An excerpt from "Blue Beetle Fucks The DC Universe," coming soon to a DC Big Bang near you. (Patreon)

Ted left the bar a few beers later. Max had been spectacularly unhelpful, but it was only fair—Ted had been spectacularly unhelpful to him numerous times. He was buzzed, but still smart enough to know better than to drive. Of course he was smart—he was a genius playboy inventor philanthropist… how did that go? The good thing about living in a gentrified neighborhood was that he could just walk back to his apartment, and so he did, stolidly placing one foot in front of the other and only running into a lamppost once. Twice. Okay, three times, but he absolutely was not going to walk into any more lampposts, swear to Christ… “Ted? Did you just run into a lamppost?” a woman’s voice asked. Ted growled. “Why are there so many lampposts anyway?” “They… provide light and need to be at regular intervals?” “Why can’t there just be one big lamppost?” Ted insisted, cradling the lamppost now, possibly strangling it for the violence it had done to his forehead. “We can turn it on during the day, when people need the light, then in the evening, we lower it, and when people should be in bed, we turn it the hell off.” “That’s the sun, Ted. You’re talking about the sun.” It was Tora Ola… Ted wasn’t even going to try to recall her last name. Tora Ice. She was a dainty platinum blonde with fine, soft Nordic features, sparkling blue eyes set in an oval face under a mop of bobbed hair. An oversized sweater and a knee-length skirt, both in maroon and green, made her look like the heroine of a young adult novel. Cute as a button. Not at all like that Elsa queen from the movie. She was a bitch. “Tora!” he cried in final recognition, throwing his arms around her in a hug. “How the hell are you? What’s new? Did you ever make it back onto the Justice League? I heard they let Congorilla onboard. What are they trying to do, hit a quota? Don’t get me wrong, some of my best friends are gorillas…” “Ted, you’re hugging a lamppost.” Ted shoved it away. “Screw you, buddy,” he told it. “We’re not friends.” Tora took his arm in her delicate hands. “Come on, Ted. Let’s get you home. It’s only a few blocks away.” Her hands were chilly, of course, but in a bracing way. He found himself sobering as they crossed Fisher Street to Ted Mark Drive to Williams Boulevard. On his block, he felt his mind was unclouded enough to attempt conversation again. “You know, I must be really drunk. I thought maybe you were here to have sex with me.” Tora blushed. “Oh no, no, I was just going for a walk when I was lucky enough to come across an old friend. But I wouldn’t say no to a drink.” “Heh! Travel back in time thirty minutes—I’ll have more than enough!” Tora patted him on his arm as she led him into the lobby. From there, Ted was able to navigate the elevator and apartment key by himself. “Good thing you came along when you did. I’ve got to tinkle like a racehorse. If you hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve ended up whizzing in an alleyway.” The key proved more problematic than he had anticipated. He concentrated on aligning it with the lock. “That’s not so bad,” Tora pished. “Guy does it all the time.” “Yeah, but say a cop sees me. He writes me a ticket. I forget to pay it. I get hauled into court. On the same day, a felon busts loose. They think I’m in on it. Before you know it, I’m in the clink, up the river, locked up—“ Ted got the key inside and turned it so hard it nearly broke. “I’ve seen it happen a million times. Wait right there, I have to write my name on the porcelain…” “Hey doc,” Beatriz da Costa, the superheroine known as Fire, said in a sultry voice, laying across the mouth of his entry hallway. “Need my fire lit. Mind lending a hand?” Suddenly, she noticed the third that made their company a crowd. Her eyes narrowed. Then her eyes widened in recognition, seeing it was Ice. “Tora? What are you doing here?” “I could ask you the same question!” Tora replied at the same high pitch. “Though I would ask what are you doing in those clothes!”