#hawaiian bowling alley

[fieriframes]

[And my blond brother from another mother Glenn yet, short sobs he gasps away his breath in a Hawaiian bowling alley.]

[two-red-lungs]

The Kids Are Alright (Eddie Munson)

Your first date with Eddie Munson is fine, as far as first dates go. You get pizza together: meet awkwardly outside the door at 7pm, hands sweaty, exchanging nervous, butterfly-riddled smiles. You eat. He can't stop moving in his seat opposite you, tapping his hands on the sticky enamel tabletop. He looks at you with big brown eyes. Wary, at first, then as the night goes on and it becomes clear this isn't some string-along joke, or a prank, with boyish glee.

But the second date is the one that really shines.

Eddie, in all his intellectual glory, takes you to the Dollar Tree.

It's late, again, and the D in the logo flickers in and out of existence. The air inside smells like cheap plastic, dust, and the urban sprawl of capitalism. This is a place that's usually... dead. A pathetic sort of dead, where dreams come to die, the cashier looks about five seconds from falling asleep, agonizingly boring elevator music plays over tinny speakers, and Hawaiian themed teacups are on sale for ninety-nine cents.

You think god, what the hell are we even doing here? This is hardly a dinner date, or the bowling alley, or makeout point, or any of the usual dates your friends always bragged so cooling about. But then Eddie looks at you over his shoulder, spins on his heel, and throws his arms wide. His outfit jingles.

"Welcome," he says with a glint in his dark eyes, "to the goddamn kingdom of imagination."

You should leave. God knows to anyone else at school this date could sound like a horror story, an uncouth, uncool, unladylike disaster. But there's something in those eyes. Something vibrant and alive and real. So instead of leaving you think, okay. Why not.

Best decision of your life.

He knows this place by heart, every white-tiled aisle under the buzzing fluorescents. And he's funny, too: you didn't expect him to be so funny. As you both slowly amble and push your squeaky-wheeled cart he picks up random shit, talking as he fiddles.

A fuzzy caterpillar cat toy becomes his moustache. He wraps a crinkled paper streamer around his neck like a boa and faints dramatically against some of the shelves. He scurries to the aisle next to you and pretends to walk down a staircase, disappearing from view: when his moppish head pops back up again, his wild hair flounces.

Huh. He smiles like the sun.

Eddie asks about everything possible, and god, under his stoner slang he's whip fucking smart. You crack a joke or a sarcastic reference and he smoothly returns it with equal emphasis, two tennis players on the court.

You check out picture frames. Eddie suggests throwing a little spraypaint on it, a little silver paint to light the edges, some weathering with sandpaper, and suddenly you've got yourself some primo decor.

"You like to paint?" You ask him, standing in the aisle, holding the shitty wooden frame. He's looking over your shoulder. You can feel his body heat, this close.

"I'm a big believer in, uh. Creativity, y'know?" His smile is big, toothy. Still nervous. Like as extroverted as he is, as big as his personality could be, the sting of a scoff or a sneer could still hurt.

You tell him that's cool. Something in his eyes softens.

God, you don't know how many hours you spend in that place, just talking and touching shit and discussing potential DIY projects and cool ideas. You talk comics, and music, and Hawkins social politics. He tells you about Tolkien. You tell him about David Brin. He likes David Murray, you like Siouxie Sioux. You both agree the autumn leaves this time of year make the Hawkins High look like its roof is on fire (and god, if only).

Your cart is full of bullshit you don't really need, bullshit full of promise and potential, and Eddie is letting you ride the cart with your feet on the front bar as he pushes it down the aisle at mach one speed. He splutters behind you, your hair in his mouth. He's laughing.

The total comes to 12 dollars even. The plan for the next date is to turn the kids bathtub toys you bought- ducks and dolls and dolphins- into zombies and mummies and other creatures with the shitty barely-opaque acrylics set you scored.

The sky is black outside, and it's raining. He asks if he'll see you again this week, and you say yeah, duh. The air feels like fireworks- like lightning, like a live wire. You think for a second that he's gonna kiss you.

Eddie pulls out a silver-plastic tiara from under his vest, nicked free of charge from the girl's section, and sets it on your head. It's cheap, pattern-punched plastic with pink plastic gems. It's perfect. He's made you a fairytale.

Munson bows, smiles again- the one that makes his eyes crinkle- and then he's off in his van.

He's so weird. He's so strange. You don't understand him.

You think you really like him.

[laracrofted]

baby, i'm high octane (iv)

synopsis: at bradley bradshaw's birthday party, nora has a realization under the disco ball.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit language, alcohol consumption, pop culture references, slutty (affectionate) rooster, brief mention of blood, and smut. (wc: 6.8K)

note: at long last, the rollerskating chapter 🪩✨ and icymi, i posted another mood board for this chapter 💖

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tagging // @theharddeck (who talked me off a ledge about this chapter; i snuck a california coast reference in here for you, dear) @frenchyjuju @bioodforbiood @cursedtobe @roosterbruiser @t-nd-rfoot @bethbunnyy @filmflux @djs8891 @mayhemmanaged @sometimesanalice @eli2447 @bradshawsbitch @hangmanbrainrot @startrekfangirl2233 @kandierteveilchen @lostinwonderland314 @hangmanscoming @dempy @mlibbydp

“Mav actually said I’m not supposed to do anything high-risk after I had that bird strike scare so…” 

And with that, Bradley crosses his big arms – dusted with new freckles and sun from his afternoon on the boat with Captain Mitchell and Penny Benjamin – over a barely buttoned shirt; something Nora half-suspects Bradley found from searching Hawaiian shirt comma eighties disco and ordering the first option.

What Bradley ended up with is a black shirt, covered in bright geometrics, squares and squiggles and martini glasses in neon shades of violet, cyan, and pinkish magenta.

As close to a Hawaiian shirt as the Naval aviator could wear and still be on theme and funnily, eerily identical to the carpet at the long-since-closed bowling alley where Mom booked one of Nora’s elementary school birthday parties. 

He could probably lie down and blend right in. 

Minus the martinis, obviously. 

Bradley uncrosses his arms. Crosses them again.

And Nora watches him, absentmindedly, blinking at this indifferent nonchalance that Bradley is putting on. So unbothered. So casual. Real believable. 

“Are you okay, Bradshaw? You’re sweating a little.” 

And as only a mature and newly minted 36-year-old could, Bradley ignores Nora.

Smiling, Nora slurps down the rest of a frozen strawberry lemonade, spiked with vodka. Cheap vodka. She pulls a face at the well of might-as-well-be-rubbing-alcohol at the bottom, rapidly blinking and deep breathing through the sharp sting in her nostrils. 

She will not let some bottom-shelf vodka ruin her eye shadow, not now, not in her favorite dress.

A delicate cough spurts from her mouth. She wouldn't be surprised to see a puff of fumes come out.

“That was like…” Mickey sounds confused.  “Four months ago, Rooster.” 

“And?” 

Bradley uncrosses his arms and spreads them wide, palms upturned – an incredulous gesture as bird-like as his call sign. His winged arms drop back down in a whoosh of wind. 

“I almost crashed into the side of a mountain and had to do an emergency ejection. Medical kept me overnight for observation. It was pretty serious, Garcia.” 

Bradley drags out the vowel and clips the constants in the word pretty for even more emphasis, and in her peripheral, Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose and screws her eyes closed.

Drama drama.

Reuben exchanges a bewildered look with the WSO and shakes his head. Deadpans, “You had one bruise, man. Singular.” 

“Nurse Julie said I had a hematoma,” Bradley retorts, like, so there!

Someone audibly groans. It might be Reuben.

“Fine. You had one bad bruise. Happy?” 

Bradley makes a face – a distinctly, not happy face – and crosses his arms again.

“And when did you graduate from medical school, Doctor Fitch? My invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail.” 

“I’m dating a nurse! A hematoma is a bad bruise.” 

From Natasha's side of the bench comes a prolonged sigh, a good four-second exhale.

“Moving on…" Natasha continues, "Rollerskating definitely doesn’t fall under what Maverick would consider high risk.” Air quotes are audible in her voice. She waves the roller skate around, abandoned when Bradley put them down. "Children were out there like... 10 minutes ago. Children, Bradshaw!"

A valid point. 

Before Moonlight Rollers made the loudspeaker announcement (“Anyone who isn’t of legal drinking age should turn in their skates and head to the nearest exit in the next 15 minutes. Saturday Night Fever is now in session.”), Nora sat down with her skates and lacing them, counted at least six skaters who were younger than the bourbon Penny Benjamin serves at the Hard Deck.

Children – as Natasha very much emphasized – who cut across the rink with the unselfconscious effort and fearlessness of a child who'd never broken a bone before and honestly, wouldn’t mind a super cool cast for their summer camp friends to sign on Monday.

As if reading her mind, Bradley’s next argument is: “Someone could fall or sprain their ankle or fall and sprain their ankle. How’re you planning to fly with a broken wing, Phoenix?” 

As Natasha studies him, unreadable, Nora decides to wade in.

She can't listen anymore. She's aged five months in the past five minutes.

 “Bradshaw – You’re the one who wanted to do an activity for your birthday party, remember?”

Clearly, Bradley needed the reminder. He was the one who specifically wanted an activity with alcohol and some sort of theme, and Nora found Moonlight Rollers on Instagram.

On Thursday, which was his actual birthday, Nora brought him an Americano (no milk, no sugar, steaming hot) and a breakfast sandwich (a bacon, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel, extra toasted) in the morning and as a present of sorts, secretly asked Technician Ethan to install the camera in his F-18 for the afternoon.

He was ecstatic, so ecstatic that Bradley picked her up and spun her around, like a rag doll in cool shoes, until Captain Mitchell crackled over the radio, sounding equal parts amused and long-suffering.

“Admiral Simpson says – and I quote. Put Miss Rogers down. She's a loan." Captain Mitchell then added, "And from me, I won't protect you or your wings from Charlie Blackwood if Nora somehow falls. Put her down please."

Bradley set her down with a grimace.

Now, Nora continues, “We could’ve done drinks at the Hard Deck again and called it a night. I could be one and a half Old Fashioned's down right now, watching Netflix in my underwear," and Bradley grins, wolfish.

He waggles his brows, impish and obnoxious, and Nora knows what Bradley is picturing right now. Anyone would be able to see it all over his face.

For a 36-year-old man, Bradley can really be a 16-year-old boy sometimes.

She sends him a blank I will kill you in your sleep stare and mimes a slow slash across her own throat, shaking her head from side to side, and Bradley barks out a laugh, apparently not very intimidated.

Should Nora be offended?

He should be like... a little afraid, at least.

Natasha stares him down, and now, Bradley does look a little afraid.

Dark eyes narrowed, sharp against the glittering lavender Natasha lined them with earlier; Natasha is a stunning lavender monochrome, dressed in a ribbed tank and short sweat shorts, even down to the light purple wheels on her skates.

How did Natasha manage that? Nora wonders. She peers down at her own skates and sees only a bright cherry red. Damn. She would've loved a bubblegum pink in this dress.

If Nora has learned anything in the past month, Natasha seems to get her way one way or another. Now is no exception.

Nora smiles. Watch out, Bradshaw!

Natasha rounds her lips to an O shape, smooth voice sweetening into something more saccharine; more patronizing. "Oh... You're scared, aren't you, Rooster? Why didn't you say earlier?"

Are Bradley's ears turning a little red?

"Really? You can pilot a million-dollar plane for a living but can't handle a little..." A polished nail spins one of the wheels. Mocking. "...sneaker with wheels on the bottom?"

And like that, Natasha has him.

Hook, line, and sinker. 

She's barely gotten the words out when Bradley yanks the skates from her outstretched hands with a grumbled, "Fuck off, Phoenix. I'm not scared. I just remembered I don't know how to roller skate. Goddamn," and drops right down on the carpet to strap them on, swearing up a storm under his breath.

Ever optimistic, Mickey calls out, "It'll be fun, man," and Bradley grumbles something unintelligible. 

Natasha doesn't even pretend not to look victorious. She beams.

Nora, on the other hand, is a little more sympathetic. A little. 

He is a big man. Tall and broad with a long distance to fall in a wobble. She'd probably be a little nervous too.

Everyone is drinking. Someone is all but guaranteed to fall on their ass before the end of the night. Who? is the only question that remains.

“I can show you the basics,” Nora offers, watching him fumble with the shoelaces, double and triple knotting them around his ankles. “You can surf, right?" A grumbled sound that Nora will interpret as a yes. "You'll be fine. Balance is the hardest part. We can even hold hands."

She wiggles her fingers in his direction, teasing, gleaming an iridescent pink that matches her dress.

He snorts. “Hot. Promise?” 

Never mind. She's less sympathetic now.

Nora kicks out a leg and lightly catches him in the side of the knee, scuffing the dark blue denim, and Bradley scoots away with a surprised exclamation.

She rolls her eyes.

Maybe if Bradley falls, Nora can get a good shot on her phone.

She'll frame it. A memento for the birthday boy.

"Natasha, do you know when Coyote will be here? I still need to meet him."

Last Nora had heard, Javy 'Coyote' Machado had gotten back from the deployment in the middle of the week. He drove down late last night and crashed on Jake's couch. Got coffee with Captain Mitchell in the morning to discuss when Coyote could move down to North Island. It is still a vague – albeit promising – soon, but Natasha seems to think Coyote will be permanently moved before the beginning of August.

Natasha slides her phone from the front of the fanny pack slung around her waist – silver with prismatic purple, pink, and blue hues, same as the one Nora is wearing over her shoulder like a Miss America sash – and checks her appearance in the front camera.

Holding the phone like a compact, Natasha applies a fresh coat of shiny lip gloss and smushes her lips together to spread it around. Replies, slightly muffled, "He and Hangman got in an Uber like 20 minutes ago. They should be..." A bicycle bell notification chimes from her phone. "Speak of the devils!"

Natasha searches the rink, sipping from a Blue Moon bottle on the bench. Smiles widely.

She points with the sweating bottle, seemingly oblivious to the line of condensation that drips down her forearm and onto the carpet.

"He's right over there, next to Hangman."

Nora looks across the room, dancing over the multi-colored lights and foil streamers, gleaming and rustling in the warm evening breeze that sneaks in through the opening and closing of the main entrance – and lands on Jake.

He leans against the black-and-white checkered Skate Rental counter in a familiar stance, arms crossed lazily over his chest in a way that makes his muscles really shine. He probably does it on purpose.

Don't look at his arms, Rogers.

Coughing once, Nora remembers what Natasha said about Coyote and re-directs her gaze over one. Jesus Christ.

Even from across the room, Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado is… extremely good-looking. Model, good-looking.

“Are all Naval aviators hot?” Nora accidentally asks out loud, already a little buzzed somehow. Damn vodka.

A grumbling stomach makes her wistfully remember the cold pizza in the fridge that she definitely meant to reheat for dinner before Natasha called and said the Uber would be there in less than two minutes. Damn.

She hopes Moonlight Rollers has more options for food than the six options for alcohol at the concession stand. She would kill for a greasy slice of cheese pizza or even better, some crinkle cut fries that'd probably be inexplicably soggy but still taste good.

"Is it like, part of the admission requirement for Top Gun? Like America's Next Top Model, except instead of Tyra Banks, Admiral Simpson is there."

Nora imagines a stone-faced Admiral Simpson – who’d never so much as cracked a smile in her presence before – walking down an aircraft carrier, a collection of files under his stern arm.

Congratulations. You’re still in the running to be America’s Next Top Gun graduate.

Natasha bursts out laughing. "You should've seen my Top Gun class. You wouldn't ask that question."

She is still chuckling when Bob walks over a few minutes later, sipping a blue raspberry slushie from the concession stand with a cerulean tongue.

"Got us a locker," Bob announces, pointing to the wall of lockers in the corner of the room. "Anyone have anything that needs to go in right now? I can put 'em away while I have it open."

Mickey and Reuben dig around in the turquoise pockets of their matching nylon tracksuits – which must have been a buy one, get one deal – and produce loose change, apartment keys, and the like. They hand them over.

When Bob comes over, Nora gently pats her pack and shakes her head. She's got all the essentials in there. She's all set.

Something is different about Bob tonight.

As Bob quietly repeats the locker combination under his breath, a row of concentrated wrinkles on his forehead, Nora stares at him for a probably uncomfortable amount of time.

Pink dusts across his cheeks under her observation, and Bob shuffles his weight around. He looks startled when Nora snaps her fingers in an aha! moment.

“You aren't wearing your glasses, Bob," Nora says, almost accusing. "Have I ever seen you without your glasses?"

“Probably not,” Mickey ribs with a good-natured grin. “He practically sleeps in them.” 

Looking like a Hairspray character, Bob is dressed in a plain white shirt with suspenders. A single curl hangs loose in his face, fighting against the iron hold of what look to be a good amount of hair gel. He blows it out of his wide blue eyes with a sheepish smile.

"Guess not. I need to put in lots of eye drops when I wear contacts – sensitive eyes and everything – so I don’t wear them all that much,” Bob explains, looking much more comfortable now that Nora isn't staring at him quite so intently. A self-conscious sip. "But I'd much rather run to the locker every half hour to put in eye drops than break my glasses and need to get new ones."

It's like Bradley Bradshaw was waiting for that very moment.

On his knees, Bradley butts in, "Did you hear that? Even Floyd is afraid to fall on his ass and break something. Are you gonna make fun of him too, Trace?"

Robbie frowns a little. “I don’t know if I’d say I’m – ”  

“High. Risk. Activity.” 

Nora laughs out, "Go away, Bradshaw," and gently shoves him backwards.

He shouldn't have budged, but Nora must catch him in an uneven moment.

Bradley reels back, arms flailing like a wild goose, catching himself on a spread palm. His expression is comically dark and promises retribution, and Nora puts in a concerted effort not to laugh.

A giggle escapes, and Nora's eyes grow wide.

"Wait, I'm – Bradley!"

"Say your prayers, Rogers!"

For the second time in 72 hours, Bradley grabs her around the middle, and Nora is in the air.

At least Nora decided to wear bike shorts to make the short dress – usually reserved for parties and cocktail bars – more wearable. He'd be a dead man otherwise. He might still be a dead man.

Because Bradley is barely skilled enough to balance his own weight on the skates.

His proud smirk quickly falls as Bradley stands and starts to zig zag on the carpet. His skates go out from under him.

He goes down like a collapsed Jenga stack, and Nora is falling.

Strong arms catch her under the armpits and pull her out of the splash zone of Bradley Bradshaw's flailing arms, and still unbalanced, Nora wobbles and stumbles back against a firm chest with a sharp inhale.

Mint and cologne.

She tips her head back and sees an upside down – and very amused – Jake.

"Hi," Nora says, a little winded. She spies the black Stetson, perched on his head. “You really are such a damn cowboy, aren’t you, Texas? What’re you even supposed to be? Butch Cassidy and the 80's Dance Kid?"

She feels more than sees him chuckle, a low vibration against her back that sends a warm shiver down her spine.

Jake releases her arms, but a careful hand hovers around her lower back until Nora has her sea legs again.

She smooths down the dress down, running her hands over the glimmering pink sequins, and in the background, Reuben and Mickey rescue a dazed Bradley, who is flat on his back on the outer space patterned carpet.

"Howdy," Jake drawls with an ever present smirk. "Good guess, sweetheart, but I'm Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. Don't you know your Hollywood movies, Hollywood?"

From here, Nora is close enough to smell the spearmint gum in his mouth. She can see the pale blue flash between white teeth. He smells incredible. Damn damn damn.

Casually, Nora does her best not to breathe in.

"Patrick Swayze doesn't wear a cowboy hat in Dirty Dancing." Jake is rocking the black-on-black look. She'll give him that. "Did you watch a porno with the same name?"

Someone laughs, full-bodied and delighted.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me, Hangman?”

Nora smiles, and Javy Machado smiles back.

"You must be Javy. I'm..."

"You're Nora," Coyote cuts in, smooth and polite as can be, despite the interruption. He shakes her hand with a blinding smile. "Maverick gave me the whole run-down on the documentary when I saw him earlier. If I was any more envious of the bastards who get to be in it, I think I'd be green. Really."

"Well," Nora replies with a cool smile. "I bet I can sneak you in. I could probably delete all of Jake's footage and make it look like an unfortunate accident. How would you feel about pretending your call sign is Hangman?"

Javy guffaws, but Nora looks sidelong at Jake with a smirk.

Jake's chuckle is a pleasant and rasping sound. "You're a little mean today, Hollywood."

"More than usual?"

Jake drawls, "No. You're always a little mean," and makes it sound like a compliment. Warmth slips down her spine, and Nora swallows hard.

"You tired yet? Need to lay down?"

Can you? Nora doesn't need to repeat the question from the kitchen – over a week ago now – for Jake to hear it in her voice. Can you keep up with me?

His smirk deepens. "I'm wide awake, Hollywood."

Javy watches them like a ping-pong match, looking absolutely delighted. "We only just met, Nora, but I think I might be in love with you."

She grins. "Hm. That's too bad."

And as Natasha grabs her arm and pulls her into the roller rink, glimmering in the dark, Nora misses when Jake knocks an elbow back and catches Coyote in the ribs.

A crescent moon rises outside on the pitch black horizon, and inside, Moonlight Rollers glows in the dark.

Everyone is a little more drunk and a little less self-conscious in the silver gleam of the disco ball, spinning and shining like a glittering moon.

And in the rink, Nora is pleasantly surprised to find that the limited rollerskating abilities – emphasis on limited – Teen Nora used over a decade ago now have been dormant somewhere in the back of her mind. Not lost in the endless spiral of time.

Rollerskating is a little like riding a bike in that way.

She wobbles for the first few minutes and sticks close to the sides of the rink, just in case, and then, slowly finds the balance. Finds the rhythm.

Soon enough, Nora is coasting.

Natasha and Bob are her partners in crime for a while. 

She skates alongside them, casting sidelong glances at where Jake and Javy are on the sidelines, catching up and nursing the beers that can't come into the rink with them. Alcohol isn't allowed in.

"Come in," Nora calls on her umpteenth rotation. "Water's nice."

Javy opens his mouth, already grinning, but Jake shouts over the music, "And who would stand here and admire that sparkly little dress of yours then, darlin'? You should wear that on Monday."

Nora gives him the finger, and Jake laughs.

Eventually, Bradley joins the rest of them. He picks it up quickly, just like Nora predicted. He only rams into the side of the rink once and like, barely.

He spins her around the rink until she is breathless with laughter and seeing spots of light behind her closed lids.

"Stop," Nora gasps, "I need a breather."

Citing a need for another fucking drink, Bradley follows her out of the rink and heads for the concession stand, winking at a woman in a Maid of Honor sash.

Nora sits down on the nearest bench, pressing down on the stitch in her side, and soaks in the atmosphere.

According to their Instagram, Moonlight Rollers had been in business since 1986. It looks the part. It'd be a dream of a movie set.

Nora can see it now.

A romance, bathed in the changing lights of the disco ball, pink and purple and blue. Soft.

Exactly the kind of movie Nora wanted to make once upon a time.

Take Me Home Tonight blares over the speakers, and Natasha's laugh rises over the music as Bob launches her across the rink, shimmering like a purple shooting star across the night sky of mismatched walls and lights. 

Nostalgia is a dull ache in her chest.

Growing up, Nora used to strap on an old pair of roller skates from the garage – passed down from Mom, who loved an old school roller rink – and spend hours down near the Santa Monica pier.

So many summer nights were spent in the warm ocean breeze, breathing in the salt air, stretching her arms out to reach for the pinprick stars, as the Pacific Park neon blurred in the distance.

She was never so much great as Nora was unafraid.

Not afraid to, as Mom often said, fail with her whole heart. Take the leap.

Some late night, Nora skinned both elbows and both knees on an uneven sidewalk. Tears still burned in her eyes as Nora slapped on some ointment and a few oversized bandages outside the nearest CVS and got right back out there.

She still had dried blood on her forearms and calves when she got home. Gave Mom a damn good scare.

Sixteen is another world, and Nora isn’t quite as fearless anymore. 

Reminiscing, Nora almost doesn't notice Javy is still at the side of the rink, drinking a nearly empty Blue Moon. She doesn't see Jake anymore.

Javy nods in greeting, and Nora waves.

Everything Nora knows about Lieutenant Javy Machado has come secondhand from the Daggers and Captain Mitchell. He is obviously a skilled pilot. He wouldn't have been recalled to Top Gun in October otherwise.

Natasha knows him from OCS in Newport and flew with him on several deployments. She calls him a good guy.

And Javy is the only person Nora's ever heard Jake outright call a friend. She knows Jake is friends with the Daggers, but Javy is his best friend.

"Did you lose your wingman?" Nora asks when Javy is close enough to hear the question over the music. "Where did Jake run off to and leave you all alone?"

Smiling, Javy shrugs, a movement that's oceanic on someone as broad-shouldered as him.

"He's on the phone."

 She looks over her shoulder and sees the Emergency Exit door is propped open with a brick. She can just make out a sliver of the night and Jake. His expression is soft.

"It's Sarah, I think," Javy answers the question before Nora can ask. "His older sister."

"Jake has a sister?"  

"Two. Sarah and Bethany." 

Nora absorbs that information with an absent-minded nod. "You've met them then?"

He passes the beer bottle from one hand to the other with a nod. "I even spent Christmas with them one year. We were stationed in Fallon – in Nevada, I mean – and I'm from Louisiana. Neither of us had enough leave to go all the way home."

"So Mrs. Seresin and Sarah and Beth..." His voice softens on Bethany's name, and Nora wonders. "... met us in the middle. We spent Christmas at a Holiday Inn in Phoenix, Arizona."

Fondness shines in his whiskey brown eyes, and Nora can't help her own smile in response.

Something nudges in the back of her brain, and Nora pulls on it like a loose thread. She remembers how Jake had stiffened at the nepotism comment in Natasha's kitchen.

Carefully, Nora asks, "Not Mr. Seresin?"

Javy gives her a long, searching look that feels far too appraising for comfort; that feels like Nora is the only one in the room who doesn't get a joke.

After a moment, Javy says, "No." Short. Opaque.

Right then.

"So," Nora starts, but Javy cuts her off with an expectant smile.

“Can I ask you something?" 

"Sure," Nora replies slowly, "but I might not answer."

He seems to get a kick out of that. 

"You know, I get it now. I really do," Javy muses with a low laugh. And before Nora can ask him to explain, the Naval aviator distracts her with, "You and Rooster. You seem... close."

Something about the way Javy says close seems weighted, but Nora is too surprised to give it much attention.

"Oh. Well, Bradley and I knew each other before. His mom, Carole was friends with my Aunt Charlie before..."

Before Carole died.

Before Nora lost a mom too.

"Bradley and I are kind of family friends, I guess. Was that a question?"

He smiles again. Nods again, like Fair enough. 

Javy asks, "Ever been more than friends?" and watches her closely for a reaction.

But Nora had looked up to Charlie Blackwood her whole childhood. A woman who'd never once broken a sweat. She learned from the best.

Cool as ice, Nora asks, "Maybe. Maybe not. Who's asking?" and arches her eyebrows. She'd really like to ask, Who told you?

For his part, Javy looks a little admonished, so Nora softens the expression. She's not uncomfortable. She doesn't want to make him uncomfortable.

He's not as similar to Jake as Nora initially suspected. Jake, who would've grinned wider and pushed more, not stood down until the end.

Maybe Nora kind of likes that about Jake.

She remembers what Jake had said almost a week ago, "You like that I can keep up with you," and goddamn, maybe Nora does. Fuck.

Distracted, Nora only catches the end of what Javy is saying.

"...and Jake is my best friend, so I had to ask."

Confusion wrinkles her brow. "Bradley and I are friends." 

"Just friends?"

"Just friends," Nora repeats, firm. "But Jake and I aren't..."

Evidently satisfied, Javy's smile is back in full force.

"Right. Of course not."

And Javy only sounds slightly knowing.

"I'm gonna grab another drink. You want anything?"

Nora shakes her head. "No, I'll get my own in a few."

He strolls away with one last smile, whistling along to Everybody Wants to Rule the World, and Nora is left alone on the bench, staring into space.

Over her shoulder, Nora sees Jake again.

Pink light shines across the rink now, and Jake laughs on the phone, golden in the rose blush of the disco ball. She can almost hear the depth of sound; can almost feel the vibration behind her ribcage.

Fuck. When did that happen?

Nora faces forward, blowing out a long breath, and heads for the concession stand. She needs five minutes with Bradley Bradshaw – and a goddamn drink. 

Anyone who works in a place like Moonlight Rollers has probably heard their fair share of famous last words.

One final misguided question or daring declaration that precedes a dislocated elbow and a late night drive to the nearest emergency room. 

Like, “Crouch down, I can definitely jump over you.”

Or, "Oh my god. Let's do the lift," when the Dirty Dancing soundtrack comes on after midnight.

“Holy shit, Nora!” 

“Are you alright, Phoenix?” 

Crumpled like a punctured balloon animal, Natasha lets out a hyena laugh, loud enough to draw the attention of the Naval aviators who were lucky enough not to witness the absolutely catastrophic failure of a Dirty Dancing lift.

Did Nora even leave the ground? She can’t remember. 

She is definitely on the ground now. 

Fuck. Everything is spinning a little bit. 

Wait, Nora is directly below the disco ball, which was already spinning before. False alarm. She’s not horribly concussed. Everyone can calm down now.

“Holy damn,” Natasha gasps out, wiping at her eyes. "That must’ve been the worst Dirty Dancing lift in the history of Dirty Dancing lifts. We should be ashamed of ourselves.”

"We absolutely should." Nora winces. "Fuck. I think I broke my sunglasses."

She pulls out the pink sunglasses that were once shaped like hearts and are now little more than shrapnel. Damn. She liked those.

Natasha wiggles on her side like a beached mermaid, wrenching her neck back. “Think I ripped my shorts. Can you see my ass right now?” 

Nora lets out the giggliest giggle that’s ever been giggled.

“No, I can't see your ass."

“Shame. I’m wearing really good underwear, and I wanted at least one hot woman to see them tonight.” 

Nora clutches her stomach, laughing, and Natasha spills back into a high-pitched shriek of laughter. Tears spill down their cheeks.

Mickey pulls away from an intense lip-lock on the sidelines to reach them. He is the first one, sinking down on his knees.

"Are you guys okay?"

Nora drops an arm over her face and gives him a weak thumbs-up from the floor, and Natasha hiccups.

"Here. Take my hand!"

She does, but Nora has a lot of liquid in her stomach right now, sloshing and splashing. She is having a hard time engaging her core.

Mickey pulls, and Nora only slides.

Her dress is probably around her stomach right now. God bless bike shorts.

"Would you...?" Mickey lets out an exasperated sigh that makes Natasha pout.

"Don't get mad, Fanboy!"

"I'm not mad," Mickey insists. He looks around and focuses on a spot Nora can't see. She tries and only succeeds in painfully pulling her hair. "Can you help me out here, guys? They’re so drunk. It’s like deadlifting a fish."

"We are not fish. We are ladies," Natasha pipes up, sounding indignant. "Some of us are anyway." A bright smile lights up her face as Javy and Bob come into frame. "Coyote! Bob! Did you see our lift?"

"I saw it, and I wish I hadn't," Javy says dryly. He has her off the ground and on her feet in a single move, guiding her arm around his shoulder as Bob grabs the other one. "How about some water? Hangman..."

"Go ahead. I'm good."

As the slurred sound of Natasha’s giggles fade under the swelling finale of (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life, Nora briefly closes her eyes. She opens them again, and Jake is standing over her wilting form. 

He glows against in the light from the disco ball, a golden gleam in the silver incandescence. Twinkling.

“Hi Jake,” Nora says softly, poking at a sore spot on her bottom lip with her tongue. She must’ve bitten it in the fall. She doesn’t remember that either.

“Hi Nora.” 

“You’re sparkling.” 

“You’re bleeding.” 

Confused, Nora frowns.

Dull pain radiates from her left knee, and Nora spots a red and angry scrape across the skin, pulsing and throbbing with a forming bruise. She wipes at her eyes again, stinging with more tears, now that Nora has remembered the pain.

“Oh, I think I'm fine though. I'm tough. I'll get back out there."

She doesn't move.

His cheek twitches, but Jake doesn’t let her distract him. He crouches down.

“Come on, Rocky. Let’s get'cha cleaned up, yeah?” 

She sticks out her arms, and amused, Jake peels her from the rink.

She is on the bench again in a flash. Metal is cold against the backs of her thighs, and Nora shivers.

A warm hand brushes across the nape of her neck, and Jake murmurs something in her that Nora doesn’t quite catch. 

Only after Jake leaves does Nora comprehend the words.

“Be right back, sweetheart.” 

Alone, Nora looks around. She feels a little out of focus.

Underneath the neon arcade sign, Natasha is chugging a bottle of water while Bob readies another. She doesn't see Bradley anywhere. He must've snuck off or gone home with that girl.

Nora remembers their conversation and drops her head into her hand, propped on her thighs.

Nora caught the stiff edge of Bradley's sleeve.

“Sorry. Can I speak to you for a second? Alone?”

He was in the middle of a conversation with Maid of Honor sash, who glared suspiciously at Nora as Bradley slid into the booth across from her.

Don't even worry, Nora wanted to reassure. He’s all yours.

“So Coyote asked me an interesting question,” Nora started. She explained the context and repeated the question. "Did you tell anyone?"

“Did I tell anyone what?” 

“You know,” Nora insisted, and Bradley shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his mouth to hide the glimpse of the entertained smile forming there. Jackass. “You know, Bradshaw. Don’t make me spell it out for you.” 

He shrugged. “I really don’t know.” 

“Christ…”

What had Nora done to deserve this? Riddle me that, universe.

She exhaled. "Fine. We were both at Captain Wolfe's party a few years ago." Five to be exact. She held back a groan. "There was a pool game and drinks and shots and..."

And a silver dress sparkled in the blue darkness, gleaming in a shimmering puddle on the leather back seat of a faded blue Bronco as a shirtless Bradley Bradshaw leaned over the bench seat and popped open the glove compartment for a condom.

And and and.

He grinned.

"Oh, I think I remember now. So I shouldn't have told everyone I know about the hot sex in the back of the Bronco? I shouldn't have mentioned that?" And if Bradley expected her to blush, Nora disappointed him with an unimpressed glare and a swift kick in the shins. He yelped. "God, I'm kidding, Rogers. I didn't tell them anything."

She whispered quickly, "Why would Coyote ask me that then?"

"I don't know, okay? Everyone here is a nosey son of a bitch who can't mind their own business," Bradley said. "Even Phoenix has asked me once or twice. Someone probably has money riding on it or something. Not a big deal." He sulked. "Can I go back now?"

After an internal debate, Nora said carefully, "I have one more question. Do…?”

Do you all think something is going on between me and a certain arrogant pilot from Texas?

Her lips parted as Nora hesitated, and impatient, Bradley pulled a pained face. “

“Nora, I was about to get laid."

God. She waved him away. “Fine, sorry. Use protection.”

"Always do," Bradley said with a wink and was gone, leaving Nora alone with the smothered question, still kicking up sparks in the back of her awareness.

She needed that drink to be a double.

Something brushes against her knee, and Nora startles.

“Careful,” Jake cautions, voice low and soothing, like Nora is a spooked horse. “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

She didn’t notice him come back. 

She relaxes. 

“Did you get your skates?” 

He blinks. “My what?” 

“You went to the Skate Rental counter, didn’t you? I saw you.” 

“I went to ask them for their First Aid…” Jake is cradling a small red and white box in his arms. A roll of gauze is around his thumb like a ring. “…and get you some water because your knee is bleeding, Hollywood."

He says it like Nora might’ve forgotten. She frowns.

She didn’t forget.

She would've remembered.

She carefully sips the water as Jake opens the kit and pulls out some bandages and ointment. He opens a packet of alcohol wipes with his teeth and nods at Nora’s leg. 

“Can I?” 

Nora nods, and Jake sinks down on his knees. 

She is surprised when Jake doesn’t start with her knee, instead carefully unknotting the laces and pulling the skates from her feet, setting them down on the carpet.

He smiles faintly at the pink socks, the little embroidered heart on the ankles, and Nora swears Jake brushes a gentle thumb across the pattern.

He applies the alcohol, and Nora lets out a sharp hiss at the sting, the burn.

He doesn’t prolong the sensation. He moves with such quick and efficient purpose that she wonders if one of Jake's sisters is a nurse or doctor.

She wants to ask him. 

What comes out instead is, "What did you tell Coyote about me?” 

For a brief moment, Jake pauses, then carefully sets the bandage in place, crumpling the plastic wrapper in a clenched fist.

His voice is hard to read. “Why’re you asking?” 

She should say something like, “Sorry, I’m really drunk, and I didn’t mean to ask you that. Let’s pretend I never said anything. This never happened,” and Jake would say something like, “Can do, Hollywood.” 

That would be that. 

Instead, Nora throws away the shovel and starts digging the hole with her hands. 

“Something Coyote said. What did you tell him?” 

“Well, I guess I just said I might've met a beautiful and smart and clever as hell woman, who's basically my dream girl." Jake looks at Nora, all dimples and gleaming green, stroking across the edge of the bandage with a soft touch. "My argumentative dream girl."

She swallows against a suddenly dry mouth. "Just that, huh?"

"Just that." His expression is warm. "She doesn't like me though, right, sweetheart? Not even kind of?"

She realizes that on his knees like that, Jake could slide over half an inch and be between her parted legs. He could lean right in and...

“Right," Nora echoes. "Not even kind of."

A grin brims on his lips.

She lets the moment fade, and blessedly, Jake does too. 

Jake pats her on the knee and rises. He gathers the wrappers and runs the First Aid kit back to the Skate Rental counter, coming back with another water and fries.

She could actually cry. She munches on the burning hot fries and drinks the water instead and sobers enough to push down the urge to lean on Jake's broad shoulder.

She puts on her skates again as Jake tosses the rest of the fries and dusts off his hands. She flexes her knee like a brand new Barbie doll with a proud grin. He watches her with a fond expression that softens every part of his face.

“Will I live, Texas?” 

“Think so, Hollywood.” 

Jake sweeps his fingers through his hair, picking up the cowboy hat from the bench and setting it back on his head.

"Now," Jake drawls. "We have enough time for a few more trips around the rink. Want to get back out there?"

He holds out a hand, and Nora slips her hand in his.

She doesn’t let go in the rink, and Jake doesn’t either.

When Jake walks her to the door and lingers, looking at her with those eyes, Nora should probably close the door in his face. She should close the door and go to bed alone and tell him to do the same. 

She can't be trusted around him, not with the alcohol and the adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream, making her feel unbalanced.

Instead, Nora digs her own grave.

She holds the door open, and Jake comes in with a smirk, smug and knowing.  

Everything is a blur from there. A supercut of soft touches and gasping breaths and the sound of his name as Jake presses her against every damn surface in the damn apartment.

Every kiss is devouring, sucked into the column of her neck, pressed against her bare shoulder, open-mouthed and possessive.

He doesn’t kiss her on the lips, not yet, and Nora wonders if Jake wants to make her beg him. 

She’s never begged for anything in her damn life. 

She might let him.

She is pliable under him, and Jake is more than willing to use that to his advantage, maneuvering them onto the mattress.

She is still dressed, and on her back, Nora can hardly breathe as Jake reaches under the dress and pulls her underwear down.

"You're so beautiful..."

He licks a long stripe over her core, tongue flat and broad. 

She can’t think. She can hardly breathe. 

She’s right on the edge, aching, when Jake pulls back.

He looks up. Mouth slick with her, grinning like a devil. 

"Come on, sweetheart," Jake murmurs on a low breath that fans right across her exposed core. She whimpers. "We’re just gettin’ started. Be good for me."

She shakes awake, drenched in sweat, with a familiar ache between her legs.

It was a dream. She's alone.

Her dress sparkles from the corner of the room, where a drunken Nora had left it a few hours earlier and crawled into bed in an old NYU shirt that feels too warm now.

She peels it from her skin and gulps down the whole water glass on her nightstand.

Neither is enough to soothe the heat that burns under her skin.

Nora sighs out an emphatic "Fuck" in the darkness and lets her hand drift under the covers. She comes with a hand over her mouth, a familiar name on her tongue.

note: i will add a real note when i don't have a blue light headache, but... past nora and bradley, confirmed? current nora and jake, still a question mark? what do we think?

should i spring the nora and bradley one shot from the vault next?

read the next chapter here!

[rillette]

What goofy design do you think each green lantern will have on their swim shorts

FANTASTIC QUESTION I think hal would have like Hawaiian shirt pattern or like rubber duckies, guy would have crabs or guy fieri style flames, kyle would have like normal solid blue or something, and john would have a cool fun pattern like 90s bowling alley carpet style or fish

[twilightprince101]

BLASTS THE BUGSNAX FANDOM WITH MY SUPER MEGA ARTFIGHT ATTACK BEAM!!!!

BEHOLD: PANDORA'S TRIANGLE!!!

This piece is by far one of the biggest ones I've ever made, both in terms of raw size and composition. Me and my friends in a Bugsnax server took part in a gigantic RP thing together involving the Grumpinati being more involved with the expedition team, and this piece was made to memorialize that whole thing!!!

The Bugsnax fandom has, in the past year and a half, really helped improve my life. I'm trying to be more outgoing with how I approach people, I have much more fun with how I express myself and my creative drive has boosted significantly!! It's not an exaggeration to say that, if I didn't join this fandom, I likely wouldn't be who I am today. So this piece is dedicated to my friends in the fandom, and to Bugsnax at large for its overwhelming creativity!

Artfight as well this year was an experience. In terms of attacks I didn't do too many, but the fact that I managed to do more than one art piece this month is a god damn miracle. Really helped me get out of my creative rut, and I wanna continue making more even after this!!

So to everyone in the fandom and who has been making stuff alongside me, thanks for being you! You're all a blessing, and it's an honor to freak out over gay muppets with all of you <3

CHARACTER CREDITS UNDER THE CUT!!!

Crisp Busterfun (Brown grump), Maizel Mudwig (Lime green grump with brown jacket), Morfus Evenprestige (dark purple grump with labcoat and goggles) and Amberg Grandmark (orange grump with sword), alongside the fanmade bugsnax Beheamoth (ice cream cake with horns) belong to @bustersnax

Lazloo and Loola Morrowell (Hunched over grump looking at an ant farm and light blue grump with necklace) along with fanmade bugsnax Taffurm (Pink strings with squares) belongs to @basedsnax

Lazloo and Loola Morrowell (Hunched over grump looking at an ant farm and light blue grump with necklace) along with fanmade bugsnax Taffurm (Pink strings with squares) belongs to @basedsnax

Iethiko Costapese (black coated grump in the center) and Vylsia Stickdrop (light blue grump with black jacket) belongs to my friend Vyn, who does not have a tumblr account

Bamton Swansong (brown grump with jacket and large stolen lightning staff) and "Smitmore" (yellow grump with trenchcoat and sunglasses) belongs to @soulthefunnyman

Frankley Baffletap (fully snakified grump with a raspberry horn) and Aliara Witgoal (Purple grump with black coat) belongs to @emeiandstuff

Rupyne Loupdaze (Large black grump sitting cross legged), Maltah Mailstrife (green grump offering a protein bar) and Sharkley Crownshine (golden sweater grump holding a remote) belongs to @ennet

Lusile Sunnyfunny (faded pink grump that Gramble is reaching towards) belongs to @strabbyshortcake

Suey Choppingblock (red grump in a grumpinati cloak) and Jaymie Slumberlamb (light purple grump in a white T-shirt giving the bird) belongs to @vaperroreon

Seris Sadgrey (grey grump with glasses and tie, running a paw through their hair) belongs to @hyper-fixator

Mayya Copperbell (yellow grump in orange hawaiian shirt), Oliander Copperbell (Orange-yellow grump with eyepatch), Aximia Rosebuttons (Purple grump in sweater hugging Mayya), and Rodelia Rubyheart (red grump in cloak drinking wine) belongs to @mayyak

and finally…

Bonga Binglebangle (cyan grump with purple hair), Anion Scattacone (dusty purple grump with cloak), Cation Tearyeyes (dark purple grump with purple cloak in the corner), Ion Scattacone (dark purple grump with bowling alley carpet-style scarf) and Cerula Ethrel (blue ghost coming from Anion's head) belong to @icyrose-cat

whew!! Lots of OCs there, over 30 of 'em!! Highly recommend you go check these guys out, they rock and are awesome to hang with!!

[thecatinthepurplepants]

I'm in the process of transitioning as a transmasc person and I DESPERATELY want to have a cute wardrobe but the thing is I have NO fucking clue how to style an outfit for my body type and general aesthetic

Google and pintrest have been supremely unhelpful when I'm looking for something vaguely along the lines of "fashion for a queer transmasc person leaning slightly on the feminine side but punk and also maybe along the same vibe as an 80s bowling alley carpet but maybe also some softer more pastel and casual stuff and it has to fit and look good on my dumpy little oompa-loompa body that has more torso than leg and fucked up hip bones that jut up too high"

If anyone has any ideas or resources they use that they can share that'd be great, I'm too gay to just keep wearing the same jeans, t-shirts, and thrift store Hawaiian shirts, I wanna look cute bitch 😫

[ajemmys]

i visited my grandma today and she gave me some stuff of my late grandfather's including a few pins he won as bowling awards. i'm affixing them to my most obnoxious hawaiian shirt so that the next time i go bowling the throngs of girls at every bowling alley who are looking to pull a feminine 5'4" balding man who is also good at bowling will be all over me

[primeministerofantarctica]

on the subject of nightwing being done dirty stop making dick dress like a substitute math teacher...this man is for the bowling alley patterned hawaiian shirt wearers, the sequined suits, the skinny jeans and leopard print,

[mariacallous]

A man in St. Petersburg called the police to a bowling alley after noticing a group in suspicious attire. He warned the authorities that their flower necklaces might be LGBT propaganda, but it turns out to have been a Hawaiian-themed birthday party.

[freehawaii]

HAWAI`I MUSEUM REVISITS HISTORY OF GENDER-FLUID HEALERS

Associated Press - July 7, 2022

HONOLULU (AP) — More than 500 years ago, Hawaiians placed four boulders on a Waikiki beach to honor visitors from the court of Tahiti’s king who had healed the sick. They were “mahu,” which in Hawaiian language and culture refers to someone with dual male and female spirit and a mixture of gender traits.

The stones were neglected for many years, as Christian missionaries and other colonizing Westerners suppressed the role of mahu in Hawaiian society. At one point a bowling alley was built over the boulders.

Officials restored the stones multiple times since the 1960s but informational plaques installed next to them omitted references to mahu.

The stones and the history of the four healers now are featured in an exhibit at Bishop Museum in Honolulu. The display highlights the deep roots of gender fluidity in Polynesia.

Hinaleimoana Wong-Kalu is mahu and one of the exhibit’s curators. She said the healers were revered for their skill and hopes their story will show children in Hawaii that “proper Hawaiian culture” doesn’t pass judgment against those “who have elements of duality.”

“They were respected and honored because the people knew that their male and female duality made them even more powerful a healer,” Wong-Kalu said.

Kapaemahu was the leader of the four healers, and the exhibit is named The Healer Stones of Kapaemahu. Their story was passed down orally, like all Hawaiian stories, until a written language was developed in the 1800s.

But Hawaiians were discouraged from talking about mahu. DeSoto Brown, a Bishop Museum historian and the exhibit’s lead curator, said Christian missionaries who arrived in 1820 forbade anything that deviated from “clearly defined roles and presentation” of male and female genders.

The earliest known written account of the mahu healers is a 1906 manuscript by James Alapuna Harbottle Boyd, the son-in-law of Archibald Cleghorn, who owned the Waikiki property where the stones were at the time. Cleghorn’s wife, Princess Likelike, and daughter, Princess Kaiulani, were known to place seaweed and offer prayers at the stones when they swam.

Boyd’s manuscript “Tradition of the Wizard Stones of Ka-Pae-Mahu” said the Hawaiian people loved the healers for their “tall stature, courteous ways and kindly manners” and their cures became famous across Oahu.

“Their ways and great physique were overshadowed by their low, soft speech, and they became as one with those they came in contact with,” Boyd wrote. “They were unsexed, by nature, and their habits coincided with their womanly seeming, although manly in stature and general bearing.”

When it was time for the healers to leave, four boulders were brought down from Oahu’s Kaimuki area. Two were placed at the site of the healers’ hut and the others where they bathed in the ocean. Idols indicating the dual spirit of the healers were placed under each stone.

Many Hawaiians grew up not knowing about Hawaiian concepts of mahu or the stones because the American businessmen who overthrew the Hawaiian monarchy in 1893 banned Hawaiian language instruction in schools and discouraged speaking it in homes. Generations of Hawaiians lost connections to cultural traditions.

Wong-Kalu, 50, said as a child she was made to believe mahu was a derogatory word. She remembers being among those who would sit on the stones and drape towels over them after swimming, oblivious to their significance.

Mahu are akin to “two-spirit” common in many Native American cultures, Wong-Kalu said, adding there are physical, emotional, mental and spiritual elements to being mahu. The representation of male and female depends on the person, she said.

“In Hawaii, one could exist really in the middle,” she said.

The stones nearly were lost just before the 1941 Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. At the time, the Honolulu Star-Bulletin reported the boulders would be blasted or removed after a developer leased Cleghorn’s property to build a bowling alley.

Following an outcry, plans emerged for a concrete walkway between the stones. But the developer instead built over them.

The stones were uncovered two decades later when the city tore down buildings to build a public beach park. Elders recalled the story of the stones and urged they remain. The city agreed and created a plaque that mentioned the Tahitian healers but didn’t say anything about them being mahu.

In 1997, the city fenced off the stones and dedicated a new plaque. It also didn’t reference mahu.

During both periods, waves of homophobia and transphobia washed over Honolulu. In the 1960s, a new state law prohibited cross-dressing and police forced drag performers to wear a button saying: “I Am A Boy.” Three decades later, there was backlash in Hawaii and nationally when the Hawaii Supreme Court sided with same-sex couples seeking the right to marry.

The Bishop Museum exhibit, on display through Oct. 16, recounts this history and displays artifacts like massage sticks and a medicine pounder that healers would have used centuries ago. Islander concepts of gender fluidity are explored through stories like that of King Kamehameha III and his male lover.

A map shows terms used in Polynesia for those who don’t identify as male or female, including “fa’afafine” in Samoa and “leiti” in Tonga.

Dean Hamer and Joe Wilson helped curate the exhibit and hope it will spur the city to tell the full story of the mahu at the site of the stones.

Ian Scheuring, spokesperson for Honolulu Mayor Rick Blangiardi, said the city is researching the issue and local leaders plan to meet with members of the LGBTQ and Native Hawaiian communities to learn how they can help tell the “true and complete” story of the healers.

Tatiana Kalaniopua Young, a Native Hawaiian anthropologist, mahu and a director of the Hawaii LGBT Legacy Foundation, said the story the stones and healers helped her family understand that she was not “this weird creature that’s outside of the norm.” And that in a Hawaiian sense, she was part of the norm.

“It gave me a sense of place and purpose as a mahu and it really made me proud to be Kanaka Maoli, or Native Hawaiian,” she said.

[trinrose3]

Let's see Eric rocking the dorkiest hawaiian shirt imaginable >:)

Not TECHNICALLY a hawaiian shirt but he would TOTALLY have one patterned like those bowling alley rugs which is also very dorky lmao

[praynmantiss]

SHORT OF THE WEEK REVIEW

This week i watched:

The Boy Who Couldn't Feel Pain directed by Eugen Merher 2023

In Grants, New Mexico there is a small-town legend of Chester, a street fighter who can't feel any pain. When Annie, a bowling alley employee who just moved into town, challenges him for a fight, things begin to change.

I enjoyed this film.

One thing I think the film nails is its setting. It really feels like a local story from a small sleepy town.

Here's what the director had to say about the setting of the film:

Ever since I was a teenager, I have been deeply fascinated with the United States and its culture. What captivates me most is the desolateness of some remote American towns that you could never find in Europe. I feel like it’s places like this where the most interesting and absurd things can happen, but nobody ever hears about them because nobody ever stays there for more than one night. With this short film, I tried to capture an intimate view on this world of trailer parks, deserts and bowling alleys in the form of a fictional myth, that locals could be telling passing travellers during lunch at the local diner.

The film was shot in Grants, a small town East of Alburquerque.

NITPICK- There's one thing I noticed- At the start, Annie confronts the shark gang who are having a fight in the bowling alley. She has a rifle and aims it at them when she threatens them. There is a moment when we hear the sound of Annie cocking the gun but we never see her making this movement in the shot. This could have been fixed by just removing the sound because it wasn't necessary to understand the scene.

ACTING

All the actors were well cast and directed. There is never a moment where someone feels out of place. Catfish Jean plays Chester. He doesn't talk much in the whole film but his eyes and expressions say a lot.

COSTUMES

One thing that stuck out to me was the costumes. I noticed the characters wore the same clothes throughout the film even though the story takes place over several days. It gives the film a timeless feel. The story is narrated by Annie so it makes it feel like a piece of literature where the everyday habits of reality aren't relevant to the story. However, i still noticed some symbolism with the costumes.

Chester wears a white shirt with faded black stripes. This is the same shirt he wears in his tramautic flashback sequence. These neutral colours are like Chester's life, lifeless and without colour. He can't feel pain because he feels dead inside.

Annie wears a colourful striped polo shirt. This is a way of symbolising the life and healing that she can bring to Chester's life. The colours also match with the colours in the background of the bowling alley. Our ability to feel things is what make us feel alive. Annie represents growth, life and change.

Nelson, the gang member who looks after Chester wears a yellow Hawaiian shirt with a white shirt. Nelson is the only one keeping Chester doing these fights. Yellow matches the colour of the dry grass and some of the old cars in the junkyard where the fights take place. Early in the film, we are told that all the Sharks have replaced two of their teeth with golden ones. This is how they are identified. Yellow and Gold are similar and so it makes sense that the antagonist would wear this colour. Yellow is meant to represent the street fight lifestyle and the feeling of restriction that the Shark gang gives him.

I'd give this film a solid 4/5.

[hipposfashion]

Pabst Blue Ribbon Bowling Hawaiian Shirt Price From: 43.99$ | | [Buy it now at] : https://hipposfashion.com/product/pabst-blue-ribbon-bowling-hawaiian-shirt/ https://www.facebook.com/HipposFashion/✅ https://twitter.com/hipposfashion✅ https://www.instagram.com/hipposfashionstore/✅ https://www.tumblr.com/hipposfashion✅ Pabst Blue Ribbon Bowling Hawaiian Shirt, an exquisite fusion of retro charm and tropical style. This captivating masterpiece perfectly captures the essence of laid-back beach vibes paired with a nod to vintage Americana. Imagining yourself strolling along sandy beaches in Honolulu or unwinding at a local bowling alley amidst neon lights becomes effortless as you slip into this vibrant garment. ...

[mrsstaceyrunnelsflores]

Plain moments without makeup as a part Hawaiian works for a night when my future husband actually revisits the view of not just being my fiance but my future husband on December 10, 2022. I was waiting for you honey. Ruben, lots of love and thank you for announcing it at my first time at the bowling alley. I waited and it's okay. The onion rings are good. I shared on Instagram already. I love you

November 28, 2022

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

Hi! Its time for Tiffany rants. Yesterday I was a the bowling alley with my friends (which was a time in and of itself. We had to do a lot of driving before finally settling on that alley since we had plans to do other things that went awry lolol.)

Anyway basically I saw this really pretty worker behind the counter of the food bar and I made eye contact and promptly died inside LMFAO. Idk they triggered my gaydar, I mean come ON, a hawaiian shirt tied at the front and cuffed jeans hhhhhhhh.

Anyway gay panic, I see attractive people and HGFKJDHGKFDHGJFDHGJDF.

That is all :)

[gemoluna]

Hawaiian Punch only taste good at bowling alleys