounds like we've both had sucky vacation experiences. "Hey, I've been thinking. Like, as a vacation, maybe we could go visit Effie and those guys. Whaddya say?"

"I've been to Memphis, though."

"And so has Lyle Lovett, baby doll. Well, they aren't in Memphis right now. They're out in the country, recording their second album, at some studio in Tennessee. It’s real pretty, Effie says."

"That sounds cool."

"Yeah, it would be fun, baby. I'm dying to see Effie. I miss her so much. And you—well, Hank would be there…"

"And we could go fishing!" Zina perked up.

"Yeah!" Gabrielle loved to see her happy.

"And then we could play horseshoes! And golf! And basketball! And football! And I'll beat him every goddamned time!!!!" shouted the firefighter triumphantly.

"Honey, I love you, but you are a fuckin' maniac."

Zina beamed at what she perceived to be a great compliment.

***

"Hey, what the hell you doin' on my Harley?"

—Serge Gainsbourg, "Harley David Son of a Bitch"

They simply could not agree on what vehicle to take. Gabrielle thought it too dangerous to ride a cycle all the way there, and Zina said that it would only be over her dead body that they would take the Escort.

"I can't be seen in an Escort. 'Sides, we'd be lucky to make it to the county line in that thing."

"Well, I'm not riding a Harley all the way there. We won't have room to take anything. And my ass will be numb and fall off by the time we reach the county line." Gabrielle rubbed her perfect posterior for emphasis.

The firefighter scowled, deep in thought. "I have an idea." She stood up. "Come on, we're going to Ed's."

***

Ed stood in his bedroom, thoughtfully examining the two bras that he held, one in each hand. He loved the black one, but the material was so scratchy, on the other hand, the red one was a little too red, but it felt so silky…

A banging on his door caused the entire house to shake. Only two people he knew were capable of that: Hank, who was not in town…and Zina.

A squeak of distress came from his lips. Frantically, he stuffed the bras under his mattress and ran downstairs.

Indeed, the sullen beauty stood at his door, wearing her trademark outfit: black shitkickers, a black t-shirt, and faded Levis. This time the t-shirt showed a mutilated cartoon figure and the caption I KILLED KENNY. Well, I wouldn't put it past her, Ed thought. But he sighed with relief when he saw Gabrielle peeking out mischievously from behind the tall firefighter; the thought of a tete-a-tete with Zina was simply too much.

"Hi Ed!" Gabrielle chirped.

"Hey, Gabrielle…hey, Z."

Zina raised an eyebrow. Her knew her well enough to know that this was her way of requesting entry into his home.

"Sure, come on in, guys." The happy couple sauntered in. Zina flopped down in his recliner. She raised another eyebrow. "Beer?" he stammered. She nodded. "Gabrielle?"

"No thanks," replied the poet. "Got anything to eat?"

He ran into the kitchen, grabbed a can of Bud and a bag of pretzels.

Gabrielle tore open the bag. "Got any mustard?" she asked.

He ran into the kitchen and came back with a jar of French's.

"No Grey Poupon?"

"What the hell's that?" Ed said, face pulled into distaste. Why anyone would want to put something gray on a perfectly innocent pretzel was beyond him.

"Never mind." Gabrielle cast a look at her soulmate, who was chugging Bud. "Shall I?" she asked. Zina nodded. She began. "Okay, Ed, it's like this. Remember when you hit the cow?"

He winced. "Oh…yeah."

"Well, you know, Farmer Draco came by the other day…"

"Shit!" Ed blurted.

"Yeah, and he was asking us if we knew who killed his little Bessie Sue…" Gabrielle shook her head sadly. "It just about broke my heart, to see a big ol' grown man like that cry." And it did, although on Zina’s part, the firefighter had giggled at the way the huge, dramatic feathers in Draco's cowboy hat bobbed up and down as he sobbed. "Right, Zina?" The big firefighter nodded dutifully. "And he cursed, and he cried, and he said, 'If I ever found out who killed Bessie Sue, I'll de-ball the fucker with my own teeth!' "

Ed blanched. His vision dimmed and he felt woozy. I won’t faint! I won’t!

"And do you know what we told him?"

Ed bit his lip in fear and agony.

"We said we didn't know. And you know why we said that, don't you, Ed?"

Ed nodded.

"Because you're our friend, and we don't want to see you de-balled. Right, Zina?"

Zina burped in the affirmative. She did concede to herself, however, that she wouldn't mind seeing Ed de-balled...it might be kinda fun, actually.

"And that's what friends do for each other. They take care of each other. They support each other—"

"They cover each other's stupid hairy asses after drinking half the county," Zina interjected.

"That's right," Gabrielle said soothingly. "So! That brings us to why we're here…"

"Whatever you want, take it!" he cried.

Zina bared her teeth in a feral grin. "We want the Impala."

Agony. He knew, someday, that she would ask. Years ago, he, Hank, and Zina had pooled their paltry financial resources and bought a decrepit 1968 Impala. Together they had rebuilt it into a gleaming icon of big, American simplicity. By the sheer good luck of having a garage, he was Keeper of the Impala. Hank was far too reverent of the vehicle to actually drive it, and would only come over and gaze wistfully at it every once in a while. Zina, however, had been "shut off" from the Impala after a particularly strenuous "test drive" that resulted in the tragic death of several chickens (property of the unlucky Framer Draco). But that was two years ago, and Hank had since declared his best friend fit to drive the beloved vehicle, if she chose to do so. And Ed knew that, one day, she would come around and ask to use the car that both he and Hank were too chickenshit to even drive to the Uni-Mart. She was that kind of woman. Fearless. Confident. Powerful. Perhaps a bit of a sociopath.

He sighed, and headed for the garage. The women followed him silently. When Ed flung up the garage door, he whispered reverently, "There she is."

The 1968 Impala, a dark, royal blue, glinted as afternoon sunlight hit its hood. It sat regally, patiently awaiting their ecstatic worship.

"Isn't she...magnificent?" Ed prompted, using one of the biggest words he knew. His eyes misted over.

"Oh…yes!" Zina gasped, delirious with joy.

Gabrielle shrugged. "It's cute," she said flatly, jealous that something other than she could make Zina gasp with delight. It was another annoyance; she already had to battle the Harley for superiority in the firefighter's affections: "Look, missy, what would rather have between your legs—that cycle or me?" she had demanded of her lover one fine afternoon.

The firefighter had frowned and contemplated the question for a long time.

"Let me put it another way," Gabrielle had interrupted the laborious mental process, "can that Harley give you an orgasm?"

Zina nodded vigorously. "It depends on how fast I'm going, and how bumpy the road is."

And now, she frowned at the harmless Impala. This thing probably does her so good she smokes a pack of Lucky Strikes afterwards, Gabrielle thought in a most discouraging way, while two pairs of horrified blue eyes stared at her.

"Cute?" roared the firefighter. "Gabrielle, this is, like, the Super Bowl of cars!"

"Yeah!" Ed cried. "I rebuilt this thing three times—"

Zina turned on him. "My ass! The second time Hank helped you, and the third time I practically did it myself!"

"No, you didn't!"

"Yes, I did!"

The poet rolled her eyes. She leaned against the car.

"Get off the car!" shouted the firefighters in unison.

2. The Ex Files

After procuring the Impala for their impending trip, they went to the grocery store.

It was not Zina's favorite place to be. The fluorescent lights gave her a headache, as did the canned music (currently warbling "I'd Really Love to See You Tonight" by England Dan and John Ford Coley), and Gabrielle wouldn't let her pop wheelies with the cart. So she leaned against the shopping cart while Gabrielle tossed box after box of Pop Tarts into the metal receptacle. "Blueberry, brown sugar, fudge, cherry…" she rattled off each flavor as they landed in the cart.

The firefighter sighed, and looked to the end of the aisle. What she saw there caused her blue eyes to narrow into such hardened blocks of ice that not even Sharon Stone in her Basic Instinct incarnation—armed with her trusty little icepick—could have cracked them.

Gabrielle was not totally oblivious, in her Pop Tart delirium, to notice her girlfriend's change of mood. "Zina…what's wrong?" she asked as Zina stormed past her, toward a display in the frozen food section. Pulling the cart behind her, she followed Zina to the end of the aisle.

Many plastic containers of a strangely colored liquid formed a small pyramid, which paid homage to an arrogant-looking young woman featured in the cardboard poster that loomed over the plastic cups. The poster read thus: "Julie Caesar, Olympus County's very own Martha Stewart and host of WAR-TV's 'Conquering with Cooking,' presents the latest delicacy from her kitchen: Barbecue-Salsa Mayonnaise!"

"Ya want some, Zina?" the poet asked.

The firefighter regarded her with eyes of rage and incomprehension. "Do I want some?" she hissed violently at her small companion. "Do I want some!!" she repeated incredulously.

"Baby, chill out, okay? If you don't want to try it, don't sweat it."

"Gabrielle, you don't understand," growled Zina, waving at the display, knuckles pounding the cardboard image of the smirking yuppie goddess, "this BITCH stole my recipe!!!"

The little poet blinked in disbelief. The only culinary effort she had witnessed her girlfriend perform had been to mix Rolling Rock, Heineken, and tabasco sauce together and declare it a "cocktail."

"She stole my idea! She betrayed me!" wailed Zina.

"Oh no…" Gabrielle moaned. "Don't tell me…another ex-lover, right?" How many were there? On top of Artie (loser!), Hank (can’t fault Zina here, the man is flawless), Ed (doesn't really count)…there was Callie (bitch!), Midge from the gas station (who kept calling Gabrielle "little lady," whenever she got gas—bitch!), Nancy, who managed the automotive section at the Wal-Mart and still gave Zina "discounts" not to mention lingering, lovestruck glances (bitch!)….

And then there was Lao Ma.

Lao Ma, the beautiful woman who ran the Green Dragon, the Chinese take-out restaurant, whose Hong Kong movie career did not take ("Don't even say the name Michelle Yeoh to me," she once murmured in her calm, menacing way to a customer who dared to ask), who always gave Zina vaguely obscene fortune cookies ("Lick a pearl every night to refine your oral skills") and who offered Gabrielle cryptic commentary whenever she would pick up their order ("Noodles are soft, but who could withstand the raging lo mein?").

Gabrielle sighed and seethed, hands on hips. "Well?"

I'm not talkin' about movin’ in...

Zina rubbed the back of her neck in that way she did when she was uncomfortable.

...and I don't want to change your life...

"Look, Zina, just tell me. Did ya lay her or not?"

...but there's a warm wind blowing and...

"Aw, shit, Gabrielle." Translation: Yes.

...blah blah blah blah...

"Jesus H. CHRIST in a frigging HAYSTACK, ZINA!!! How many are there? Will the REST OF MY LIFE be plagued by the PERIODIC UNCOVERING OF SOME PIECE OF ASS YOU SCREWED WHILE YOU WERE THE BIGGEST HO IN THE COUNTY?"

...and I'd really love to see you tonight...

"Uh, yeah, quite possibly," mumbled Zina.

***

"Oh, man," Cyrene moaned, burying her graying head in her hands. "Zina said I'd tell you everything about her and Julie Caesar?"

"Yeah, Cyrene, she's way too pissed to talk about it. We kinda fought about it." Gabrielle was in the farmhouse kitchen with Cyrene, Zina's mother, who sat at the kitchen table while Gabrielle put away groceries.

"'Kinda?'" Cyrene echoed sarcastically. When she had arrived on the scene Zina was tearing off on the Harley while Gabrielle was screaming after her, "You suck! And I don't mean in a good way either!" from the porch.

"Okay, you saw it. We fought. But just before she left she said you could explain everything." She tried to mask the nervousness in her voice. What would the raging Zina do? Would she get thrown out of "Hooters" again? Would more of Farmer Draco's errant livestock suffer at her murderous wheels? She needed the full story, so that she could help her lover rein in those sociopath tendencies. Not to mention her own jealousy.

"I need my bong," the older woman muttered, digging through her purse. With expert hands, she loaded the bong with pot contained in a little black plastic film canister. She lit up, and offered it to Gabrielle.

"No thanks, I only smoke when I study now." Gabrielle had decided to cut back on the pot-smoking for a while, ever since making the declaration in her Film Aesthetics course that Baseketball was "A Citizen Kane for the 90s."

"Okay," Cyrene sighed, "here we go. It all happened, oh, about 10 years ago. Or maybe it was 8. Or 5…."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, it was when Zina was still Bad." The way Cyrene said it, one automatically knew that "bad" began with a capital B.

"Oh…" replied the poet. While her voice retained a forced tone of neutrality, she squirmed in delight. Ooooh…bad = sexy. Sexy sexy sexy. Hello, my name is Gabrielle and I'm addicted to Bad Girls. I realize I am powerless over my addiction to sullen brunettes…

"Yeah, honey, she was Bad. What I'm about to tell you won't be pretty. But we Amphipolittis—like most Italians—have always been a honest, proud family, unashamed of our mistakes."

Gabrielle frowned. "I thought you guys were Greek."

"Whatever." Cyrene waved a bejeweled hand.

3. The Obligatory Flashback

As the Harley tore down the street, Zina was comforted by the cool .45 nestled against her trim waist. Ever since the last time she got out of jail, she had stopped carrying the gun all the time, just in case she got busted again, but whenever she saw her parole officer she brought it along. It was very effective to let the sweaty bastard catch a glimpse of the steel. It kept him off her back.

She pulled into the parking lot of the municipal building, where the his office was. She parked the bike and started to swagger toward the main entrance when an altercation near a white Volvo caught her attention. A grungy young man was trying to divest a yuppie-ish young woman of her ownership of said Scandinavian vehicle of marvel.

"C'mon, lady, hand over the goddamn keys. I got a gun." The dude had his back to Zina, who crept over to them, unnoticed.

The woman had a stylishly messy, Beatlesque haircut, and wore a blue rain slicker, chinos, and those very preppy LL Bean kinda shoes. Hey, is she a dyke or what? Zina thought, as she watched the woman arch an imperious eyebrow at her would-be assailant.

"I'm sorry," she replied in oily, unctuous tones, "but I'm unable to comply with your...rude request. You see, I just had my car cleaned, and I don't allow vermin inside."

"Vermin? What the hell are you talkin' about, lady? I ain't a deer!"

"Let me amend that. Stupid vermin."

The man gave a growl of rage, and as he reared back an arm to hit her, he found his limb ensnared in Zina's powerful grip.

"Hey, ya need this?" growled Zina, squeezing and twisting the arm painfully. With her other hand she pulled out the .45 and grazed it against his sweaty cheek. "I dunno if you have a gun, but I sure do, so I think you should get your sorry ass outta here right now."

Perhaps she only imagined it, perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Zina later thought that, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a rather fascinated—and pleased—look on the woman's face. Almost like she was turned on.

"Okay! Okay! Lemme go!!" he cried.

"No, no, wait a minute. First, you gotta squeal, like a pig."

"What? You outta your damn mind?"

She pressed the barrel into his cheek.

"Weeeee! Weeee! Soooo-EEEEEEE!!!"

Zina unleashed a demonic laugh. She released the sad man, this victim of her recent screening of Deliverance, and gave him a boot in the ass as he stumbled, then ran away. She was still laughing as she turned her attention to the woman who, despite the fact she wasn't blonde, was still kinda cute.

The woman examined her from head to toe, with no discernible emotion on her face except a detached yet intent curiosity. "Hmmm, I suppose I must thank you for your assistance," she murmured regretfully, as if she hated the thought of being indebted to anyone.

Zina transformed her smirk into a dazzling grin, as she decided to do the "aw shucks" routine, which usually charmed the pants off these suburban mom-potential-lesbo types. "Weren't nothin', ma'am. Glad to help."

The woman was not instantly charmed. She continued to look at Zina in that same dour, supercilious manner. "You're...interesting, for someone of your class."

"Class? I'm not in high school anymore, ma'am. But when I was, I would usually cut 'em."

"What's your name?"

"Zina."

"How intriguing. Like that strange alcoholic drink they market nowadays."

"Don't start with that." Zina dropped the cute act. She'd had enough Zima/Zina jokes to last a lifetime.

"I won't," the woman responded coolly.

Zina skulked a little. This wasn't going her way at all. "So, uh, what's your name?" she mumbled, striving for politeness.

The woman looked shocked. She smirked. "You mean you don't know who I am?" she asked, tone dripping with condescension.

Zina frowned. "No. Should I?"

"You should. For someday, the world of TV will be mine."

Zina wanted to roll her eyes. She'd heard this on a regular basis from Artie since his religion kick started.

"Tell me," the woman continued, "do you like steak au poivre?"

"Huh?"

The woman sighed. "Steak. Do you like steak?"

"Shit, lady, who doesn't?"

A business card was pulled from silver holder within the jacket. The card was handed to Zina. "Come to dinner this evening. We'll become aquainted." she nodded. "Until then." Then she was in the Volvo and driving away. Zina looked at the card. JULIE CAESAR. CHEF. CATERING. INTERIOR DECORATING. LIFE CHANGES.

The sexy felon gave a confident roll of her shoulders. "Damn, I still got the touch," she drawled to herself.

***

Usually she was reluctant to drive through the more affluent towns because she got hassled a lot by the local gendarmes. But she felt secure as she drove down a winding road in the scarily perfect village of Port Rome; she had a feeling that the business card nestled in her leather jacket would make any pig back off. This suspicion was confirmed when she pulled into the driveway of Julie Caesar's large, mock-Tudor home. She stopped the bike in front of the garage door, next to the Volvo parked there, and no sooner had she hopped off than she heard the furious barking of dogs.

Two large Dobermans rounded the corner of the house. The dogs paused and regarded her in the same supercilious manner that their owner had earlier in the day. Then, as if a light bulb went off over their collective little canine heads, they charged toward her.

Zina barely had a moment to jump, with unerring grace, on top of the Volvo. The dogs were deterred by this; they seemed reluctant to jump on the car, probably because she trained them not to, guessed the worried con. But they jumped and bounced around the vehicle unceasingly, barking, their jaws snapping. A vicious line of dog drool splattered angrily against one of her boots. Shit, I wish I brought my gun!

"Pompey! Crassus!" A woman's voice boomed from the walkway along the side of the house. Julie appeared, wearing a denim apron, frowning with disapproval at the beasts. "Heel!" she commanded.

Immediately the dogs were transformed into meek, whining creatures. They both sat down obediently, awaiting their mistress's next order.

Julie pointed toward the backyard. "Go!"

Tails between legs, the dogs galloped away.

Zina took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart. "Jesus, that's a real suburban kinda greeting."

"I'm sorry about that. They're angry that the steak I'm making is for you, not them." Julie smiled. Zina blinked. No, wait, she really smiled.

"Yeah, I guess they were just doing their job."

"They were. They don't get much excitement out here. They haven't attacked anyone in long time, poor dears." Julie sighed, and stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should go back to catching live rabbits for them...."

Zina's baby blues went wide with horror. "Rabbits?" Bunnies? Little fluffy bunnies? And people think I'm some bad-ass psycho?

"Yes," drawled Julie. "And once they kill them, I can make a lovely rabbit stew. Now do come inside."

"Okay." The con did not budge.

"Zina."

"Huh?"

"That means you have to get off my car. Please."

Once inside, Zina was sitting on the immaculate counter in the well-equipped kitchen, the kind she had only seen in magazines, where copper pots and pans hung from ceilings, where little chopping machines were neatly lined up like sentries, where there was a dishwasher...where everything gleamed. She fully expected her new friend to yell at her to get off the counter, but Julie merely smiled indulgently and handed her a cold bottle of beer. "Want a glass?" the hostess asked.

Zina's eyebrows furrowed. "For what?"

"Never mind."

Shrugging, Zina tried to read the label of the bottle she'd been handed. Except it was in French or something. "What the hell's this?"

"It's a pilsner."

"A what?" I thought she said it was beer.

"It's a kind of beer, my dear Zina. Try some. It's actually quite good."

"I will." She looked at Julie. "So, uh, you cook for a living?"

"Not exactly. I do many things. I cook. I entertain. I show people how to make their miserable lives worth living. I think it's useful."

Zina snorted. "Sounds like you got all the bases covered."

Julie raised a triumphant eyebrow. "I do. It's all one big marketplace when you look at it, but if you break it down, it's quite easy to conquer. Just remember, Zina: divide and conquer."

"Whatever." Zina sniffed the bottle suspiciously, and took a tiny sip. "Mmmm...not bad," she said with grudging surprise.

"I'm glad you like it. Now come into the living room."

Does she talk to everybody the way she talks to her dogs? wondered Zina as she followed Julie into the huge, rustic-looking living room. A fire blazed. The con stood and surveyed the living room with the same awe she did the kitchen. "Wow. Nice."

Julie indicated the couch next to the fireplace with a wave of her arm. "Sit."

"Uh, I'm okay standing."

"Really?" Another arching of the eyebrow.

I gotta learn to start doing that, it's kinda cool. "Yeah."

She wasn't prepared for the playful shove from the domestic dominatrix. "I said...sit." Zina landed on the couch with an oomph. Through much skill and experience, she managed not to spill the beer.

But Julie had a skill all her own. Before Zina knew it, her belt was unbuckled, then her jeans were unbuttoned, unzipped, and flying at half mast, around her knees.

Her body contracted in delight at her hostess's firm ministrations. I'm drinking beer and getting head all at once. I think I'm in heaven. If only the TV were on....Her eyes flickered to the remote sitting on the coffee table, just out of reach. She stretched out an arm in vain.

***

Gabrielle nearly choked on her fourth Pop Tart. "Ugh, Cyrene, she really told you...about the sex stuff?"

Cyrene had propped her weary head in one hand. "Yeah, honey, she did. Like, during that whole time period we both gave dysfunctional a bad name, you know? And she was so taken with Julie, so...she just couldn't help herself. I think she really dug the power trip Julie was on. She always liked chicks—and guys—like that: Powerful. So it's kinda surprising she fell for you."

Gabrielle scowled.

"No offense, honey. You know I think you're the best thing that's ever happened to her."

The poet was assuaged for the time being. "Thanks, Cyrene. But, uh, I was wondering—"

"What, Gabrielle?"

"Um. Well, Zina doesn't, you know, still tell you, uh, intimate details, does she? You know, like about her and me?"

Cyrene laughed and waved a hand. "Oh, no way, honey. We don't do that anymore."

"Heh." Gabrielle chuckled with relief. "That's good."

"I mean, she doesn't have to."

"What?" Gabrielle asked uneasily.

The older woman snorted. "Hell, honey, the fact that you have her limping and bowlegged about every week speaks volumes, doesn't it?"

Gabrielle buried her face in hands. Shit, I bet no one buys that "I hit a really bad pothole on my cycle" story....

There was a knock at the kitchen door. From the window both women could see red flashing lights. "Uh-oh," Cyrene mumbled, shoving her marijuana and all its accouterments in her purse, and making a mad dash for the upstairs. Gabrielle waited patiently for the older woman to make her getaway, then answered the door.

Zina stood scowling, arms folded, with a tall female police officer behind her, who was grinning under the penumbra of her big state trooper hat.

Gabrielle sighed. "Hi, Officer Minya."

"Hi, Gabby!" responded the cop enthusiastically. "I believe this big bundle of joy is yours." She tapped Zina’s arm with a nightstick. The firefighter snarled at her.

"Yeah," Gabrielle groaned, "it sure is. What was it this time?"

"Not drunk. Just disorderly conduct. Punched out some dude at the Saddle who said Sammy Sosa sucked."

"I’m tellin’ ya, McGwire is nothing but steroids!" roared Zina.

"Yeah, yeah, put a lid on it, smart ass. So whaddya wanna exchange for her this time, Gabby?" Two months ago, after a similar incident when Zina was accompanied home by Officer Minya, the policewoman delicately suggested that she would be willing not to let Zina sit in jail for a night if she could have something in exchange. Gabrielle had given her a chicken salad sandwich. Then another time it was left-over pizza. The poet frowned. This could not go on, she decided. Zina needed to be taught a lesson. "Okay, Minya. How about a whip?"

The cop’s eyes lit up. "Awesome!" she gurgled.

"No!" Zina wailed. "Not my whip!"

"Yes, missy, your whip!" Gabrielle cried triumphantly. "And if that don’t teach you to behave yourself and stop getting into fights, I’ll give Officer Minya your Harley next goddamned time!" With that, the poet stomped up to the bedroom, got the whip, and delivered it to Minya, who thanked her profusely and left.

Zina sulked at the kitchen table. "You just gave away my, my…pride and joy. My womanhood. My, uh…"

It always amused Gabrielle when her companion tried to get deep. "Lay off it, baby. You can always get another whip. Look, I know you’re pissed about this Julie chick, but let’s just try to think about this thing. Maybe we can get her to come around to our way of thinking." She grinned.

4. The Bimbo Bard

"I decided to be what crime made of me."—Jean Genet

"Consequences, schmonsequences. As long as I’m rich."—Daffy Duck

The usual suspects swarmed outside the studio where "Conquering with Cooking" was filmed every week. Julie eyed them with disdain: women, housewives old and young, mindlessly following her every dictate. She sighed with the burden of it all. When, she thought, will I see a fresh face, someone interesting, someone...

Her eyes fixed on someone near the end of the line. Like that. A young beauty. Strawberry blonde. Sucking a bottle of Nestle Quik through a straw. Young. Coquettish. Ah, my Lolita! thought Julie, as she surveyed the young woman, who was dressed like white trash, no doubt about it: green halter top, scandalously short shorts, little hiking boots from which gray and red tube socks peeked out mischievously. But her beauty easily defeated all those shortcomings. As her crimson lips wrapped around the straw yet again, her lovely gray-green eyes met Julie's.

With studied nonchalance Julie sauntered past the crowd, past the calls for her attention and the hands that tried to grab at her, to this nubile little goddess. "Hello," she greeted smoothly. "thank you for coming to the taping."

The girl nodded. "You're welcome."

"I don't think I've ever seen you here before."

"No, this is my first time," she replied with a charming giggle.

"Really?" Julie grew inquisitive. "Tell me why." Gently, she linked arms with the young woman and guided her away from the crowd. They turned the corner of the studio hallway, headed toward Julie's dressing room.

As soon as they cleared the crowd the woman had extracted her arm from Julie's. "I've become interested in you," she said to Julie, eyelashes fluttering like shadows of leaves against a sun-dappled window. Then she slowed to a halt and leaned against the wall, and resumed sipping her chocolate milk.

"I'm glad you've become interested in me, whatever the reason." Julie leaned with predatory possessiveness over the girl. She dragged a finger over the girl's taut abdomen, which rippled like a pond.

"You don't want to know why?" the girl asked, pouting slightly.

This should be interesting. She probably did my horoscope, and determined we were fated to meet. "Tell me."

"We have a mutual friend."

Julie raised her eyebrows: one in amusement, one in disbelief. Who could this waif possibly know among her acquaintances?

"You remember Zina, don't you?" The girl slurped at the drink again.

Julie's eyes narrowed and her spleen made a grinding noise, as if her intestines were mashing coffee beans. "Yes, I remember her very well. An exquisite lay, as I recall."

Gabrielle smirked. "Yes she is, isn't she?"

Julie sighed and straightened. "Now it all makes sense. All right, o concubine of Zina, what do you want?"

"I have a message from Zina: she wants half the profits from the mayonnaise deal, or she reveals your real name to the press."

Julie's nostrils flared. "She wouldn't dare," she rumbled.

Gabrielle smiled the smile of the triumphant. "Oh, wouldn't she, Hermoine Kaputnik?"

***

Zina's efforts at napping were futile. She lay stretched out in bed, staring at the ceiling, possessed by worrying. I never shoulda let Gabrielle go to Julie by herself. That crazy bitch probably cut her up and served her to those damn dogs…complete with a sprig of mint. Or would Gabrielle taste better with parsley? What the hell am I thinking?

She sat up expectantly when she heard the familiar death rattle of the Escort. A car door slammed. Silence. Then the front door opened, and Gabrielle's beloved bellow: "ZINA!"

"Up here," she called down to the poet. Then she heard Gabrielle galloping up the steps. And then she was there, in the doorway, grinning at her.

She melted. She always did, at that smile. Always would. Ever since I saw her across a crowded, smelly bar…and she smiled at me, without even knowing me. How the hell could I not love…that?

"I got good news and bad news," Gabrielle was saying.

"Bad first," the firefighter quickly replied.

"Okay. The bad news is that Barbecue-Salsa Mayonnaise is going under. They're discontinuing it 'cause of poor sales."

"Well, I ain't surprised," Zina snorted. "She probably didn't make it right!" Damn Julie. She musta put in too much salsa….

Gabrielle decided it was best not to go there. She continued: "But the good news is this."

She pulled a wad of cash out of the pocket of her Levi’s jacket. "Payoff. Your half of what she already made."

"How much?"

"Nine hundred." She walked over to the bed, and tossed the money, all 10s and 20s (Julie had gotten the cash from an ATM), into the air. As the bills fell and scattered like leaves, Gabrielle jumped onto her lover. They fell back on the bed in an embrace.

"Blackmailing is fun, baby. No wonder you love being bad," Gabrielle said, after a long and breathless kiss.

"Don't enjoy it too much, Gabrielle. I don't want you ending up in jail."

"I won't. I'm just kidding." The poet indulged in nibbling the firefighter's firm neck. "So can we go on vacation now?"

"Sure…with money like this, hell, we could afford a Holiday Inn."

"Hey, " she said, surveying the money-covered bed, "this is just like that movie…Indecent Proposal." She regarded Zina with lust-glazed eyes. "Which is pretty cool, stud…'cause I got a very indecent proposal for you…."

"Gabrielle, the way you walk down the street is an indecent proposal all by itself…."

"You always say the sweetest things to me!"

***

"Mom, get the fuck off the car." Zina tossed a duffelbag into the open trunk of the Impala. Cyrene was lying on the hood of the car, taking in the early morning sun and meditating…or falling asleep, depending on one's religious beliefs or lack thereof.

"Oh come on, man," the older woman grumbled, not moving.

"Let her go, Zina. She's not doing anything." Gabrielle said from the car’s interior, where she had been sitting for an hour: She was that excited. The passenger door was opened and her legs were stretched out. A curled, worn paperback copy of On the Roadlay in her lap. "Are we ready yet?" she asked her beloved for the millionth time.

Zina slammed shut the trunk. "Yeah, I think so." She walked over to the hood, where Cyrene, sun warming her face, had drifted off into half-sleep, half-sixties flashback: heeeeere comes…the Suuuuun Kiiiiiiing….But her daughter's gruff voice cut into her paisley and psychedelic subconscious: "Okay you, listen up," grunted Zina. She dropped a set of house keys on Cyrene's stomach. "Water Gabrielle's plants everyday."

"And don't forget the plant food," added the poet.

Incense and peppermint…da da da da…

"Right," continued Zina. "And make sure there's food on the back porch for the cats. And give them fresh water every day. Oh, and call the gas company about checking the meter. Cancel my fly-fishing trip with Ed. And cancel my dentist appointment too. Call Tommy Ray at the fire department and tell him that if anyone uses my ax while I'm gone, they're dead. And make sure you call Lila and tell her that Gabrielle can't babysit for her on Thursday."

Cyrene smiled beatifically.

"You got all that, Mom?"

Cyrene opened her eyes, blinking. Whether blinded by the sun or a hashish brownie, she realized that she was talking to Grace Slick, and it was 1967. But why was Grace calling her "Mom"? Oh, it was all so confusing sometimes…poor Grace, fucked up again. Just humor her, Cyrene. So she crossed her fingers for good luck. "Consider it done."

Zina stared at her dazed and confused mother. "Gabrielle, your plants are gonna die."

Cyrene sat up, and slid off the Impala. "Okay, time to get ready for the Filmore."

"Oh boy," Zina sighed, and quickly hugged her mother. "See you in a week, Mom."

Gabrielle stood up and did likewise, in addition planting a kiss on Cyrene's cheek. "Yeah, Cyrene, see ya."

Cyrene stared at Gabrielle. "And Julie Christie too?" she muttered, wandering back to the farmhouse.

"You think she'll be okay?" wondered the poet.

"Yeah, she'll sleep it off." Zina slid an arm around her lover's shoulders. "Ready?"

Gabrielle turned to face her. "Yeah. This is so awesome, baby. A road trip. Just like Kerouac and those guys." She looked at her book. "A trip into the heart of darkness. The heart of America. A voyage into self-discovery." She stuffed the book down her jeans, then took Zina's face in her hands. "I am Kerouac, and you are my Neal Cassady," she intoned solemnly. "Dig?"

The beautiful blue eyes were a tabula rasa. "Yeah."

"You don't know what the hell I'm talking about, do you?"

"No."

Gabrielle kissed her. "I love you anyway." Reluctantly she let her hands slide from Zina's face, and the firefighter walked over to the driver's side of the car.

"But you know," Gabrielle continued, "Kerouac, writing in his diary, called himself 'the buckeye bard.' I'd like to have a title like that, someday."

Zina eyed Gabrielle's tight halter top and skimpy shorts. "How about 'the bimbo bard'?"

As she sprinted away from the car, with Gabrielle close at her heels and threatening serious tickling, she thought, once again, damn, I am so whipped.

5. The Heart of Darkness

"American black hole…

Life’s too sweet to eat like candy"

—Girls Against Boys, "Black Hole"

It was like being in the Twilight Zone: Every rest stop was the same, except perhaps that this one had a Burger King, and that one had a Hardee's, and yet another one had a Sbarro's…Gabrielle fought her disgusted way out of the all-too-moist bathroom (everything seemed wet: floors, counters, toilet seats…) and into the parking lot.

Zina was leaning against the Impala, mirrored sunglasses firmly in place, growling at anyone who got too close to the car.

"Okay, let's go." Gabrielle tossed her purse in through the open window.

They both climbed into the car. The firefighter sat in front of the wheel, unmoving.

"Baby, you okay?" Gabrielle asked, touching her beloved's leg.

"Gabrielle, I want you to know…we're entering dangerous territory here."

The poet frowned. "Dangerous how?"

Zina took a deep breath. "We're in Tennessee now."

"Well, yeah, so what?"

Zina turned in her seat, and took Gabrielle's hand. "You've noticed the radio signals are getting weaker."

"Yeah…so?"

"Gabrielle, very soon…" The taciturn firefighter simply didn't know how else to put it. "Very soon we may be stuck with nothing but country music stations."

Her fair-haired companion, however, set her jaw in determination. "I thought so, Zina. I know it'll be tough, but…I think we can handle it."

6. Postcards from America: An Excerpt from Gabrielle's On-the-Road Journal

At first it was even kinda fun. We just kept making fun of the songs they played. Like on two-shot Tuesday they were playing Bonnie Tyler, and I made up lyrics to her songs: "I Need a Hero" became "I Need a Homo" and "Total Eclipse of the Heart" became "Total Eclipse of the Brain." Zina laughed and that was good. But as the day dragged on it got harder and harder.

And today was the second day without real music. If I hear another Clint Black song I'll kill someone. I hate country music for making me want to listen to Hanson again.

I'm writing this at a diner. Zina and I aren't really speaking right now, 'cause she did something really horrible. Earlier she had to make an "emergency stop" so she pulled over along some road and ran into the woods like a jackrabbit. While I sat there I decided to read a little of On the Road again and started looking for it. but I couldn't find it. It wasn't on the floor, wasn't in the back, or in the glove compartment. I was totally confused until Zina came back. By this time I was standing outside the car. As she walked toward me I noticed something sticking out of her back pocket: It was my book!

I'm not so naive as to think she really wanted something to read while doing number 2. So I said, "Why do you have my book?"

She looked nervous and just shrugged. "I dunno," she said. She is the worse liar ever.

I snatched it out of her pocket, and immediately noticed that a big chunk of the book was gone...then it dawned on me.

She didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed.

7. If You're Feeling Sinister

"So if you're feeling sinister

Go off and see a minister

He'll try in vain to take away the pain of being a hopeless unbeliever..."

—Belle and Sebastian, "If You're Feeling Sinister"

Zina parked in the furthest recesses of the lot. "I don't wanna risk the car getting scratched," she said to her sulky companion.

They were at a mall. A mall that had a Barnes & Noble. Zina knew that this was the only way she could get her girlfriend to start talking to her again: If she took Gabrielle to a bookstore and bought her a brand-spanking-new copy of On the Road.

But Gabrielle sat, arms crossed, unmoving.

"Come on, baby," Zina cajoled gently. "It'll be a nice new copy...I know the old one had your notes in it..."

Gabrielle glared at her.

"...And a love sonnet addressed to me..." the firefighter admitted guiltily.

The poet sighed melodramatically.

"Yeah, I know, I'm totally unworthy of you, but I am sorry, and I'll buy you whatever you want."

Gabrielle was out of the car and jogging toward the bookstore.

Feeling relieved, Zina locked up the Impala and sauntered toward the entrance. However, her satisfaction did not last long. A Barnes & Noble minion handed her a flyer as she entered the superstore, and normally she would not have even read it except for the photo of a certain grinning blonde psychopath: "Reverend Callie de Ash reads from her first book, I Didn't Find God But He Sure Did Find Me, today, at 3 pm."

A clock on the wall indicated that it was twenty till 3.

Zina cursed softly. Although not so softly that the underpaid lackey did not hear her say, "Son of a goddamn fucking bitch."

Quickly she paced through the maze of the monolithic store, looking for Gabrielle. She had wandered in the huge but desolate Art section when she felt a hand snag her arm and, with surprising force, pull her down. She flopped into an overstuffed chair. Why is this whole place like someone's goddamn living room, she thought irritably, as she looked up...into Callie's face. The blonde, wearing a dark brown skirt and matching suit jacket, grinned down at her. "Will wonders ever cease," she sighed. "Thank you, Lord!" she cried with a heavenward glance.

"Callie."

"Hello, precious!" Callie crooned, once again settling her eyes on her prey. The mad minister straddled Zina's lap. "It's so nice to see you again...even though the last time we met you tried to crush my foot." She caressed Zina's chiseled cheek with a finger.

"Stop it, Callie. It was an accident," replied the firefighter through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, yeah, just like burning down my house was an accident. But my time with the Lord has shown me forgiveness, and I do forgive you, Zina. Verrry much," she purred, grinding against a taut thigh.

"That's great...Callie," Zina whispered. Oh boy, if Gabrielle sees this I am in big trouble...not even all the books in the world would get me out of this jam. "Please...let me go."

"What? You're not gonna stay for my reading?"

"I, uh, Gabrielle and I are on vacation..."

Callie stopped lap dancing for a moment. "You mean...oh, of course the little tart would be along. Honestly, Zina, I don't know what you see in her. But I bet I could show you something much better..."

Even through her industrial strength Levi's, Zina could feel the heat of her desire, so much so that..."Callie?"

"Yes, my raven-haired wonder?"

"Are…you…wearing underwear?"

Callie giggled. "Panties are the devil's diapers, my pretty."

I just had to ask.

Suddenly, from the next aisle, they heard a man's voice: "Callie?"

"Oh great, it's my agent," Callie whispered. "He's coming this way." She looked at Zina. "Don't say anything, just play along." She clamped her hands to Zina's face much like one of those little monster spawn from the Alien movies. The firefighter’s head was immobile, thus, she could not turn to see his approach. "The power of Christ compels you!" Callie shouted as he rounded the corner.

"Callie, what are you doing?" demanded a male voice.

"Sweet baby Jesus, Bob, can't you see I'm in the middle of a healing?" she snapped, glaring at him. Then she turned her eyes to Zina once again. "Sister, let the Lord take away your torment and pain—I cast thee out, demons! Beelzebub! Mephistopheles! You are no match for me!"

"So, like, what's wrong with her?" Bob interrupted again.

"Brain tumor."

"Oh." Bob sounded disappointed, perhaps expecting something more exciting, like paralysis or leprosy.

Zina grew desperate. Callie's sweaty palms were suctioned to her head, and she had to find Gabrielle and get the hell out of this crazy place. "I feel it, I feel it!" she shouted.

"You do?" cried Callie, wrapped up in make-believe.

"Yes, I do, Callie! Praise God! I AM HEALED!" By sheer force of will, she catapulted herself out of the chair and Callie tumbled to the floor, legs up in the air, skirt revealing her valley of heaven.

"Oh wow..." Bob murmured appreciatively, as Zina galloped away.

She sprinted down to the first floor of the store, and spotted Gabrielle sitting, with a bag of books, slurping some fine overpriced coffee drink from the espresso bar. She smiled at Zina's rapid approach. "Hi, I just got done, and you know, these flappacinos aren't half bad..."

Zina snatched the large bag of books, grabbed Gabrielle's hand, and pulled her toward the door.

"Baby, I know you hate shopping, but don't you think this is kinda extreme?"

"Not now, Gabrielle, I tell you once we get to the car."

"Zina, what's that wet stain on your leg?"

8. Chuck Connors, Here We Come

The highway was endless. The driver was edgy.

"Zina, relax. We only got two more exits to go."

The firefighter sighed heavily. They were already doing 70, but it felt like 40. With the tiniest contraction of her foot, the speedometer approached 75. It made her feel better. Until she looked in the rear-view mirror, and saw the flashing red lights. "Shit!" she yelled.

Gabrielle looked up from her copy of The Dharma Bums. "Huh?" She turned around. "Uh-oh. Well what do you expect, Zina? You're speeding."

"Goddamnit, if they find out I have a record, I'll get hassled to no end..."

"Don't worry, honey, they won't," Gabrielle assured her as they pulled over.

Zina pounded her head against the steering wheel. "How do you know?" she wailed uncharacteristically, as the large patrolman lumbered toward the Impala. I swore I would never go back to jail….This would be just like one of those old Chuck Connors movies, Escape from Macon County or whatever. They'll lock her up on trumped-up charges, she'll get raped by the inbred deputy, Gabrielle will get sent to the mental institution and they’ll give her a lobotomy and/or electro-shock therapy, and…and…they’ll trash the Impala!

The state trooper's pink face was framed in the driver's side window. "Y'all speeding," he mumbled, eyes unseen behind the mirrored sunglasses.

Zina's own sunglasses mirrored his own mirrored visage. Her jaw clenched.

"Can ah see your license?"

She dug through her Levi's and produced her license.

"Huh," he snorted softly.

Gabrielle scooted closer to her lover. A little too close, Zina thought. Oh shit...what is she up to?

"Where you going in such a hurry, ma'am?" the officer asked.

"Just visiting friends," muttered Zina.

"And whut friends would those be, ma'am?"

"Is there a problem, officer?" Gabrielle drawled. She leaned forward a little, so that he could hear her clearly and see her cleavage. She wiggled provocatively.

"Not yet, miss." Hey, how come I get called ma'am and she gets called miss? wondered the perpetually pissed-off firefighter. "I'm just tryin’ to ascertain here, what the situation is," he said in ominous doublespeak.

"Aw, officer, we ain't doing nothing wrong, we didn't mean to speed," Gabrielle pouted. Oh, I get it. She’s just flirting with him, so he’ll go easy on us. Lessen the fine. "We can't help it. We're just excited."

"Excited by what, may I ask?"

Suddenly Gabrielle flung her arms around Zina's neck, and pressed her curvaceous form close to her beloved. "Why officer, me and sweet pea are gettin' married in Memphis!"

The closeness of her sunglasses prevented Zina's eyes from totally bugging out of her head. Okay, now I have no idea what she’s doing. Chuck Connors, here we come.

The patrolman sputtered. "Whut in Sam Hill you talkin' about? You're both girls! You—you—can’t get married!"

Gabrielle gave her best wide-eyed innocent look. "But officer, didn't you know? Tennessee now allows same-sex marriages!" she nuzzled Zina's hair. "Isn't that right, sugar booger?"

"Uh...huh," Zina mumbled the reply, wondering if there was some quick way she could simply kill the patrolman and be done with it.

"Aw, come on now, lady!"

"No, it’s true! Don’t you read your newspaper?" Gabrielle chastised.

He frowned. No, just the sports page, he admitted.

"See?"

"I'll be damned! This whole country's goin' to hell in a handbasket, I swear!" the trooper spat.

I know...whip off his glasses and stab him in the neck, just like the one guy did to the other in the Godfather Part III. Zina allowed her hand to stray out the window…

"Now, sir, that's no way to speak to a lady on her weddin' day!" Gabrielle pouted anew.

The power of the pout was one of the poet's greatest weapons. Duly chastised, the trooper apologized. "Look miss, no offense, but...I just don't get it."

"Don't get what?" Gabrielle asked.

He threw his arms up in frustration. "Y'all are both girls!"

Finally, Zina spoke. "Look, buddy," she said to him, arms around the flawless midriff of Gabrielle, "let me put it this way. If you were me, wouldn't you want to marry her too?"

"I...I..." he stammered, hypnotized by the green eyes of the beautiful poet. "Never mind. Just fergit it. Just fergit the whole damn thing. Have a nice honeymoon."

"Thanks, officer!" Gabrielle chirped happily. She lurched into the back seat, and brought forth a bag of Krispy Kremes. "Wanna doughnut?"

Well, he thought, warily accepting a powdered jelly doughnut, maybe homos aren’t so bad after all.

9. The Twinkie Defense

Several hours later, the Impala was creeping along a dirt road in scenic, rural Tennessee, in search of the elusive recording studio where Effie and the Amazons were holed up, recording their second CD.

The radio had been abandoned. Zina was so desperate for half-decent music that she permitted Gabrielle to sing every song she knew from Meatloaf’s "Bat Out of Hell" album. The musically challenged poet was currently winding her way through "Paradise By the Dashboard Light": "I gotta know right now, do you love me, will you love me forever—hey, Zina, doesn’t that guy up there look like Elvis?" Off in the distance was a figure standing on the left side of the road.

"Told you not to eat all those doughnuts, Gabrielle."

"No, look!"

Sure enough, standing innocently at the side of the isolated, back-country road, as if he were nothing more exotic than a sparrow, was an Elvis. He resembled 1970s Elvis: chubby, with the spingle-spangle-shiny white suit, lots of jewelry, an unnaturally jet-black pompadour, and big fat shades.

The Impala rolled to a halt beside him.

"Howyoudoin’, ladies," he murmured, index finger and thumb cocked, like a gun.

"Fine, Elvis, how are you?" Gabrielle responded politely.

Zina gave her a Look. Then she addressed Elvis. "Hey, uh, you wouldn’t happen to know where Jimmy Joe Bob Hightower’s studio is?" Jimmy Joe Bob was the Amazons’ producer.

"Youbetcha, ladies. Down this here road just another mile. First turn on the right. Can’t miss it."

"Thanks," Zina said with a nod.

"No, thankyou. Thankyouverymuch." With one fluid motion he flung the white scarf around his neck through the car window, where it landed on Zina’s lap. The firefighter bit the inside of her cheek in an effort not to scream in pure disgust. She let it slide off her legs, onto the floor.

"Bye, Elvis!" Gabrielle waved.

Zina put the car back into drive and they continued down the road. They were quiet for at least a minute.

"Maybe we’ve both had too much sugar," Zina conceded.

"Yeah. Maybe we should lay off the sweet stuff for awhile and just eat potato chips."

***

The sight of Effie waving frantically from the balcony of the large wood house almost sent both women into tears of relief. Zina allowed herself to collapse over the wheel—after the car was stopped and parked, of course.

Then the squealing began. Effie had sprinted down the stairs and ran outside to greet Gabrielle, who jumped out of the passenger side. Soon they were jumping up and down like rabbits on crack, shrieking with joy at the sight of one another. Pony and Sally had wandered outside as well, and contributed to the cacophony of camaraderie.

Zina, eyes closed, head pressed against the steering wheel, weary from driving 8 hours straight, moaned. And this is a goddamn vacation? She tried to block out the jabber of voices and relax for a moment.

She had almost succeeded, when a voice a scant three inches from her eardrum shouted: "HEY YOU DAMN OLD GOOFY-ASSED MOTHER!"

Her head snapped back and her eyes popped open.

Hank was leaning in the window, grinning at her. "Heh, got ya," he chuckled. He pulled away just in time to avoid the furious swipe of her hand. "Hey now, Z, take it easy." She was out of the Impala in a nanosecond. "Car looks great. How’d it drive?" he asked, trying to change the subject. But he knew, seeing the wicked grin on her face, that it was too late.

"Start running, you sonofabitch," she growled pleasantly.

And, with a whoop of joy, he did.

10. The Best Freaky Trip Ever

Sally placed a hamburger in front of Zina, who sat at the picnic table in the backyard. The friends were having a barbecue. Pony and Hank were at the grill, and Sally was serving while Effie made potato salad in the kitchen. "So, did ya see my uncle Pete out there?"

"Huh?" Zina was sufficiently distracted by the question that it afforded Gabrielle the opportunity to swipe the burger from under her lover’s nose. "Hey, you pig!"

"Is that any way to talk to the love of your life?" Gabrielle sniffled with mock tears.

"Yeah, when she eats all my food."

Gabrielle grinned. "So what’s this about Uncle Pete?"

"Did you happen to see Elvis on your way here?"

"Holy shit! Yes!" cried Gabrielle.

Sally smiled proudly. "Well, that was my Uncle Pete. Best Elvis impersonator this side a’ this Mississippi. I sent him out earlier to look for you guys, in case you got lost."

"Wow, it’s nice to know I wasn’t hallucinating," Zina said, who had earlier wondered if, due to her mother’s drug proclivities, she was genetically predisposed to spontaneous freaky trips.

"No, you weren’t," Sally laughed. "I just had to keep him occupied. He’s been driving us crazy, keeps doing his lounge act for us every night, wants to marry us all—"

"Marry?" blurted Gabrielle.

"Yeah, he’s a minister too. He wanted to get Hank and Effie hitched, then he even said he marry me and Pony." Sally rolled her eyes.

"Crazy dude," affirmed Zina, with a swig of beer; bored, she wandered over to the grill to hassle Hank and Pony. It was then that Sally noticed that Gabrielle looked as if she had been hit by a lightning bolt.

***

Zina was firmly pinned to the bed by Gabrielle’s weight. Her wrists were ensnared by the poet’s hands and pressed into the mattress. Gold hair tumbled in her face, and Gabrielle’s scent was sweet, intoxicating…

"Come on, Zina," purred the poet.

"Hmmm?"

"Make an honest woman out of me."

"You’re already an honest woman, Gabrielle."

"Don’t avoid the question."

"Who’s avoiding?"

"You are, bitch."

"It don’t prove anything. It’s not legal."

"I know, I know. But it’s symbolic, ya know? Like showing your love…"

"I love you."

"Prove it."

"Why do I have to?" A challenging arch of a black eyebrow. "Don’t ya believe me?"

Gabrielle paused. Well, that’s a good point. She touched her lover’s face. Oh, I do believe you. And I don’t need to hear a Celine Dion song to know it either. She smiled. Then she nodded slowly. She relaxed her predatory crouch and stretched along the length of Zina’s body, resting her head against a strong shoulder. So, it doesn’t really matter. But…what the hell? It might be fun.

***

Hank wrapped an empty can of Bud in one of Elvis’s disposable white scarves, placed it on the ground, and jumped on it. Up and down. Several times. "Mazeltov!" he roared.

Effie laughed. "You’re not Jewish, you!"

Hank smiled. "Come on, honey, you gotta get in the spirit of the thing."

She grabbed his arm and squeezed it. "I think…there’s been way too much spirit—or spirits—already, Hank," she commented wryly, surveying the twilight backyard.

The tape deck blared as Sally and Pony danced around, and Elvis—a.k.a. Uncle Pete—approached the newlyweds: Gabrielle sat in Zina’s lap, while the firefighter’s head lolled back on the lounge chair, as the two six-packs she drank before the ceremony were really kicking in and seriously impairing her ability to move.

"Congratulations," said Uncle Pete. "I’m sure y’all will be very happy."

"Thank you, Elvis," replied Gabrielle solemnly. "It was a beautiful ceremony."

"Yes ma’am, it was. The weather was perfect, and, you know, I don’t perform that special love medley for just any couple."

"Oh, I know, I know. It was just…great. I’m sorry Zina fell down during it."

"That’s all right, little lady. Y’all take care, now." And he went back into the house.

A pithy one-liner fought its way through twelve Rolling Rocks to Zina’s conscious mind. "Ladies and gentleman, Elvis has left the backyard!" she slurred. She peered at Gabrielle. Who had flowers in her hair. "Did I tell you how pretty you are?"

"About a million times. But keep telling me."

"And I said ‘I love you’ and ‘I do’ and all that stuff?"

"Yeah, Zina."

"So I got it all right?"

"You sure did, baby. Now I’d like you to sober up a bit so our wedding night is not a total bust."

"So we’re…married?" Zina gazed at Gabrielle in pure wonder.

"Yeah. Kinda."

"But not…really." Trying to wrap her drunken mind along the elusive concept was too much.

"Right."

"So we’re both married and not married."

"Gotta love this country, huh?"

"Yeah, but…Gabrielle?"

"Huh?"

"It’s not so bad, is it?"

Gabrielle looked around her. Her friends were happy, and their laughter rang out through the yard. The setting sun slanted and tinged the fading blue sky with gold.

Blue skies, blue eyes. "No," she replied softly. "It’s not bad at all."

In fact, it was pretty damn good.

THE END

[melissagt]

13. Who would go berserk at harm or death befalling the other.

I would have to say the winner there would be Nik - 

I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That) - Meatloaf

“Nik…!”

There it was again. 

Andronikos rolled his eyes to himself, annoyed at being roped into babysitting the newest member of their crew. Newest and most unwelcome. It was like the spy was determined to grate on his nerves in every way possible. He wouldn’t kill him…he promised he wouldn’t kill him. He wouldn’t kill him for her. But, he would have to keep reminding himself that he couldn’t just shove the man out of the nearest airlock.

“I told you not to call me that, cupcake,” he growled, pitching the ship into a barrel roll, and narrowly avoiding a collision with two of the odd probes, or drones, or whatever the fuck it was they’d encountered. They were everywhere, the little bastards, swarming and scrambling their ragtag fleet into an uncoordinated bunch of solitary ships that just couldn’t keep up. “If you’re not gonna help, just sit down, and shut up.”

“I would help if you’d let me.”

“Kinda busy here…!” The pirate hadn’t seen such a firefight since…ever. Not even with Void Stalker. The little ships were crazy fast and packed one hell of a punch. Coordinated too, leaving the allied fleet open to attack from the much larger parent ships. One by one, they were dropping like flies. Nox had told them to bug out, but there was no way that was happening. He would never leave her to-

“Wh…what the fuck are they doing?!?”

His current target, finally caught in a spray of fire, shredded into pieces right off the port gun and Andronikos tore his gaze away to follow the spy’s frantically waving hand. There was no time to react. A massive explosion belted across the span of the ship’s view-port, burning his one good eye with its blinding light. 

What the…NO! She couldn’t! She wouldn’t.

Of course she had. 

At any other time it would have been a beautiful sight to behold. Two ships colliding into oblivion. The best form of fireworks. But not this time. The pirate wasn’t even sure he could believe the scene playing out in painfully slow motion before him. Marr’s battle cruiser, the flagship of their little fleet, the ship Nox had been on, had just rammed head-on into the lead enemy ship.

It was over. Nothing was left. There was no way she could have survived that. Death had finally looked down upon her, on his Sith, and had found her smiling. He knew it. There was no other way she was ever going to go. 

“We need to get out of here!” The disembodied voice to his left was muffled, far away and dim.

Andronikos watched in wooden silence as a shock wave rolled out from the pair of ships, engulfing ship after ship into a building cascade, like an avalanche. Enemy and ally alike, the wave destroyed everything in its path. Good. Let it come. Another spray of fire chinked across the hull near his head. He didn’t care.

“Andronikos…we need to get out of here.” The voice was louder this time, and the sight of a hand materializing near the navi controls spurred him into motion.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he spat, pitching the ship directly toward the looming wave of light. Death could come for them both, then…and by the stars, he was going to take out as many of those fuckers as he could before meeting his end and joining her. 

One down. The ship pitched left. Two. The wave was closer now. More fire pinged across the belly of the ship. Three. Closer. Andronikos couldn’t and wouldn’t brace himself for the impact his head was desperately trying to tell his body was coming. Four. From out of the fuzzed silence, his ears registered a distant raging scream. Any second now.

This was it. The fiery blaze of glory he knew he would always die in.

But then he was on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. The lights blinked down at him, red, green and yellow, almost mocking him as his body registered the shift into hyperspace. No. No! He was supposed to die here!

“What are you doing?!?” he pleaded, scrabbling to his hands and knees. “We have to go back!” He reached for the controls from where he knelt on the floor and was pushed away again.

“Do you really think that’s what she would want?” Theron was standing above him, blocking the controls from sight. “You know it’s not.”

For a moment Andronikos sat there, prone, defeated, his gaze drilling holes through the floor plating. Life was…pointless. Not without her. How could that blasted man even begin to claim to know her? The spy was only a blip on the radar. Nothing. He knew nothing. He didn’t know her…and he most certainly didn’t know him. A growl began to build in his throat, one of anger and frustration and pain. She was gone and…and someone was going to pay. Someone needed to die, right then and there…

But then a hand came into view, offered freely.

Oh, how he wanted to rip that hand out of the socket. Throw it out into space. Feed it to Bacon. But…he couldn’t. Even with her gone, he wouldn’t, no matter how much he might have wanted to. Hours must have passed as every emotion ran through the pirate’s head, every gory detail, but the hand never moved.

“Y-you’re right,” Andronikos sighed, finally reaching out to be pulled to his feet.

Theron’s lips twisted into the slightest of smiles, meant to be a comfort, he was sure, but a sharp crack rang out as the pirate’s fist connected with his jaw, and then his eyes widened in surprise as he fell backwards onto the floor into a crumpled heap.

“Don’t ever get in my way again…”

“Well,” the spy groaned, rubbing at his jaw with a free hand, “I guess I deserved that. But you aren’t the only one here. You aren’t the only one who…” His words trailed away along with his gaze, shifting off into the void before finding its way back. “Feel any better?”

“No. But I get it.” This time it was his turn to reach out, and to his surprise, Theron took his hand without hesitation, pulling himself up quickly. “Whoever was responsible…they’re going down. If it’s the last thing I do, they’re going down in every way imaginable.”

“I’m in,” Theron responded, letting go of his hand to grasp at the pirate’s shoulder. A bold move. He had balls, for sure. “Where do I sign up?”

[dancingwithdylan21]

Slow Burn - Part 2

Summary: The reader is reluctantly setup on a blind date and it doesn’t go as planned. Is there an instant spark or is it a slow burn?

Pairing: firefighter!Stiles x Reader

Part 1 - Series Masterlist

“Your best friend? Well this is a first.” You chuckle. “I’ve never had my date set me up with someone else.”

“It’s a first for me too.” Scott admits to you. “But I think you two would hit it off so why not?”

Hm. This could be a match made in heaven or a complete freaking train wreck. You might as well just give it a try. Scott seems like a decent enough guy. So his friend can’t be much different right?

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Not telling.”

“How old is he?”

“Not telling.”

“Um what’s he do?” You sigh when Scott just smirks at you. “What the hell, man?”

“Listen, I know my friend and he doesn’t like being setup. Like at all.” Scott stresses before taking a sip of his wine.

“Ok…”

“So I think it’s better this way. I won’t mention you before the party. When you show up, I’ll eventually introduce you two and then whatever happens happens.”

“I guess that could work. So if we meet and I’m not interested then he wouldn’t know the difference.”

“Exactly! I’ve set him up in the past and it didn’t go well. So now he’s weary and I want to make sure he gives you a fair chance, ya know?” He explains making you nod in response.

“Then again, you’re drop dead gorgeous so I don’t think I’d have to twist his arm. I won’t be surprised if he asks me about you right away.”

“Can I bring my friend Allison?”

“Sure!”

“Nice! She’s single ya know…” You wiggle your eyebrows.

“This will definitely be interesting, Y/N.” The professor laughs softly.

Oh, yes it will.

~

“So your date hated you so much that he pawned you off on his friend?” Allison bursts out laughing, almost falling over onto the ground.

“Shut up! It’s not how it happened!” You defend sticking out your tongue.

"It could get awkward fast...”

“Then it’s a good thing the guy doesn’t know about any of this. If I’m not that attracted to him, I won’t have to worry about hurting his feelings.”

“This is gonna be so entertaining!” Allison squeals making you roll your eyes.

You check the clock and realize there isn’t much time left to get yourself ready for Scott’s party. You start rushing through your makeup, thankful that there’s no added pressure this time around.

“Are you gonna wear a cute dress or skirt?” Your friend asks, loudly rummaging through your walk-in closet.

“Nah I’m wearing my ripped jeans and a black tank top with boots.” You’re in the process of applying your foundation but you know Allison, she’s behind you with a look of shock on her face.

“And before you say anything…” You spin around. “This isn’t a date. So I’m gonna wear what I usually do.” Like you figured, she’s holding out two skimpy dresses but keeping her mouth shut.

“No! Put them back!” You giggle when she sends a dirty look.

“I’m doing my hair and makeup two days in a row! I deserve fucking praise, not dirty looks.” You glare looking back in the mirror.

“Yeah, you’re right. You deserve a metal.” Allison sasses throwing a rolled up pair of socks at you.

“You’re ridiculous.” You snicker. “Are you ready? I just have to change my jeans.”

Allison nods her head without looking up from her iPhone and you’re pretty sure she’s trying to find a picture of Scott on Facebook. You clear your throat grabbing Allison’s attention and she smiles while you do an exaggerated twirl.

“I must say you do look hot. Let’s just hope Scott’s friend isn’t into a chick who wears pink bows or some shit.”

“Pink bows?! I don’t think anyone’s into that, Argent.” You shake your head.

“You know what I mean!” She exclaims slipping on her platform heels.

“Whatever. I just hope he isn’t the type who wears Lacoste shirts and boat shoes.” You say shuddering.

“There’s nothing wrong with Lacoste shirts, Y/N.”

“If the guy wears one for a certain occasion then fine. I’m talking about the fuckers that wear them on the regular. Like to the grocery store. Too preppy for me.” You sigh heavily.

You hear your stomach rumble obnoxiously and it makes you curse under your  breath. You were so distracted by getting ready that you forgot to eat something. Shit. You really hope Scott has some decent things to eat tonight.

“Ok, let’s go. I’m hungry!” You yell to Allison bolting towards the front door.

~

You pull up to Scott’s split level house and start feeling instant butterflies in your stomach. It hits you that there’s an unknown man inside and you’ll have to meet soon. Ugh. This blind date thing is really getting fucking old.

Whatever. The goal right now is to find yummy food that you can shovel into your hungry mouth. Then you’ll deal with everything else. You glance over at Allison who’s now walking up Scott’s walkway while singing a Taylor Swift song under her breath. She then bounces on her heels while waving for you to follow her.

Here goes nothing.

Before you get a chance to knock, the front door swings opens to reveal Scott who’s looking as handsome ever with a warm smile, ��Hi guys! Glad you could make it.” He says sweetly.

“Hey Scott!” You quickly introduce him to your best friend before he embraces you in a tight hug, the muscled man lifts you off the ground like it’s nothing.

“Wow, Y/N. You look hot.” Scott whispers into your hair. 

He sets you down then turns his attention towards Allison, shyly complimenting her as well. The two dorks both start blushing like teenagers and you take that as your cue to leave.

“You kids have fun! I’m gonna go grab something to munch on.” You ramble already moving away from them.

Wrapped up in your own little world, you speed walk through the busy house to find some much needed sustenance. You fail to notice that since you showed up, Scott’s best friend Stiles has focused all of his attention on you.

You find the kitchen easily and get excited when you see all of the delicious dishes in front of you. Mulling over the options, you grab a carrot from the veggie platter and scoop up some nearby dip. You throw it into your mouth and instantly moan because you love the taste. It definitely has a little kick to it but nothing you can’t handle.

You throw a few more carrots into your mouth, eyeing the teriyaki chicken wings and that’s when it suddenly hits you. Your entire body grows hot, your eyes start to water and your mouth is fucking burning.

Holy hell! You literally feel on fire right now and yet you’re trying desperately to keep your cool in a packed house. In a quiet panic, you search around for a drink that you can guzzle but find nothing that will give you relief.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone stroll up next to you with a drink in their hand. Fuck it. You grab their drink and down it without even looking at them. Of course it’s fucking alcohol so it just intensifies the pain in your throat.

“Are you ok?” A smooth, sexy voice that belongs to an even sexier man makes your heart beat out of control. Damn he’s so attractive it hurts. And you just stole his drink. Wonderful. You continue coughing unable to compose yourself.

“Let me guess…you had some of that dip, sweetheart?”

You only nod in response, making him rush over to the fridge and then pour you a tall glass of milk. You chug it down attractively, silently cursing that only this type of thing would happen to you. Thankfully it seems to do the trick or at least allow you to function better now.

The helpful man starts chuckling at you, “So I see you like my dipping sauce. It’s called Hella Spicy.” He smirks making your eyes bug out.  

“Dude! You should label that or something!” You gesture to what you’ve deemed as freaking evil in a bowl.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He gives a mischievous grin.

Oh boy. He’s just gorgeous.

“I’m Stiles by the way.”

“I’m Y/N.” You reply shyly. “I’m sorry that I stole your drink.”

“No worries. You needed it more than me.” Stiles appears beyond amused. “I’m actually on call so I shouldn’t even be drinking it.”

“Oh ok. On call for what?”

“I’m a firefighter.”

Hot fucking damn.

“You can put out my fire anytime.” You giggle before fanning yourself. You’re still feeling warm but now you know it’s definitely not the dip.

Stiles lets out a full body laugh, “I’d rather light your fire, Y/N.” He growls in your ear.

~

Masterlist 

[valrnyxs-writing-corner]

Fanfiction: All’s Fair in Love & Cats: Chapter 1

I’m going to have a specific tag for this fic where only officially posted stuff from me will go. Please don’t post fan made stuff under this tag. I will end up making another tag for fan made stuff but that’s when I get enough followers lol.

~-~

Warnings: Cursing & BL/Slash 

Disclaimers: I don’t own My Hero Academia or its character

~-~

Summary: Izuku gets his cat, Katsuki and Izuku get attacked, and Dad! What the hell!?!

~-~

Izuku was sitting at his desk next to the window listening to the teacher drone on about Japan’s history. The bell soon rang and he got up and walked over to Katsuki’s desk. Katsuki was packing up his notes and text book. When he was finished, they started to head to their next class.

“Hey, you ready for our next class?” Izuku asked. Katsuki continued to look straight ahead as he answered.

“Fuck yeah. I can’t believe all of the shitty extras in our class want to become fucking heroes with their lame ass quirks.” Izuku shrugged and looked out a window they were passing. Soon they reached their destination and went to go sit down. In this class, both Izuku and Katsuki’s seats were right next to the windows. 

Katsuki had pointed out earlier in the year that they were sitting in the so-called “protagonist seats” like they were in some “shitty manga.” Izuku was rather fond of manga and anime but the ones he read or watched were mainly on All Might.

Soon the teacher walked in and the bell rang signaling all the students to go sit down. The teacher pulled out a stack of papers from his desk and walked to the front of the classroom. He held the stack of papers out in front of him.

"I would hand these out, but I know that all of you want to be heroes," the teacher said. He threw the pile of papers up in the air and the class went wild displaying their quirks. As soon as the chaos started someone spoke up.

“Don’t group me in with these extras sensei,” Katsuki sneered. The whole class went quiet and turned to stare at him. “I aced all the mock tests and I’m going to the best hero school in this country, UA." Izuku had his arms crossed on his desk, creating a cradle for his head. He was observing the chaos in the classroom and rolled his eyes when Katsuki spoke up. The class once again erupted into noise. The teacher just huffed and turned to Izuku.

"Midoriya, don’t you also want to go to UA?" the teacher questioned. Everyone turned in unison to stare at Izuku. It went from super loud to super quiet so fast Izuku had ringing in his ears. One kid who had an extremely long nose and hair covering his eyes broke the silence.

"How will he even be accepted into UA if they don't accept people without cats ?" The whole class started to mumble in agreement. Izuku had a spike of fear shoot through him but he clamped down on it fast and put up a placid facade. 

"You guys know I have a cat, right?" Izuku lied. "Also, they got rid of that rule." Many students raised their eyebrows at him or snickered.

"Sure," another kid said sarcastically. Izuku watched Katsuki get up from his desk and walk over to the poor student who said that. He slammed his hand onto the kid's desk and activated his quirk, burning the top of the desk.  The kid fell backwards out of his chair. The whole class and the teacher watched all of this happen with no interference.

"Whether Izuku has a cat or not doesn't matter,” Katsuki yelled at the student. “What matters is whether he is hero material unlike you shitty extras. UA will accept him whether they like it or not, so you can shut the fuck up about Izuku not having a cat!" Katsuki looked a little out of breath from going off on the student. Izuku got up and stepped in before Katsuki murdered the student.

"Katsuki, stop destroying the school's property before you get punished,” Izuku said. “You know you didn't have to defend me, right? I could beat them easily if I wanted to." The rest of the class sweatdropped and Katsuki backed off. The teacher looked slightly shaken at Katsuki’s outburst and was trying to compose himself before speaking.

"All right class, settle down," the teacher said with a slightly shaky voice. "Bakugo, Midoryia, please take your seats." Katsuki glared at the kid but took his seat reluctantly. Izuku noticed as they sat down there was a slight blush on Katsuki’s face.

~-~

Izuku was packing up, when Katsuki walked over and picked up Izuku's Hero Analysis for the Future book. 

"How much have you written since I last checked?" Katsuki asked while starting to page through it.

"Maybe about eight pages, if you count the stuff I added," Izuku replied while still packing. Katsuki looked back up from Izuku’s analysis book.

"How the fuck do you have so much time to do this with all our schoolwork?" Katsuki questioned. 

"I don't know," Izuku replied.

Katsuki walked over to the window to continue to look at Izuku's handy work. As soon as he looked back at the book, a bi-colored fur cat snatched it out of his hands and jumped onto his head. 

"Hey! Get back here you fucking cat!" Katsuki yelled as he swatted at the cat on top of his head. Izuku started to laugh. 

"Shut the fuck up, Deku!" Katsuki yelled at Izuku.

The cat jumped off Katsuki's head, freezing his hair in the process. The cat landed on Izuku's desk and dropped the notebook into his backpack. 

"You damn cat!" Katsuki screamed. He rushed at the cat on Izuku's desk. The cat just simply reached out it's left paw and froze Katsuki in a chunk of ice. 

"Wow, that was amazing, but please unfreeze Katsuki," Izuku said. The cat gave him a questioning look before turning to do so. 

As it was unfreezing Katsuki, Izuku asked the cat the question.

"Are you my cat?" Izuku sincerely hoped the answer was yes. The cat mewled in response. 

“I’m going to take that as a yes then. Well in that case, I'm going to name you Duality," Izuku said. A few seconds later Izuku heard the familiar screams of his friend.

"I'm going to kill that damn cat!" Katsuki screamed with a furious expression on his face.

"You can't, he's mine," Izuku said while trying to hold back a laugh.

"Ugrrr," Katsuki growled as he started to stalk out of the classroom with his weird little walk of his.

"Hey! Wait for me!" Izuku called after him. Katsuki looked back over his shoulder.

"Tch, then hurry up you shitty nerd," Katsuki called back. 

Izuku’s cat jumped on his shoulder just as he started to run after Katsuki. They walked out of the building and started towards their neighborhood. 

As they passed under a bridge, green sludge started to leak out of the sewage pipe behind them. It grabbed Izuku and started to choke him. Izuku was running out of air fast. He activated his quirk, Analysis. Analysis allowed Izuku to analyze whatever he is looking at or whatever situation he is in. Izuku’s brain idly thought that his quirk worked sort of like how a character on a pre-quirk era BBC show, called “Sherlock,” analyzed things.

He heard the familiar explosions and screaming of his friend. All of the sudden, Izuku felt the slide release its hold on him and just barely registered “idol” before he passed out. 

Izuku woke to All Might rapidly slapping him in the face and asking if he was ok. Izuku fanboy-ed as if he was meeting any other hero. This was the deal he made with his parents. He would pretend he didn't know them while they were in their hero personas, so Izuku wasn’t targeted by villains. Katuski stood to the side while Izuku was fanboying and when Izuku was done, Katsuki grumbled out if he could have All Might’s autograph. All Might happily obliged.

Before All Might could leave, Izuku asked him a question.

“Can someone without a quirk become a hero?” All Might looked at Izuku questioningly and spoke his answer.

“NO. It is too dangerous for them but they can find other helpful jobs such as a policeman or a firefighter.”

Well I guess I know where he stands on that opinion now, Izuku though sadly.

After All Might left, Izuku and Katsuki continued their walk home but Izuku stopped. He felt like he was forgetting something. He turned back around and saw his cat sitting on the sidewalk a few feet in front of him. It had a look of annoyance on its face as if saying, come on I want to go home. 

"Oh, come on Duality don't look at me like that," Izuku complained. "You know I couldn't do anything about it. I was practically trapped, and I was being suffocated. How would you react in a situation like that?" The cat just shook its head and Izuku heard Katsuki snicker. Izuku turned to look at him.

“Well what would you have done?” Izuku questioned. Katsuki continued to snicker.

“I would have blown the fucker to bits, is what I would have done, Deku,” Katsuki responded. Izuku rolled his eyes and they continued walking. 

~-~

Izuku and Katsuki were walking through an alley off a main road as it was a shortcut to their neighborhood. Izuku heard explosions behind him and he turned around only to realize that Katsuki wasn’t next to him. He looked up into the street and was shocked to see the same villain that attacked him earlier had Katsuki in its grasp. 

Izuku slowly walked to the end of the alleyway and started to observe the situation without his quirk. It seems that the only vulnerable spot on the villain was its eyes and mouth, he thought. He also noted that none of the heroes were doing anything. They shouted something about their quirks not being compatible with the villain's and that they had to wait for someone with a compatible quirk. Izuku scoffed.

He was going to do something as the heroes weren’t doing much of anything. Izuku contemplated if he should shove his backpack down the villain’s throat but decided against it as it was a waste of school materials and would be messy if the villain deactivated his quirk. He ran out of the alley and threw his backpack at the villain’s eye. This gave enough time for Katsuki to free his face from the sludge. 

“Deku what the fuck are you doing here!” Katsuki screamed. “I don’t need your fucking help!” Katsuki was still trying to get free from the sludge and was setting off explosions everywhere. This didn’t help Izuku too much as he was trying to pull Katsuki out of the sludge.

“Sure looked like you needed to breathe though,” Izuku half yelled over Katsuki’s explosions. Katsuki just scowled and continued to struggle to get himself out of the sludge.

Eventually All Might showed up and blew the sludge villain to pieces with a big punch. While the sludge pieces were being collected by the police, Izuku was getting scolded by the heroes on the scene minus All Might as he left very quickly. Izuku wasn’t really paying attention to what the heroes were saying. He looked over to where the media were praising Katsuki for his quirk and being so brave. He had a scowl on his face and looked like he wanted to blow them all up but chose to stay quite instead. 

“Hey kid, are you even listening?!” Death Arms scolded him. “That was a very dangerous thing you did.” Izuku snapped out of his thoughts and rolled his eyes at them.

“It’s not like you were going to do anything anyway,” Izuku retorted. 

“What do you mean?” Death Arms asked, confused.

“You were just standing there, waiting for a hero with a more compatible quirk to come.” Izuku started to rant. “What if a hero with a compatible quirk didn’t show up, huh? A civilian would have died and you would have just stood there and let it happen because your quirk wasn't compatible with the villains. You should have at least tried to rescue the civilian instead of focusing on stopping the villain. Unbelievable!” Izuku threw his hands up and huffed in frustration as he finished his rant. He turned his head to Katsuki. 

“Come on Katsuki, let’s go,” Izuku yelled over to him. Katsuki nodded his head, gave the media one last glare before walking over to Izuku. They started to walk back towards their neighborhood again. 

“Hey kid! Get back here!” Death Arms shouted after them. Izuku snorted and continued walking. 

~-~

Izuku and Katsuki finally split ways to go home. As soon as Izuku passed the next street, All Might popped out in front of him. Since Izuku was looking down at the road, he was surprised when “idol” showed up in front of him.

“Ahhh!” Izuku yelped. He looked around to make sure there was no one around. “Dad! What the hell?! Don’t do that to me!” Izuku sighed and started to walk away.

“Izuk-I mean young man!” All Might yelled after Izuku. The latter turned around, still walking.

“Dad, come on, let's get you somewhere, where you can deflate,” Izuku yelled back. He turned back around and All Might followed after him. Izuku led All Might to the back of a building where he deactivated his quirk. Afterwards, they walked to Dagobah Beach. 

“Izuku, why did you bring me here?” Toshinori asked. They were walking through the piles of trash that filled the beach.

“Because I had a feeling you needed to tell me something very private as you showed up to me  when I was alone on an empty street,” Izuku replied. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Izuku found an empty spot in the piles of garbage and sat down in the sand.

“You just about hit the nail on the head, Izuku,” Toshinori said. “I wanted to talk about my quirk and my place as the number one hero.” He sat down in the sand across from his son. Izuku had a questioning look on his face. Toshinori continued speaking. “I want you to be my successor. This means you will inherit my quirk and you will take up my mantle of the number one hero.” Izuku looked shocked and then slowly descended into mumblings about his father’s quirk and theories online. Toshinori put his hand on Izuku’s shoulder. Izuku snapped out of his mumbling and looked up at his father.  

“Why are you offering your quirk to me?” Izuku questioned. “Aren’t there other people more qualified to inherit it than me?” Toshinori rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the ground. 

“Well…” Toshinori started. “I was on my way to meet another candidate when the sludge villain showed up.” Izuku looked at his father with a “seriously?” look.

“So…” Izuku started speaking slowly. “You missed your meeting with this other candidate just to offer your quick to me instead of going to see if the other candidate is a better option.” Izuku said this as a statement instead of a question so he could spell it out to his blockhead of a father. 

“Uh, Yes?” Toshinori said hesitantly. Izuku sighed for what he felt was the tenth time that day. 

“When we get home, why don’t you call whoever offered up the other candidate, reschedule the meeting for tomorrow, as I’m assuming you missed the meeting for today, and tell them you found another candidate you would like to show them,” Izuku told Toshinori. The latter looked a little sheepish from his son having better management skills and impulse control than him. 

“Uh, yeah, I’ll do that,” Toshinori chuckled. “I’m going to call him here though, instead of at home, so you can go on ahead and i’ll catch up later.” Izuku nodded and stood up. He started walking out of the piles of trash towards his home and looked over his shoulder to wave goodbye to his dad. Toshinori waved back and then turned his attention to his phone. He tapped the call button on his previous sidekick’s contact. 

“Hello All Might” Nighteye said rather coldly when he picked up. Toshinori gulped but pressed forward. 

“Hello Nighteye. I’m sorry I missed today’s meeting, but I found another possible candidate. Can I come in tomorrow with him so we can assess both of them?” Toshinori asked nervously. Nighteye was silent for a few seconds. Toshinori gulped again.

“Yes,” Nighteye said slowly. “Let’s see who your choice of a successor is.”

~-~

Profile: Izuku Yagi 

Quirk: Quirkless (Previously)

           Analysis (Currently)

Description: Heightens Izuku’s analysis ability and makes his eyes glow slightly

Personality: Laid back and hard to anger. He is generally nice to everybody and easy to make friends with 

Hobbies: Writing notes about heroes in his Hero Analysis for the Future book, training his quirk, his physical strength, and his flexibility 

Cat: 

Name: Duality

Appearance: Has Bi-colored fur with red colored fur on the right and white colored fur on the left. Has heterochromia in his eyes, brown on the left and blue on the right. 

Quirk: Half hot, Half cold 

Relationships: 

Inko Yagi

Relationship: Mother

Quirk: Telekinesis 

Profession: Hero 

Hero Name: The Telekinetic Hero: Terekin. It's the shortened version of Terekineshisu (Tear-e-kin-e-si-su), which is telekinesis in Japanese

 Toshinori Yagi

Relationship: Father

Quirk: One for All (Previously Quirkless) 

Profession: Hero 

Hero Name: All Might 

~-~

A/N: Analysis is an intelligence based quirk and as you saw, Izuku can activate and deactivate it at will unlike Nezu, who can't turn his quirk off. If you can't picture what Izuku's quirk is like for him, It's like how Sherlock analyzes things in the BBC TV show "Sherlock." If you haven't watched "Sherlock" lookup Sherlock analyzing things on YouTube

Thanks for reading! I hoped you enjoyed it. Please be nice, this is my first fanfic and i'm nervous about posting this. Constructive criticism is always welcome. The next chapter won't be out for a while or maybe not, idk.

Signing off,

-Katsumi

[weregonnaneedabiggerblog-blog1]

South Park: Bigger Longer & Uncut (1999); The “TV Show: The Movie” that Pushed its Source Material into the Future

There was a time where “TV Show: The Movie” movies had broken into the mainstream, and not always for the better. Starting around 1998 with the release of “Rugrats: The Movie”, which went on to become the first Non-Disney animated movie to gross over $1,000,000, company executives and Hollywood producers alike took note and suddenly a big-budgeted wild fire tore through the vast forest that was television; “Recess: School’s Out”, “Hey Arnold! The Movie”, a trilogy of Pokémon movies, “The PowerPuff Girls Movie”, “The Wild Thornberry Movie”, “The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie, even the most obscure cartoons of the time like Disney ‘s “Teacher’s Pet” took a try at becoming the next box-office phenomenon. From 1998 – 2004 alone, 15 movies were produced based on television cartoons, almost all of which were just clear cash-grabs to capitalise not only on the brand’s popularity, but the success of "Rugrats: The Movie", and most often, the quality reflected the profit. Whilst a majority of them did make back their budget and then some, barely any were competing with the numbers shown by the Rugrats a few years prior.

  I feel that was because audiences quickly grew accepting of what the quality of the majority of these films would be; just nothing more than a feature length episode of the show that didn’t take any advantage of what the film medium could offer. Regardless however, at this time, “South Park” creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone, not being one to not just aboard an opportunity to cause a ruckus in the media, took it upon themselves to bring their ever-so controversial cartoon about the residents of a small Colorado town with a vast catalogue of bad language to the big screen.

  In 1999, the two released into cinema what I still believe to be one of the boldest and most important steps the South Park series had to take in order to be where it lies today; By taking everything that worked about the show, and using every advantage the film medium could give to make one of the most simultaneously funny, vulgar, offensive and yet smart animated films ever made.

  After their favourite Canadian TV starts Terrance and Philip release their feature film debut “Asses of Fire”, young South Park residents Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny (all voiced by Stone and Parker) become fixated with the movie’s offensive language, with the starts often referring to each other as “Pig Fucker” or “Uncle Fucker” When this language interferes with the boys’ lives, primarily when Cartmans tells his teacher to “suck my balls” or when Kenny kills himself trying to set his fart on fire like Terrance and Philip do in the movie, the parents of the town start a protest group which starts as an attempt to get the film banned in the United States, that very quickly spirals out of control and leaves Kyle’s mom arresting the controversial duo and becoming President Clinton’s Secretary of Offence as the country declares war on Canada. With only two days before Terrence and Philip are executed, the children of South Park quickly scramble to find of a way to show their parents that they’ve got too far, whilst their deceased friend Kenny also tries to warn them of how the day of Terrance and Philip’s death was prophesised by Satan himself to be the day he returns to bring 1000 years of darkness unto the Earth.

  As you may have been able to gather from that plot summary alone, there are a lot of views and themes going on throughout this movie’s short 76 minute runtime (a length I personally believe plays well into the “Bigger, Longer & Uncut” subtitle of the movie. Aside from the obvious circumcision joke) Perhaps the film’s biggest statement is not-only ironic but contradictory method the children’s parents have in tacking “Asses of Fire” and its obscene content. Rather than taking more interest in what their children can and can’t watch for example, they instead feel the need to put the blame not only on the creators of the movie, but their country of origin instead (perhaps also a metaphor for the blame people put on a country rather than just those responsible. This film did release a year after the 1998 United States Embassy Bombings and does feature a deceased Saddam Hussein as Satan’s emotionally abusive lover after all). These parents getting radical over obscene language could also clearly stem from the controversy “South Park” itself was facing at the time with parental groups during its original 3 season airing, back when the show’s animation was the cardboard cut-out equivalent to an early 2000s flash animation on Newgrounds.com. This point is very interesting to me as not only does it act as Matt Stone and Trey Parker’s “meditation” so-to-speak about all the attention they had created for their show, but it also marks them doing it in a much more mature way

  At least, as mature as a show like South Park can be.

  Rather than have the victims of their cynicism be wild, screaming idiots like the earlier seasons of the shows often portrayed them as (still to a funny extent, mind you.), the movie often portray the antagonists, such as Kyle’s mom, as being so self-sure that they are completely blind to the true consequences of their actions. A perfect example of which is seen in the musical number “Blame Canada”, which has a chorus consisting of the protesting, parents chanting:

  “Blame Canada

  Blame Canada

  We need to form a full assault

  Its Canada’s fault!”

  That’s another thing I failed to mention. This film is a straight up comedy-musical. Decades before they showed many their talent at catchy musical writing with their Broadway show “The Book of Mormon”, Matt Stone and Trey Parker wrote a grand total of ten original songs, preforming almost all of them as well, for a South Park movie of all things. Regardless, almost every song on the soundtrack is hilarious and ridiculously catchy, with some of my personal favourites being the before mentioned “Blame Canada”, as well as Terrance and Philip’s lead single in the movie “Uncle Fucka”, Principal Teacher Mr. Mackey’s lesson on alternatives to swearing “It’s Easy, M’kay” and Satan’s solo number “Up There”, which hilariously is the only original song on the soundtrack to have no swearing despite it being performed by the prince of darkness himself.

  Despite the before mentioned accolades, there are a few gripes I have with the movie that keep it from being the almost perfect movie I feel it so desperately wanted to be. For one thing, the entire “Satan will rule the Earth upon T&P’s death” subplot only really added up to Satan standing up to Saddam and his emotional abuse he gave (again, something pretty funny for the prince of darkness to endure), and that school teacher Mr. Garrison’s hand puppet, Mr. Hat, replaces Saddam.

In fact, almost the entirety of the ending does feel very rushed.

On the night of Terrance and Philip’s broadcasted electrocution, complete with a pre-show performance by South Park resident Big Gay Al, the kids with the assistance of a small French child known as “Ze Mole”, whose accent and extreme hatred for God make him one of South Park’s best one-off characters, attempt to save the Canadian comedians, only for an ambush by the Canadian Army and a resulting firefight to result in their death, unleashing Satan, Saddam and all of Hell onto the Earth. In almost no time at all, Satan realises how Saddam has used him and casts him back to the fires of Hell, calling off his attack in the process (Oh, and Kenny’s face is finally revealed. Surprise! He looks just like all the other characters in the show except with blond hair) Sheila and the parents realise how they went too far and all is forgiven as the town reprises the opening song. All of which take place in the span of 5 – 10 minutes. Whether this was due to Stone and Parker not having any more funny material, wanting the film to conclude with the same cheeriness of the opening (hence the reprise) or just simply not knowing how else to end it aside from, well, ending it.

  Regardless of an ending that could have done much more than what it did I fell, the rest of this movie is almost flawless. Some may complain about the crude, cardboard cut-out artstyle and the resulting stiffness of movement, but honestly, I think it just adds so much more the film’s crudeness. Aside from that, almost every single joke, from the recurring gags from the show to what is newly presented, had me having at very least a snort and at most uncontrollable laughter. All of which is captured by the amazingly funny music and solid performances, even from the most unlikely of celebrity cameos, such as George Clooney as the doctor trying to save Kenny’s life. This film, like the show, is definitely an acquired taste. If you’re willing to possibly have your beliefs mocked however, you just may find something in this almost perfect TV-to-movie adaptation.

[theshapeshifter100]

Guess What? I’m Not a Robot RC Ch16

Word Count: 1,599

Chapter Warning: Not that I can think of (Let me know if you found one)

Masterlist

Previous

Next

6.23PM Thursday 11th November 2038

It was quiet now.

It wouldn’t be for long. The firefights were happening in waves now, giving both sides a chance to breath.

The humans in Android Allies had done a bit of a swap around to get fresh eyes and limbs on things. Well, mostly Megan and Lucas. They needed everyone who could shoot, shooting. Nathan was the only one practiced enough to handle the drones and Oscar didn’t dare leave Julia.

Alex and Allison had both taken up positions with the shooters, learning how to shoot on the fly or re-loading everyone else’s weapons. Megan was now on watch duty while Lucas was helping Zach and Maggie. She and Maggie would swap in a few hours.

Shooters took this time to take stock of ammo, Nathan flew his drones high out of gun range to keep them safe. Megan was watching the two sides of the military they were fighting, while keeping an eye on charging drones.

Zach had not stopped the entire time. Working tirelessly to keep as many androids as possible in working order. He was rationing Thirium now, although that was the only problem.

All in all, for people not trained in combat, they were doing quite well.

Megan did some leg stretches while looking around. She couldn’t see the military at the back of the compound, as they had retreated over the hill for now. The ones at the front had formed a van barricade and were all hunkered behind that.

“See anything up there? Over,” Alex asked over the radio.

“Nothing, they’re either behind the hill or the vans. Over,”

“Nathan?”

Nathan took the time to fly a couple of the drones, seeing the soldiers re-loading and dealing with injuries.

“They’re preparing for another round. Over.”

“Got it. Over and out.”

Megan’s gaze drifted down to the disassembly machines, and felt her gut twist. There must be about thirty soldiers still in them, cramped together, in the dark.

She didn’t know what to do about it.

Nathan followed her gaze for a moment and grimaced.

“Yeah. I know.”

“We can’t let them go, can we?” she’d already thought about the consequences, but wanted to hear what someone else would say.

“Probably not. Well, I dunno. We took all of their weapons and they’ve got to be hungry and dehydrated by now. It might distract them to send them at them.”

“Or it might just give them more soldiers,” Megan countered. “People to send back to get re-enforcements.”

“Or that,” Nathan agreed. “One of us has got to give out though.”

“We’ve got the most weapons now and androids can take more damage,” Megan thought out loud.

“They’ve got re-enforcements and training. Come on, you’re a history student. You’ve compared armies before right?”

“You think I can remember specifics off the top of my head?” Megan asked incredulously. “But yeah, we both have something the other side lacks, but, they can get supplies. If we tried we’d…” Megan trailed off her thought as she realised the end.

“We’d die trying,” Nathan finished. “Shit.”

Megan felt her stomach drop. “We’re done for, aren’t we?”

“What else can we do?” Nathan stared resolutely at the drone screens, hands shaking over the controls. “If we surrender, we’re fucked. If we stay here, we’re…”

Megan swallowed. “They’re all human. They need to sleep. Most of our guys don’t. We might be able to sneak away.”

“They’ll sleep in shifts or something. It won’t be that easy.”

“I’m trying to be optimistic.”

“I know. Sorry,” Nathan blinked. “I’m just scared.”

“Me too,” Megan swallowed. “They can’t keep going all night though, right?”

Nathan didn’t answer, and Megan checked the binoculars again. There was movement behind the hills and a gun muzzle poked out from behind a van.

“Another round coming, over,” she spoke into the radio, and barely registered the response as it all raged again.

8.33PM Thursday 11th November 2038

A few shots rang out, but it seemed to go all quiet again. Megan didn’t relax yet, watching both sides and wished she had the neck of an owl so that she could twist her head around without moving her whole body.

“They’ve retreated again, over,” she said over the radio.

“Noted. Over and out,” Alex sounded exhausted, not that was surprising. All Megan wanted to do was sleep. The sun had gone down hours ago, so it looked like midnight.

Megan caught movement from the vans, and pressed her eyes against the binoculars.

A soldier was walking towards the compound, waving a white flag.

After a check on the hill group, she reached for the radio.

“Soldier approaching from the vans waved a white flag. Over.”

“Yeah, the androids just told me. Figuring out who to send. Over.”

“I could go,” Ivy offered. “They might not kill a human. Over.”

“No!” Maggie’s denial was louder than expected, and there was a pause as she regained control. “Ivy, no.”

“Maggie, it makes sense.”

“I don’t care. Please don’t.”

“Both of you, no,” Allison was speaking now. “This is not for a damn martyr to decide. This is a vote, over.”

Megan spotted movement on the railings. “I think we missed the vote. Over.”

Callum was heading for the parlaying soldier, and Megan relayed this.

“Sorry,” Paul came on. “Vote was pretty quick.”

“No worries Beep Boop,” Alex assured. “Let’s just see how this plays out. Over.”

Callum spoke with the solider quite animatedly, waving his arms around angrily before storming back to safety. Shooters kept aim at the soldier, just in case, and Paul came back on the radio.

“Apparently he wants the soldiers in the disassembly machines released. If we do that, we get a respite, over.”

Nathan and Megan looked at each other, since they had only spoke about this not long ago.

“That’s it?” Ivy asked. “A damn respite? Absolute fuckers… Over.”

“It sounds like a trick,” Maggie said. “We’ll just be giving them more manpower.”

“If we don’t hand them over?” Alex asked tentatively.

“…They’ll call in helicopters and bomb us. The disassembly machines would survive, we wouldn’t. Over.”

“Shit,” Allison cursed. “Don’t them over and die. Hand them over, and probably get overrun.”

“They’ll be tired, hungry, dehydrated,” Megan offered. “They need help, surely they wouldn’t send them back out? Over.”

“Then this respite is them recovering before killing us all, over,” Allison added bitterly.

“Can’t we run?” Oscar came on for the first time. “Use this respite to get the hell out of here? Over.”

“And go where with this many androids? I’m not seeing It, over.”

“Not to mention, we’re shattered,” added Maggie. “We’ve been at this for hours. A respite might be good just to rest. Over.”

“The more rest we get, the more rest they get,” Allison sighed. “But, yeah, I’m tired too. Over.”

“You’re forgetting that we’re here,” Paul came on. “We can keep going while you guys rest. We can cope. Over.”

“I think we all need a break for longer than half an hour,” Megan said. “It’s this or get bombed. We can hold off humans. We can’t hold off helicopters and bombs. Over.”

There was silence on the other end for a little bit, and Callum went back to the soldier. There was a bit more talking and Callum went back into the compound. Megan watched as androids jumped down to join him, and he went towards the disassembly machines.

“Nathan, can you get a couple of drones by the disassemblers? Over,” Paul asked, and Nathan responded by doing just that, hovering three drones over the machines as the androids opened them up one by one.

Megan kept watch on both sides as Callum and the other androids got the tired, hungry and dehydrated soldiers under control, and frogmarched them back to the van line. The radio crackled again after a few minutes.

“According to Callum we’ve got two hours, and in his own words ‘make sure the squishies sleep, especially the shooters and watchers.’ Over.”

“Two hours isn’t a lot of time,” Alex started, and Paul interrupted.

“It’ll have to be enough. We’ll get a couple of androids up into the surveillance booth and you can sleep, alright? Over.”

“Fine by us,” Megan responded. “Nathan looks like he’s about to drop, over,” she smiled a little when Nathan glared at her, only interrupted by a yawn.

“First, are they actually retreating? Over” Alex asked, and Megan checking the binoculars again. There was no sign of them at the van line or the hill line. Nathan’s drones told a similar story.

The van line was dealing with their new influx, and the hill line were sitting on their asses.

“We seem to be okay, over.”

“Lower the booth and we’ll swap you out. There’s some cabs back here you can sleep in, or the disassemblers, since they’re empty. Over,” Paul informed.

“Pass,” Ivy was quick to say. “They’ve been in there nearly 24 hours. It’ll reek of piss. Over.”

“Fair point. Sleep where you can and we’ll get you up in a few hours. Over and out.”

Megan lowered the booth down to the androids waiting to replace them. She left Nathan to explain the drone controls and deliberately chose a van close to Paul.

“Nervousness Incarnate, what are you doing? Over,” Paul sounded half amused.

“Sleeping where I feel safe, over.”

“Front line is not safe, over.”

“Nowhere is safe, and we have a respite. I’ll be fine. G’night Beep Boop. Over.”

Paul sighed good naturedly over the radio. “See you in a few hours, over and out.”

We're not too far from the end now

Other Options Flowchart

(Megan) Be hopeful

(Megan) Be more blunt about missing the vote. Say nothing

(Megan) Suggest running (lead to a different sequence) Say nothing

Tags: @nightmarejim @septicart-appreciation

[constellationmelody]

My neighbor’s demon spawn child intentionally set our apartment building on fire. Its a long story of my bad week.

I would never hurt a child, even those ‘would you kill baby Hitler’ questions, i would’ve said no but after Tuesday, I have no problem on murdering this ‘child’. He has literal death/beating threats now for what he has just done.

Say what you want but when your life was intentionally was put at risk, you’ll be beyond livid and reason flies out the window.

It started on a Tuesday night around 1:50am to 2am, Somewhere around this time, Dennis(as i nicknamed this fucker after ‘Dennis the Menace’) and his half brother where playing in the hallway using hairspray/perfume with a lighter, Reasons I don’t know why but they took a mattress from the fourth floor, set it at the staircase window that are between the the fourth and fifth floors and sets it on fire. I guess he freaked out and ran back home and went to bed. (I think that’s what his mother said on where he was when she ‘found’ him)

If you’re thinking why are they are there and where are their parents for these kids to be out around this time? That’s because their parents are shit. Not exaggerating when i say that all my neighbors have a story about this kid and how much of a terror he was. Every time he does something and told on his mother, She refuses to believe that the kid was a bad kid, even though when she sleeps, the little shit sneaks out of the house, day or night, and does shit. (The list of the things he has done will be on a later post, I have stories about him too)

After the little shits ran off, Unknown to them, Someone who lived behind our apartment saw the whole thing, video taped it and called the fire apartment since, you know, most of the people in those floors were asleep from most tenants have said that their fire alarm did not worked. My sister was luckily in the livingroom with my mother when she turned her head to see black smoke coming out of our door. It was too dark to be someone’s burnt food so they ran to the bedroom to tell me this and said that we needed to leave the apartment through the fire escape. The whole floor were engulfed in flames, so it wasn’t safe to open the front door at all. We shut the bedroom door, put a rag against the crack and called 911. My next door neighbors had to break their window to escape and luckily, Some guys came to our window to help us since I had a hard time getting my mom to get out of to the window cause she was freaking out.

The fire department quickly came and put out the fire.

During the time when the firefighters were putting out the flames, The person and other tenants came up to his parents and accuses their kid for starting the fire, of courses she refuses to believe that he did anything this bad until they showed her the video evidence. His step father nearly choked him and his mother have already have heard people making threats, vowing to who was responsible and hurt him(She must of heard me saying this too, after we glared at her kid), puts Dennis on a taxi to god knows where.

Finally we were allowed back inside, The fire COMPLETELY damaged the fourth and Fifth floors. It almost went to the third floor. If you were saw the movie Silent hill, after the sirens go off and the scenery changes to dark with rusted walls and shit, It looked exactly like that. Personally I was terrified to go back in because I’ve forgotten to take my pet bird with us. I was in survival mode that I had to help my mother out so we can all get out that i forgot I had a pet. Fortunately He was found to be alright. Tough bird. I guess being next to the window helped a lot. I was expecting him to be dead from the smoke.

After checking the damages to the apartment, which was only the front door and soot marks, we helped our neighbors with cleaning the mess off the entire floor, It was just covered in ash and burnt wood. The people reasonable for all this didn’t have the fucking decency to help out.

Later, A neighbor got told by a fire marshal about how fortunate we were that the fire spread to my side of the hall because the other side had a main gas pipeline and had the fire burn through to the pipe, the whole fifth floor(my floor) would’ve exploded.

The red cross were really no help. They came while we were cleaning by giving us ‘goodie bags’ for the cleaning effort and smell. They did offer to take us to live in hotel while our building is being cleaned up but they were located far from home and there’s ppl here that can’t commute from there to their jobs in the bronx.  It was nice of my neighbor to break our lock to get our door to fully shut closed but we hardly slept at all that night. How could anyone after that?

I wish I can say that this was all that was on this bad week but the next day...just got better. It was a ‘How could things get any worse’ moment.

Later that day, we had a thunderstorm with REALLY HEAVY DOWNPOUR. The burn debris blocked the drain on the roof and I've walking into the Rio grande that was forming between the livingroom and hallway. We were ankle deep in water. We spent quite a while trying to scoop up the water while blocking the cracks of our door from the rain water. After all that and again, helping the neighbors, We all felt like we were going to crack from the stress of the fire and now flood. We felt terrible also for the tenants below because the seeped through the floors and walls and caused apartments ceilings to collapsed, all the way to the first floor. It was a really bad. We all took out some chairs and chatted in the hallway because we just didn’t want to be suffering alone. We were all just traumatized. Spent the night gossiping, talking bad about the boy.

Superintendent was an asshole too. The neighbor overheard this fucker wished that were had died from the fire, all because he’s disgusted with us about the cleanliness of the hallways. Like if it’s everyone in the floor’s fault. And the asshole totally disrespected my mother too after she asked about the repairs like ‘You think you’re the only one?’ and chuckled off her concerns. Luckily, One of my mom’s new friends is friends with some drug dealers and they are pissed off at him for those comments, and from what i’m told they are going to fuck up his car. I hope they do.

Later that night, the red cross people told us that we had to leave our homes because the fire and water made the apartments unsafe to live in and had to quickly pack up our things and leave, not know when we will ever come back. I nearly broke down crying. I didn’t want to leave and spend my days either in a hotel or my dad’s house. Especially since he’s so insensitive. Even after the fire, HE MAKES IT ALL ABOUT HIM, HOW HE’S RIGHT AND QUESTION WHY WE ARE STILL LIVING HERE WITH DENNIS RUNNING AROUND. This is why don’t want to live with him, he’s an asshole. And he wants us to move into his apartment complex... Fuck no. Good lord, He embarrassed us in front of my neighbors by showing how much of an asshole he is towards my mom! Luckily, My mom blew him off. ...

Sorry, I went a little off the rails.

Obviously, The neighbors talked it over among themselves and decided that since they came way late for this, like 12am late, we’ll sleep until tomorrow on it. None of us are happy about this. So, I slept in my bed, thinking that this will be the last time before I’ll be temporarily homeless. Fearing to death that I might have to live with my dad.

As for Dennis’s family(they lived on the fifth floor two doors down from me), During the morning, they packed what they could and left, later that night, however, they came back to get the remainder of their stuff so that no one can see them. But My sister and I did. (We’re too traumatized to sleep) and they know we hate them for the situation they put everyone in. I can only hope that they left for good, that the police arrest the kid and send him and his brother to Juvenile jail.

The next day the landlord came to inspect the damage. (I accidentally yelled at one of them, thinking that they are my mom. oops.) After a while, The landlord said that since we had little damage, we can stay as long as other tenants on the fifth floor does too, otherwise we all have to leave under the threat of arrest from the police.

So technically, I’m trespassing in my own home with our landlord’s permission to stay.

So... The repairs are slow, the landlord are doing something with the insurance(saying they’ll clean the walls and repaint the apartment.), we are literally praying that no one takes advantage of the door being unlock-able since it’s literally being ‘locked’ by a rod, step ladder, an ironing board and table as alarms should someone attempt to break into our home and the padlock is how we lock our door if no ones in the apartment. We haven’t slept well in days because one of us has to be awake for the door. We are waiting for a new door to be installed. That door literally saved our lives, btw. It blocked the fire from coming in. Had we opened it, our apartment would’ve been on fire.

I don’t know how long it will be like this. Because of the fire, My mom, sis and I developed PSTD with our own variations on how we are effected by it. My mom has it the worse and I’m now extremely paranoid for every sound, smell and activities in the hallways, thinking that it’s a fire. My mom nearly had a heart attack because she mistook the dust from the cleaners cutting the walls as smoke. We are severely stressed out.

All because that little demon that loved to terrorize other people, took it too far with his shenanigans and nearly costs people’s lives. The mom is ashamed but what i want from her is not only to leave but to own up to it. Her child is evil, he needs to pay for what he did, and admit she’s a bad mother. Instead, She’s a coward who shipped him off somewhere and took all their things in the time where everyone is asleep and disappeared. Fuck her.

I thought my week was already fucked when my computer can’t connect to the WiFi due to network connectivity but after this near death experience, it was pretty ‘first world problems’ of me to think of that. I’m just glad that I’m alive. I should...go outside and experience life, get those piercings that i wanted and go to places I've been meaning to go. Life is short. I could’ve died on Tuesday.