#I dunno why I suddenly had the urge to give writing advice

[itsanidiom]

THIS Most stories also have a POV character or two. Not EVERY story (see: omniscient narrative), but many. But in these cases, the main character's POV is going to influence how they see and know the world.

If I think of myself as a character, for example, I can probably info dump on my own culture, town, all the fun things I do locally, maybe a broad but detailed view of my province, and a general high-level on my country overall.

If I travel to the Netherlands though, my POV might be as simple as "huh...nice sandy beach on the coast, windmills, and in the city there were naked ladies in windows and pretty canals". PLEASE NOTE I'm not trying to stereotype and say that's all that's there but those are my main memories for when I was there for like a long weekend almost a decade ago.

SO your POV character may have a similar view if they're just passing through some unfamiliar town. They have a deep knowledge and understanding of the familiar and a vague awareness of the unfamiliar.

One of the most frequent objections I get to tabletop RPG setting ideas is "hold on, that doesn't make sense because on a global scale" like, buddy, the idea that an entire planet is the minimum acceptable scale for a tabletop RPG setting is marketing. Even the big boys like White Wolf and Wizards of the Coast typically don't manage it – they often claim to, but if you look at the actual, published material, the elaborated bits of the setting in question consist of like one city and its immediate environs, with every other locale treated as a glorified truck stop. Mainstream fantasy lit rarely does better; when you look at the ground that ostensibly multiverse-spanning saga covers in detail, you usually end up with about three medium-size neighbourhoods and some generic wilderness. Hell, fucking Tolkien struggled to adequately give life to a setting roughly the size of France, and he devoted fifty years of his life to it. Don't be afraid to zoom in.

[toothlesshat]

*Starts throwing random currency at you.* Here take everything just please write some Casey and Leo family fluff, because I need that in my life.

Of course anon! Pls accept this short fic 🥰

…

“So,” Casey frowns at the plate in front of him, resisting the urge to poke at it, “this is a cookie?”

Leo snorts, taking a seat next to him at the table and pulling the freshly baked cookies towards him. They just came out of the oven according to Mikey before he ran out the kitchen to alert the rest of the family.

“A chocolate chip cookie, to be precise, my dear Casey,” he passes over two empty glasses and pulls a carton of milk seemingly out of nowhere, probably for dramatic effect to impress the younger teen. He’s kind of dorky that way. “Mikey’s been working on perfecting this recipe for months, something about getting the shape and look right, I dunno. Tastes like chocolate to me.”

The explanation leaves Casey a little more confused than before, he didn’t know baking was so complicated. He knew that Master Michelangelo had a knack for cooking and baking before life went to hell in his timeline, but he never imagined he’d actually get to try his food. He wasn’t kidding when he said all he’s really eaten before is rats. The fanciest thing he’s ever tried before this was some canned food they found in an abandoned house- oh, and that pizza after the invasion. That’s all though.

Leo pours the milk into the glasses, adding a little less to Casey’s cup out of caution. After all, who’s to say what his body can’t and can’t endure after a lifetime of malnutrition and just plain suckiness?

“I’ve never even had chocolate before,” Casey suddenly murmurs, still not taking a cookie to claim as his own.

Leo peeks up at him, and an immediate wave of overwhelming sympathy washes over the turtle. He can honestly tell why his older self took to the kid like he did, Casey is hard not to love. He’d like to give him the whole world if he could, which is a funny feeling to have about someone you haven’t even known for a full year yet. But it’s true, Casey is someone he wants to protect with his life and give all the things he could never have before. He wants Casey to be happy, and damnit, if he’s so lucky that can give him that happiness, then he’s prepared to abuse that privilege tenfold.

“Yeah?” He asks with a lazy, snarky tone, one that covers up all the bursting emotions in his chest, “well there’s a first time for everything! But, a word of advice?” He slides the plate back over in front of the boy, “eat them while they’re hot.”

Casey gives him a small smile, and finally pulls one off the plate. There’s no more than a few seconds of hesitation before he takes a bite- a small one, he doesn’t know why he’s weirdly nervous about the whole thing, but new stuff is scary, right? He’s glad he did though, because his whole mouth erupts with the addicting, sickly sweet flavors of chocolate and vanilla, warm and delicious.

“This is incredible!” He exclaims, sending a few crumbs flying on the table, but Leo pays it no mind. He just watches in amusement as Casey shoves the rest of the treat in his mouth like a starving man.

“Told ya!” He chuckles, plucking a cookie for himself. If he doesn’t, Casey might just eat his way through the whole batch. “Stick with me, Junior, and we’ll eat our way through this crazy city within the week!”

The idea of it makes Casey smile, but he’s immediately caught on Leo’s offer. He’s been connected at the turtle’s hip ever since they saved the world together, but he’s never really acknowledged it before.

“Leo, do you really mean that?” He asks slowly, a little less confidently, “you want me to stick with you?”

Leo gives him a curious look, chewing his cookie through and swallowing quickly. “Yeah, obviously. You’re our brother now, Case, and we stick together.” He holds out his hand in a closed fist, “cool?”

Casey smiles, and bumps their firsts together. “Cool,” he nods, then adds, “thank you, Leo.”

“No problem,” Leo waves him off, but it doesn’t even remotely reflect what he’s feeling inside. Warm, fuzzy feelings that he only gets around his family, and Casey fits right in. He hands him another cookie from the pile, “now let’s eat as many of these as we can, I can hear Raph and Donnie down the hall!”

[phlox238]

i wrote a pretty long rymin fic and half of it is min being anxious and getting advice from a lesbian at a gay bar,,, it sucks but here it is anyway

2.5k words this is the most ive ever written

"So," The girl began, gesturing wildly with her hands. "You think you're in love with your best friend, who you've known since you were born, and you're in a band and traveling across Canada and the USA with. What did you say your name is?" 

"Oh, fuck." Min-gi sighed, letting his head rest in his hands. "This is weird, isn't it? I barely know you."

"Nah, I just thought that, if we're going to have a slightly drunk chat in the back of a gay bar, then we should know each other's names. I'm Eryn, and you?" Eryn stuck out her hand, the many bracelets she wore on her wrist clanking together. 

Min chuckled a little, then took her hand and shook it. Her dark skin was warm, which was surprising, since this part of the bar was near freezing. "Min-gi. But you can call me Min." 

"Awesome. So, tell me about it, Min." Eryn tightened her ponytail, leaning forward on her arms. 

"Tell you what about it? There's so many things that I could say." He was so caught up in this gay crisis stuff that he hadn't even considered stopping for a moment to really think about it.

Eryn shrugged. "Whatever you want to say. Get stuff off your chest, just let it out, if you want to. There's like, nobody else back here. Doesn't really matter, right? I'm not judgy." 

"Okay...well, he has a girlfriend, first of all; has had many of them. So he's not into dudes." Min crossed his arms. 

"Hey, he could still be. Just because he dates women doesn't mean he's straight. Could still be into guys. Don't give up hope just yet, okay?" Eryn laced her fingers together, as if she was planning something. The dark lighting of the bar didn't help anything.

“Damn,” Min rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t know you could like both.”

Not without laughing at him first, Eryn started to explain. "Oh, wow, you really are new to this, huh?" She chuckled a little more, shaking her head. “That’s okay. There’s a lot of different ways to love people, you just gotta figure out what works for you. Oh, also; it isn’t just both. There’s the genderqueer people, too, don’t forget about them!” She smiled. 

Min didn’t quite know what genderqueer meant, but he figured he could find out later. He was asking too many questions already. "Damn...how do you know all of this? I only realized I was, er, gay, like six months ago."  Min marveled at her, the same way a nerd at school would marvel at the 'cool kids.' And honestly, she really looked like one, with her ponytail and undercut, her yellow, patched leather jacket, even the flashy jewelry she wore.

It made Min want to start dressing differently. Dressing cooler, like Ryan, like Eryn. Maybe he could.

Eryn grinned wider. "Oh, you know. It's just things you pick up along the way. I've known that I'm lesbian for a long time, since I was like 11. And I'm 21 now, so that's a long time. Lots of experience." She shuffled a little in her seat, taking another drink of beer. "Anyway. We're getting off track, aren't we? Keep talking, man." 

Min laughed, a real laugh. "Okay, okay. A year ago, we, er…" He reached desperately for an explanation for the train, but decided that, just maybe, he could tell her. Really, the worst that she could think of him is that he's a drug user. "Can I tell you something? It's going to sound absolutely insane, probably, but I just. Need to tell someone." 

She looked concerned, her dark brown eyes wide, but nodded anyway. "That's real ominous. But sure, go for it."

"Okay. So. Stick with me, here. A year ago, him and I got on a train, right? But then, there was another train door within the train. We just...went into the door. Well, the bastard threw my keys into it and then ran in, so how could I not follow?" Eryn was looking at him intently like she understood. Min could tell he was pretty drunk by now; he'd never be able to open up to someone this much sober. But that's okay. More than okay, really. 

"It gets even weirder from then on. Ryan- that's his name, by the way- and I woke up on a giant, infinie train in the middle of nowhere. Gotta be pretty unbelievable, though. You probably think I'm on drugs." Min sighed.

Eryn was silent for a moment, but it was obvious she was getting ready to explode. "Dude, no fucking way!" Yep, there it was. "I got on that train! When I was eleven. I was super conflicted on my sexuality, had a shit ton of internalized homophobia as a result of having homophobic family. I felt like a disgusting person. So I got on the train, and it actually helped me through it." She'd completely lit up when Min mentioned the train. Looked like she was going to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. 

For a moment, Min was speechless. Soon, though, he regained his voice. "You're kidding," was all he could muster.

"Nope." Eryn's grin nearly reached her ears. "Did you have someone to help you along, too? There was a white cat named Samantha for me. She was French, for some reason. But I miss her." 

"Oh! Yeah, Ryan and I had a floating, talking bell named Kez. Weird, right?. I miss her, too. Wonder how she's doing." Min thought for a second, completely and utterly relieved to have met someone else to share an experience with. Then something clicked. "Hold on...I might have met this cat you speak of. Yellow eyes? Uh, blonde...hair?" 

"Blonde hair? Well, she didn't have that. But yeah, yellow eyes, French accent." Eryn nodded. They were silent for a moment. 

Min chuckled, suddenly getting the urge to continue on with their story. Telling someone about the train would feel wonderful. "We had a lot of...issues...regarding our friendship, at the time. That's why the train picked us up in the first place." He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "The train did help us. But we had a lot of weirdly intimate moments on it, and that's where my sexuality crisis started. Like, there was a car where we had to perform a song with each other to get out of it, and of course I got stage fright right before it. I left him alone on stage. Again." Min paused, the guilt almost making him feel like he was living through that moment again. 

Eryn nudged him. "And? That doesn't sound intimate. What happened next?" 

"I hid in the bathroom. So he came in, and at first he was angry, but I was having a full on anxiety attack. We sat in the bathtub, hip to hip, knee to knee. It was weird, but nice. He helped me calm down. And like...in our last year of Highschool, I gave him a shirt with our band name on it. In that bath tub, he had it with him. He kept it. Said he'd never done a show without it." Min laughed, but there wasn't much humor about it. "Man, I wanted to kiss him so bad right then and there. But I didn't." 

Eryn had a soft look in her eyes. "I dunno about you, but that sounds pretty damn gay to me. Maybe he's just dating other people to distract himself from his crush on you, who knows! All I'm trying to say is, don't give up on this, Min. You two have something going on, I don't know what, but it could blossom into a relationship." She patted him on the shoulder, then took another drink of her beer. 

Min did the same. "What if he's not gay?" His voice was small. "Worse, what if he's homophobic? I don't know...fuck, it's terrifying. I could lose him because I'm gay." 

"Well," Eryn paused for a moment, "you could try and subtly bring it into conversation. Maybe, like, bring up a celebrity who's gay. See his reaction." She gestured with her hands a lot, Min noticed. 

Min nodded. It seemed simple in theory, but he knew he'd manage to fuck it up somehow. The logical part of his brain knew Ryan wouldn't leave him for being gay, but at the same time, there was this voice in the back of his head. Irrational thoughts, irrational fears; that's all it spoke of. 

"Thank you. Really. It's been nice to talk about this, especially with someone who's been on the train. That thing is...a freak of nature. Maybe not even nature, I don't know. I'll try that with him, too." Min said finally, after some silence. Eryn laughed. 

"Yeah, it absolutely is." She smiled widely. Eryn glanced around, her eyes finally landing on the only visible clock in this part of the bar. Her eyes widened. "Shit, I should really get going! Sorry. I told my girlfriend I'd be back around now." She, out of nowhere, gave Min a hug. It'd been a while since he'd hugged anyone, he realized, and it felt nice. Although, very unexpected. 

Min hugged her back, sort of awkwardly. They separated soon after.

"That's okay. Again...thank you, so much. I should get young too." By now, it was almost 11 pm, and he figured he should leave as well. Ryan should be back at their apartment soon enough. 

Min was about to turn and leave, but Eryn stopped him.

"Hey! How about we exchange phone numbers? This was a good chat, eh? I'd like to stay in contact." Eryn searched her pockets for a pen and some paper, but only found a marker. "Can I, like, write it on your arm and you can do the same?"

Min knew Ryan would tease him over it, but oh, well, he made a new friend. "Yeah, that's fine." He laughed, offering her his arm. She quickly scribbled her number on it, and honestly, it was barely legible. But he could read it, somewhat. 

He then wrote his number on her arm, they exchanged goodbyes, and were on their way. Min dreaded returning to Ryan, who would definitely start to go on and on about his girlfriend, and just prove to make Min feel worse about his stupid crush.

But maybe, just maybe, Eryn was right. Maybe things would finally go his way for once. 

•••

Min's walk home was quiet (as quiet as New York can be at night) and cold, it being the middle of November. Snow was just beginning to fall. Being outside Eryn's words stuck in his head like glue. Talk to him. As if he could do that. The idea of even just mentioning anything close to being gay made anxiety rise in his throat like bile. 

He couldn't. Probably.

Before he could think much more on it, he was home. Home. Back to the decent one bedroom apartment they'd scraped up all of the money in their pockets to buy. Back to the scent of cigarette smoke in the air, back to the strange stains on the carpet in the hallway. Most importantly, back to Ryan. No matter how much resentment Min-gi might hold to him for having a girlfriend, Ryan usually made things better. 

He walked up the stairs and down the hall to apartment number 202, ironically. Unlocked and opened the door to find it dark inside save for a single lamp. Min walked in, curious, just to find Ryan curled up in the fetal position on the sofa. That really made him anxious.

"Hey...Ryan? You good, man?" Min sat on the empty portion of the sofa, near his head. 

Ryan stirred, rolling over onto his back. His head was resting a bit on Min's thigh, and it felt kind of nice. 

"I dunno…" He mumbled. "She broke up with me." 

"What?" Min looked down at Ryan, surprised. "Lisa? You're kidding." 

"Nope, not kidding." Ryan laced his fingers together over his stomach. "The thing is...I'm like, kind of relieved that she did it? How fucked up is that?"  

Min tilted his head in confusion. He really wanted to run his hand through Ryan's hair, but that was a really inappropriate thought for the moment. 

"She, uh...said some things. When she broke up with me." He sighed. "Called me a fag." Ryan laughed, like he found it funny. Min didn't. 

"Dude, what? Why?" Min's voice was a little shaky, for no other reason than that they were talking about gay people. 

Ryan sighed. "Take a good look at us, Min." He brought his forearm up to cover his eyes. "We're two dudes, living in a one bedroom apartment together. We do everything together. Of course she's gonna think there's something going on." 

Min felt like he was going to fucking disintegrate. "U-Uh...and that's a bad thing?"

"I mean...no. It just kind of clicked that...maybe she's right. Maybe I am gay." Ryan sat up, his back facing towards Min. He didn't look back. " I always assumed that I'd be straight, but this...it makes sense. None of my relationships have ever worked out. With women." 

Min reached out and gently touched his shoulder. "Ryan...it's okay." 

Ryan looked back, now, and his eyes were watery. Min frowned.

“How could it be okay?” His voice cracked as he spoke. “It’s just another reason for people to hate me. For my parents to hate me. Hell, maybe even you.” By the time that he finished talking, his voice was almost inaudible. 

"No!" Min almost shouted, jolting forward. "No. Ryan, I could never hate you." Fuck, how was he supposed to tell Ryan he's gay now? Part of him wanted to shout it out impulsively, but the other part, it just wanted to keep hiding. Because what if something goes wrong? What if Ryan's in love with someone else? All what ifs. He really needed to stop. 

Min inhaled deeply. Here goes. "This is gonna sound really coincidental, but...I'm gay too." 

Quickly, Ryan turned around to face Min. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. 

"What? No fucking way. You're kidding." Ryan was leaning forward, using his fists to prop him up. 

Min shook his head. "No...I'm not. I was gonna tell you soon anyway, but now seemed like a good time." He scratched his head awkwardly.

Then, Ryan launched at him, hugging him. Arms wrapped around his neck, knees touching Min's thighs, the whole package. Min was sure he'd die with how flushed his face was; but thankfully, he didn't. 

After what felt like a while, Ryan finally spoke. 

"I love you." He mumbled into Min's shoulder. 

Min paused. "In a gay way, or…?" 

Ryan laughed. "Yeah, you idiot." He shook his head in amusement. 

"Good. That's...great." He hugged Ryan tighter, finally letting himself run his fingers through his hair. It was soft, just like he expected. "I love you too." 

[intelligentdumbass]

Apollo and Marsyas

(So, on advice of bro, maybe I’ll start posting my writing shit here now too. Have fun reading I guess, and be wary of typos and grammar.)

~~~~

I suppressed a laugh. Athena raised an eyebrow and took a quick glance down at her reflection in the water. She frowned; immediately the music stopped. Before I knew it, the flute was thrown off Olympus.

“Well, that’s a shame.” I said. “What a waste of a newly invented instrument.”

The goddess gave me a look of disgust.

“I didn’t like the distortions it made on my face.”

“You mean how you puffed up your cheeks whenever you played? I dunno, it didn’t look that bad to me. Plus, the music was great! Although I suppose it did look mildly…amusing.”

As always, her glare could’ve left someone scarred for life. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but chuckle.

…

The flute tore through the sky and tumbled towards the earth, landing on Phrygian soil. It was soon discovered by a local satyr; Marsyas was his name.

“What’s this?” He said as he picked it up.

It took him a while to figure out the object’s use, but as soon as he blew into it, already blessed with the breath of an Olympian, the instrument produced the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. Delighted, he was suddenly filled with a newfound conviction.

‘I must share this music with all who are willing to listen.’ He must have thought.

Days turned into weeks, then months, then years of practice. By now the satyr had gained quite a cult following, and out of all of the spectators that came to watch him play, someone had caught his eye. Despite how rarely he saw them, no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t get them out of his mind. He imagined them to be a young maiden, perhaps even a mortal princess? Can you believe it, Marsyas? A pretty young woman going through all the trouble of sneaking out of her father’s house just to hear a glimpse of your song.

“Trust me when I say that there is no other musician who lives on this earth who will sing a sweeter melody in your name, my love. Not even Apollo himself could compare to the songs that my flute will sing in your honor.”

But not anymore. Their smile didn’t fade, but it did start to become a little... strained.

“I’m flattered, I really am.” They said. “But you must really refrain from saying such… blasphemous things.”

Marsyas only laughed.

“But it’s true! Do you not believe me? You cannot deny my talent that which drew you and so many others to listen to my music.” He smiled, but they only frowned. “What’s with that look? Are you afraid that he will strike me down?”

“Stop. That isn’t funny. A mortal can never compare to any of the immortal gods, much less the ones who dwell in Olympus.”

The satyr then exclaimed in the loudest voice he could muster.

“Let it be known that I, Marsyas, hereby challenge Apollo, the god of music, to a contest to prove once and for all who is the more skilled musician!”

His companion stared at him in shock. Slowly, their frown turned into a sympathetic smile.

“Oh, oh my. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such arrogance like this since…”

They suddenly took a step forward and with one hand grabbed his jaw; holding it in a way so that his eyes stared into their own.

“Marsyas” The voice that came out was now much lower; far from how a young maiden would sound like. “Have you not heard of the tales of Arachne nor Salmoneus? I shall give you a second chance. Renounce the challenge.”

The satyr could barely breathe, and who could blame him? The being that stood in front of him was no mere mortal. Their eyes… My eyes, they shone like the finest of sapphires, and my locks looked as if it was as if it were made of real strands of gold. For a moment he glanced down. Instead of seeing the breasts of a woman, the dress hid the body of an athletic young man.

“I-” “I refuse!” Marsyas managed to stutter out. “What reason would you have to ask me to take back what I said? Could it be that you actually feel… threatened by it?”

I resisted the urge to crush his skull and just took a step back, letting go of his jaw.

“Your loss, satyr.”

It didn’t take long for a crowd to start gathering around us.

“The muses will be the umpires-”

“But-” He tried to interrupt, but I quickly cut him off.

“Don’t worry about any biases they might have towards me. I don’t know about you, but I am of the opinion that they have a greater chance of being fair towards you than any other judge you might pick.”

It was true, and from the frustrated look on his face he must’ve realized it too. Any other judge he might’ve picked might’ve just named me the victor no matter what; fearing my wrath.

“Look at you.” Marsyas started out of nowhere. “Look at how you stand your ground; how proudly you think of yourself. So, what if you have an athletic form carefully sculpted by the hands of the most talented artist? What of the gloriously golden tresses that you call your hair? What of your sparkling eyes and mellifluous voice? All those wonderful talents and features that they love to adore you with are just a mask for an empty hollow husk.”

I blinked. Despite his attempt at an insult, it had also sounded like he had ripped his lines straight out of one of the many hymns dedicated to my praise.

‘Okay, talking wineskin.’

“Since I was the one who called for the challenge” He continued. “Let me determine the prize for the victor”

“…Then go on. What’re your conditions?”

“The winner should be able to do whatever he pleased with the loser.”

…

I already knew the satyr was good, great even. However, I also knew I could do much better. When my turn was over, we both turned our heads towards the nine judges. Our audience was either crying like they had just lost their philtatos or smiling like they had just successfully rescued them from the underworld. The muses on the other hand, I… I had never seen them so… conflicted. I think my heart ran a little faster than what was to be expected, but that didn’t matter. The solution was simple; we’ll have another round.

I played the cithara upside down during the second round, something the satyr could not do with his flute, but that was not all. This time I added my voice as well.

“Wait!” Marsyas exclaimed. “This is a contest comparing each other’s skill with the instrument, not our voices!”

“Oh please, when you blow into your pipes, it might as well be the same as singing”

The nymphs supported my claim, and after briefly glancing at each other, the muses did too. I held in a laugh and continued to play and sing to my heart’s content. My mellifluent, honeyed voice; one of the few powers I was actually born with, something that belonged to me and only to me. When I was done with my song, the winner couldn’t have been more obvious. Of course, that didn’t stop the satyr from complaining.

“Enough.” Euterpe’s voice rang throughout the crowd, silencing everyone, including Marsyas himself. “Even if Phoebus hadn’t played his instrument upside down, nor added his voice to the mix, you still would’ve lost. It was faint and quick, but I still heard it as clear as day. You played one note out of tune.”

You should’ve seen the look on his face, he was absolutely devastated. I couldn’t help but pity him a little. That mistake he made most defiantly had something to do with the nervousness that came with going against someone whose status far exceed theirs. If only he had kept his mouth shut, then none of this would’ve ever happened. I would've never had to defend my title as the god of music. Did he actually think that he could've best me? Did he actually think he could do so much better than my decades and multiple lifetimes worth of experience?

“V-” “Very well…” Fear filled the loser’s eyes. “What is it that you would have me do?”

“Aw, no need to be afraid my dear.” I whispered into his ear. “Do you remember the words that you said that started this whole mess? How not even I could compare to the songs that you will sing in my honor? Well, that is what I would like you to do. I would like to give you another chance to prove me wrong by singing to me the most dreadful song anyone could ever hope to imagine while bounded up against a tree.”

At first Marsyas was confused, but it wouldn’t take long for the air to be filled with his horrid cries of surrender and protest.

“No! NO!” He screamed. “Why tear me apart?!” He cried. “Oh, I repent! I give in! I lose! I beg of you to forgive me! No pipe is worth this price!”

I stripped the skin from his body; the whole of him was one huge wound. Blood splattered everywhere. The sinews were laid bare, veins naked, quivering and pulsing. You could count his twitching guts and tissues as the sunlight seeped into his ribs. Even the heart shone red in his breast.

The natives of that land all shed their tears for him, the water mixing with his blood. Hence, a new river raced down the gentle banks and carried the cursed pipes towards the open sea. It took the name of Marsyas, the freshest, clearest stream of ancient Phrygia.

Some say I nailed his skin to a pine tree near a lake, others a cave. Another said I had actually made it into a wineskin. Truthfully? Despite being a god of knowledge who never forgets, I don’t quite remember anymore and frankly, I don’t want to. It’s bad enough that I can still hear his scream. It’s bad enough that whenever I played my lyre, I could never get rid of that dreadful song of anguish echoing in the back of my head.

“Apollo...?” I heard one of the muses surrounding me gently ask, maybe it was Calliope. The broken mess that lay on the floor in front of me was the cithara, my cithara. Its strings were all broken; I had torn them out.

“I’m-” “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I think I’ll just take a small…break for now.”

Before they could pry any further, I was already gone.

[calamity-bean]

Reddie Fic Recs: Canon Divergent

Comprising stories that substantially alter the events of canon — typically so that Eddie survives the final showdown with Pennywise, because that’s the kind of content I crave. Includes ones set during the events of the film(s) as well as ones set in the future that use the premise that Eddie didn’t die. For stories in which Eddie dies like in canon but doesn’t necessarily stay dead, check out my Canon Compliant recs.

This is a mixture of complete works and WIPs, of various ratings and lengths, mostly recent (like, posted since the release of Chapter 2). If part of a series, I’ve listed only the first work. More possibly to be added at any time I feel like it!

the anatomy of a joke by crescenteluce

He trails off and Bev raises an eyebrow. ‘So, you being in bed together fits in there how exactly?’

‘No, Jesus, Bev.’ Eddie says and Richie, horrifyingly, feels his cheeks heat under Bev’s suspicious look. Something needs to be done, so he plucks Eddie’s phone from his hands.

‘I am appalled by your implications, Beverly.’ He says sternly, trying to ignore the blood still not quite done rushing to his face. ‘I would have you know that I’d never defile Eddie like that, the poor man’s 40 year old and still a virgin and if I’d have the honor of-’

He’s cut off by Eddie trying to wrestle the phone away from him as Bev cackles delightedly.

and they read off our names by liquidsky

Eddie survives.

Part 1 of that ends well to end up with you

Button Up Your Overcoat by stitchy

“It’s just a gut check, there is no gun to your balls here,” says Richie. "But if you were gonna be a dad... what do you think you’d like about it?”

Eddie glances at the dog, who just looks back at him like, I dunno, man, he didn’t clear this with me. I thought we were just hanging out and watching some Treehouse of Horror tonight.

Call It What You Want by hannahberrie

They’re just staring at each other in the middle of a crowded New York train station, and it’s almost midnight. There’s supposed to be a thunderstorm tonight, according to the forecast, but Eddie can’t really remember that right now.

In which, after separating from Myra, Eddie goes to stay at Richie's place in Manhatten.

Cards on the Table by jendavis

Ben had kissed Bev, and it had brought her back from the deadlights. Eddie tries the same thing with Richie. Richie comes out of it knowing how to kill it, and knowing that he'd just seen Eddie die.

He's kind of a mess. It's kind of Eddie's fault.

Part 1 of Writing on the Wall

Cruel Summer by actuallymaxie

Richie used to call it an itch. Eddie makes him feel like it’s something else. It’s one thing to feel it. It’s something else to be able to say it out loud.

Or: Eddie doesn’t die. That doesn’t mean there’s a happily ever after. Not right away, at least.

for better, for worse by kaspbrak_kid

Eddie's done a fucking lot of brave things in the past year and a half. He did a lot of brave things in Derry, and then left his wife and started therapy and came to Ben and Bev's wedding even though he's been in love with his best friend for somewhere between six months and thirty years. Even though he knew it'd be fucking hard. He's not sure how many brave things he has left in him.

hoping to be found by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson)

When everything in Derry is said and done, Eddie really doesn’t know what the fuck to do. He goes back to New York, alone, because he doesn't have any other immediate options - and he heals.

i am easy to find by zach_stone

Or, 25-year-old Richie Tozier doesn't know why he can't remember his childhood, or why he has nightmares about yellow eyes looming in the dark. Then he finds an old photo of friends he can't remember, and things start to change. A "what if Richie and Eddie found each other again during the 27 years" fic.

If You Believe by websters_lieb

What if Eddie held on just a little bit longer? What if the losers figured out how to kill it just a little bit earlier? What if Eddie made it out of Neibolt, injured and barely holding on, but alive?

When Eddie emerges from the cavern to see Richie floating, he just about shits himself.

Part 1 of The Ever After

In Case Of Emergency Contact E.Kaspbrak by stitchy

It wasn’t immediately obvious to the Losers that something was wrong with Richie after the Deadlights. After all, his eyesight had always been shit.

in the heat of the summer (you're so different from the rest) by kaboomslang

There’s a heatwave in L.A., the first time Richie sees Eddie naked.

or

One very hot year in the life of two idiots in love, working shit out.

In This Cold Heart by pineapplecrushface

The future Richie sees while he's caught in the deadlights gives him a chance to save Eddie. In the year afterward, they both try to follow Stan's advice.

it’s about time that you just unwind by fuckener

“It sucked to tell people,” Richie said suddenly, tapping a finger on his glass. He was avoiding eye contact again. “Like - it just really fucking sucked. I’m old. I’m like middle-aged. You’re this old and you just start telling people you're gay, they think, ‘Jesus! That dude’s got issues.’ Because they’re right, and you do.”

“It must have come as a real shock to our friends,” Eddie said, staring. “That you have issues.”

it’s coming out backwards by banksoflochlomond

The problem is that he’s known it his entire life. Or at least as long as Eddie started sputtering after Richie’s “your mom” jokes. As long as Eddie, with his small delicate fucking body, muscled up to him and told Richie he was gonna get herpes from licking the swingset. As long as Richie’s known his button nose, still nice as shit after twenty-seven fucking years.

But Richie’s never said it out loud. Never let himself feel it, except when he had to. Maybe that’s why Richie was so good at forgetting Derry. He never wanted to remember. Never wanted to deal with the albatross he’d pretty much surgically attached to his back.

He’s got to, though. Say it out loud. Say it to Eddie.

(Or, Eddie survives. The road for Richie isn't any easier, though.)

it’s time the kid got free by zach_stone

But now he remembers his childhood, and the fierceness of all the emotions he felt back then — love most of all. Love was a blood oath, it was Bev handing him the fencepost that could kill monsters, it was what made him throw that fencepost into Its gaping maw to save Richie from the deadlights.

When it comes to what love feels like for Eddie, it’s always been — different, with Richie. He loves all of his friends with all of his heart, but Richie has burrowed in deeper, somehow, and if Eddie were a more dramatic or poetic man he might say he loves Richie in his bones, in his soul. But he isn’t, so he doesn’t say that, even if he maybe thinks it a little bit and feels ridiculous.

just be still with me by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson)

Eddie Kaspbrak is 38, working as a driver in New York. Richie Tozier is a stand up comic who comes to New York on a one way ticket to audition for SNL, and his agent has hired Eddie as his driver. There's something familiar about Richie, though Eddie knows they've never met. While Richie insists on sitting in the front seat and making something more than small talk, Eddie struggles to maintain professional distance.

Basically - what if Eddie and Richie did forget, and didn't see each other for 25 years, but they fell in love anyways.

Part 1 of i can stare for a thousand years (you wouldn't believe what i've been through)

The Kids Table by stitchy

For the most part Richie and his sister have a doctrine of mutually assured destruction. They could obliterate each other with their parents given the slightest provocation. To keep things at an even keel, they steer clear of each other as much as possible every other day of the year, but on Thanksgiving? Kids Table is like their NATO.

A series of Tozier Thanksgivings, from '85 to '19.

last ones out by gayingenue

Richie wonders if it’s always been this hard for him to touch Eddie. It hasn’t; they were incredibly touchy as kids, falling all over each other, gangly limbs intertwined. Even as adults, a few days before, Richie had barely been able to keep his hands off of him. Eddie almost dying did something, though. Chipped away at something deep within Richie. From the bed, Eddie laughs.

Like Pulling Teeth by  stitchy

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie muttered. Maybe there was a curling iron around here somewhere he could electrocute himself with. He scrounged a few safety pins from the counter and passed them to Bev without looking directly at Richie. He knew he was being a little bitch, but he could not let on how jealous he was. Their friendship barely survived the Christmas Richie got a Sega.

- In which Eddie mistakes wanting to be ON Richie for wanting to BE Richie -

Love It If We Made It by areyoureddiekids

Eddie lives. Richie stumbles through being in love with the man who used to be, and could still be, his best friend, and maybe something more. This is how they find each other again as adults, in the aftermath of finally killing It.

men who are afraid of the light by beepbeep (aceface)

Eddie survives.

“Well,” says Richie. “I wanted to fuck Paul Bunyan and nothing turns you off your homosexual urges like a murder clown filling his mouth with dagger teeth. Can you imagine those wrapped around your dick? Worst blowjob ever.”

Missing the Boat by stitchy

About a year after Derry, the Losers plan a cruise to Bev and Ben's destination wedding. Cross country travel being the bitch it is, Richie and Eddie miss the boat and get stranded until they can catch a flight out to Hawaii. It's a blast from the past Good Time TM, but Eddie wants to know- why has Richie been so distant?

Part 1 of Missing the Boat 

My Four Leaf Clover by pineapplecrushface

After Derry, Eddie starts dreaming, gets his shit together, and figures out how to live.

New Page, Same Old Book by Rend_Herring

He thought he’d hidden these feelings from himself, stowed them away in some dark corner and learned not to think about it. But the second Eddie peaked in from around the corner at the Jade and looked at Richie with those big, limpid pools of Christmas Orphan meets Bambi, and started rambling about gluten and cashews, it all came flooding back into focus. Richie has loved Eddie so long that it’s become an ache that goes beyond reason.

no sense of living without aim by Anonymous

Eddie had been on grindr for all of two days and in that time he’d already seen more dicks than he had in the nearly forty years of his life. He’d gone methodically through his messages and blocked all the catfishes, the possible serial killers and the bores, and eventually settled on a promising ‘37. DTF. I'll make u a drink after’ (637 feet away).

Or, sometimes your long-lost childhood crush is the anonymous hook-up you meet along the way.    

not quite young by saintsrow2

Richie was sitting in a chair in front of a dressing table, looking into the lit-up mirror while he sipped a glass of amber bourbon. He looked up when Eddie walked in and then there were no words; neither of them had thought this far ahead. Eddie stood awkwardly in the open door, feeling very much like he was still waiting for the big prank to be revealed, for there to be machinations behind all of this that he couldn’t understand. “Hey, Trashmouth,” he said, eventually. “Hey, Eds,” Richie said. “You know I always hated being called that,” Eddie said. “Not when it’s me.”

An AU in which Richie and Eddie meet before Mike calls them all back to Derry, the affair that follows, and the consequences both of them want to ignore.

Richie and Eddie Outrun the Devil (in Richie’s Rental Car) by sofia_estrella

“If It’s trying to kill us, I don’t want to get on an airplane.”

“Air travel is statistically safer than—”

“Eds, please. I don’t think I can handle a cross-country flight by myself right now. There isn’t enough Ambien in the world.”

Eddie snorts. “What are you gonna do then?”

“Drive, I guess.”

“You’re gonna… drive… to L.A.?”

+ alternate title: An Evil Clown Can’t Kill You If You Drive Fast Enough

(Stand-Up) Routines & (Engagement) Rings by cajungirlkye

2 years after the events of IT: Chapter Two, Richie brings Eddie out on stage during one of his stand-up performances in order to ask a Very. Important. Question.

sweet as cherry wine by pearlshop

“Can I come in?” Eddie asks, teeth chattering. He’s soaked to the bone, a cornflower blue polo clinging to his small shoulders. It’s the only thing he’s wearing besides a pair of khakis that are also soaked through. Richie is suddenly very sober. “Eds?” or: Eddie leaves Myra and shows up at Richie's door.

Things that Happen after Eddie Lives by IfItHollers

In a world where Richie manages to save Eddie from It after the deadlights, they still have problems on their to-do list. Featuring everything from Derry to Los Angeles—Richie Tozier's murder trial, Eddie Kaspbrak's divorce proceedings, bedsharing of the platonic and non-platonic varieties, an investigation of magic, a truly disgusting séance, the quintessential morosexual road trip, and OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES.

Part 1 of Things that Happen After

we're f***ing killing it, babe by thenewlondoner (muleumpyo)

Richie has been back in Derry for three days and murdered an Eldritch horror-esque monster from space or possibly from some weird meta-verse, who knows, and faced both of his childhood fears of clowns and his own death, as well as the possibility of losing his first love just as he remembered they fucking existed, he’d like some slack cut for him on the emotional front, thank you!

OR

Eddie is dead, but the Losers carry him out of the house on Neibolt anyway. Which is good, because Eddie is not dead.

we were always here at the right time by fuckener

Eddie’s eyes were getting heavy again. Richie helped him back down to the pillow.

“It’s always kind of like this, isn’t it,” he mumbled.

Richie didn’t move. He was still holding Eddie’s hand, his shoulder.

“Like what?” he asked softly.

“You and me,” Eddie said. What else?

what doesn’t kill me (makes me want you more) by beautifulbane

Eddie survives. He goes back to New York and divorces Myra, but a part of him is still unhappy. It isn’t until he sees Richie a year later at Ben and Bev’s wedding that he realizes why.

you're already gone by ameliepoulain

You can never get enough, Robert Smith cries over the static, and Richie turns around wearing that dumb smile again.

All Eddie can think is: soon, all this will be gone.

You’re So Stupid by StilesBastille24

“Hey,” Richie greets brightly.

Eddie looks over, one hand reaching for the remote to turn off the tv. “They said their letting me out today,” he says, eyes narrowed as he peers over Richie’s shoulder. “You know, Derry’s hospital doesn’t even make the rank of top hospitals in Maine? I’ll be lucky if I’m not back in here from a fucking blood infection in two days.” He braces both of his palms against the mattress and tries to push himself further upright.

Richie swoops in before something horrific like split stitches can occur. “Cool it, Evel Knievel, or your going to be bleeding all over these perfectly white sheets, and then they’ll definitely think twice about letting you out of here.”

[emetoandotherthings]

Imagine this? A character getting sick at a pride parade. They've been waiting for this for months, so when they feel a bit sick in the morning, they convince themselves that they're just hungry, and eat a big breakfast. During the parade, however, the heat, and smells set them off, and that big breakfast ends up all over their shoes.

A/N: So this is an A++++ prompt and GUESS what?!? @feelingsick and I FINALLY got over our collab fear and managed to work on something together! And this is the result! 😊 Here is Foster (my absolute fav) meeting Zubin! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it! 💙

“I can’t get my hand to stop shaking!” Zubin slammed his eye make up brush down onto the desk, huffing slightly, and folded his arms across his chest.

“Look, just take a deep breath in,” Xander grabbed his boyfriend’s shoulders and turned him round to face him. “It’s not scary at all, I promise. You’re going to absolutely love it!”

Zubin had never been to a pride event before. Never, ever. He’d always been too terrified that someone would see him and somehow it would get back to his parents, and that would be the end of all things… But now he was at university and lived over 200 miles away from them, Xander had finally convinced him into going along.

“But what - I - what if?” Zubin spluttered, his stomach was in knots, twisting and turning inside him; all of his old fears seemed to be growing up inside him, reaching it’s tendrils throughout his body.

“No ‘what if’s’... It’s going to be great!” Xander reassured. “Now, hurry up, doll yourself up babe, cause I’m meant to be at the stand in about 20 minutes.”

“What am I going to do while you’re on the stall?” Zubin asked, picking up his brush and trying to steady his hand as he reapplied a streak of glitter across his cheekbone.

“There’ll be other stalls and stuff about,” Xander told him, pulling his own rainbow converse on. “I thought you could maybe have a scout around, find out what’s good for when I get off…” Zubin’s stomach chose that moment to give the loudest growl, audible to both himself and Xander. “Or you could get breakfast!” Xander chuckled slightly.

“Yeah,” Zubin grinned sheepishly, rubbing his hand across his stomach. “That’s a good idea.”

Zubin clutched the paper bag containing the largest breakfast crepe he’d ever seen; despite the parade not starting until 12, there was already an inordinately large number of people hovering around - waiting for things to get going. Zubin found his way to a patch of grass that people were congregating on, basking in the nice weather. There was a gap on the low wall, in between a young man lying on his back, a pair of sunglasses obscuring his eyes, and two heavily made goth girls, and he gingerly took the place so he could eat his breakfast without making too much mess.  

The boy with the sunglasses looked up when he sat, offering a friendly smile. “Don’t look so excited to be here,” he joked, sitting up and dusting the grass from his back. “This your first time or something?”

“Mmhmmm!” Zubin nodded, his mouth half full and he swallowed rapidly. “Is it that obvious?”

“You just look kinda overwhelmed, that’s all. It’s a lot, that’s for sure. You’re gonna have a great time, though. Everyone does.”

“I've only ever watched it on TV..” Zubin admitted. “It seems like there's loads of people…” He glanced around, eyes wide and wary.

“That’s part of the fun though!” the boy said, grinning. “Seeing the community and all that.”

“I've never - this is…” Zubin bit his lip nervously, staring down at the last bits of his breakfast crepe; his stomach twisted inside him as he thought of people that might know - might tell. “It's new.”  

The boy seemed to sense a change in Zubin’s demeanor. “Hey,” he said, scooting closer. “Breathe, alright? I promise you’ll have a good time.” He held out a hand, smiling warmly. “I’m Foster, by the way.”

“Zubin,” he crumpled up the packet in his hands, then took Foster’s proffered hand and shook it. “You been to many of these?”  

Foster nodded. “I started going with my best friend while we were in high school. We go every year now.”

“So you’re an old hand?” Zubin asked eagerly, as though desperate to get some experiential advice.

Foster laughed. “I guess I am. It’s not like there’s a science to attending these things, though.”

“Sorry…” Zubin mumbled. “I’m just nervous, I guess. Xan- my boyfriend says they’re always really fun, I just don’t know what to expect!”  

“Big parade, lots of dancing, tons of people handing out condoms,” Foster said, ticking off his fingers as he listed things to expect. “If you’re that nervous, why didn’t you make your boyfriend come with you?”

“Oh, he is,” Zubin nodded, pointing vaguely over in the direction of the stalls, “he’s on one of the stalls for a stint this morning. He thought I should come along and get a feel for the place.”  

“Probably good advice. There’s a lot to see. Have you checked out all the booths yet?” Foster asked.

“Not really,” he smiled sheepishy. “I kinda thought - well, breakfast…”  

“You should check them out!” Foster insisted. “There’s all sorts of stuff for sale. And it’s all local businesses.”

“I - uh…” Zubin looked nervous again.  

Foster smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I mean, you definitely don’t have to. Don’t let me pressure you into shit. Wouldn’t want you to get scared off your first time here.”

“Are you here with anyone?” Zubin asked after summoning up his courage.  

“Not currently, no. My boyfriend had to work, but my friend’s on his way with his partner.”

“Will you come round with me?” Zubin questioned, then his cheeks went red. “I mean - I’m not hitting on you or anything! It’s just - just,” he stammered, embarrassed. “You’re so experienced! And I’m, well, not…”  

Foster laughed. “Dude, you’re fine!” He stood, holding out a hand to help Zubin to his feet. “Let’s take a lap. I haven’t been around all the booths yet either.”

“Great!” Zubin grinned, he was thinking how proud Xander would be of him - he’d made a friend!

Foster led him back through the lines of tables and tents, both of them excitedly going from booth to booth. Just as Foster had described, there was absolutely everything for sale. At one booth, he laughed as Foster draped a gaudy rainbow boa around his shoulders, finding a matching hat to go with it before putting everything back and settling on a woven rainbow bracelet. He goaded Zubin into buying a tiny rainbow flag at another stall.

It was fun, but Zubin couldn’t seem to shake the unsettled feeling in his stomach. As they rounded the next line of stalls, Foster paused, having noticed Zubin’s steps beginning to slow.

“You alright?” he asked. “Need a break?”

“Is it just me…” Zubin started warily, trying to stop himself from clutching at his stomach, which felt like it was winding up with the atmosphere around him. “Or is it really warm?”  

“It’s pretty warm,” Foster agreed, though he didn’t look nearly as hot as Zubin felt. His brow furrowed with concern. “Do you wanna go find some shade?” he asked. Zubin felt like he was being bombarded from every side; he could feel a slick of sweat across his forehead, from somewhere nearby there was a strong waft of sugar - Zubin guessed it was some kind of pastry. He looked at Foster, who was frowning slightly, then nodded.  

“Okay,” Foster said, reaching out and taking Zubin gently by the arm when he made no move to start walking. “Come on, there’s some shade over there,” he said, leading Zubin slowly away from the booths.

Zubin’s legs felt a bit shaky, he wasn't sure why, but he allowed himself to be led over to the shade. There were people milling about, but Zubin tried to ignore them. “S-sorry.” He muttered; he wished he had some water.

“Don’t worry about it,” Foster assured. He hovered next to Zubin, looking uncertain. “You don’t look too good,” he said. “Here…” He took Zubin’s arm again and coaxed him to sit.

“I feel a bit funny…” Zubin admitted, wiping his forehead.  

“Maybe you just got overheated,” Foster said, but he looked skeptical. “I’m gonna grab you something to drink alright? You good for a minute?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Zubin sunk his head into his hands, which he could feel were shaking as he rested them on his knees. Foster watched him for a moment as if to confirm that he wasn’t going to suddenly keel over before jogging away back towards the line of food trucks. He came back a few minutes later brandishing a bottle of ice-cold water.

“Here. Don’t drink too fast though, okay?”

“Thanks,” Zubin unscrewed the bottle a little clumsily and took a few sips; he suddenly felt overly claustrophobic, like everyone around was pressing in on him.

“Just breathe,” Foster urged, lowering himself down beside Zubin on the grass.

“I -” Zubin’s throat suddenly went very dry and he looked up, wondering how far away he was from Xander and his stall. He forced himself to take another drink, but the liquid seemed to be lining the inside of his throat, coating all the way down to his stomach.

“Do you want me to find your boyfriend for you?” Foster asked uncertainly. “You’re not looking too good.”

Zubin wanted to say ‘It's fine’, but as he opened his mouth, his chest seemed to jolt suddenly and before he knew it, a large spray of warm liquid poured from his mouth onto the ground in between his feet.

“Oh, shit.” Foster took him by the shoulders and eased him forward, trying to keep the mess from landing on Zubin himself. “You’re good, man, just...just let it up.”

Zubin choked, rather shocked by the surprise deluge which spurted from his mouth; his eyes were wide, and he grabbed hold of Foster’s knee to hold himself steady as he retched again.

“That’s it,” Foster encouraged, moving one hand to rub awkwardly across Zubin’s shoulders. “Something you ate?” he guessed, frowning.  

“D-dunno…” Zubin forced slowly, his stomach felt like it was on a roller coaster inside him. “Felt funny this morning too…”  

Foster winced sympathetically. “Don’t worry. Once you feel like you’re done, we’ll go find your boyfriend.”

“He’ll…” Zubin began, then heaved again, bringing up another gush of puke which splattered onto his shoes. “Disappointed…”  

“I’m sure he won’t,” Foster assured. “You can’t help being sick. But if you’re feeling this bad, you should go home, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Zubin agreed, he closed his eyes, leaning in towards Foster for some stability. “Sor-sorry… don’t wanna miss…”

“There’s be others,” Foster said, giving Zubin’s arm a comforting pat. “Just shitty luck.” He grabbed the water bottle, holding it out again. “You should try a sip, if you can manage it.”

“Mmhmm,” Zubin nodded, accepting the water bottle and taking a small swig. “I always seem to have bad luck…” He mumbled darkly, then looked across at Foster. “Look - sorry, I didn’t mean to… I mean, thanks, for helping me out.”

Foster grinned. “Chill, man. I’m not gonna ditch you. I don’t mind, for real.”

“Thanks,” Zubin said, “I really appreciate it…” He tried to shuffle slightly away from the puddle of puke he’d created on the ground.

“Easy,” Foster said, helping him scoot away from the mess. “You feeling any better?”

“A little,” Zubin nodded, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.  

Foster rubbed a hand over his back again. “Take your time, and then we’ll go find your guy and get you home, alright?”

“Thanks,” Zubin smiled weakly, taking another sip of the water that Foster had given him. “I bet you didn’t expect this to be how you’d spend your pride parade…!”  

Foster laughed. “Nah, not at all. But hey, shit happens, yeah?” He smiled. “And for what it’s worth, I had fun hanging out with you today.”

“I did too! Until…” Zubin made a face. “I’ve… I’ve not been out for very long, and this kinda thing’s a bit intimidating, but you’ve been so lovely…”

“No problem,” Foster said, smiling. He stood, holding out a hand to help Zubin to his feet. “Feel like you can walk yet?”

“I’ll give it a go,” Zubin nodded, gripping tight onto Foster’s wrist. “Thanks.”

Foster wrapped a protective arm around Zubin’s shoulders, guiding him slowly back towards the booths. “Don’t feel too bad about missing things,” he said. “There’s always next year, and smaller events before that. There’s a Pride Film Festival coming up in a couple months.”

“Wait - what?” Zubin stopped suddenly, turning to look at Foster with his eyes wide.  

Foster burst out laughing at his expression. “Yeah, man! There’s all sorts of stuff. You’re gonna have a blast.”

“I’m studying film!” Zubin exclaimed quickly, smiling more widely. “You think I could get involved?!”

Foster looked excited, too. “No kidding? You totally should then!”

“That’d be… be so cool!” Zubin nodded eagerly, then gripped at Foster’s wrist to steady himself again.  

“Whoa, easy,” Foster said, tightening his hold on Zubin. “Let’s get you feeling better first, yeah? You’re gonna make yourself sick again if you get all worked up.”

“Yeah…” Zubin had closed his eyes, still wobbling. “Thanks though.”

“Do you need to sit for a minute?” Foster asked.

“I-” Zubin began, then his stomach gave another squeeze inside him, he clutched his free hand to it and nodded slightly.

“No problem,” Foster said gently, easing Zubin back down to the grass. “Take your time. You’re good.”

“I just feel a bit….” Zubin was shivering now, and he let out an unexpectedly loud hiccup.

Foster’s hand rested against Zubin’s back, frowning worriedly. “I think you’ve got a fever,” he said. He pressed a hand to Zubin’s forehead, confirming it with a nod.

“Hmm… I should - find Xander…” Zubin whispered, he was feeling really unwell now - but he couldn't quite remember what the stall Xander was on was called.

“Give yourself a second,” Foster said. “You look ready to keel over.”

“I…” Zubin’s voice trailed off, and he took some deep breaths. “Feel sick again…” His hand shot up to his mouth and he leant so far forwards he nearly toppled over.

Foster caught him by the shoulders, keeping him steady. “Don’t fight it,” he said. “Let it up if you need to.”

Zubin belched suddenly, then a spurt of sick poured from his mouth, splashing onto the ground and almost entirely coating Zubin’s own shoes.

Foster grimaced, rubbing a hand up and down Zubin’s back. “Man, you’re really feeling bad, huh?”

“Mmmm… I need to find Xander,” Zubin slurred slightly. “Can’t do this - to you…”

“Hey, I mean it, it’s fine. You can’t help being sick. I don’t mind looking after you until we get you back to Xander,” Foster said gently.

“I… appreciate it,” Zubin nodded, closing his eyes and leaning into Foster slightly.  “I think - think I really wanna go home…”

“We’ll get you home,” Foster assured, patting his back. “You got your phone on you?”

“Uuh, yeah…” Zubin struggled to get his phone out of his pocket. “I know - know Xand is about… somewhere on the… there’s a crepe stall near where he is!’ He managed to remember finally.  

“No offense, but I’m not about to drag you all over the festival on the chance that we happen to find his stall,” Foster said, smiling. “I think you should call him. Or let me.”

Zubin dropped his head, closing his eyes and screwing up his face, there was a long pause, then Zubin held out his hand with his phone in it for Foster to take. Foster gave his back a comforting pat before bringing up the contact list on Zubin’s phone, scrolling to the bottom until he found Xander’s name.

“Just sit tight,” Foster said, keeping a steadying hand on Zubin’s shoulder as he pressed the call button. Zubin hadn’t quite thought about what Xander might think when a random person called him up from his phone and he raised his head, biting his lip slightly.

Foster gave Zubin a reassuring smile.

“Hi, Xander?” he said into the phone. “No, no, everything’s good. I’m here with your boyfriend, and he’s not feeling too good,” he explained. “Wasn’t sure I’d be able to get him to you, so I figured I’d see if you could meet us.” He paused, listening. “Yeah, yeah. We’re between the stalls and the fountain, just off the path. Can’t miss us.” He paused again. “‘Course, I can hang until you get here. M’not going anywhere.” After another second, he hung up and handed the phone back to Zubin. “He’s on his way, alright?”

“Thanks…” Zubin lowered his head into his hand again. “This really wasn't how I planned to spend my day…”  

“Yeah, I bet,” Foster agreed. “Sorry you aren’t gonna get to see everything this year.”

“There’s so much…” Zubin said, wiping his mouth again with his sleeve. “I never - I didn’t imagine…”

Foster smiled. “You’re gonna get to see it all one of these days,” he promised.  

“Can I get your number?” Zubin asked, then his cheeks went even darker as he realised what he’d said. “ I didn’t mean - like, you know, well…”  

Foster laughed. “Dude, you’re fine,” he repeated. He took Zubin’s phone again, adding his number into the contacts. “You better let me know how you’re doing,” he said, handing the phone back once more. “Else I’m gonna worry.”

“Zu? Zu?!” The voice came shouting through the crowd, then out of nowhere, Xander seemed to materialise in front of them. “Oh god Zu!”

Foster stepped aside as Xander took over. “He’s gotten sick a few times already,” he reported. “Has a fever, too.” “ ‘m fine…” Zubin mumbled.

“Man.. thank you,” Xander gripped his hand on Foster’s shoulder, giving him a weak smile.

“No problem,” Foster said easily. He checked his phone. “I should probably go find my friends,” he said. He glanced between Zubin and Xander. “You guys got it from here?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Xander nodded, then unexpectedly grabbed Foster into a hug. “Thanks for looking after him.”

“Xand…” Zubin’s cheeks were pink again, clearly a little embarrassed.  

Foster was definitely surprised, but he wrapped an arm around Xander and returned the embrace. “Don’t mention it.” When they parted, Foster turned to Zubin again. “Feel better, alright? I better see you at the film festival.”

“You will!” Zubin nodded firmly. “Thank you, really.”

Foster nodded, waving one last time over his shoulder as he started back towards the booths.

[leofemt]

happily evita after

"Heard of faking it 'til you make it?" He says. "It'll take you far."

Carisi snorts, puts his hands on his hips, cocks his head. Barba glances at him, away, then back again. Why is Carisi still here?

"Are you really looking for advice?" He says, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

barisi, broadway au, 4.8k words. 

on ao3.

Barba warms up in the empty theater. His voice echoes off the cavernous walls of the enormous room.

There's the clicking of heels on the floor.

"Barba." Rita Calhoun crosses her arms, looking immaculate in a sharp green suit jacket and matching pencil skirt. "You're still close with the janitors, I see."

"Rita." Barba had broken off his singing when the sound of Calhoun's three-inch shoes had audibly reached him. "I see you're still poking your nose where it's likely to be pinched."

Calhoun snorts.

"As eloquent as always." She says. "As expected from the Broadway's diva."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." Barba parries, but he's smiling in amusement. "Is there a reason you've accosted me, or did you simply want to break my concentration?"

Calhoun laughs.

"As your agent, I wanted to make sure you knew before it was announced at the next rehearsal. I know what a drama queen you are." She makes a show of straightening her already-perfect sleeves.

"Out with it, Rita," Barba says.

"Amaro's out," Calhoun replies.

Barba blinks.

"What?" He drops the banter. "Amaro's out? What happened?"

Calhoun shrugs.

"He's moving out to LA." She says. "Something about a television offer closer to his kids than New York. He says he's sorry to drop out so suddenly, but this job is time-sensitive."

Barba sighs.

"Great." He mutters. "Who the hell's his understudy? Can he catch up in less than a week?"

Calhoun cocks her head.

"His name's Carisi." She says.

~~~~~~

Barba meets Carisi later that day.

"Barba." Benson leads him over to where a small cluster of people are gathered around one man. "This is Dominick Carisi."

Barba is struck by the thought that Dominick Carisi is quite possibly one of the most attractive people he's ever seen.

That is, until he opens his mouth.

"Call me Sonny." He grins, extends a long-fingered hand, torso stretching and looking ridiculously good in a waistcoat but Barba ignores that. He shakes Carisi's hand. His palm is warm and dry, but Barba ends the contact first.

"Carisi, this is-" Benson begins, but Carisi accidentally cuts her off.

"Rafael Barba, yeah, I know." He says, smiling bashfully. "I'm a huge fan, to be honest, i saw your performance in Evita and it was one of the best shows I've ever-"

"Thank you." Barba interrupts, because he's bad with compliments and even worse with fans. "I hear you're filling in for Amaro."

Carisi seems unperturbed, like he already knew Barba was an asshole. Barba figures he probably does, since if he's Nick's understudy, he's been hanging around during rehearsal more often than not.

"Yup." Carisi says, eyes sparkling, and Barba already has serious reservations about his ability to play the dark, moody, dramatic part Amaro had been cast in, despite how... physically attractive he may be. "Nice to meet you, lookin' forward to workin' with you."

"Alright." Benson interrupts. "Before our resident misanthrope can scare off the new kid, let's get to work."

"I'm not a misanthrope," Barba protests weakly. "I like you."

Benson levels him a look. Rollins snorts.

~~~~~~

It's been two hours, and Barba still hasn't heard Carisi sing.

It's a little vexing. Barba finds his gaze flicking to Carisi, as he's reviewing his steps, as he's practicing a duet with Benson, as he's popping open another bottle of water. Carisi's a natural at following. He leaps through Nick's routine with a fluency that surprises Barba.

"Hey," Benson says, tapping him on the shoulder. "You alright?"

"Yeah." Barba shakes himself out of it. He turns to her. "You sure Carisi can hack it?"

Benson laughs.

"I've been personally training him since Nick broke the news to me." She replies. "He's a good kid. He can handle it."

Barba frowns.

"If you say so," he says.

Across the room, Carisi, sweating through his gray shirt and beaming like an idiot, smiles at something Rollins says. Barba's eyes follow him. It's not a crime to think your new costar's cute, he supposes, but he pulls his gaze away and refocuses on Liv's tied-back hair.

"Have a little faith, Rafael." Benson pats him on the shoulder. He exhales.

"You know faith isn't my strong point, Liv," he says, looking back at her, but he offers a lopsided smile nonetheless.

~~~~~~

"Okay!" Melinda, the leader of the sound and lights crew, gives the thumbs up from the side of the stage. They're starting the last week of technical rehearsal, and Barba's in full makeup and dress, straightening the cuffs of his three-piece suit. It fits well, not too tightly but not too loosely, so there'll be no trouble with running and singing stemming from the padded shoulders or dozen buttons on the suit's waistcoat.

Beside him, Carisi pulls on the length of his jacket. Luckily, Carisi and Amaro are the same height, but Nick's waistcoat is a little loose around the waist on Carisi. He'll probably get it fixed by wardrobe tonight, Barba thinks absentmindedly, as Benson and Rollins take their places on the stage, shoes tapping loudly against the floor, their dialogue back-and-forth filling the auditorium as the sound techs adjust the microphones and lighting, getting a feeling for how the scene will look. They both look radiant, standing under the glowing lights. Barba remembers the first time he'd done a rehearsal with Olivia and smiles.

"Something amusing?" Carisi asks curiously.

Barba glances at him. He hadn't realized Carisi had been watching him.

"Not particularly," he says, the smile slipping fractionally off his face. Carisi looks a little disappointed. He's seen it before- up-and-coming actors looking for their big break, making tacky conversation with anyone whose name is vaguely recognizable. Barba eyes the snack table across the room.

Carisi's gaze doesn't leave the area around Barba's ear for another moment after that. It lingers in a way that makes Barba instantly, incredibly aware of the other man next to him, and he steps away, twisting his head away from the other man.

"Barba!" Melinda calls, and he realizes he's missed his cue. He coughs and steps on stage. Benson is sitting behind an office desk, hands folded, waiting for him to stride up with the confidence his character needs to exude and say his first line.

~~~~~~

After tech rehearsal, Barba makes a beeline for the snacks.

"Pretzel?" Rollins slides the bottle over to him, and he catches it.

"Thanks," Barba says, twisting the cap open and pulling out a small handful.

Rollins considers him.

"What do you think of Carisi?" She asks casually.

Barba glances at her.

"I should be asking you that," he says, popping one pretzel in his mouth. "You alright with him replacing Amaro?"

Rollins shrugs.

"I miss Nick." She replies. "Dunno how I feel about Carisi, that's why I asked. What do you think of him?"

Barba purses his lips.

"He's a rookie." He says succinctly, eating another pretzel. "I'm not too impressed. We'll see if he can handle Amaro's role."

"It's not Amaro's role anymore," Rollins chuckles knowingly.

Barba sighs.

"And here I was, looking forward to getting the band back together." He says sarcastically.

"Ha." Rollins snorts. "What's that you told Nick? You're not on my level?"

Barba grumbles.

"I said it in Spanish," he says.

"Yeah, and Nick told me you said it with a real look on your face, too." Rollins snickers. Barba gets the sudden urge to throw a pretzel at her. He crunches down on one instead, grinding it between his teeth.

~~~~~~

"And that's a wrap for today!" Tucker, the director, calls. "Benson, see me."

Rollins whistles. Benson makes a noise before stepping down the stairs by the stage and meeting Tucker halfway through the seats.

"Do they think they're being subtle?" Fin remarks. Rollins laughs. Carisi smiles, and Barba rolls his eyes, already turning on his heel to head back to his dressing room.

"Yeah, Tucker was real subtle when he stayed after we all left Noah's birthday party last month." Rollins deadpans. Barba's halfway across the stage before Carisi catches up to him.

"Hey, Barba." Carisi's voice comes from behind him. "Got a minute? I've got some questions-"

"No," Barba cuts him off and doesn't even feel bad about it, because he actually does have plans. He has a dinner appointment with Rita, to discuss business among other things, and their reservation is at 6 in order for him to make it back to the theater by 7 for notes and clean-up.

Carisi trails off behind him. Barba doesn't stop, and still doesn't feel bad about it. Not even a little.

~~~~~~

"So," Calhoun says, cutting into a potato. "Can you work with the new guy?"

Barba bites down on a head of broccoli. A niche French restaurant, with warm wood paneling and honeyed lights and decorative ivy climbing up the walls, serving inexpensive countryside cuisine. Rita had picked the place. A glass of red wine within her arm's length makes her mood much better.

"Deflecting his incessant questions and overt attempts of networking into my good graces is going to take five years off my life," Barba replies, swallowing. The food is good. Hearty and flavorful. He makes a mental note to remember this place next time he needs to take someone somewhere, but not to let on that Calhoun was the one who had picked it. "He's decent enough with the steps, but I still haven't heard him sing."

Calhoun smiles.

"You're in for a treat." She says, a knowing quirk to her lips, and he can't tell if it's sarcastic or not.

Barba eyes her.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" He asks, but Calhoun doesn't reply, only eats another bite of potato and starts on her duck. He huffs and returns to his food.

"All I can say," Calhoun starts again, after she's strung him along long enough, looking back at him, "is don't write him off yet, Barba. Your overly critical workaholic mentality may have made you a star, but it doesn't help endear you to your costars."

"You don't have to remind me." Barba grumbles.

"You know you've made your share of enemies," Calhoun says, eyes softening. "Not for the wrong reasons, but it doesn't help your career, Rafael. Carisi's not a bad kid." Barba meets her gaze, and she leans forward, gaze firm but imploring. "Don't burn another promising bridge."

Barba bites his lip.

"I'll try." He allows.

Calhoun leans back.

"That's all I need," she says, and they finish their dinner to markedly more amicable conversation.

~~~~~~

Barba tries to act on Calhoun's suggestion. He really does.

It's not his fault Carisi can't leave him alone.

"Hey, Barba," he says, catching up to him in the hallway that leads to their dressing rooms. Barba sees the label that had, two days ago, read "Amaro". It says "Carisi" now.

"Did you need something?" Barba turns to face Carisi and his blue eyes.

Carisi shifts his weight from foot to foot. He glances from Barba's eyes to the knot of his tie and back again.

"Yeah, I wanted to ask," Carisi says lamely, licking his lips nervously, "did you have any, like, book recommendations for acting? I know I'm still fresh to this genre of Broadway, so I was gonna-"

Barba turns away and unlocks his own dressing room door. Carisi must think he's ignoring him again, blowing him off, because his voice trails off, but Barba reappears in the doorway a moment later with a book in his hand. He tosses it to Carisi, who fumbles to catch it.

"A Challenge For The Actor. Uta Hagen." Barba says. Carisi looks back up at him. "Read it if you want to improve."

Carisi beams.

"Thank you," he enthuses.

"That's my personal copy," Barba warns. "Don't damage it."

~~~~~~

Barba hears Carisi sing for the first time that day.

"Liv," he says distractedly, forgetting the next scene in tech rehearsal is about to start, "this line here, what do you think-"

She shushes him. He startles, blinking at her, until he sees the lights darken and their dramatic spotlights flood to life- Carisi's frame is silhouetted in it, a dark outline in the brightness. Barba knows he must look, from the front, like he's glowing.

Ah, right, he remembers. Amaro's character is introduced right before intermission. His first song is a solo.

Carisi takes a deep breath, and the accompaniment music starts to play.

Barba stares.

Carisi's voice is a classic lyric tenor- bright and full- where Nick's had been dramatic tenor- a little moodier, a little darker. Barba's never been a personal fan of the lyric tenor, but something about Carisi's voice draws him in- the song has always been a favorite of his, lyrics about struggling to define oneself in a sea of anger and negativity. Where Nick's character had succumbed to the darkness, Barba can hear something hearty in Carisi's voice. Something hopeful. Carisi makes a wide gesture, and the microphone crackles. Melinda in the sound and lights booth pushes a few sliders, and the feedback neutralizes again.

Barba can't take his eyes from Carisi's image the entire song, and before he knows it, the lights flicker back on. Moody ambient light floods the floor, the spotlights dimming, and Rollins leaps on-stage for her and Carisi's bonding scene and subsequent duet. Barba knows that both characters will exit after this song, and they'll run through set change, and Benson will take the stage for her solo before their own duet, but in this moment, his gaze tracks Carisi across the stage.

~~~~~~

"So?" Calhoun smiles at him. It's entirely too knowing for Barba's taste, and he scowls, sipping his coffee.

"What?" He bites.

"Admit it." Calhoun leans forward. "Carisi's fantastic."

"No moreso than any of the stars I work with on a regular basis." Barba snipes, kicking up his feet on the table in his dressing room. "He's acceptable."

"Acceptable." Calhoun snorts. "High praise from the mighty Rafael Barba."

"I haven't heard your opinion on him at all." Barba fires back, looking up at her.

Calhoun shrugs.

"If I think he's good enough to work with you, you know my opinion on him." She says, staring him down, and Barba decides to accept the backhanded compliment as it is.

He sighs.

"Anyways," Calhoun continues, looking down at her planner, "you have an interview at six, and a photoshoot for Esquire Magazine at seven. These are high-profile appearances, which is why I'm going with you instead of Carmen, even though I'm not your secretary."

Barba grimaces.

"What's the theme of this photoshoot?" He asks, and Calhoun flips through her notebook.

"Looks like they want to do a black-and-white formal wear shoot," she says, and he sighs. Black and white, he can deal with. Formal wear, he can deal with. Interviews, he can deal with.

"Thanks, Rita." He says, begrudgingly.

"Just make us some money," Calhoun laughs.

~~~~~~

"Can you tell us something about your current project?" The interviewer asks.

"I can say it's going to be very exciting," Barba replies. "It's been very rewarding."

"That's good to hear." The interviewer says. "What's your daily schedule like?"

Barba laughs.

"Oh, busy." He answers. "Sometimes we're rehearsing until 1 am. No time to do anything but eat, sleep, and read lines."

"Does that have an affect on your personal life?" The interviewer asks.

"Sometimes," Barba replies. "Being so busy means many of the people I know treat work like their personal life."

"Oh?" The interviewer sounds amused. "Any gossip you can clue us in on?"

Barba chuckles.

"Full disclosure, I don't feed the rumor mill." He says. "When you spend so much of your day with a set group of people... things happen."

~~~~~~

The photoshoot goes without incident. Barba sits in the back of the cab beside Calhoun, headed back to his apartment down the street from the theater.

"Thank you for behaving," Calhoun says.

"What am I, a child?" Barba mutters.

"Sometimes." Calhoun replies without hesitation.

~~~~~~

Barba sits in his apartment, his laptop on his lap, feet kicked up on his coffee table. Despite his better judgement, he has headphones in his ears and one of Carisi's audition tapes that had leaked to Youtube playing on the screen.

Carisi is...

Barba doesn't know how to describe it. It's not like Carisi is different, special, somehow extraordinary over the hundreds of other rookies auditioned. Technically, his voice is a textbook tenor, only slightly accented with a side of Staten Island. He's wearing a baggy, ill-fitting olive collared shirt, and a depressingly thick mustache graces his upper lip. Barba snorts.

He's only scouting Carisi, he thinks, finishing the video and switching to checking his email. He just wants to make sure this rookie doesn't fuck up the first show he's had with Liv and Rollins in over 4 months. He drifts from his gmail to opening a new tab to checking Carisi's database page, glancing over the roles the other man has held previously. Unremarkable, roles in community theater or Broadway-periphery, and a trend of creeping closer to Broadway itself- this role could be Carisi's big break, Barba thinks, and shuts his laptop. Whoever Carisi's agent is has had a hell of a time building his career path to this point.

~~~~~~

"Hey, Barba," Carisi says, and what is that, his catchphrase? "I got some questions about the book you lent me, can we chat?"

"Jesus," Barba snipes, "I gave you the book so you'd stop asking me."

Carisi scowls jokingly at him. Ever since Barba had felt that terrifying tug towards Carisi, the first time a chord had come out of his throat, he had discarded any notion of being nice, fallen back on being snippy. Carisi takes it better than most.

"Hey, just asking for some innocent advice," Carisi shrugs, folding his arms.

Barba rolls his eyes.

"Heard of faking it 'til you make it?" He says. "It'll take you far."

Carisi snorts, puts his hands on his hips, cocks his head. Barba glances at him, away, then back again. Why is Carisi still here?

"Are you really looking for advice?" He says, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

Carisi raises an eyebrow.

"That's what I said," he deadpans, looking him straight in the eye. "Any kernels of wisdom to impart?"

"Yeah." Barba unlocks the door to his dressing room, looks back over his shoulder. "Don't ever let on that you don't know anything."

He shuts the door behind him before Carisi can protest, and wonders if he'll be able to get his book back soon.

~~~~~~~

That afternoon, Barba and Carisi's duet is up.

It might be a little awkward. With Nick, their quick, hot banter had come easily, because Nick and his character share a flash temper and Barba's nothing if not sharp with his words.

Carisi, on the other hand...

His voice is too eager, Barba thinks. He won't be able to channel the raw fierceness that lies in the depths of the character he's supposed to portray, and it will show most clearly in this song. Barba steels himself for a scene of having to coax an inexperienced actor through a new process.

"Barba?" Benson nudges him, and he looks up. "We're supposed to be getting back."

"Right." He says, and follows her to the stage. Carisi's waiting in the other wing. Barba can see him across the stage, and when the accompaniment music starts to play, he walks across the floor, spotlight following him smoothly, and lets the song take over. His baritone reverberates through the empty theater, vibrato resonating powerfully through the emptiness, before-

Carisi steps onto the stage.

He opens his mouth.

Barba doesn't falter, but he stares at Carisi, whose eyes are cast across the enormous room, sparkling, before they refocus on him. Barba starts into the back-and-forth section of the song, the part that had been filled with the most antagonism and catty bite when he had performed it with Nick, but Carisi takes it and twists it and sings the lines with dry humor and a knowing edge. His character pokes and prods at Barba's where Nick's had pushed him.

Barba finds himself swept up. He enjoys the song, despite himself, and finds himself disappointed and surprised when the last notes off the piano ring out, and the lighting changes again. Barba makes his way off the stage and watches the set people move props around to prep for Carisi, Liv, and Rollins' scene.

Maybe Carisi's not as much of a lost cause as he had thought. Maybe he has more going for him than just a nice voice and a pretty face.

~~~~~~

The rest of rehearsals go well, and they run through final dress rehearsals with little fanfare. Barba starts to feel the buzzing in his fingertips and the warmth in his chest, neurons firing in his brain, that precedes the opening night of a show. He doesn't know how long this play will run, but he's guessing it'll be decently long, because none of the other main cast members have bookings in the near future and some of them are relatively popular, to say the least. According to Tucker, the first batch of shows are sold out.

"Excited?" Benson asks, sitting next to him on a set couch. "It's the first show we've all done together in a while."

"Plus Carisi." Barba says, and Benson looks at him.

"Carisi's fitting in alright." She says. "I'd be glad to work with him again."

Barba grumbles.

"He's not that bad," he admits, and Benson smiles and nudges him in the shoulder. He's cute and has bright eyes and a nice voice and an oddly indomitable spirit, he thinks privately, but hell if he's ever going to tell Liv that.

"Rita told me you've taken a bit of a shine to him." Her eyes sparkle. "Gonna throw him a bone before we all split up again?"

Barba scowls.

"I'm not that impressed," he lies. "Surprised, maybe. I saw his audition tapes. If he'd shown up with that mustache, I'd have refused to work with him on the spot."

Benson pats him on the knee and laughs. Barba almost rolls his eyes.

"You and Rita seem awfully close, anyways," he says, trying to turn the conversation away from Carisi. "Checking up on me?"

Benson shrugs.

"Carmen emails me whenever we have bookings in the same area," she says.

"That's how you always know when to ask me to get lunch," Barba frowns.

Benson laughs.

Rollins sidles up to the couch.

"Am I interrupting?" She asks. "Or can I steal Liv for a minute?"

~~~~~~

Barba feels his legs shake, the first scenes he's on stage, the first night. The lights are bright and hot in his face, and it feels like he's standing on an endless ocean, the sun beaming down on him- he opens his mouth and says his opening lines, and the rest is a rush of adrenaline and a blur of color.

It wouldn't be the same without the nervousness, he thinks.

~~~~~~

A month into the show's run, Carisi still hasn't returned his book.

~~~~~~

New York Times Arts & Humanities Opinion Piece

If you have time and money to spare, the SVU Troupe's groundbreaking newest showing on Broadway is guaranteed to test your preconceived notions. The gritty, yet mind-bendingly enrapturing play will sweep you up in intrigue, mystery and adventure in a quest to define the true meaning of morality.

Making a new appearance standing in for troupe member Nick Amaro, known for his dark and moody antihero-esque characterizations and deep, smooth tenor, is Dominick Carisi Jr, who made a splash onstage with slicked-back hair and an energetic performance. Lyric tenor Carisi's character is bright, peppy, and hiding a dark side- one of the most remarkable pieces in the play is the duet between the characters of newcomer Carisi and veteran Broadway star Rafael Barba.

Longtime actress and famed advocate Olivia Benson, the star of the show, infuses the entire experience with heart, purpose, power, and a slight sense of nostalgia.

~~~~~~

"I've gotten word from the finance office." Chief Dodds says, smiling his unreadable smile. "Congratulations, Benson, you've starred in one of the longer-running new hit shows on Broadway."

Benson shakes his hand.

"Closing is in a week," Dodds finishes.

~~~~~~

It's the closing night of their show. The cheers of the audience resound in Barba's ears, almost deafening, shaking the ground under their feet, and he feels the hot lights in his face and the breathing of the actors around him, and Liv on one side grabs his hand for the bow, and Carisi takes his other one. Adrenaline licks through his bloodstream. He shakes.

Carisi's still holding his hand.

He pulls it away as the cheers dull, and the troupe of actors makes their way off the stage, beaming. Benson shoots Barba a glowing smile and Rollins slaps her hand across his back, chattering, and they hug and enthuse for ten minutes before separating into their respective dressing rooms. They'll get back together after a shower and a change, and head to their afterparty. Barba tries to return to his own dressing room, but a foot in the door stops him.

"I have something I need to say," Carisi says, grabbing Barba's elbow, his stupid accent thicker than ever.

Barba's breathing starts to pick up.

"Come inside," he mutters, pulling Carisi in through the doorway and shutting it behind him. He doesn't need anyone talking, starting up the rumor mill again. "What's this about?"

"You don't get it." Carisi starts in immediately, shaking his head in disbelief. "Barba-"

Barba purses his lips.

"What don't I get?" He says snippily, folding his arms, his gaze beginning to sharpen into a glare, thinking Carisi's about to lay into him.

"God, you've been my stupid celebrity crush forever," Carisi bursts out desperately, "after you made that dumb speech after the encore of that one show and came out to the whole world on stage, like an idiot, but a really fearless idiot-"

Barba's staring at him.

"-and it was a God damn miracle that I even got to understudy in the same theater as you, but when I got that role, it was like the chance of a lifetime." Carisi's red-faced, fingers clenched. "Fuck, getting to stand on the same stage as you is like..."

Barba's adam's apple works in his throat. No matter how much he swallows, his throat feels dry. His voice will croak if he tries to speak now.

"It's a dream come true. And even if it's nothing more... I just wanted to thank you." Carisi finishes, breaking into an impossibly brilliant, heartbreakingly sad smile. He's breathing hard, and keeps that bright, despondent smile directed at Barba for just another moment before Barba can see his body language tighten, see he's about to turn away and stride down the hall and probably make it his life's mission to never see Barba in person again. Barba's heart hammers in his chest. He can't think. His mind feels frozen.

For once in his life, Barba acts before he thinks.

"Can I take you to dinner?" He blurts, and the words hang in the air before he can feel them on his tongue, before he can wrangle them out of his throat and jam them back into his windpipe. They're career professionals with impossible, unpredictable schedules. They're incredibly different, personality-wise. They're Barba and Carisi, for God's sake. There's no way this ends well, Barba thinks, his mind spiraling into the billions of futures he can see that involve ugly break-ups, cold shoulders, spitting arguments.

Barba realizes he doesn't want this to end.

And for the first time in his a while- the first time since he had danced in the school play with Alex and Eddie and Yelina, the first time since he had sold off a little part of his soul, left it in the barrio, left his friends and his family and his life and his home behind for a fancy scholarship, the first time since he had had the thought, maybe he's just the type of person who's meant to be alone- Barba has something he desperately, wholeheartedly wants to grab onto and not let go.

The feeling terrifies him, but everything about Carisi terrifies him. The words are out there.

Carisi stares at him.

"Did you," he says, incredulous, disbelieving, "just ask me out on a date?"

Barba bites his tongue.

"Yes," he squares up, shifts his feet, looks Carisi in the eye. "I've been unfair to you. Let me take you to dinner."

Carisi deflates, all of his earlier desperation dissipating, searches his eyes, like he's looking for some ulterior motive. Finding none, he opens his mouth.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Barba lifts his chin.

"I'll meet you outside the theater." He says, before he can give himself a chance to chicken out. "I hope French is alright with you."