#Saw this and now I’m sobbing to Graceland Too

[jbsrainbowstrap]

What it must be like to find someone who truly sees and understands every broken, self-loathing part of you and only loves you more for it.

[yichuuonvenus]

Graceland Too- IV

Ethan Landry x Reader

Tainted Love- Chapters

~Warnings~

Rape/Non-con, Loss of Virginity, Cock Warming, Dacryphilia, Knifeplay, Forced Orgasms, Corruption, Murder, Blood, Nightmares, Stalking, Underage Drinking, Attempted assault, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Forced Relationship, Dacryphilia, Isolation

You blinked a couple of times trying to readjust your vision. The white sterile walls made it even brighter than it appeared. You stared across at the boy on the bed. You took a deep breath and remembered that he was fine. He was still breathing you and he was safe. The doctors told you that he would be fine since the knife barely touched any organs. You were glad Ethan was going to be okay… but you couldn’t help but feel as though you had a hand in his attack. 

You closed your eyes again and inhaled deeply. You weren’t going to cry again, you already did it on the way to the hospital. You felt bad enough because of how much Tia had to console you. You didn’t want to put your hurt onto anybody but Tia kept reassuring you that it was okay. You tried your best to remember that. 

“Hey, I’m going to drop off Mindy and Anika. Are you going to stay here?” Chad whispered.

You nodded and stifled a yawn as you adjusted yourself in the chair, pulling the blanket that was on you closer. 

“Give me a text when he’s awake,” he smiled, leaving you alone with Ethan. 

He was sleeping. His face looked so relaxed, you hoped he was having a nice dream. He deserved it after the night he just had. To be honest you wanted to lock yourself away forever. You felt responsible for everything. You knew it wasn’t your fault but a part of you believed that maybe if you didn’t come with Sam and Tara none of this would’ve happened. Rylan was dead… and Ethan thankfully survived. You stared at his face again, thoughts you couldn’t stop roaming throughout your brain. 

What if Ethan didn’t live? What if he died?

You saw him bleeding all over the white floor. What if he didn’t make it? The thought terrified you. You’ve gotten so close to him and now because of you, they were after your new friends, they were after him. You were close to the bed but you leaned it a bit, grabbing his hand. You didn’t know why but you felt like you should. Ethan clutched your hands, and you looked up to find him smiling at you. It was a goofy one. One that didn’t even look like he was stabbed 4 times. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice was strained. 

You didn’t know you were crying again when his hand wiped away a tear. 

“Nothing…” you quietly said. Ethan was about to open his mouth again but you quickly changed the subject. “The weather looks nice today.” 

He chuckled a bit, “Yeah it is, isn’t it?” 

You both stared outside. The sun was just coming up making the horizon appear like a painting out of a Bob Ross tutorial. 

It was like that for a good couple of moments before Ethan asked again. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You looked back at him. He was already looking at you, his eyes pleading he wanted to know. He still wanted to help you even when he was the one hurt. 

“I… I don’t- I almost lost you…” there was a tremor in your voice like you were about to break down sobbing right then and there. 

“And.. Ry-,” You couldn’t stop the tears then. An innocent boy was murdered because he was friends with you. He just wanted to know you. You were mad at yourself. You should’ve never talked to him. He would've been alive if it wasn’t for you. 

His parents wouldn’t have to grieve the loss of a child… if you never came into his life. 

“Hey, hey!” Ethan softly said. “Look at me.” 

You refused with a shake of your head. You couldn’t look at him. You failed him as a friend. You failed to make yourself believe you could have any friends. Everyone you love is endangered because of you. 

“Please look at me,” he whispered this time you did. He gave you a tired smile. “Do not blame yourself for what happened.”

You cried even harder as he held your face. 

“Please,” he sounded so heartbroken trying to console you. It made you feel even worse. Nothing ever happened to you. You should be the one consoling him. 

“We shouldn’t be friends…” 

He held you tightly to him, shushing you. 

“None of this would’ve happened if we weren’t friends.” 

He said your name sternly, making you look at him. 

“There’s nothing and I mean it nothing you could’ve done, even if we weren’t friends. What matters now is that I’m living and I’m not going anywhere.” He said it in a way that made you believe him. You took a deep breath and sighed. 

“You promise?” You grabbed his hand, raising an eyebrow with a smile. 

Ethan smiled back, lightly squeezing your hand, “I promise.”

. . . 

“Ethan!” You gasped as you stared down in front of you. 

He had already beaten you 6 times in your card game. You stared at him angrily as you threw down the cards. 

“This isn’t fair, you were definitely cheating.”

Ethan was laughing as he started to clean up the game, “I told you I was a god at this game and you didn’t believe me.”

“I thought you were bluffing,” you replied. You were both on the bed, sitting criss-crossed. 

Ethan gathered up the rest of the cards and sat them on the table next to the bed. 

“As you can see I wasn’t,” he said while he flexed. You playfully pushed him and he groaned loudly. 

“I’m so sorry!” You almost forgot his wounds were still healing. 

“I’m just kidding,” he proudly announced. 

You wanted to shove him so badly again but you felt bad if you did. You playfully furrowed your eyes at him. His arms enveloped you, causing a slight yelp from you.  He laid you both on your sides. You couldn’t help but scoot closer to him. 

“How are you feeling?” Ethan asked, face so close to yours you felt like you were going to stop breathing. 

“I feel like I should be asking you that…” 

“It’s okay… we both just went through something traumatic. I'll be here for you like you have with me,” he whispered.

“I’m… okay. It’s just tough to even try to move on from it. You- you were,” you felt like you were about to cry again. “You were on the floor dragging yourself and Rylan… I saw his body bag.” 

“It’s okay… it’s okay, princess.” 

You smiled at the nickname but it was gone as quickly as it came. You both held each other and for once it felt like you were at the safest place in the world. 

It has been like this for a few days. His healing process has been great but you couldn’t leave him. You’re afraid of Ghostface coming and finishing Ethan off. So you stayed there with Ethan, keeping him company. Sam, Tara, and Quinn came by now and then along with Chad and Mindy. You recalled how Mindy came in suddenly while you and Ethan played the same card game, she was going on about how it couldn’t be Ethan since he was the one stabbed. You remember giving Ethan a look and he returned it with a laugh. 

After Mindy left you were in each other's arms, drifting off to sleep. It was dark and it was the last day of his stay. You stared at Ethan. His eyes were closed and his breathing was still. You smiled at him as you smoothed over his hair. You were on his chest limbs entangled with one another. 

It was nice being this close to someone, though it scared you. You didn’t know what you would do tomorrow. You wanted to be like this forever. Safe and sound with him next to you. You furrowed your eyebrows and laid your head on his chest hearing his heartbeat. You didn’t know how you felt towards Ethan. He was nice to talk to. Nice to hold. It was nice being so close to him. So you let yourself take in the moment, forget that anything bad ever happened to you both. 

. . . 

You stared at the wall along with listening to your neighbors above. You didn’t find any interest in the wall but you did find that you could forget about everything and just focus on the wall. You were like that for a day or two after Ethan left the hospital. You didn’t want to be overbearing so you haven’t texted him since. 

You stared at the wall until you got a text. You didn’t look at it at first, you waited until you were ready to see it. You looked down and saw his name. Ethan’s name. He wanted to come over. 

You smiled at the text and sent a quick reply back. 

As quickly as it was sent, you started to hear a knock at your door. It must have been barely two seconds. When you opened it was Ethan with that same toothy grin he wore on his sleeve. He lived in the same dorm as you and on the same floor. A great surprise at the beginning of the year that Chad was near you so could come over whenever to bother him. 

Now you have two people to bother. 

“Hey,” Ethan said as you widened the space for Ethan to come in. 

“Hi,” you replied as you shut the door. You looked at him with your arms behind your back. For some reason, you felt too awkward to even move even though Ethan had been to your room so many times prior. 

“Do-.”

“How-.”

You both laughed at the fact you were both starting to speak at the same time. The ice broke just from his laugh alone and you couldn’t stop the smile that started etching its way onto your face.

“You can ask first,” you said walking a bit closer to him. 

“No no you go first I’m in your room,” he chuckled. 

You smiled before speaking up, “Well… do you want anything to drink or food maybe?”

Ethan thought about it for a second and then spoke up, “Actually can I have water?”

You immediately smiled and nodded, “Of course!” 

You got a bottle but when you turned around he wasn’t there. You tilted your head, then you heard a sound. It was a low sound one that you could barely hear. You tried to listen again as you walked closer to your door. It sounded like low clicks on the door. It was as if something was knocking against it. You slowly turned the knob and when you did Ethan’s voice was right in your ear. You jumped as he touched your shoulder, you turned your head and you were right back where you started. You looked around a bit confused.

Ethan softly said your name, his eyebrows were furrowed in concern and his lips made a frown, “Are you okay? I was calling you for like 4 minutes…”

“You were?” You said. You were unable to even look at him. 

“Hey, I can go if you need me to…” 

You only shook your head, you didn’t want to be alone right now. Not like this, not when you were having trouble staying in the present. 

“Please stay… I just… did you go somewhere?”

“I went to the bathroom and then I saw you standing there just holding the water bottle.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry Ethan. If I creep you out you can go,” You tried to muster up a fake laugh but it didn’t work with your tears surfacing.

“No, it’s okay. I’m here for you, princess.”

You tried to smile as he brought you into a hug. You couldn’t stop crying as he held you. When you finally calmed down you were in your bed. Ethan decided it was a good idea to start playing a movie. You and Ethan remained close on the bed. You could feel your eyes closing and your breathing slowing. 

It wasn’t before long that you were sleeping. 

The sleep was dreamless for once you didn’t wake up from a nightmare. Ethan was holding you, his arm was draped over your waist holding him close to you. It was intimate. You could feel your heartbeat pounding against your chest. You felt wrong for having Ethan so close to you. 

Maybe it was because he was almost murdered or maybe it was because of the thought of betraying Wes… you haven’t thought about him once this whole week. To be honest you were thankful. 

Ethan had become much more than a friend to you.

He was your lifeline.

. . . 

You were in your room getting ready. Mindy and Anika were planning something for tonight. Chad and Tara were going to be there. So it was basically just you and the couples. You were a little bit upset because you wanted Ethan to come but he told you he needed to do something important. 

You sighed as you threw on a cute outfit, something warm enough for the weather. You did the finishing touches to your makeup and left without another thought. You turned to see that Chad and Tara came down the hall. 

“No Tia?” Chad asked since it was just you. Odd number and all. 

“Yeah, she couldn’t come because of homework.”

“Dude, same as Ethan this semester is kicking our ass.”

You walked down the hall with them to the elevator. Talking about the homework you all had for your core classes. 

Anika and Mindy were outside smiling and waving. You all greeted each other and waited at the bus stop. 

“Is Sam with that guy?” You whispered.

The bus pulled up not a second later and you were glad that you all left when you did. The app said a bus wasn’t coming for another 20 minutes. You loaded on and Tara sat right beside you. 

“Oh um, Danny. Yeah, they have been getting kinda serious.”

“Serious..?” You looked at Tara and she could only smile. Sam deserved to have someone she’s done so much for you all. You were glad Sam found that special someone. 

“Dude, with my Chem class. There's no way I’m gonna pass,” you heard Chad say to Mindy. 

“Like I said before, you need to learn how to study. Get Tara to study with you,” Mindy laughed.

“I’ve literally asked if you wanted to study with me,” Tara chuckled.

“Yeah but I don’t think we would do much studying,” Chad said. 

You all looked at each other before laughing. 

“You’re gross Chad,” Mindy looked over at Tara who was trying to hide herself in your hair. 

. . . 

“See ya guys,” you said as you waved at Chad and Tara before opening your door. 

Tia was on the other side standing still you jumped a bit from her just looking at you. 

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She appeared stressed like something was about to jump out of the door. 

“No, it’s okay,” you immediately said, “are you okay?”

“Um no yeah I'm fine,” she forced a smile before going back to her room. You stood there trying to reason why she was standing there watching the door. 

You felt your phone buzz and looked down. Ethan was texting you about an apology for not coming but to make it up to you a movie was showing at the student center a film he knew you’d both liked. You agreed immediately and smiled down at your phone. 

. . . 

You stared at your outfit. You were just seeing Ethan. You didn’t know why it was so serious for you but it was. You decided to get your underwear first while still in your towel. You shuffled through your drawer not finding any of your underwear or ones you really liked. You guessed that laundry day was coming up. You decided just to wear your gray ones with cute cats. It was like that for your bras too. Some of them were gone and you didn’t really wash them as often as you should’ve. You grabbed a black one and went back to the outfits. 

You picked one out and threw it on. You were about to text Ethan before you heard a knock. You fixed your hair before walking towards your door. Ethan stood there with a smile.

“I was just about to text you,” you said as you let him in. “I don’t know how you always know when I’m ready.”

He chuckled as he went into your room, “I guess I have a sixth sense.”

You both laughed as you shook your head and went to your sock drawer.

“You should wear those.” Ethan pointed at a pair with a cute print. 

You smiled and put them on. You threw on your shoes and walked into the common room with him. Tia was standing in there too getting water. She didn’t greet Ethan as she greeted you. You furrowed your eyebrows a bit as Ethan greeted her and she simply ignored him. It grew awkward with all of you just standing there in silence. Ethan smiled before his phone started to ring, he excused himself and stepped into your room leaving you and Tia alone. 

 “Where are you guys going?” She asked, voice quiet, and her tone sounded like one of worry which confused you. 

“Oh um… we are going to see a movie at the student center,” you said quietly too. You weren’t sure why because Ethan was the only one there but you felt as though Tia had her reasons. 

“Okay…” she said and as Ethan opened your bedroom door she hugged you tightly and whispered making sure that you were the only one to hear her. “We need to talk as soon as you get back.”

You nodded as she sent you a worried look. You said your goodbyes and Ethan tried to too but Tia already shutted her door before it reached her ears. 

Ethan frowned a bit and stared at you. You shrugged, you didn’t know why Tia was so cold now. It didn’t make sense before she would tease you about Ethan liking you and now… she wouldn’t even spare him a glance. You both made your way downstairs choosing to ignore it. 

. . . 

You smiled when you walked into your room. It was fun tonight being with Ethan and seeing him walk around and being his fun nerdy self. You were glad he was still the same. You were glad Ghostface didn’t scare him off. You knew it was selfish to want him to stay. Why would anyone stay after being stabbed? But Ethan did. He stuck by you and still wasn’t deterred from being your friend. 

When you turned around to go back into the common room you found your roommate there. She was quiet as she stared at you. 

“So… um what did you need to talk about with me?” You asked. You were kinda hesitant to even ask mostly because you were scared that you might’ve upset her. 

“Y/n…” she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. You were worried because how she didn’t look in your eyes once after coming into the common room. “I think… I think Ethan broke into our dorm a few nights ago.”

“What-”

“I know- I know it’s crazy… but I saw someone in your room when you weren’t there and they looked kinda like Ethan.”

You shook your head and turned away from Tia. 

“There’s no way… that’s- why would he even do that?”

“I don’t know but I swear-”

“Ethan wouldn’t… I believe you but I don’t think it was Ethan.”

“Maybe... maybe it wasn’t but someone has been in your room going through your stuff. I just think you should be careful with how close you are with him,” she quietly said. 

“Y- yes of course,” you said as you stared at the ground. You didn’t know what to do. The only thing you could think of was telling Sam but you didn’t want to worry her. The thought that Ethan might be the culprit wasn’t a thought in your brain at all. Why would Ethan break into your room? It made no sense Ethan was one of your best friends now. He was a good guy, he wouldn't even hurt a fly so there wasn’t a possibility that Ethan was the culprit. 

You knew it had to be Ghostface because who else would it be? 

Who else would break into your room just to get to you? 

Previous Chapter?

Next Chapter?

[bcofl0ve]

single dad!austin x fem!reader headcanons (can be priscilla actress reader or elvis pa/crew member reader whatever floats your boat!)

- “fix it babies” never work. austin should/does know this. but he's a child of divorce terrified of the relationship he's been in for almost a decade really falling apart.

- so when the girlfriend in question says she's pregnant he goes right along with how hopeful she seems that this will save them.

- the day his daughter, lennon, is born is the best day of his life. she’s perfect and beautiful and everything he could’ve ever wanted. but she doesn’t fix what’s broken in his relationship w/ her mother.

- if the child of divorce breakup apprehension was bad before having a baby with the woman makes it 100x worse.

- the dam breaks when he books elvis. lennon is a little over a year old and girlfriend™️ 180s on how supportive she’s been when he actually gets the part and the move to australia comes up. she goes with him to the 2019 GQ awards and they get into a fight about her not wanting to move so bad that baz hears it through the wall.

- “so are we breaking up? i’m just not gonna see my daughter till we wrap? god knows when,”

- she promises she’ll bring her to visit, and she does in feburary. he’s so excited to see his baby but (now ex) girlfriend™️ is not happy and it gets under his skin how much she’s treating this like a chore.

- he ends up venting to you about it, looking away and chewing on his bottom lip when he asks if you’d want to get dinner somewhere with him. nothing fancy, he just doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts.

- austin’s your friend- and you’re worrried about him, so you say yes. if you go from dinner to his bed, well then that’s your own secret. it becomes less of a secret with time though- when he bestows you with the girlfriend moniker, you get spotted together and gossip swirls. as. it does.

- tom gets covid and everyone is packing up to go home and both you and baz tell austin he should too. but the last time he talked to his ex girlfriend it was a yelling match when she saw paparazzi photos of him with you.

- to say she hates him is being gentle. and he loves his daughter more than anything- to the extent that he’s horrified by the thought of trapping her in a house where him and her mother are constantly at each other’s throats.

- a month goes by before he really starts to regret that decision and sobs in your arms after a facetime call with her.

- when lockdown eases up a little his dad (not his ex-girlfriend) flys out with lennon to see him and you’ve never seen austin so happy.

- his dad is skeptical of you, but the toddler isn’t. the look you see in austin’s eyes when he’s watching you with her makes your chest tight.

- when elvis wraps and he moves to london he tells ex girlfriend he’ll put her up in a nice hotel and take care of her if she brings lennon over. so she does.

- but you moved with him to london too and ex girlfriend doesn’t like that. she especially doesn’t like you being around lennon.

- she leaves with the little girl after 2.5 weeks when she picks a fight with austin about you and he gets defensive. you feel guiltily no matter how much he tells you not to.

- masters of the air wraps and he’s finally back in california more permanently- you with him. a more “normal” custody schedule is put into place and it works well enough.

- sometimes ex girlfriend is hours late for pick up and drop off, and it doesn’t seem like she hates your guts any less- it’s most of why you haven’t moved in with him. but it works well enough. until the press tour.

- everyone is bringing family to memphis and austin wants to bring lennon, but it throws a wrench into the schedule that ex girlfriend isn’t apt to budge on. until he begs, and agrees to take a red eye before he has to be in new york to drop her back in california.

- he’s holding lennon sleeping on his lap during the bbq thing they did at graceland and lisa comes over all “gosh she’s precious aus, i miss when my girls were that tiny.”

- “trying to let her sleep now because we have to go to the airport tonight and get a red eye so i can drop her back with her mom and get to new york on time.”

- lisa says that sounds like a pain and he’s like yeah i asked if i could take her to new york and toronto and just bring her back when we’re done with press in a week- “my sister would’ve come to to help me out, not like i would’ve been leaving her with my assistant all day. but nope- she didn’t even really want her to come here, but i begged.”

- lisa says she gets that mentions how couldn’t make it to cannes because of custody bullshit of her own with the twins. austin he nods along.

- her heart hurts so much for him. so does yours.

- ex girlfriend has a boyfriend and austin finds out because he’s in the car when she’s getting lennon from the airport. he’s not happy about being kept in the dark- or about leaving her around a man he’s never met. but he has to be in new york.

- he cries to you in a tucked away corner of the new york premiere about how stressful it all is, mumbling that he just wishes things were different.

- he didn’t mean he wished ex girlfriend would drop it on him that her boyfriend convinced her to move abroad for a months long boho hippie retreat in the middle of nowhere so she’s signing over full custody. but that’s what happens. a week before your ohio move.

- austin feels so guilty- like he’s forcing you into the role of a nanny while he’s on set but lennon is a good kid- you really don’t mind.

- playing house like this is making you fall harder and faster than ever. him too.

- but that doesn’t mean austin doesn’t break down when miss ex girlfriend calls with the news that her boyfriend got a permanent job with the retreat company abroad. and that she’s planning on staying there with him.

- austin cries not so much for himself, but for his daughter who’s too little to understand she’s being abandoned. who still walks around the ohio apartment asking both of you when mama’s coming back.

- he feels like he failed as a dad, and you kiss his face and hold him tight and assure him that’s not true.

- he doesn’t believe you, not yet, but he does love you. his daughter loves you. that counts for something, surely.

[moonpiemoonshine]

Sway pt.3

(A Elvis Presley fanfic)

Guilt and fear is all Jadyn could feel when she knocked on the front door of Graceland. She knew that if she didn’t show up it would look bad to Elvis and that he maybe would never ever talk to her again. On the other hand she knew this could also be a bad idea just cause Elvis could resent her for not taking good enough care of his mother and he could put the blame on her. When the door opened Jadyn was slightly relived when she saw his father. She could barley muster a word up to him, looking at him with a sorrowful expression. Elvis’s father looked at her with a look of guilt and pity knowing this must’ve been hard for her.

“Oh Jadyn… you know you didn’t have to come, he would’ve understood. He wouldn’t hold it against you” his words where soft and full of pity. He gave the girl a sympathetic look slightly trying to get through to her.

“I know but she meant a lot to me, and Elvis means a lot to me so I need to be here for him” she replied in a low and gentle manner.

His father understood her intentions and lead her into the house. The loudness that usually filled Graceland was now gone. The large amounts of people in the house talking in almost a whisper and a more gentler manner. Jadyn was led through the house towards Tom Parker. When he had seen Jadyn he was quick to engulf her into a tight hug. Parker rubbed the girls back up and down trying to sooth her shaking body.

“My girl. Everything will be alright, with you here Elvis will be just fine. So no tears” he cooed while holding the girl.

All Jadyn could respond with was just a nod and when she pulled away from the embrace, Parker had lead her up the stairs to Elvis’s mothers room. Jadyn hated hearing the muffled sounds of Elvis’s wails and cries, the sound almost making her feel sick. When she was shown where Elvis was at it made her feel even worse. Seeing Elvis crying and grasping for dear life of his mothers old clothes, the sight alone made Jadyn want to crumble into pieces right next to him. Parker had left the two to have some privacy and when he was fully out of sight Jadyn had gotten on the floor of the closet, sitting across from Elvis. He looked at her through his teary and puffy red eyes. Tears slowly built up in the girls eyes as she looked at the man across from her, she put her hand on his knee looking at him with a sorrowful expression but still holding much compassion and sympathy.

“Elvis… I’m sorry” Jadyn began in a cracked voice, trying to stay strong for him.

“She’s gone Jadie! I left her and now she’s gone!” Elvis spat out clutching the bottom of one of his mothers dresses, basically crying into the fabric and almost hiding his face behind it.

“Elvis everything will be okay, she still loved you and you leaving wasn’t your fault” Jadyn tried to reassure him. “You’re mother loved you, and thought about you every day… I’m just sorry I couldn’t take the proper care of her I promised I would” she said tears now falling from her eyes. “I swear to you, I’ll do anything to fix this”

“Promise me, promise me you won’t leave me. Take care of me like you did with mamma. Please! Promise me!” His chant was desperate and harsh. His red puffy face scared Jadyn and made her uneasy. She knew this wasn’t him thinking clearly, he didn’t know what to do, and frankly neither did Jadyn.

“I promise Elvis, I promise to never leave you” her weak agreement was quiet. She pulled Elvis into a tight hug, letting him sob and cry into her shoulder. She hated feeling him tremble and basically crumble in her arms.

When Parker came back he asked for some time with Elvis and Jadyn parted with him. She reassured she would be just outside the door for him. Jadyn was too distracted by her feelings to even comprehend what Parker was talking to Elvis about. She was using all her strength to not cry and break down against the wall. She had never wanted to see him like this, she hated seeing him so hurt and sad. When him and Parker left the closet he was quick to hold himself on Jadyn. She held him in her arms, trying to sooth and comfort the crying man. Parker lead them down the stairs and had Elvis’s father take him outside to talk to the press. Jadyn watched worriedly through the window, not knowing any way to make Elvis feel better when he comes back out from the interview.

With what little time there was with Elvis being back home, Jadyn spent all her time with Elvis. It wasn’t filled with the usual chatting or talking of music, their time together was mostly in silence. Jadyn didn’t know what to do so she usually just sat and tried to comfort Elvis. When Elvis had to go back to Germany it was a sorrowful goodbye, but I had to be done. While he was gone in Germany Parker went back head first into Jadyn’s success. She had landed many new tours and performances. Jadyn had produced two new albums in Elvis’s absence.

Jadyn had become a even bigger star, touring all over the country. She had been on a tight schedule, but always wrote Elvis whenever she could. These tours had slowly started to take a toll on her though. She was getting terrible migraines and had been taking pain killers to put them at bey. She started forgetting when to sleep and when to write Elvis. She enveloped her entire life into this new lifestyle.

When Elvis had left and came back from Germany he had went head first into acting. Elvis had always wanted Jadyn to come down and see him but Parker had always told him ‘she’s too busy being a star’. Elvis had been able to get her busses phone number and had started to call her. He would catch her either before or after a show. Their phone calls were sweet but short. She was either on a time crunch or too tired to talk long. One night he had called her before a show but she was groggy and not thinking straight because of a migraine and the heavy pain killers she was taking.

“Elvis! So nice to see- hear your voice” she boomed out through the phone. Elvis could tell something was off with the way she was talking, “My show is gonna be on tv you gotta watch!”

“I know Jadie. I always do” he said in a calm collected voice, “but you okay Jadie. You don’t seem alright”

“I’m fine! Don’t worry about little old me” she replied with a giggle. She had fallen while on the phone and the loud crash had worried Elvis even more.

“Jadie! What’s wrong!” He almost barked through the phone.

“Oh nothin. Tripping over my own feet” she said between giggles.

“Darlin you’re worryin’ me” he spoke in a gentle manner scared for her.

“Oh hush, I’m fine. Nothing is gonna happen-“ the line was cut and the phone was hung up. Jadyn had hung up the phone on accident while getting off her bus to head to her show. This abrupt ending of the phone call cracked Elvis’s worry to the max.

Later in the night during her performance, her stage presence was less than what it had been before. She was still and barley danced. Her head was pounding during her show, and the strain in her voice was very much present. When Elvis watched her show from his tv he knew he had to do something. He decided to go to Texas to watch her next show so he could talk to her face to face.

When the next show came Jadyn’s mind was in a heavy fog. She could barley even comprehend who was around her. When she was on stage her vision was blurred from the pounding in her head. She sang and danced but it was slow, tactile; she was making sure that she still presented herself in a good light. About halfway through her show she had felt faint and was practically stumbling around the stage. She had taken a twirl but with the movement she had collapsed. The loud thud of her body and the sound of the mic hitting the ground had silenced the crowd. Elvis had panicked and raced to the front of the crowd not caring if anyone saw him. Jadyn’s dance partner had picked her up and carried her off, Elvis was quick to follow behind him and her crew. The crowd was roaring in worry and almost screaming for answers. When she had finally gotten back to her bus, Elvis was given the run down on her migraines and on the excessive pain killers she was taking. Elvis took matters into his own hands and decided to take her back to Graceland to take care of her. Parker was able to make a fake excuse of why she was on a short break.

(Stay tuned to pt.4)

[aceofwhump]

Just a random idea I humbly present to you

This is just something I’ve had floating in my head for a bit and I thought I’d share it with you. I’ve never watched Graceland and am basing my whole knowledge off of what I’ve seen on your blog so I have no clue if anyone is out of character

(note from aceofwhump: this is written and submitted to me by @let-the-whump-commence)

——————-

They were seated on the couch, going over the details of a mission. Mike was insisting he do one part that Charlie knew he didn’t.

“You don’t have to,” she remarked.

“No, I don’t want her to-“ he stopped, running a hand over his face, wiping away the- fear? Charlie could feel her heart rate increase, and a knot started twisting in her stomach.

“Don’t want who to what?” She prodded. Mike’s head ducked down.

“It’s, uh- it’s not important, uh-“ his leg was bouncing, shaking the couch. Charlie frowned.

“What’s wrong? You can tell me,” she tried, worry threading itself through her words. Mike didn’t answer, but Charlie could almost hear him struggling in his mind. She gently laid a hand on his leg. He stopped bouncing it abruptly, his eyes snapping to meet hers.

“Mikey, talk to me.” It came out in a plea. His eyes searched hers, before he broke away.

“It’s- it’s stupid, uh… she said she’d, uh- she said she’d hurt me if I didn’t- if I didn’t-“ he trailed off, leg resuming its anxious pace.

“Who did?” She asked.

“Paige.”

Just like that, the room reached a deadly silence. A cold hand of fear, disbelief, closed in on Charlie’s heart.

“Mikey,” she started slowly, dreading the worst. “Mikey, has she hurt you before?” He gave a short, jerky nod. Her heart plummeted, yanked downward by the cold hand that claimed it. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Mike- Mikey, that’s not okay.” She knew she was stating the obvious, but she couldn’t help it. Paige. She- that fucking bitch-

“I’m sorry,” Mike’s soft voice pulled her from her thoughts. Her eyes snapped up, shocked.

“No, no, it’s not your fault, don’t think that,” her hand moved from his leg to his shoulder. “Look at me. It’s not your fault, got that?” He nodded, blinking rapidly. Her heart shot back up, propelled by the cold hand’s counterpart- anger. A burning, searing rage. She pushed it aside, it wasn’t what Mike needed now.

“She won’t hurt you again, you hear me? I’ll make sure of that.” Mike nodded agin, his face scrunching up in an effort to fight back tears. She gathered him into her arms, and the tears were quick to follow.

“It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re safe.” She murmured, rocking him gently as sobs ripped through him. When they subsided, she untangled herself from him, as much as it hurt- and it hurt, telling him she would be right back. She marched to where she knew Paige was, the cowardly weasel, murder in her eyes. She slammed into Briggs, too focused on her destination to register the obstacles in her path.

“Hey, watch it-“

“Paul, do not start right now,” she snapped, cutting off his annoyed exclamation. His expression changed to one of bewilderment.

“Damn, what happened?” Charlie sighed, running a hand through her hair.

“Mike- Mike just told me that Paige has been hurting him.” She knew it came like a slap in the face for him, but she didn’t have the time to ease him into it. Paul stood with his mouth agape, but snapped it shut quickly.

“Paige? Are you sure-“ he started.

“He wouldn’t lie to me-“

“But this is Paige, she wouldn’t-“

“Don’t you take that fucking road, Paul. Don’t you dare doubt him like that.” She hissed, her anger flowing throughout her, launching her forward. Briggs held up his hands in a sign of surrender.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… a lot.” He apologized. Charlie sighed again, nodding her head in agreement. They stood in silence for a moment, but only a moment. Charlie spoke up first.

“Could you go sit with him? He’s on the couch,” she asked, but left no room for him to say no. “I don’t want him to be alone.” Briggs nodded, swiftly moving past her.

“Charlie?” She turned her head. Her friend’s eyes had turned dark, an anger in them that matched her own.

“Give her hell.” She nodded. They both continued on their own ways to their separate missions. She glanced behind her once more, and saw Paul sitting next to Mike, asking him if he was okay, and drawing him into his arms without hesitation when Mike gave a negative shake of his head in response. Her face softened into a sad smile, before she directed herself back on course.

No one messes with a mama bear’s cub.

At least, they never go unpunished.

[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

[v-the-adventurer]

January (Graceland Angst Fic)

Okay so this is my first time posting any of my own writing on tumblr? I’ve been lurking for years, you guys, years, so I figured it was finally time to contribute. That said, be kind lol. This one isn’t strictly a sickfic, but it does feature some casual emeto so if that’s not your thing, don’t read. Trigger warning for suicide.

Mike slowly drifted into consciousness, waking like every other morning during his placement at Graceland. The orange glow of the rising sun filtered in through the windows and the soft light was gentle as the young agent blinked awake. He let his eyelids fall closed as he stretched his languid body, feeling comfortable and warm beneath the comforter of his now-familiar bed.

Five months had passed since the bureau had sent him out to California, but it had taken a long time for Mike to feel comfortable out west. Between his new job and roommates, the unfamiliar climate, and the lifestyle change that accompanied moving cross country, the agent had had a lot to adapt to. Even the actual house had been difficult to get used to. It was filled to the brim with decor, but it felt like a showroom. Everything was just impersonal enough to remind him that the people in this house were replaceable. It wasn’t--and never would be--a real home.

But nevertheless, Mike had persevered. The culture shock had eventually worn off and he was finally starting to find his footing. He’d warmed up to his housemates, however impossible it had initially seemed. It had started with conversations over breakfast but as the time passed it progressed to nights out at The Drop and excursions to the beach. Things with his roommates were good right now, and Mike wanted more than anything for it to stay that way.

While his life at the house had gotten significantly easier, the same could not be said for his cases. The work he was doing was incredibly draining and he found himself struggling to stay out of the moral grey areas. Countless times he had stepped over the line for a case, but it was easy for him to justify his own actions. He did it to keep evil off the streets, to save people from the world of drugs, to prevent violence. No matter how he did it, he could always comfort himself with the fact that the bad would outweigh the good. Learning to sell your lies was an art, but lately it felt like he was buying too many of his own.

As the agent woke more fully, he reached for his phone to turn off his alarms. He’d woken before they sounded, for some reason, but he paid it little mind as he unlocked the screen. He flicked through his notifications lazily, messages from friends on the east coast who’d already been up for a few hours. There was one from his dad, which was rare. They had a strained relationship in the best of times, which wasn’t exactly conducive to random texts. Mike furrowed his brows as he read the message.

It’s a tough day, stay strong.

At first he was confused. Had the text been meant for someone else? Mike swiped through to the calendar app on his phone, hoping to find a clue there, but as the date flashed across his screen it hit him like a truck. The abrupt realization stole his breath and the sudden nausea he felt had him leaping from bed and running to the bathroom. He retched until he was empty, left gasping for breath over the rim of the toilet.

Today, it had been one year since the day his little sister committed suicide.

The nausea quickly gave way to guilt, and the sudden weight in Mike’s shoulders had him anchored to the spot. He couldn’t breathe past the growing lump in his throat, but Mike knew the pain in his chest was from more than a lack of air. He felt as though all of the wind had been knocked out of him. He was crying, he noticed, as a tear slid down to his chin. How could he have forgotten the worst day of his life?

When the agent was finally able to pull himself up from the tile floor, he only managed to stagger back to his bed. He was exhausted by the short walk, and there was not a chance in hell that he would be going downstairs anytime soon. He was too emotionally drained to see anyone, led alone eat. Depression had crept in like a filthy snake and moving felt like an impossible task. He spent the better part of the morning laying in bed, taking advantage of the fact that the rest of the world was still asleep. He sipped at the cup of water he’d brought with him from the bathroom, but nothing could wash the taste of bile and blood from his mouth.

He needed a distraction, he realized, but music from his headphones could do nothing to console him. The tears steadily flowed as he listened to the quiet chords of songs he had never heard, and as he sank into the sheets he couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself. On the east coast today, his family would all be together, mourning together. They would be looking out for each other, watching movies and playing board games to pass the time. But here, in his too-big bed in an empty house, Mike was all alone with his grief.

Except, not really. He knew it was raising a red flag with his roommates that he had yet to come out of his room. They’d likely be concerned, but the last thing he needed was for them to find out. He’d seen “the look” too many times to count in the months since his sister passed, the odd mix of horror, pity, and discomfort that played across the faces of those who heard. It was always followed by a stiff, “I’m sorry for your loss”, and damn if that didn’t make Mike want to punch someone in the face.

The funeral had been one of the hardest days of his life. He’d nearly chosen not to go, unable to find a purpose in it. It wouldn’t bring her back; nothing would. But when he saw the scared, confused eyes of his four year old nephew, the heartbreaking sadness that Mike felt was more compelling than anything he’d experienced in his entire life. So with his nephew resting on his hip, Mike went to the ceremony.

They said he would feel a sense of closure, but as Mike watched them bury her, all he could feel was empty.

He wanted to get drunk, he realized. Impossibly and immeasurably wasted. Maybe the numbing haze of the alcohol would stop the void in his chest from growing. It felt like there was a hole in his lungs, but he hoped beyond hoped that the alcohol would act as a patch. In his biggest show of strength for the day, Mike rose from the bed and slipped into a pair of joggers and a white tee. His muscles ached and he felt vaguely nauseous, but he walked downstairs anyways. He got into the kitchen slowly, mentally preparing himself for the barrage of questions he was sure to receive.

“Where’ve you been, sleepyhead?” Paige teased from the stove, ruffling Mike’s hair as he passed. Mike didn’t really respond beyond a half hearted shrug, moving forward towards his singular focus--booze.

“Mike?” Charlie prompted from across the island. “You in there?” She said it around a laugh, but at his lack of response her teasing morphed into worry. Her concern ticked up another notch as Mike lifted the bottle of gin from their alcohol cabinet and took a large swig.

“Dude, it’s like two o’clock. Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that?” Johnny asked after a moment. Mike realized they were all staring at him.

“Not on the east coast,” he mumbled sharply as he retreated from the kitchen with his prize. He felt like a ghost in his own body as he sailed up the stairs, flying under the covers like a robot. The next swig of gin burned all the way down, bringing tears to his eyes. He coughed lightly as the liquid settled in his stomach. His phone buzzed again, a call from his mother, but he let it ring through to voicemail. A shiver ran through him as the events from just one year ago surfaced again in his mind.

He remembered the sound of her voice, the way they’d hugged the last time he left the house. The way that she’d called out to him that she’d see him later, and how she waved at him as he drove away. He also remembered his mother’s screams, the way her face contorted as she sobbed. He remembered the way he’d knelt with her in a pool of bloody water, frozen stiff as the liquid flowed into the next room and stained the carpet. He remembers burning his clothes the next day, and how even after a week’s worth of showers he still hadn’t felt clean. He remembered her lifeless face, now imprinted into the back of his eyelids.

Mike remembered every little detail about that day. How he’d thrown up on the lawn outside the house the moment his sister was taken away, how he’d listened to the zipper of the body bag as it concealed her face for the last time. He remembered shivering in his coat in the biting January wind. He remembered holding his mother until his father arrived. He remembers standing there by himself for hours, not able to bring himself to go back into the house. Neighbors had suffocated them with casserole and gardenias for the next few weeks, but almost as soon as she was in the ground, Ashlyn Marie Warren was forgotten by the world.

As Mike took the last swig from the bottle and rose from the bed, he felt a familiar numbness creep into his limbs. Maybe it was the inebriation but all of a sudden he was ready to face his housemates. He stumbled his way downstairs, depositing the empty bottle into the sink.

“Mike?” Paul called out, stepping into the kitchen from the living room. “You okay?”

And of course Mike opens his mouth to say yes, but then he vomits instead. The gin burns worse on its way back up, and Mike is sure now that he shouldn’t have had an entire fifth on an empty stomach. Paul lunged for a bucket as Mike retched again, catching the sick before it could land on the floor with the rest of Mike’s stomach. Paul’s hand is on his shoulder once he’s done, guiding him around the puke to sit at one of the barstools. Miraculously, none of the vomit had landed on his clothes, but there was still a fair amount on the floor to be cleaned up.

Paul handed Mike a damp rag with which to wipe his face, and then placed a glass of water in front of him. “Drink slowly, kid,” Paul instructed before he called out for Charlie to come down.

Charlie paused when she entered the kitchen, taking in the puddle of sick and her wrecked roommate. Mike was the newest to the house, but still, it had been five months and he’d never done anything like this. The kid was as straight-laced as they came, but what he’d just done made him seem more like an out of control alcoholic than a federal agent.

“I’m sorry,” Mike choked out as he wilted in his chair, a few tears slipping from his eyes, and that was all it took for Charlie to rush into the room. She took a seat next to the rookie, brushing the fallen hairs from his forehead. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he gives in and cries. Charlie pulls him into a hug, shooting Paul a confused glance, but the other man knows nothing more than she does. When Mike eventually quiets, Charlie and Paul know they have a limited window to figure this out before Mike closes up back into himself again.

“Mike,” Paul starts, “what’s going on? This isn’t like you.” When Mike hesitates to respond, he adds, “You’re scaring us.” Charlie’s hands find their way into Mike’s hair while he chokes on an answer, and he shudders under her touch. Silent tears are still leaking down his cheeks, but the agent doesn’t seem to notice, too focused on staring at the floor.

Quiet settles over the kitchen like a thick morning fog. Mike is fidgeting with his hands, pulling on each individual finger while he struggles to find a way to explain himself. The way that Charlie plays with his hair is incredibly distracting to his drunken mind, and he kind of drifts off. He’s instantly brought back down to earth by a rough palm on his cheek, prompting him to look up into the eyes of his mentor.

“Kid,” Paul starts, a resigned concern lacing his voice, “You’ve gotta let us in. Is it Bello? Did something happen?” After a moment’s hesitation, “Is it Eddie?”

And all of a sudden Mike’s vomiting again. Just the mention of his name brings back another unwanted and painful memory, another death he has on his own hands. He remembers standing there on the pavement as red pooled from the fresh bullet wound in the Nigerian’s skull, the thick metallic scent of blood and gunfire hanging lowly in the air. He gags on the reminder, wincing as Charlie and Paul stumble back.

Embarrassment colors Mike’s cheeks when he sits back up, and he grimaces at the new pool of sick on the kitchen floor. But Charlie just shushes him as tears run down his cheeks again, and he turns to lean his head into her shoulder. Paul places a protective hand on his rookie’s back as the tears turn to sobs, feeling out of his depth for about the millionth time since Mike stepped into the kitchen.

“M’sorry,” Mike mumbles after a long moment. “For everything.” He’s slurring and his tongue feels like it’s too big for his mouth, but he goes on. “I just didn’t know what else to do. I just couldn’t, couldn’t feel anymore.”

Charlie wraps him in a tight hug as he breathes in shuddering gasps, fighting for control of his emotions. “What is it, baby? What happened?”

“I just miss my sister,” he chokes out around a sob, and his throat sounds like it’s been cut with glass. “Hate being an only child.”

And there it is, the piece of the puzzle that Charlie and Paul have been missing. This isn’t just some random act of rebellion or retaliation. It’s grief. It’s anger and pain and mourning and Mike just couldn’t deal with it. Charlie tenses for a moment as the reality of the situation sets in, but she shakes off the surprise as quickly as it came. Paul just steps back and grabs a seat at the barstool adjacent to Mike’s and rests a hand on his rookie’s neck. This moment is just another reminder that they really don’t know that much about each other, that they’re all strangers masquerading as friends, as family. Paul sighs deeply. How did they miss this?

They hold Mike for what feels like forever, until the tears finally taper off into nothing more than sniffles. Mike peels himself slowly from their embrace and rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands, feeling only a little trace of the buzz he had earlier that afternoon. He’s exhausted, and his hands shake as he moves to stand up.

“I’ll clean this up” he murmurs, grimacing at the soreness of his throat and the leftover taste of bile in his mouth.

“No, Mikey, we’ll get this,” Charlie promises, pushing him to sit back down. “But we need to talk about what happened today first.” Mike’s shoulders sagged, but he eventually relaxed back onto the barstool.

“You need to tell us what’s going on with you, Mike,” Paul starts. “We take care of each other here, but when we don’t know what you need it makes it really hard to be there for you. And I’m sorry that we didn’t check up on you earlier, because we should have known something was up as soon as you came downstairs today, and that’s on us. But you’ve gotta help us out, kid. This, all of this, only works if we’re honest with each other.”

Mike nods slowly, not meeting either of their gazes. He’s not sure he’s ready to talk about it, but Paul’s right. So after a steadying breath, Mike starts.

“I lost my sister a year ago today, to suicide.” Mike grimaces as he feels the hands resting on his back tense, but he presses forward. “She had been going through a really hard time, and none of us did anything. I didn’t do anything. I thought it was just typical teenage angst, or some bullshit like that. But it wasn’t. And I will pay for that mistake every single day for the rest of my life.”

Charlie sucks in a long breath and lets it out slowly, pulling Mike into as tight a hug as she’s ever given, hoping to be able to offer any kind of comfort to the distraught agent. “Mike, this wasn’t your fault. And I know that you don’t believe that and that you might not ever believe it, but this was a choice that she made in a time when she could have reached out to someone and asked for help. You can’t take that weight on your shoulders, because you didn’t make that decision for her, okay?” She tilts his chin up to look directly in his eyes. “Look at me Mike, this is important. None of this was your fault, okay?”

After a short breath of hesitation, Mike lets out a soft, but firm “okay.”

“And you need to come to us when you need help, kid,” Paul takes over, “so we can deal with whatever it is together. That’s why we’re all here, because there are some things we can’t handle alone, and that extends beyond our cases. We’re here for you, for each other, so please, just talk to us when you need something. We’ll always be here.”

This time when Mike nods, he’s wiping tears from his eyes and he’s more than willing to melt into the waiting arms of his housemates. They stand there like that for an immeasurable amount of time, and Mike honestly couldn’t tell if it’s been minutes or if it’s been hours, but Paul and Charlie never waver in their embrace. It felt good to have someone to lean on.

“Alright, why don’t you head up to bed, kid?” Paul suggests once they finally pull back. Mike nods slowly, fighting a yawn, and stands from the barstool. As he stretches out his tense muscles, Charlie presents him with a water bottle and a bottle of advil.

“Drink a little water tonight, the advil is for tomorrow morning.” Mike lets out a little laugh at that, grimacing at the thought of how sick he’s going to feel.

“Thanks, Char. And,” He pauses as he turns from the kitchen, “thanks for everything you guys.” He wears a small smile as he pads up the steps, reassured that he’s not near as alone as he thought, and that there are people here who will take care of him.

[wayward-marvel-sommer1196]

What He Didn’t Know

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: SPN canon violence, unexpected pregnancy, angst, language I think, I think that’s it. If I missed any let me know.

Word Count: 3697

A/N: I wrote this specifically for angst appreciation day so I hope it’s angsty enough for y’all. This story is basically a rewrite of the Season 5 finale Swan Song with added bits of the reader. So like the long conversations the guys have are directly from the episode so credit to the writers of the episode for that. I would also like to thank @idreamofhazel because she gave me a list of ideas that helped inspire this so thank you love. I’m unsure if I want to continue this or not so if you want more let me know.

Summary: You have been Sam’s girlfriend for years and are basically soulmates however you found out you are pregnant. Right when you are going to tell him, he tells you his plan of saying yes to being Lucifer’s vessel and jumping into the cage. What happens next? Does Sam find out about your pregnancy? Does he still take the fall?

***Italics are flashbacks***

Sorry I went crazy with the GIF’s I couldn’t help myself 

Three minutes had never felt like so long. You were sitting on the toilet seat while the stick sat on the counter. You had been feeling a little sick lately and you were a week late which for you was unusual. You weren’t sure what you were expecting. You weren’t sure which you wanted more a positive or a negative result. Both scared you because you always wanted kids, but in this life, you weren’t sure that was a great idea.

“Rriiinnnngggg!” Your three-minute alarm went off and you went to the counter. You cautiously picked up the stick and were stunned at the site of a plus sign. You were going to be a mom. More importantly, Sam was going to be a dad. Now all you had to do was figure out how and when you were going to tell him.

That was a week ago, you still hadn’t told him. You hadn’t told anyone. You considered not having it because of the oncoming apocalypse and all, but you could never do that. Now, Sam had this suicidal plan to stop Lucifer and this wasn’t the right time to add any more stress on him.

"Sam, you can’t honestly be considering this," you said.

"Y/N, this is the only way we can stop Lucifer and the apocalypse. We can't let this continue. I can't let this continue. I'm the reason Lucifer is out in the first place. I let myself get tricked by a demon and now the whole will suffer because of my mistake. The least I can do is sacrifice myself for the entire world," Sam said.

"What about your life Sam? What about the people you save? What about the people who love you? Did you ever stop to consider that? You know Dean can't live without you. Hell, the man sold his own soul to bring you back to life. He needs you, Sam.”

"Y/N, he'll just have to learn to deal. It's either me or the whole world. There's no comparison there. You heard the angels, this is what they want. They aren't going to help. They aren't going to try and stop it. I need you to understand that I have to do this, unless you have another way to defeat Lucifer I'm all ears."

"Just give us a little more time and maybe we can think of something. We can't just give up."

"That's just it Y/N, we are out of time and we have tried everything else. This is our only option. I have to say yes to Lucifer and jump into the cage."

"What about me, Sam? Huh? Did you ever stop and think how this would affect me? I love you. You are my best friend and my soul mate. What am I supposed to do without you?" you said as you put a hand on your stomach and sighed.

Sam looked at you and tears started to fall down his cheeks. He grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into a bone crushing hug. He kissed the top of your head and said, "I going to need you to move on, ok?" He pulled you away and held your chin between his thumb and finger. "I love you too so, much you have no idea. I used to think that Jess was my soulmate until I met you. Once you walked into my life everything got so much better. You were this beautiful, badass, hunter that was way out of my league. The day you said yes to go out with me was one of the best days of my life. Believe me when I say leaving you is the hardest decision I've ever had to make. But, this is my mess and I have to clean it up. My only wish is that you get out of this life and go be happy somewhere with someone, ok?"

You couldn���t speak through the sobs that were starting to wrack through your body so you just nodded. You didn’t agree with him or this plan, but he was a Winchester and you knew there was no talking him out of it. So, you just wrapped your arms around him and sobbed into his chest and thought about the fact that your child was going to grow up without a father.

Next was Dean. Sam knew he would be hard to crack, that’s why when Dean said yes, Sam was stunned. Honestly, Dean wasn’t thrilled with this plan, but after talking with Bobby, he knew he had to push his selfish needs aside and do what was best for the world.

"Truth is.... you know watching out for you.... Its kinda been my job, you know? But more than that it's...it's kinda who I am. You're not a kid anymore, Sam, and I can't keep treating you like one. Maybe I got to grow up a little, too. I don't know if we got a snowball's chance. But....I do know that if anyone can do it...it’s you," Dean said.

"Thank you," Sam replied.

"If this is what you want...is this really what you want?"

"I let him out. I got to put him back in."

"Okay. That's it then."

You, Sam, Dean, and Bobby grabbed and packed up all the supplies you needed. Dean and Bobby deduced that the devil was in Detroit so y'all took off and headed there. During the ride, you passed out with your hand on your stomach in the back seat along with Cas while the guys had the conversation Dean knew was coming.

"Hey, um...on the subject, there's something I got to talk to you about," Sam said.

“What?” Dean replied.

“This thing goes our way and I... triple lindy into that box...you know I’m not coming back.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

“So, you got to promise me something.”

“Okay. Yeah. Anything.”

“You got to promise not to try and bring me back and not let y/n either.”

“What? No, I didn’t sign up for that and neither did she.”

“Dean- “

“Your hell is gonna make my tour look like Graceland. You want me and y/n just to sit by and do nothing?”

“Once the cage is shut, y’all can’t go poking at it, Dean. It’s too risky.”

“No, no, no, no, no. As if I’m just gonna let you rot in there.”

“Yeah, you are. You don’t have a choice.”

“You can’t ask us to do this,” Dean said as he looked through the rearview mirror at you still sleeping.

“I’m sorry Dean, you have to.”

“So, then what are we supposed to do?”

“You go find Lisa. You pray to God she’s dumb enough to take you in, and you have barbecues and go to football games. You go live some normal, apple pie life, Dean. You watch out for y/n, make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid and help her move on. Promise me.”

You arrived at the abandoned building and watched Sam say his goodbyes to Bobby and saw Bobby tearing up. Next was Cas who, poor guy, didn’t really get that in this situation, you tell the person what they want to hear, so he kind of made things worse. Then Sam turned to you, his eyes sunken in and pain written all over his face. His grabbed your face and pulled you in for one last kiss. It was soft yet rough, desperate yet passionate, loving yet regretful. It was like he was pouring all his emotions into that one kiss. You felt his tears start to roll as yours did too and when he let go, he gave you one last squeeze and turned to Dean at the trunk. Then it was time for Sam to drink the demon blood and you looked back at Dean, who had a sullen face, and he walked towards you and hugged you as Sam didn’t want anyone to watch him drink the blood.

You opted to stay behind with Cas and Bobby outside while Dean went with Sam, knowing you wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Dean came out of the building with tears in his eyes, but you could tell by the look on his face that something wasn’t right.

"It didn’t work," Dean said.

“What do you mean?” you asked as the tears started rolling again.

“Sam wasn’t strong enough. Lucifer knew about the rings and took control of Sam before he could make the jump and then just disappeared,” he said as he came towards you engulfing you in his arms while you both cried.

As the shit hit the fan and the whole world started to crumble, you and Dean looked to Cas and Bobby for anything that could stop this or at least where it was going down. You got neither information nor support from either of them. So, you and Dean decided to make a phone call to Chuck in which you found out the fight was taking place the next day at high noon at Stull Cemetery in Lawrence, Kansas.

When you were both approached by Cas and Bobby, they knew you had a stupid plan and tried to talk you out of it. Dean fought them on it because it was Sam, but Cas insisted you wouldn’t be able to reach him. But, if you already lost then you’ve really got nothing to lose, right? That's when Cas said, “The only thing you’ll see is the person you both love being killed by Michael.”

"Well, then we aren’t gonna let him die alone," you both replied.

With that, Dean looked at Cas and Bobby almost hoping that they would change their minds, but they didn’t. He then looked at you with a sorrowful look and tears welling in his eyes to which you nodded and both headed to the cemetery.

You pulled up to the cemetery seeing Michael, in Adam's body, and Lucifer, in Sam’s body, squaring off. Dean put in his Def Leopard tape, revved Baby's engine and drove towards them. You both got out and Dean said, “Sorry, are we interrupting something?”

You both approached Sam saying you needed to talk at which Lucifer just called you both stupid. Then, Michael jumped in and Dean tried to apologize to Adam if he could hear him, but Michael just sassed Dean so he said that Michael is next on his list.

Out of nowhere when Michael started yelling and approaching you and Dean you heard, "Hey, ass-but," and turned to see Cas Molotov Michael and Bobby standing there with him. "He will come back and he will be angry, but you got your five minutes," Cas said and you and Dean nodded your heads appreciatively.

Suddenly, Lucifer turned around pissed at Cas for molotoving his brother and snapped his fingers basically exploding Cas causing you and Dean to jump and Bobby to look like he was about to pee his pants.

“Sammy, can you hear me?” Dean said.

“You know I tried to be nice...for Sammy’s sake. But you...are such a pain...in my ass,” Lucifer said as he threw Dean back into Baby smashing the windshield.

Bobby pulled out the colt and as you tried to tell him no he fires off a shot into Sammy’s back and then his chest when he turned around. That pissed Lucifer off even more so he twisted his hand and snapped Bobby’s neck making you and Dean shout. He then grabbed Deans left leg, dragged him off Baby’s hood and effectively landed a punch to his jaw making him spew blood.

You ran to Dean's aid despite his look pleading you not to.

“Sammy? Are you in there?” you asked.

“Oh, he's in here all right,” Lucifer said as he landed a punch into your jaw. “And he’s going to feel the snap of yours and Dean’s bones,” he continued as Dean stepped in the way to receive the punch headed towards you.

You proceeded to watch helplessly as Lucifer beat Dean saying he was going to take his time occasionally looking back at you to remind you that you are next.

He continued to beat the life out of Dean making his face leak blood and swell tremendously as Dean said, “Sam it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here, I’m not going to leave you.” Lucifer lands a few more blows. You stepped in by Dean and you both said, “We’re not gonna leave you.”  

Something caught Lucifer’s eye or was it Sam’s eye? You couldn’t tell. His fist was still held in the air ready to lock with Dean’s face for another blow. You looked to wear he was staring. It was at the little army guy he shoved into the car door ashtray as a kid. You could see the memories rushing back through his head allowing Sam to take back control.

His fist unclenched and he gasped letting Dean go and stepping back. Dean was on the ground sitting up against baby face bloody and swollen and you were sitting right next to him holding on to his arm.

“It’s ok guys. It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got him,” Sam said as he took the horsemen rings out of his pocket and started chanting the spell.

The ground opened and started sucking in the ground around it. You and Dean looked at Sam who was already looking back at you with pain in his eyes. He looked back at the hole than back at you. He took a few deep breaths and nodded his head. You saw a tear run down his cheek as he took one last glance at you and mouthed an ‘I love you’. He then looked back at the hole.

“Sam,” you hear as you looked and saw Michael. “It’s not gonna end this way. Step back!”

“You’re gonna have to make me!” Sam shouted.

“I have to fight my brother, Sam! Here and now! It’s my destiny!”

Sam looked to you and Dean one very last time gaining the courage he needed and closed his eyes to fall back into the hole. However, Michael grabbed him midfall, so Sam grabbed his arm and pulled Michael down with him into the cage.

As soon as they fall, there’s a bright flash and the ground closed. Dean stared at the rings that now sat in that place, closed his eyes, crawled over to the rings and picked them up. He sat on his knees with his shoulders slumped looking down to the ground. You came up behind him and wrapped your arms around his midsection from behind and leaned your head against his back.

Suddenly, you felt a presence and saw an intact Cas standing behind you fully powered. He placed his fingertips on Deans forehead healing him and then to yours healing you. He then walked over to Bobby and healed him bringing him back to life.

Dean looked down at the rings in his hands with a face full of sorrow and then looked at you. He saw the tears start to begin again in your eyes and grabbed you and wrapped you in a hug while you sobbed into his chest. He shushed you and held the back of your head with his hand, telling you everything was going to be ok.

You, Dean, and Cas were all in the Impala on your way to back to Bobby’s, when Cas decided he was going to return to heaven to help calm the anarchy. You and Dean scoffed and Dean got angry at Cas saying that God was no help and he was next on Dean’s list.  

"Where's our grand prize, all I got is my brother in a hole and all y/n got was a broken heart,” Dean said.

“Dean...” you tried to interrupt.

“You got what you asked for Dean. No paradise. No hell. Just more of the same. I mean it, Dean. What would you rather have? Peace or freedom?” with that Cas disappeared.

“You really suck at goodbyes, you know that?” you said talking to an empty seat in front of you.

You and Dean arrived at Bobby’s and said your goodbyes for now. Bobby pulled Dean into a hug and Dean reciprocated. Bobby whispered something into Dean’s ear that you were not quite able to catch. They let go and Bobby turned to you and pulled you into a hug and whispered, "You take care of yourself y/n and look after him. You’ll both need each other.” You nodded your head and gave him one last squeeze before you and Dean got back into the Impala and headed out.

As you jumped back onto the road you realized you had no idea where you were going.

“Dean, where are we going?” you asked.

“I made Sam a promise that I would take care of you and have a normal, apple pie life,” he said.

“Okay, so where exactly is that apple pie life?”

“Lisa’s.”

“Okay, well I can see why she would let you in, but she barely knows me. Where do I go?”

“Look y/n, you are family. I didn’t need to promise Sammy that I was going to take care of you. I was already planning on it. And Lisa is a good woman, you know that. She wouldn’t just leave you on her door step.”

You nodded when all the sudden you started to get that sick feeling again. You had been able to hide it thus far, but with all the strain you had put your body through with all the emotions, you weren’t strong enough to suppress the sickness.

“Dean, pull over.”

“Why? We have a lot of driving to do.”

“Dean, I SAID PULL OVER GOD DAMN IT!!!”

“Okay. Okay,” Dean said as he pulled to the side of the empty country road.

You jumped out of the car and hunched over puking your guts out. You were barely able to make it out the car when you couldn’t hold back any longer. Dean came running over to you when you began heaving.

“Hey, hey sweetheart, easy now,” he said as he put his hand on your back and started rubbing soothing circles.

When you were finished, you wiped your mouth with you hand and turned to face Dean, who was already there to hug you. As the tears started falling again he grabbed you and held onto you as tight as he could. He knew how much he hurt, he couldn’t imagine what you were going through. “It’s going to be ok, sweetheart. I got you. Everything’s going to be fine,” Dean said his voice cracking trying to convince himself as much as you.

“No, it’s not, Dean. Nothing about this is ok. I didn’t tell him. I should’ve told him,” you staring panting trying to get all the words out but just sounded like you were rambling.

“Tell him what? That you love him? He knew that y/n. He- “

“I’m pregnant,” you said as you started sobbing and holding your stomach.

“Wait, what?”

“I’m pregnant and I-I-I,” you couldn’t quite get the words out.

“He didn’t know?” Dean asked and you shook your head no.

“I just found out last week and with everything going on I didn’t want to add stress to the situation, but now…”

“Y/N...” Dean said with a sympathetic face. “You should have told him,” he said calmly, not judging you or berating you. “But I get it. I do. And look, look at me sweetheart,” Dean said and you lifted your head to look in his beautiful green eyes. “I’m here for you. You won’t be in this alone. I may not be Sam or he father, but I will be the best damn uncle to the munchkin and the best damn brother you need. Okay?” Again, you nodded your head and you both crawled back into the Impala.  

You both pulled up to Lisa's house. It was dark and was starting to rain as you approached the door and Dean knocked. Dean hoped she’d take him and you in, while you just hoped she wouldn’t think you a burden. You had nowhere else to go and you had met Lisa before. Dean introduced you when you had to save Ben from the changeling, so you hoped she would offer you a helping hand, not that she had any reason to.

“Hey Lisa,” Dean said as you just stood behind him.

“Oh, thank god. Are you alright?” Lisa said as she looked around and noticed you.  

“Yeah. Uh if it’s not too late, I... think I’d like to take you up on that beer.”

“It’s never too late,” she said as she motioned for you to come closer. She saw the dried-up tear stains on your face. “What about you sweetie?” she asked.

“I can’t really have a beer, but if I could join you that would be nice. I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” you said hugging your body out of nervousness.

She reached out and hugged you and then grabbed Dean and hugged him as she said, “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

You both go inside and she gets dean some whiskey and you a water as you explained to her your predicament. She smiled at you sadly and said, “If you need any help let me know. I don’t on my own with no help so I know how it can be.”

Ben had come down stairs and you got reacquainted with him and you all settled at the table while Lisa put out the dinner she had made. You and Dean put on fake smiles believing that if you’d fake it long enough that eventually it would become true.

However, what you both were unaware of was a few yards outside that front window stood Sam staring at y’all. He decided it was best that he just let you guys live your lives. He believed you were better off thinking he was dead or rather still in the cage.

What he was unaware of was that you were sitting there 3 months pregnant with his child in turmoil on what you were going to do.

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