#Lost that no talk me angy energy rip

[superalloyman]

Broody (not)bat

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It / Rewrite

Right, so fix-its aren’t so much my jam, but there is this one weird, weird, weird thing that I’ve (so far) been unable to meta into any sort of sense. Namely, Mickey looking like that in season 11 while apparently not working out. It’s just… uh… he… what? At one point I hypothesized that he’s been bitten by a radioactive spider or the like, leaving him magically super buff, and to be honest, that’s still the most reasonable explanation I can think of, soooo…

Today I'm back at my nonsense to bring you, everyone and especially our dear @gallavichthings, 2,711 Very Serious words about Mickey being a secret superhero. Well. Except for the hero bit.

Read it below or on AO3.

---

In Which Mickey Milkovich Does Not Save the World

Afterwards, he would always refer to it as the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell, but the truth is that Mickey never saw the thing that got him.

He was going about his business (namely poking around the Gallagher basement for any forgotten shit he could sell for beer money now that all the cash from the wedding had been surreptitiously replaced with I.O.U:s) when he felt a sudden, sharp pain just above his ankle. Cursing up a storm, he desperately waved his foot around and lost his balance and stumbled straight into one of the many piles of boxes that littered the basement. By the time he was back on his feet whatever creature that had dug its nasty little teeth/pincers/claws into his tender flesh had scurried off, leaving Mickey with a throbbing ache and a halfway impressive puncture wound on his left leg.

Muttering darkly about fucking Gallaghers being so used Frank they didn’t know how to keep goddamned monster vermin out of their shitty house Mickey limped up the stairs to pour some Jamison on the wound, and then pour some down his throat because he had the bottle out already so he might as well. He borrowed one of Franny’s colourful pirate-patterned band-aids, and when his nosy as fuck ex-EMT of a husband asked about it later that evening Mickey said he’d dropped a can on his foot, it’s just a scratch, man, no you don’t need to take a look at it, just put your fingers back in my ass, please.

Mickey didn’t make a habit of lying to Ian, but he figured that telling the truth would lead to all sorts of questions about why he was in the basement and having to come up with plausible explanation for that when he should just be focusing on getting railed wasn’t part of his plans for the evening. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Ian, who’d been getting so worked up over money lately, to distract him with that sort of unimportant stuff while they were banging. Mickey was a considerate spouse.

Thankfully, Ian dropped the subject and proceeded to do his husbandly duty. Mickey went to sleep deeply satisfied.

He was almost as satisfied the next morning when he woke up to realize that the pain in his leg was gone, as were all traces of the wound itself. Mickey had always healed pretty fast, but this was quick enough to have him questioning whether or not he’d really been bitten/stung/whatever at all. Maybe he’d had more beers than he thought and imagined the whole thing… ?

It didn’t really matter, and if that had been the whole of it Mickey was likely to soon have forgotten all about the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell. However, in the next few weeks he started noticing stuff, weird stuff. For instance, it wasn’t just the (possibly imagined) bite/sting that healed far more quickly than normal; it was all the little cuts and scrapes he tended to acquire. A big bruise from running into the table while playing with Franny; faded to nothing the next morning. A cut from the razor; gone within the hour. For the first time he could remember, Mickey looked at his naked body in the mirror and saw not one single wound (though there were still scars aplenty). It wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but it was weird.

Then there was that thing with his muscles. Mickey had been in decent shape for most of his life and whenever he got locked up for extended periods of time he made a habit of hitting the gym on the regular. Really wasn’t much else to do in the joint, and having a decent bulk reminded the other inmates that you weren’t someone they could push around; letting people know that you could beat the shit out of them often meant you didn’t have to actually do it, which saved everyone a lot of time and energy and trips to the prison quack. But on the outside, exercise wasn’t very high on Mickey’s list of priorities, meaning he tended to slim down a bit after a while in freedom.

Not now, though. Almost a year after being out of prison, and he was still as built as ever; if anything he seemed to be developing more muscles, in spite rarely engaging in anything more taxing than vigorous fucking. (Okay, so there was a lot of vigorous fucking, but still. If anyone ought to be building their biceps from the sex they were having, it should be Ian.)

Mickey didn’t mind being inexplicably ripped, though. He felt great, looked great – and Ian seemed to be pretty into it, too. Then again, Ian seemed to be pretty into Mickey whether he wore dirty clothes, sported a beard, sported a dress, or hadn’t showered in a week, so maybe that wasn’t saying a lot.

But even given all that, maybe Mickey still wouldn’t have thought too much about it (he was, after all, very busy being on his honeymoon, which required lots of determined sleep-ins, dedicated beer-drinking, and – obviously – lots and lots of banging) if there hadn’t one day come a knock on the front door. At first he ignored itm in the hopes that someone else would get it, but when it became apparent that a, he was alone in the house, and b, whoever was at the door wasn’t giving up anytime soon, he grabbed the family baseball bat (even big soft ass Larry would react to Mickey opening the door with an extremely illegal gun in hand) and went to answer the insistent knocking.

Outside stood two women, looking an unsettling mix of sober and apprehensive and eager. One of them reminded him vaguely of Angie Zago; the other was taller and darker and quite possibly brooding.

“Can I help you?” he demanded, not quite as rudely as he might have. He didn’t think they were social workers, but one never knew; they’d been checking up on Debbie and Franny ever since Debbie pleaded guilty to statutory rape.

“Mr. Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich?” Not-Angie inquired in a polite sort of tremble. 

“Who’s asking?” Mickey demanded, feeling a little thrown by the use of his full name. The only people who pulled that out was law enforcement, and neither of these ladies had that feel about them. Especially since they seemed to be… excited to meet him, which wasn’t a reaction Mickey was used to getting. Particularly not from ladies looking like they ought to be out collecting for the fucking Red Cross.

They better not be asking for donations for the Red Cross.

“I’m Tania and this is Dreamweaver,” Not-Angie said. “Can we come in? It’s really best if we talk in private.”

Mickey didn’t move. “Dreamweaver? You kick your mama too many times in the kidneys before you were born or something?”

The women glanced uncertainly at each other. “Mr. Milkovich,” the one improbably called Dreamweaver began, but Mickey cut her off:

“You with the police?”

They quickly shook their heads. “No, we— “

“You here to give me money?”

“No, you see, it’s— “

“Okay, thank you, bye.” But as he moved to close the door, Tania – displaying more spunk than he’d have given her credit for – took a step forward and blocked the entrance.

“Have you been experiencing any strange body phenomena lately, Mr. Milkovich?” she blurted. “Wounds healing very quickly, perhaps, or increased muscle mass?”

Mickey stilled, eyes darting between the two women. Small, small smiles on their faces now, as if they knew they had him. There was a hint of hunger to those smiles, making Mickey feel uncharacteristically uncomfortable. The urge to push Tania back and slam the door shut was strong, but…

“Fine,” he said at long last. “Come on in.”

They better not be fucking cannibals either.

---

They called themselves The Guardians, and they wanted him to save the world.

Mickey asked what numbers they were talking and, after getting bored of their uncomprehending stares, clarified: “How much is it gonna pay? What’s my cut?”

Dreamweaver frowned. “You mean… money? As in a… salary?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s my salary?”

“Mr. Milkovich, saving the world is a higher calling and a duty, it’s not something that– “

“Uh-huh. So, just to be clear, you’re not gonna pay me?”

They weren’t. Mickey laughed in their faces, stood from the couch, and told them bye and good luck with that and don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.

They reasoned with him. They pleaded. They explained, again and again, that after the evil society USCH destroyed The Guardian’s headquarters in a devastating attack, the two of them–and Mickey–was the only thing standing between the world and utter destruction. Surely, he must understand that it was nothing less than Fate that had brought the one remaining Bestower Bot into the Gallagher basement and his path? Admittedly, injecting Mickey with the bio enhancer might have been the result of a malfunction – Tania and Dreamweaver had found the bot dead down the street a couple of nights ago – but didn’t he see that he had been called to serve as a warrior in the fight against evil?

“Yeah, no thanks,” Mickey told them, and then he picked up the bat and waved it around until they took the hint and left.

When Ian returned home a few hours later, Mickey carefully didn’t mention the curious visit or any of what Tania and Dreamweaver had told him. Ian was pretty into saving people and had all these lame ideas about service and honor, and Mickey found it more likely than not that his husband would both be upset that Mickey, rather than Ian himself, had been called as a warrior (it’d be Lip and West Point all over again, Mickey just knew it), and demand that Mickey answer the call and run off like some loon to get himself killed by evil technomancers.

Mickey didn’t particularly feel like dying and he didn’t like the idea of hurting his husband’s feelings either, so he kept his mouth shut and skillfully derailed all of Ian’s attempts at asking about his day by giving him a blow job, teasing him about being a grunt, and allowing himself to be wrestled to the floor when Ian decided he’d had enough of teasing. It was a good evening.

As he lay in bed that night, back against Ian’s chest and with those strong arms wrapped around him, Mickey wondered if it would be worth risking Ian’s reaction by going public. Okay, Tania and Dreamweaver had mentioned how he’d probably gotten a pretty small dose of the bio-whatever-the-fuck, lending him nothing more exciting than enduring muscle mass and enhanced healing, but that should probably be enough to turn him into a cut above the rest, right? He could hire himself out to the highest bidder and make a fortune doing private security or collections or stuff like that. Fuck, he’d even consider taking on jobs for The Guardians, if they just agreed to pay him.

It was a fun thought to play with, but in the end a long life in the shadows made Mickey wary of putting himself out there like that. Besides, he’d seen enough movies to know that it’d probably wouldn’t be long before he mysteriously disappeared to some secret government facility to be experimented on. He’d had enough of the state’s hospitality to last him a lifetime, so thanks, but no fucking thanks.

And that could have been it. Should have been it, but of course Tania and Dreamweaver wouldn’t leave well enough alone. They started showing up at the Gallagher house at all hours, whenever they knew they could get Mickey alone. They accosted him on the way to the Alibi, they sat down next to him on the L, and they left him pictures of puppies with little notes saying stuff like “Only YOU can SAVE him from BURNING. Have a HEART”.

It was exhausting. Fearing the retribution of the cartel hadn’t anything on fearing seeing Tania and Dreamweaver’s disappointed-yet-still-somehow-hopeful-and-terribly-determined faces appear in a crowd, or round a corner, or on the porch when he went out for his evening smoke.

Mickey began to lose sleep. He’d spend the nights tossing and turning, which led to him staying in bed half the day to catch up on much needed rest, and he was often so tired he couldn’t bring himself to put on proper clothes or go outside the door the whole day. 

Ian was on his ass about getting a job; he didn’t get that Mickey had a job, and that job was not getting lured into sacrificing his life for the greater good. If Ian didn’t like the prospects of being a prison widow, how offensive wouldn’t he find the prospect of being an actual widower, after his husband got blown to bits by some big bad villain?

It got to the point of Ian initiating a sex strike to force Mickey to get “a real job”, which struck Mickey as really fucking unfair, considering how all he was trying to do was make sure Ian even had a husband to refuse to fuck.

Enough was enough. Something had to be done. Fortunately for Mickey – and unfortunately for Tania and Dreamweaver – Mickey had a guy for everything. As annoying as The Guardians were, Mickey didn’t have the heart to see them killed, but he figured that having them kidnapped and shipped off to some sweatshop on the other side of the world would serve the same purpose. He felt a little bad about it, sure, but he had given them plenty of chances to fuck off. Not his fault they couldn’t respect a fucking boundary.

Mickey called Johnny, told him the score, and a few night later Johnny called Mickey to tell him it was done.

It was done. Over. Mickey would finally be able go about his life in peace again, giving all his attention to his husband and doing his outmost to make him the happiest man alive every single day, even when Ian was annoying as hell and started asking pointless fucking questions about how Mickey was in such great shape even though he never did as much as one single curl up.

I see. So… you’re telling me that you have secret superpowers.

Yeah. Except, not actually secret anymore. ‘Cause, you know, you told me we shouldn’t have secrets.

… yeah, that was three months ago.

Guess it must have slipped my mind, huh.

Must have. But let me get this straight: you couldn’t get a real job because you were busy dodging secret agents, and your muscles are the result of you getting bitten by some magic robot—

Radioactive motherfucker bug from hell.

—and not you sneaking down to the basement to do weights and cardio almost every day?

… oh.

Yeah, oh. Carl told me about it, asshole. He noticed you using some of the stuff down there. Don’t get why you’d wanna keep that a secret though?

…

Mick. We have to be honest with each other, remember?

Jesus Christ, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.

Okay.

Guess the first time was back when you had that dip a couple of months after the wedding. Few times after that, if we had a fight or whatever and I needed to let off some steam. Then you started working and sometimes I got bored watching TV all day but you were all mopey about your shitty job and me not having any and you have this thing about your body—

I don’t have a thing about my body.

­—so I didn’t really wanna rub your face in me having all that time to work out when you could barely squeeze in dozen push-ups in the evening. And I guess I didn’t really want anyone to know that I… cared, or whatever.

Cared? About what? Being healthy? Looking good? Being strong?

Whatever, man, I told I don’t fucking know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause it was a radioactive motherfucker bug from hell that did it.

Of course it was. Come here. Show me what that bio enhanced body of yours can do.

---

Ahahahahahaha, would you look at that. I tried to meta it anyway. 😭😭😭

You might reasonably ask about Mickey’s visit to Kev Fit – how does that fit? WELL, I rather imagine that whatever Mickey does in that basement is enough to keep him fit but still not SUPER hardcore? So when he starts worrying about Ian thinking him weaker than, he decides to take it up a notch and do it properly in a real(ish) gym? And his comment about “not remembering how much working out sucks” is part of the whole “not wanting anyone to know this is something I care to do on the regular”… Yeah, it’s pretty weak. All in all, I’d say the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell is still our best bet. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is probably the last time I have one of them tell the other a story this week, but I make no promises. These little ficlets don’t tend to go as planned. (Ha! She said, as if there was a plan to begin with. Oh, well. I guess it’s working out so far.)

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 39

Had to go back to work this week and it’s been rough. Hope you enjoy.

~*~Emma~*~

 We'd won as a team and we jumped in the air screaming as a team. After shaking hands with the other side, we assembled by the net pole for a group hug. That had been an amazing fight back. The struggle made the win sweeter.

 We were on the far side of the court from the deck, but I swear I could see Sebastian's smile. I felt like I'd been ignoring him, probably because I had. Hopefully, he doesn’t feel that way.

 After gathering our stuff, we headed toward the pavilion to check on procedure and time. Since the team we just beat had only lost once they went into the loser’s bracket. They would be playing the two seed. We'd have close to two hours before our next game.

Becky put her hand over her stomach, "I'm starving."

I snaked my arm through hers, "Me too."

Jeff threw his arm over my shoulder, "I’m sure your boyfriend will feed you."

 I smacked his stomach, "Do not call him that. It's way too new to be using that word. I really really like him. Don't get him thinking I’m some kind of clingy what-does-this-mean dependent woman."

Nick snickered from behind me, "He'd be wrong."

Lindsey came to my defense, "You all need to behave. Stop acting like you're not a bunch of fanboys who are going to talk about this for weeks. Don't you screw this up for her."

Pete leaned in between me a Jeff, "And me."

We were still laughing when we got to the table. Sebastian came around the table, wrapped his arms around my waist, and lifted me off my feet. "Congratulations."

I hugged around his neck, "Thanks." I kissed his cheek as he let my feet touch the ground.

"Fuck, that was exciting. What's next?"

 I started to speak, but Nick was beside us, nodding at the group of friends who’d joined us before the game, "They're going to stay with the table while we go inside to eat."

 Becky walked by with Jeff singing, "Air conditioning."

I couldn't wait to get inside. The mix of sunscreen and sweat would at least dry inside. Disgusting. I grabbed the small string bag from the end pocket of my gym bag as we headed inside. At the table I excused myself, asking Sebastian to get me an iced tea. Becky and Lindsey followed me and barely past the bathroom door, we pulled our tank tops over our heads. Ten minutes later we'd wiped off, changed panties, and applied fresh deodorant. It wasn't great, but it was better.

We could hear the laughter coming from our table long before we got there. Sebastian having fun with these friends made me excited for him to meet Angie and Eli. There was no comparison in what the different groups meant to me.

 Sebastian was at the corner of the table with Pete diagonal. Jeff's girlfriend had shown up while we were in the bathroom, so now there were ten of us. Pete and Sebastian were talking and laughing so I had Sam let me onto the bench between them. I admit I sat closer than necessary. There was plenty of room. Sebastian kept on with his conversation, taking his hand from the table and putting his arm around me, his hand resting on my hip.

 Conversation bounced all over as we ate. There was even a small and short-lived food fight. When Sebastian and I had finished eating, he leaned back, hands dropping to his lap. I took the hand nearest me and sat back, turning a little to see him. “I feel like I’ve been ignoring you.”

 An amused look took over his face, “You have been. It’s been fantastic.”

 I’m sure I looked confused, “Fantastic?”

 “Yes. You’ve been completely focused on the game.” He made a motion with his free hand, like and it was a rifle site. “Laser-focused. I don’t think you even heard anybody yelling. It’s been awesome to watch. I’m glad I haven’t distracted you.”

 “That might be going a bit too far.” He leaned closer and I gave him a kiss.  I caught a smile and wink from Pete.

 “Don’t worry about me. You get through this game, we’ll get drunk, and then I’ll either fall asleep or take advantage of you.”

 “Romantic.”

 “Na, that’s next weekend.”

 Back outside Lindsey, Sam, Nick, Sebastian, and I walked over to court two to see how that game was going. We’d beat both of them and they’d be out for redemption. In our favor was we had a long break and time to eat. I never took any of that too seriously. Too many “easy” wins in the Super Bowl had gone to shit. Nothing was easy when you were dealing with competitive people.

 Sebastian slung his arm around my shoulders as we watched and I held onto his hand. “Preference?”

 I shook my head, “Good and bad to both.” I pointed out the differing skills, habits, and ways to counteract each team. I always liked watching team films in college. I could get a feel for how they played and what they struggled with. We could structure our play to our advantage. Obviously, you can’t do this is a rec league, but that’s some of what I was doing before we’d take a time out. Pete and I were both watching for weaknesses and what they liked to do. The time out gave us thirty seconds to pass on the information. Watching this game wasn’t providing additional information, it was more of a mind fuck. Having the team that beat you watching was always a good way to get in the other team’s head.

 The second seed was the winner. Drew’s team. We headed back to get ready.

 The approximate start time for the finals was eight and that gave us almost thirty minutes before game time. We took to the court at fifteen for a warm-up after I got my pregame good luck kiss. The other team didn’t come back until the five-minute warning. That’s what I would have done too. Rest for them was more important. We got to choose which side we wanted to start on. I picked the far bench. I wanted to be walking back to our support system to pump us up after the first set. More friends had shown up during warm-ups and the bar itself was crowded. Lindsey was the one who got nervous with people watching. We huddled up and I looked at her, “So what’s Sam think of Sebastian?”

 “What?”

 Lindsey needed out of her head. “They’ve been sitting together all day. What’s she think of him?”

 “Umm,” she still looked confused, “he’s fun. She said he hasn’t asked anything about you, except what to expect if we lost.”

 Nick cocked his head, “That’s good.”

 I looked at the women then Nick, “Why is that good?”

 Jeff put an arm around me, “If I’m asking about her it means I haven’t decided what I think yet. If I’m just having fun with her friends . . . I’m more concerned with their impression of me because I already know what I want.”

 Nick nodded, “Truth.”

 I raised my eyebrows, “So what do you think?”

 Jeff put his hand over Pete’s mouth, “Win this game and we’ll tell you.”

 “That’s not fair at all.”

 We took to the court and went to work. We didn’t take our normal time out at ten points. We had just scored us out of a tie and neither Pete nor I wanted to take us out of the momentum. We fell behind eighteen to twenty, but a pair of perfectly served balls got us back even and we took the set twenty-five to twenty-two.

 There was no celebrating. Everybody held their game faces. I don’t know about the rest of them, but I was tired. It was a long hot day. I’d be digging deep to get through the match. If we won all my lost energy would come back. Funny how that happened. But we weren’t there yet. Back at our bench, I looked up to see Sebastian wipe his hand across his forehead with wide eyes. Yeah. It had been close. I stepped up on the bench, “You gonna make it?”

 “I don’t know. Don’t do that again.” He pulled an orange wrapper out from beside him, “Need a Reese Cup?”

 My face lit up, “Oh hell, yes.”

 He laughed and poked it through the netting, “You got this, Emma. You got this.”  

 I guess he knew I was tiring out. I kissed him quickly and shoved the candy in my mouth. Lindsey had jumped up to say something to Sam and I pulled on her tank top, “I’ve got the cutest cheerleader.”

 That made all four of us laugh and we went back on the court.

 The whistle blew and it was on. Points were quick, but we flip-flopped the lead on every serve. Then it happened. I was on the back row and went for a dig, yelling for Becky to back me up with the set. I dove for the ball and got one hand under. Becky set the ball and Nick drove the ball into the sand. I looked down and saw blood. The ball had hit my fingernail and broken it off into the nail bed.

 The official saw and blew the whistle, “Injury time out.”

 Jeff was closest to the bench and looked up to Sebastian, “Her bag. It’s got a first aid kit.”

 I ran over and jumped onto the bench, shoving my fingers through the netting just as Sebastian pulled out the first aid kit. Injury time out was three minutes. Plenty of time to deal with this. It hurt but wasn’t serious.

 Sebastian looked at my finger, opening the kit, “Your nail’s still hanging on.”

 “Yeah, I know. Rip it off.”

 “What?” His eyes went wide.

 I screamed, “Fuck!” Sam had reached over and yanked while I was looking at him. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. Sebastian pressed the cold wet antiseptic wipe on my finger.  I looked at Sam, “Thanks.”

 Sebastian wiped the sides of my finger, “Thanks? No, fuck you, Sam. That hurt me.” He tossed the wipe to the side and wrapped me in a band-aid. “That’s never going to hold.”

 “It’s only gotta make it seven more points.” I was pissed.

 We’d just scored off their serve, so guess whose turn it was to serve now? Mine. You don’t use your fingers to serve, but the vibration from my hand was not going to feel good. We scored on my first two serves, but not the third. Each time I had to set the ball hurt like hell. The key was to not anticipate the pain. You had to make the play then deal with the repercussions. We hit the twenty point mark and never looked back. I wasn’t even sure of the score until the crowd erupted and Nick grabbed me. We’d won.

 The opposing team congratulated us on our win. A couple of people asked about my finger. Drew being one of them. If I was paranoid, I'd say his concern felt a little less than sincere. We were hustled over to the sign with the bar’s name on for website pictures. Pete handed off his phone to get a couple more for us. Our friends were coming across the sand and we waved them over. Sebastian had a huge excited grin on his face, making him look like a giddy kid. My want to hug him cannot be underestimated. I practically threw myself at him, fully confident he'd catch me. A moment later I was being held so tight against him I could barely take in a breath.

"Congratulations, baby. I'm so proud of you." He kissed me like he meant it and I felt it to my toes.

 I heard someone clapping their hands, knowing instantly it was Pete. "I want all our people together for a picture. Team up front."

 I took Sebastian's hand and took him with me. Everyone crowded in with us and Sebastian wrapped around me from behind. Pete got his phone back and we started inside. First round for us would be on the house. Ah, the perks of a win.

 Sebastian tapped Sam before we were off the court, holding out his phone, "Please."

We moved away from people and he wrapped around me again. He rubbed his chin against my neck, making me squirm and laugh. His hold was tight enough that I couldn't get away. I reached back to try and push him away. My hand on his face got him to stop and I turned to look at him. The mischievous look on his face clued me in to what had been his plan all along. I smiled and welcomed his soft lips against mine, hoping like hell Sam was still taking pictures.

 Inside, there was a back corner with a neon sign overhead reading, "Winner's Corner." Yeah, that was us for the night. There was a huge corner table and several bar height tables crammed in the space. I went to sit in the corner booth by Nick, but Sebastian pulled me back, "We need to clean up your finger."

I looked at the filthy band-aid, "Yeah."

 I told Nick what we were doing and he grabbed my arm as I turned to go, "What do you want to drink?"

 "Big ass margarita and a shot."

 Sebastian spoke around me, "Both of us. Two", and held up two fingers. He walked around to the side of the bar where servers put in their drink orders and got the bartenders attention, "Is there an employee's bathroom we can use to clean up her finger?"

"Sure." He pointed to the "Employees Only" door beside us. "Just inside on the left. Congrats, Emma."

I smiled, "Thanks, Max."

The employee bathroom was multi-person but definitely cleaner than the public counterpart. Sebastian dug the first aid kit out of my bag and put it between the two sinks. I looked at the ragtag band-aid and worked at the adhesive before yanking it over my fingertip.

 Sebastian winced, "Fucking hell, woman. You people and ripping things off." He ended his mini-rant with a laugh. "I can't believe Sam just ripped the rest of your nail off."

"There was only a little piece still connected."

He put his hand under mine and looked at my finger, "Yeah, the part that looks like a chunk has been gouged out." His face still looked pained. "Is it hurting?"

I nodded, "Oh yeah."

He moved to kiss my finger, but stopped, "Clean first, kiss later. Your hands are filthy."

I turned on the water and pumped out a generous amount of a substance claiming to be antibacterial foam soap. "I have news for you. Every part of me is filthy."

"And you're right-handed. Good thing your shower is big, so I can help."

The glint in his eyes made my heart skip a beat. "You take such good care of me."

"I’m trying." He washed his own hands and used his finger to spread the ointment. When I winced he cut his eyes up to me, "Sorry."

 Watching the attention and care he took in wrapping the band-aid around my finger reaffirmed my belief that he was the sweetest man ever. With the band-aid on, he lifted my hand and kissed my finger carefully. He looked back to my eyes, "Better?"

"Definitely." It felt like someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room. I wondered if I'd ever become immune to the intensity in his blue eyes. I hoped not. "Would you kiss me?"

 "Love to." His hands held my face a split second before his lips touched mine. I slid my hand under the hem of his t-shirt to get to his skin. I welcomed the gentle stroke of his tongue and let my lips fall open. One hand dropped away and his armed snaked around my shoulder, pulling me close as the kiss deepened. When we parted I licked the taste of him from my lips, "Thank you."

"Anytime." He bit his bottom lip with a smile.

 Our drinks were at the table when we got back. I slipped in beside Nick and Sebastian took the end. Pete looked at Sebastian with a frown and cocked his head to the side, "I expected that to take longer."

 There was a weird pause waiting for his response. I didn’t know which way he'd go. I felt like it was a rite of passage, could they rag on him the same way we did each other. He looked at the waiting faces, “Skill beats time, my friend. Skill beats time.”

 We drank and laughed and drank and laughed some more. I came back from a bathroom break to find Sebastian was in a very animated conversation at the table, having scooted over where I’d been sitting. Becky pulled me over to a group of her friends standing away from the table. I positioned myself where I could discretely look at Sebastian. I'd had enough tequila that I was pretty sure discrete no longer meant what I thought it did. Also, pretty sure the way he was looking at me was best described as eye fucking. It wasn't constant, but I swear I could feel his eyes on me.

 A big group of people who'd come to see us play decided to head to another place, clearing out a lot of room in our corner. I hit the bar, ordering a tray of shots and watched while a variety was poured and loaded up. No way in hell was I to be trusted carrying anything at this part. I followed the server back to the table and plopped down next to Sebastian, who smiled drunkenly and kissed my cheek.

 "Everybody grab a shot." I waited while people picked and traded the tiny glasses. I had no idea what I had. I held up my glass, "A perfect tournament, perfect friends, and a perfect night."

 Everyone drank and Sebastian shuddered, "That was truly awful."

Jeff handed him a beer, "Drink up."

 Not too much later I heard my name from the other side of the table. I was leaning on the table talking across Nick and Sebastian. Pete and I were arguing about what was the best crappy disaster movie. With the sound of my name I looked up, "What?" It was Drew. I squinted my eyes, "Why?"

Drew was drunk too. "You've got a big fucking mouth."

I looked at my friends then back to him, "I don't know what you're talking about. Or do I care."

 I felt Sebastian's hand on my lower back. The warmth letting me know he was there.

 "You ruined my reputation and move on like there will never be consequences."

 Jeff held up his hand, "You're drunk. You don't want to do this. You're just going to look like an ass."

Ohhh! This little confrontation wasn't about me. Well, it was, but it was more about embarrassing me in front of Sebastian. Fuck, no. Now I was mad. I leaned forward and spoke loudly, so he (and anyone nearby) could hear me. "Are we in high school again? Your reputation. I didn't say shit to anybody. You said you were joking and I took you at your word. I just didn't want anything else to do with you."

Someone said, "Good call."

I ignored it. "Maybe what ruined your reputation was one too many misogynistic and slightly rapey jokes. Nobody needed my help to know you're an asshole."

"You're a bitch."

"Yes, thank you. You can go now." I kept eye contact despite the sound of snickering nearby. I wasn't about to be the one to back down.

Drew broke away and looked... at the person beside me. "What about you?"

 Sebastian was mid drink, covering his smile. He lowered his glass, "Why the fuck are you bringing me into this?"

 Drew continued, "She's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

"Well, yes, and your point is?"

What the hell just happened?

"Shouldn't you be defending her?"

Oh, good lord.

"She seems to be doing ok on her own. I'm here if she needs me." The hand above the table took mine. "Emma, babe, you need anything?"

I turned my head toward him, "No, I'm good. Thank you."

Sebastian looked at the drunk idiot in front of him. I could see security walking our way. "She's good. And I think you've been dismissed."

 His hand drifted down and grabbed my ass. I almost laughed.

 "Is there a problem here?" Said the intimidatingly large man.

Even drunk, Drew realized this was over. "No problem" and walked away.

 I was stunned by the whole scene. Mostly the Sebastian part.  We were all quiet until Nick said, "How drunk do you have to be to pick a fight with the Winter Soldier?"

Everyone broke out in laughter. Sebastian shook his head, "If any of you seriously think I can fight like that without a trainer and several days of practice we need to talk. A fight scene is more like a choreographed dance than a fight." He was still laughing.

Jeff joined in," Doesn't matter. Now his reputation," he accented the word with air quotes, "is the drunk who tried to pick a fight with the Winter Soldier."

 Lindsey was the one to ask, "What did he say?"

I didn’t care about telling the story now and sighed, "First I need to say we went out on two dates. Two." I held up two fingers, noticing they were a little blurry and my words were a little slurry. "We made out, but no sex."

I hear Sebastian's voice, "Details no one needs."

Nick looked at him, "You mean details you don't need."

Sebastian bobbed his head and I continued, "We went on a group date with some friends of his. I don't remember how we got there, but he and his friend were saying how when a woman agrees to come in for a drink she knows what she’s really agreeing to."

 Everybody hissed in a breath or mumbled something like "no”.

 "I explained going upstairs for a drink means just that. He argued that agreeing to come upstairs is agreeing to whatever goes on when you go upstairs because come up from a drink means come up and have sex and if it's good, we'll order pizza.  At the end of the night he asked if he could come in for a drink. I told him no and because of our differing definition of consent, we wouldn't be going out again. Which is when he told me he was just kidding and being an ass with his friends."

 The men on both sides of me both said, "No."

Sebastian looked at Nick, "Go ahead."

"He may have been kidding, but he wasn't really kidding."

Sebastian added, "He's only kidding when someone calls him on it."

 "My point exactly. Now, can we go back to drinking?" I addressed the question to the table.

 Lindsey headed to the bar, "I'll get the shots."

[jo-the-schmo]

Mending...Ch.2

Mending Rachel

A/N: Okay, so, I cried while writing this…So, y’all better appreciate this!

Warnings: Gay?

Word count: 1792

Tags: @happypineappleapple @sunsetleslie @sweaterkitty-fluff (if anyone else wants to be in the tags, tell me)

Mending Angie

She stared down at the worn piece of paper in her hand. A shaking hand, filled with sorrow that shook itself went down to the core of her being. She remembered making at least four different versions of this speech, she had been so proud of it. Tears rhythmically dripped onto her hand, rolled down her thumb, and collected against the parchment as she tried to hold back those very tears. She had to have recited it a hundred times by now, but she still felt compelled to do it once more, because no one was ever going to hear it.

“A toast to the groom…, to the bride…from your s-sister who is always by your side… To your union and the h…hope that you provide… May you always be sa-satisfied…But I needn’t say such a thing…as I know that you always will b-be…” It broke her heart so much. She didn’t even flinch when she heard her door open.

“Angelica! My angel…” It was her mother, rushing to be by her side. Her eyes were puffy and irritated. “I am so sorry…” She whispered to the weeping angel, wrapping their arms tightly around each other.

“It’s not fair…It’s not fair, Mom! What kind of world does this?” Angie was no longer just sad, she was angry. It didn’t make sense, being so full of despair that you were enraged.

“Shhh…I know, my darling…I know.” Angie pulled away from her mother.

“I was going to be her bridesmaid! Her maid of honor! She was going to be my sister….” She paused for a moment, words faltering. “She was my sister…” Looking at the black fabric clinging to their bodies only made her feel worse. Angie pushed herself up off of her bed, pacing around the room. Her mother could only watch, she knew her daughter, knew that she would not be able to comfort her. Angie was the never type to need comfort to begin with, it was very rare for her to be this upset. “I have to do something!” Angie screamed.

“Angelica…There is nothing you can do. I know it hurts but-“ Eliza was cut off.

“No! There were so many things that she wanted, for herself, for me, for everyone! But no one is doing anything about it! Philip can’t even get out of bed!”

“Hush! He is right next door!” Eliza reminded her.

“Mama, I can’t just sit around anymore! There has to be something…” She looked over at her desk, a single book lay on its flat surface, the binding facing the room. Antony and Cleopatra. TT had suggested it to her, thinking that she’d enjoy this portrayal of Cleopatra. Her gaze trailed up the mirror the book sat it in front of. Her hair had grown a bit since last year, it was now close to shoulder length. “She wanted people like me to feel safe. To feel equal. To feel at home in my home.”  A glimmer of an idea began to form in her head. She stepped over to the book, opening it to the marked page. Daddy will probably kill me for doing this… She ripped out the ribbon attached to the binding that functioned as the bookmark. She stared at her reflection as she pulled her hair up, tying it off with the ribbon. Eliza stared on in confusion.

“What are you doing, Angie?” She questioned.

“Mama, you’ve said it, I’ve said it, she’s said it, this country is run by men. Things will only get done by men, until someone changes it. TT, wanted to be that person. She wanted to change this place for the better, but she never got a chance to find a way to do it. But I’ll do it for her, and for me, and for everyone like me.” She looked back at her mother, walking over and kneeling down to her level. “Do you understand, Mama?” She asked.

Eliza knew well, there was nothing that was going to change her daughter’s mind. She had already lost one daughter, she was scared to lose another. But, she also trusted the young woman’s strength. She had never met a more intelligent woman, other than Titania and her own sister. So, she gave a tight-lipped smile, and nodded her head.

“Yes…, I understand, my little angel.” They held each other’s hands and stood up together. Eyes now dry, they made their way downstairs to her father’s study.  She opened the door to find her father staring at his desk. She let go of her mother’s hand and got her father’s attention. She took a few minutes to explain her plan to him, but he seemed very uneasy.

“Daddy, she can’t die in vain! You’re a brilliant man but there is only so much that you can do…please…” It broke her heart to see her father look so disheveled. Nonetheless, he stood up and placed his hands on his daughter’s shoulders.

“You are a brilliant young woman, you know that I will always support you…And I know that she would be very proud of you.” He kissed her forehead and smiled fondly. “Very well, we’ll start the preparations. I’ll send you off as soon as possible. But what’s our story?” He asked, she thought to herself for a moment.

“I’m your nephew, I just immigrated over here for a new life and education. And my name is Antony Hamilton.”

M͚̼e͍͎̤͚͚ͅn̤̪̗̝̤͡d͍͇ḭ̷̢̠̗̹͎͉̜̬́n̸͇̭̙̹͝g̨̫̮̱ͅ ̦͖A̷͟͏͓̦͓̣͉͈̻ͅn͓̰͓̝̮̞̤g̷̛̩̬͝i̵̪̘͚̣̰̪͢e̬̜

“I don’t know, I’m just surprised that you’d want to come to a museum when you live history every day.”

“Well, I like to show interest in what my girlfriend likes. So, you can shut your cute mouth!” Phoenix jabbed. Ever since you two ‘made it official’ he’s been trying to call you his girlfriend, like a nerd.

“You’re a dork.”

“Excuse me, I am not a whale penis.” You snorted at what he said.

“What the fuck, Phoenix?”

“I am, truly, an intellectual.” He turned his head to you, over-dramatically. You pushed some of the long, curly hair that had fallen over his buzzed side.

“C’mon, Mr. Intellectual, I’ve got a paper I need inspiration for.” You tightened your grip onto the hand you were holding and pulled him along behind you to the next room.  

The walls were lined with paintings of important figures during the 1800s. You had always focused more on the actual Revolutionary period so when your professor gave out your newest assignment, you had a feeling that you should branch out into other centuries. You weren’t sure why you had the feeling, you just did. What kind of class makes you write a theory on historical figure? This is what happens when you have fairly young professors, they end up being secret history nerds…kinda like me! You were excited about this project to say the least. There were cases under some paintings with belongings inside of them. Posts stood beside them that gave some explanation into who every person was. None of the paintings interested you, until you got to the last on in the hallway. You had almost walked past it, but it was what was in the case that caught your attention.

“Man, that’s one bitchin’ hat!” Phoenix pointed out the old hat in the case. But you recognized it. Is that really…? It was certainly more worn down than you remember, but it had the same ridiculously sized feather. You’ve never felt so bittersweet to see that stupid feather. That’s Philip’s hat…the one that Laf gave him as a birthday present… You looked over at the post to try and confirm your suspicion. You read it aloud.

“Antony Hamilton lived between 1784-1857. He immigrated over to New York at the age of 19 from Charleston, Nevis in the Leeward Islands, same as his more well-known uncle, Alexander Hamilton. After his uncle’s death in 1804, Antony became one of the prime caretakers of the family. At the age of 21, he married his beloved wife, RoseMary Bennett. Although he was never able to have children of his own, claimed to the infertility of his wife, he was one of the hopeful supporters of his Aunt Elizabeth’s orphanage. He adopted many of the children into his home, helping to raise them as if they were truly his own. He graduated from the same college as his uncle and cousins, then became one of the most outspoken politicians of his time. He was often criticized for his very modern beliefs but was admired for his energy and tenacity. He was one of the first politicians to truly take a stand on women’s rights, stood with his Aunt while fighting against slavery, and was even rumored to have been an advocator of LGBT+ Rights. Although it, to date, has not been confirmed, it has been rumored in a few documents of other politicians he had met throughout his life. He truly did forward our modern ideals but unfortunately due to his beliefs, is often not credited in our history books for his work.”

“This guy sounds pretty great, that’s fucked up that we don’t talk about him. I mean, I’m in a musical about his uncle and I’ve never heard of him!” Phoenix exclaimed. You looked back over at the description of the hat.

“Antony Hamilton was well-known for wearing this hat almost every day. Most of his peers found the look to be ridiculous, but Antony often quoted his reasons for wearing it. ‘It makes me feel like a leader, and reminds me of someone very important to me that wore this same hat, my older sister. She once told me that we have no control over who tells the story of our lives. It was not until later that I learned from my uncle that she had quoted former President Washington. Even still, I follow her words. I wish to bring forth the many teachings she bestowed upon me. I wish for nothing but a world with fewer errors. A world whose future is as bright as the midnight stars.’”

“That sounds like something you would say.” Phoenix chuckled. You lifted your head up, your mind blank, and finally looked up at the painting that hung on the blank walls. You saw a figure wearing that very hat, kneeling down on one knee, their peach colored coat  grazing the floor. They were kissing the hand of a woman wearing an emerald green dress, a faint smile on both of their faces. You felt a tear roll down your cheek. “Woah, are you okay, Y/N?” Phoenix asked in concern, squeezing your hand.

“I…I think I know who I’m going to write my paper about…” You sniffled.

Angie…I am so happy for you…I need to give Anna a hug when I get back…