#did they commiserate about these guys all acting weird

[bellarkeandclintashaandsuch]

Did Lookpeach and Shawn go into the closet together? Did I imagine that? What did they get up to? What did they talk about?

[somanyratsinthewalls]

HI HI HELLO, Just saw your recs. we’re open and i thought i’d chime in! Maybe both Usopp and the strawhat reader are virgins, and decide to have their first time together to “be more experienced”? but..it’s ends up being friends to lovers!! feel free to ignore if you don’t like it or don’t feel comfortable filling it tho!

HI FRIEND!!

Pairing: Usopp x Afab!Reader

WC: 2900 ehehehe

Summary: You and your close friend Usopp decide to bite the bullet and lose your virginity to each other to get that awkward first time out of the way. Will it lead to more?

TW: alcohol consumption, nicotine consumption (don’t do it!), virginity loss, first time awkwardness, making out, fingering, heavy petting, condom usage, early bustin, p in v sex, they're so cute idk

Tags: My moot @usopp-enjoyer hope you love it (also pls enjoy other Usopp fuckers)

— —

“I’m way more of a tits guy. I mean, I’m not one to ignore a nice ass, but a super rack is really what does it for me.” Franky remarks taking a swig of his cola as he sits at the table with Sanji, Zoro and Usopp after dinner aboard the Sunny one night. 

“How could you even choose? The female form is perfect, I simply can’t choose one part over the other.” Sanji smiles dreamily as he takes a drag from his cigarette. “If I did have to pick, the view of a gorgeous ass bouncing while being taken from behind has to be the most perfect sight of all time.” 

“You’ve never seen that a day in your life, shitty cook.” Zoro smirks and takes a big gulp of sake. 

“I’ve certainly seen it more than you, moss head! All you care about is playing with your stupid swords, I doubt you’ve ever been with a woman like that!” Sanji furrows his curly brows and shouts at the swordsman.

“Obviously I have, it’s the best way to take a girl. Gripping her hair and just drilling into her until she’s screaming…” Zoro leans back in his chair, seemingly visualizing the act. 

“Jeez guys… can we not?” Usopp felt his face heat up at the lewd conversation. He was hoping the focus didn’t turn to him being so obviously inexperienced. The discourse continued despite his protest. 

“Nah bro, don’t sleep on missionary! If you think missionary is boring, you’re just bad at sex!” Franky loudly exclaims. 

“You have a point. How could it possibly be boring? Looking down and seeing a woman writhing around under your touch? Being able to watch her face as she cums? Absolute perfection.” Sanji brings his fingers to his lips and mimics a chef’s kiss. 

“I-I’m heading to bed, night guys.” Usopp quickly excuses himself from the table, face flushed with embarrassment and nervousness. He swiftly heads out from the galley to the deck and found you sitting up against the railing of the ship enjoying a glass of wine and a cigarette. 

You turn your head in the direction of the man leaving the galley and smile. 

“Hi Usopp, how’s everything going with the boys?” You ask. 

“Oh, uh, hi y/n. Good. I mean um? Fine I guess. I was gonna go to bed.” He stutters out nervously, unable to make eye contact with you. 

“Are you okay? Your face is bright red and you seem uncomfortable. I mean… more uncomfortable than usual.” You say with a hint of concern in your voice. “Come sit with me?” You pat the spot next to you on the deck. You always were better at reading Usopp than he was at reading himself. 

Usopp lets out a big sigh and sits down cross legged next to you and puts his head in his hands propped up on his elbows on his knees. 

“It just got kind of weird in there. I hate when they go on and on about… you know… sex…” Usopp finally admits. 

“And it makes you uncomfortable because you’ve never had sex, right?”

He nods. 

“I know how you feel. Nami and Robin do the same thing. I know that might be hard to believe but women are just as vulgar as men. It makes me feel insecure about being a virgin, so I get it.” You commiserate with Usopp because you really knew exactly how he was feeling. 

“Wait you’re a virgin too?!” Usopp snaps his head in your direction, finally being able to look you in the eye. 

“Yeah, you didn’t know that? It’s not like I’m saving it for anything, I just never really have found the right time or the right person I guess. The only relief I get is from ole reliable.” You raise your right hand and wiggle your fingers in Usopp’s direction. He blushes. 

“S-same. I just don’t want it to be awkward when I finally get around to having sex. Everyone always says the first time is so bad…” 

“For you? Yeah right! I’m the one who is constantly being told it’s going to hurt! I don’t want to do it with just anyone in case it is painful!” You take another drag of your cigarette, scoffing at the fact that a man is telling you he’s nervous to lose his virginity. 

“Okay okay maybe you’re right about that part… I just want to get it over with so I can stop worrying about it.” Usopp hangs his head in his hands again. 

There was a pregnant pause. 

“Well… we could… have sex… with each other?” You sheepishly suggest. 

“WHAT?” He snaps his head back up at you. 

“Is it that silly of an idea? We both said we wanted to get our first time out of the way and get some… experience… right?”

“R-right now? I don’t think I-“ Usopp stutters, incredibly flustered but also interested in your proposal. 

“Not right now!” You laugh and put your hand on his shoulder. “Maybe tomorrow? My room? After dinner? Unless you don’t want to, which I completely understand and we can forget this ever happened." 

“I-I do! I think it’s uh.. it’s a great idea… tomorrow then…” Usopp rises to his feet and bids you a nervous goodnight as you finish your wine on the deck. 

— —

The next evening you couldn’t help but buzz with excitement as you skip to the showers after dinner. You make sure to shave and lather your body in sweet smelling body wash in preparation for your “date.” You don your nicest matching bra and panties, a lacy black set, and pull some casual clothes over them. You light a few candles around your room to set the mood. You weren’t sure what kind of mood you were trying to set exactly, feeling a bit silly, but you still wanted to enjoy your first time even if it was going to be awkward. Soon enough you hear a knock at your door. 

You open your bedroom door to see a blushing Usopp with a single, beautiful red flower in his hands. 

“Uh, hi, y/n.” He smiles softly and hands you the flower. 

“For me? You’re so sweet.” 

“I grew it myself so maybe don’t… don’t get too close.. it might explode. I haven’t quite figured this one out yet…” 

You chuckle and move to gently set the flower down on your end table. 

“Are you sure you still want to do this? We really don’t have to, it was just an idea, Usopp.” 

“Yes! Yes, I really do want to. It’s… it’s about time, right?” He laughs nervously. 

You nod. 

“Come, sit with me.” You grab Usopp’s hand and pull him to sit next to you on your bed. You were anxious, but you could tell he was far more so. You raise your hands and pull his bucket hat off his head. You smoothly brush one of his now exposed dark curls out of his face. 

“I guess we should probably kiss first.. right?” You say as you cock your head and smile at him gently. 

“Yeah…” 

You close your eyes and lean in and press your lips softly against his. After a few moments, you shift your body closer to his and begin kissing him deeper with your hands on either side of his face. It was a bit uncoordinated, but Usopp eventually moves his hands to your hips and kisses you back with a bit more confidence. His kisses were messy, not at all experienced. You couldn’t help but wonder, had he even kissed anyone before? I mean, even you had gotten to first base… 

You slide your tongue gently along his bottom lip, asking for permission to enter. Once granted, your tongue slips into his mouth eliciting a small whimper from the man in your gentle hold. You found yourself becoming wetter by the second as he lets out little sighs of contentment during your kiss. Eventually, you pull away. You tug at the straps of his coveralls. 

“Could you take these off? I’ll take mine off too…” You ask while already lifting your crop top over your head. 

“Sure just a second I- um…” Usopp stands and fumbles with his clothes before eventually dropping them to the floor. You had already shed your sweatpants and were laying back on your bed in your bra and panties. 

“Woah, y/n…” Your cowardly sniper is in awe at the sight of your body adorned with black lace laying barely covered on the bed before him. “You’re… beautiful…” 

Your face flushes red and you press your legs together to somehow try to cover yourself. 

“You’re not so bad yourself…” You giggle. “Come here.” You beckon him to come join you on the bed again. You raise your torso up to meet his lips again in a passionate kiss. After a few moments, Usopp reaches his hands around your back to undo your bra. His fingers fumble for quite awhile and he mumbles into your lips. 

“No, I got it.. just a second… hold on… there!” Finally your bra comes undone and he pulls it off your body onto the floor. Usopp leans back to marvel in the sight of your naked breasts. “Y/n can I…?” 

“Yes!” You cut him off, wanting to feel more of his body and mouth on your skin. Usopp leans down and takes one of your nipples into his mouth and gropes your other breast with his hand. 

“Oh!” You gasp, reveling in the new sensation. 

Your newfound lover messily switches from one breast to the other, a string of saliva connecting his trembling lips to your body. You grip his thick, gorgeously coarse hair and push his head into your chest further, encouraging his actions. After a few moments or servicing your sensitive nipples with this lips and tongue, Usopp pulls back and lifts his head to look you in the eye. 

“Do you want to..?” He asks shyly. 

“Yes, want you so badly, Usopp…” You breath out under him. 

Usopp momentarily leaves the bed to retrieve something from his overalls pocket. After Usopp returns to your side with a condom, you slip off your panties. 

“Where the hell did you get that? Saving it for a rainy day?” You question him teasingly. 

“Pfft yeah right. Stole it from Sanji’s room. He isn’t using it any time soon.” Usopp smirks and positions himself on top of you again. You laugh. 

“You’re so bad.” You jokingly slap your hands against his smooth chest. 

“You like it.” Usopp chuckles and leans in to kiss you again. After kissing for a few moments you pull back.

“Maybe I do… take these off.” You pull at the waistband of his briefs and he obliges your request by pulling them down to free his throbbing cock. It wasn’t huge but it was certainly big enough to wonder how it was going to fit inside of you. 

“It’s… it’s okay, right?” Usopp asks uncertainly. 

“Oh sweetheart, of course it is. Maybe even a bit too much… do you think you could maybe… prep me a little first?” You ask a bit embarrassed. You were so aroused, but you just didn’t want it to hurt. 

“How do I… OH! Yeah I can do that I think…” Usopp snakes his hand down your body and cups your mound. “Can you show me?” He starts to rub tentatively at your sex. 

You slide both of your hands down to your center. With one hand you use your pointer and middle fingers to spread your sticky folds apart. With the other, you grab Usopp’s fingers and bring them to your clit and begin to use them to rub gentle circles. You let out a long sigh. 

“Just like this is good…” You softly moan and you let your head fall back. After rubbing at your clit for awhile, your move Usopps’s fingers to your entrance and guide one of them inside your wet hole. You gasp lightly at the intrusion, but you grab his wrist and prompt him to move his hand. 

“Shit… you can add another one now…” 

“R-right okay…” Usopp slips his second digit inside of you. “Is this- does it feel good?” He asks. 

“Pull them up like this…” You mimic exactly how you do it yourself and Usopp curls his fingers upwards inside of you and you feel him hit that delicious soft spot. “There! Keep touching me there!” 

“Like this?” Usopp continues to pull and tap on your g-spot and you involuntarily arch your back. 

“Fuck, yes baby, just like that… you’re doing so well, you’re gonna make me cum. Keep going just like that…” You gasp as Usopp brings his free hand to rub at your clit as he massages your insides with his fingers just the way you’ve instructed him. 

“Really?! I-I mean… shit, you’re so hot… I wanna see you cum so bad…” He honestly couldn’t believe he had you like this in front of him, laid out naked and moments from climaxing, all from his doing. 

“Gonna cum, don’t stop, shit-Ah!!” You moan out loudly as you release directly all over Usopp’s working hands. Your legs shake and your head falls back on the pillows. 

You breathe heavily while laying on your back, recovering from your orgasm as you hear your lover fiddling with the foil condom package. His hands were shaking. 

“Let me…” You sit up and grab the condom from his hands and tear it open. You gingerly lean forward and grab Usopp’s sensitive length and roll the condom on for him. He shudders as your soft hands touch his dick. 

“Thanks, y/n…” He smiles down at you nervously.  “You ready?” He asks, still wanting to make sure you were certain about this. 

“Yes, please fuck me now, Usopp.” You lay back and spread your legs so he could slot himself comfortably between them. He pushes himself close to you and lines his tender, throbbing cock up with your soaking hole. “Please be gentle…” 

“Of course, y/n, I won’t hurt you.” Usopp begins to push his member into your tight entrance and you suck in a breath. “Breathe, y/n, it’s okay, I’m almost in…” You could feel Usopp’s callused hands shaking on your hips, trying to keep his composure. 

“Hnnnn…” You whine and grab Usopp’s biceps. The stretch was uncomfortable, but not nearly as bad as you were expecting. You finally feel his pelvis flush against yours as he fills you completely. “Ahh…” You whimper out. 

“Shit, y/n you’re so tight… I’m not gonna last long…” Usopp pants out. 

“It’s okay.. you can move now.. please…” You pull him down by his neck and he begins experimentally thrusting into you. The pain began to meld into pleasure as your cunt begin to flutter involuntarily around Usopp’s thick length. 

“You feel so fucking good, holy shit y/n…” Usopp lifts his head from its hiding place in your neck and smashes his lips onto yours in a deep kiss. You moan into his mouth as he hits an extra deep spot in your tight cunt. “Wanna be inside of you forever…” Usopp grinds his hips into yours and whines. 

“Fuck me harder, Usopp, want to feel you!” You cry out. He obliges and starts pounding into you with reckless abandon. Years of celibacy were being taken out on your pussy and it felt so good. By the deep grip on your hips you were certain he wasn’t going to last much longer, but you wanted to feel him while you could. “I-I’m gonna-shit, fuck, shit!” Usopp spills his load into the condom and quickly collapses on top of you. You soothingly rub his back and draw circles into his shoulders with your fingers as he catches his breath. He rolls off of you and removes the condom from his softened member, tossing it into the waste basket next to your bed. He sits up next to you in bed. 

“I-I’m sorry… it probably wasn’t really that-“

“It was so great, Usopp. Thank you. I’m really glad we did that.” You smile up at him from your position laying on your pillows. 

“Y-yeah.. it was great, wasn’t it?” Usopp laughed. “I guess I’ll get my stuff and go then…” 

“Why?” You ask. 

“Well we just agreed on the sex and I-“ 

“I want you here. Stay with me.” You pull on his hand and bring him back down to lay with you in bed. 

“You’re sure?” Usopp looked at you like he could barely believe what he was hearing. 

“Listen Usopp, I know we’re friends but after that… I kind of want to see where it goes from here… I can’t help but feel like that meant something, not just to me but to you, too.” You caress the side of his face as he lays next to you on the pillow. “We don’t have to hash it out tonight, but… could you just stay with me and see?” You ask. 

“I guess… but if you want to kick me out in the morning, you just say the word!” 

“Shut up and go to bed, Usopp.” You laugh and nuzzle your head into his chest so that you can comfortably drift off to sleep. 

xx Mo

[yellowhollyhock]

day 3, surprise party

bayverse Raph gets an unexpected extra birthday

Mutation Day was coming up, and Raph wasn’t feeling too good about it.

For one thing, he never knew what to get. Gifts came so easy to Donnie, who’d make something that would be used for years, or Mikey, who just had a weird knack for knowing what kinds of random things a person would like. One year he’d gotten Leo some stupid video game none of them had ever heard of, Leo who didn’t even play video games, and next thing they know they’re having to pry him away from it so he’d sleep and even train. Or there was that Christmas when he'd bought Master Splinter a deck of cards—Splinter had never played Poker before that. Last week he’d wiped Casey out effortlessly. It just wasn’t fair.

He tried to commiserate with Leo, but that went about as well as asking for sympathy from a brick wall.

“I don’t want to talk to you about gifts, Raph,” he’d said firmly. “If I talk about it I’m gonna talk myself out of what I have planned and if I do that I won’t have time to make a new plan. Maybe you could ask Donnie to help you look through everyone’s search history.”

Of course Leo already had a plan. His advice wasn’t bad, but Raph hadn’t been looking for advice.

He decided he’d try asking Don, anyway.

“Raph!” he’d yelped as he hurriedly minimized his window. “What are you doing in my lab?”

Raph crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Just came by to talk. That illegal now?”

“Oh,” his shoulders sank with relief. “Course not. What do you want to talk about?”

He clicked his laptop shut, not subtle at all. Raph stared, unable to set aside his curiosity.

“What are you hiding, anyway?”

Donnie clamped his mouth shut. He glanced between Raph and the laptop. Raph’s eyes thinned suspiciously. It was most likely something to do with their upcoming Mutation Day, but it was Donnie they were talking about and there was also Turtle Luck to consider. It could always be something really serious.

Raph took a half-step forward. Donnie scrambled to snatch up an unassuming flash drive from off his desk—and stuck it in his mouth.

Raph raised an eyebrow. “Look, I was just curious, but now that you’re acting weird you know I have to find out, right?”

His little brother blinked at him. He stared back, deadpan. For a moment they had a silent face-off. Then, moving suddenly in order to startle Donnie more than actually hoping to get the drop on him, Raph lunged.

Donnie gave a close-lipped screech, catching Raph’s hands on his own to keep them away from his mouth. They locked eyes.

“Don’t. Do not swallow it. Donnie, I swear—”

His throat bobbed with an audible gulp. He grinned up at Raph, teeth showing, mouth empty.

Raph scrambled backwards, horrified. At least he wasn’t choking, but still, gross.

“Dude!” he glared. Donnie perched on his spinning chair, unrepentant. “Why’d you—that wasn’t—I was just asking, geez!”

“You’ll never see those files.”

“Why do you act so freaking weird? I was just gonna ask what you’re getting Leo for Mutation Day.”

“Origami paper,” he replied carelessly.

Raph frowned. That didn’t sound like a Donnie gift.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Hm?” Donnie half-affirmed and half-asked, tilting his head. “Yeah? Why would I not be serious?”

“You can’t get him origami paper.”

“Why not? Wait, are you getting him origami paper?”

“No, but—did you already buy it? I’ll pay you and get it for him, you should get him something cool.”

Donnie’s face fell, and Raph’s heart sank. Leave it to him to open his big mouth. Even when he was trying to be nice he only ever seemed to cause trouble.

“It’s something we’ve been doing together,” Donnie’s voice was shy and small.

Raph shifted guiltily. “It’s just, you usually make him something. I didn’t know you guys were doing origami.” Why had he stuck his snout in Donnie’s business anyway? What a stupid thing for him to say.

Taking his tone for the apology it was, Donnie glanced back at him and gave a fragile half-smile. It didn’t do much to ease the guilt.

“So, uh. What are you getting for Mikey?”

Donnie sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I think I found a new game he might like? You could get him jewelry,  he’s been getting into that lately.”

Raph grunted. “Yeah, I’ll just walk down to the jewelry store.”

Donnie shrugged. “You wouldn’t need to go to a real jeweler, just find something cheap at a corner store or something. He likes the cheap plastic stuff, he says the metal makes his neck cold.”

That was actually a good idea, and it forced Raph to confront the fact that the gift issue wasn’t the reason he wasn’t looking forward to their upcoming Mutation Day.

He didn’t bring it up out loud again. He tried to ignore his increasing anxiety as the day crept closer. It was just a day like any other day; sure, the attention was a bit uncomfortable, and this was the first time they’d actually have someone else coming over for it, possibly more than one someone if Mikey talked April into talking Casey into it, but still. Why should something so simple bring up such feelings of—shame? Fear?

Inadequacy. That’s how he felt. He hated celebrating with his brothers. It wasn’t about them being better at gift-giving at all. It was the bonds they had with each other that he felt he was on the outside of, no matter how hard he tried. The way he could see so clearly what each of them brought to the team, and then there was him.

Sometimes he really did want to just walk away and never come back.

April helped him pick out a nice new chess set for Leo, some necklaces and sunglasses for Mikey, and a couple big boxes of pop tarts for Donnie. It was stupid little things, but whatever. One less thing to be stressed about, one less reason to have to think about that day until it came and went.

That’s why two days before, he was working out in front of Die Hard playing at full volume, a crossword puzzle laid out beneath him while he did his pushups. If he thought he’d put a clue together he had to hold himself up with one arm while he wrote it in. It was the kind of stuff that kept him sharp for Master Splinter’s unique disciplinary tactics, and it’s what it took to keep his mind busy so his thoughts would shut up.

Thankfully he was in the middle of a push-up and not holding his pen when Mikey landed on his back.

“Oof!” he grunted as his arms gave out beneath the added weight. It wouldn’t normally be a problem, but he’d been at it a while. “Mikey!”

“Raphael!”

“Get off of me!”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I just jumped on you and now I think you’re maybe mad at me and I’m afraid if I get off you’ll beat me up. I live on your shell now.”

Raph scowled, but couldn’t help a grin tugging at the corners of his face. “Yeah? And what if I roll over?”

Mikey yelped and leapt off, quickly moving around front to haul Raph to his feet.

“Brah you should go to the surface with me. There’s this new froyo place that just opened up Vernon was telling April about when he didn’t know I was listening the other day—”

“So we’re taking froyo recommendations from Vernon now?”

“I mean he hadn’t actually been yet, it’s a new place, I looked it up and reviews are good but not like suspiciously good, you know? Come on, please? I really want froyo and Leo says I need the stealth practice.”

Raph snorted disbelievingly. “Leo said you could go out in broad daylight and get froyo for stealth practice?”

Mikey froze, trying for a moment to keep his expression neutral. When he failed, he shrugged widely. “Well, no, but he did say I need stealth training, and if I do this without getting caught then he’ll have to admit maybe I don’t need as much stealth training as he thinks and I can avoid being subjected to whatever he and Sensei would dream up to help me master it.”

Raph crossed his arms. “Okay. So why do you need me?”

His little brother tapped his fingers together sheepishly. “Damage control if it turns out I do in fact need stealth training?” he grinned toothily and tried to blink cutely.

Raph gave him a gentle flick on the side of his head. “Alright, nutcase, c’mere. I’ll show you how to sneak around the city in broad daylight, if you can get past Master Splinter.”

Mikey straightened up, following behind Raph with a cocky saunter. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

To Raph’s surprise, it wasn’t a problem. They were easily able to slip past the living room where Splinter was meditating, and Leo and Donnie were—well with the context he now had Raph guessed they were doing origami. Crouched over the table together working on something, anyway.

Sneaking around during the day posed a number of problems. It wasn’t the crowds or the lights—they dealt with those at night. Sure, shadows were more scarce, but there were shadows and they were trained ninjas. No, the real challenge was the brightness and the heat. They just weren’t used to it.

Lucky Mikey was about to get sunglasses for Mutation Day.

Raph waited on the roof; it would be easier for just one of them to take care of the exchange, and the whole errand was Mikey’s idea. If he were Leo maybe Raph would pretend he really wanted his little brother to get the extra practice, since that was supposedly what this was all about. Raph? Nah, he could admit he just hated wearing disguises and would rather make Mikey do the tricky part. The sun was giving him a headache.

Finally, Mikey landed next to him, trench coat billowing, a small cup of yogurt in each hand.

“We should come back to try all the flavors, they’ve got some fun options?”

“No way,” Raph accepted the purple scoop from Mikey’s outstretched arm. “You wanna keep doing this, you gotta get Leo and Donnie to take some turns.

Mikey shrugged, messily slurping up his chocolate. “Less yogurt for you, brah.”

Raph rolled his eyes, taking a cautious lick. It was fruity, really sweet, like—

“Blackberry?”

“I couldn’t decide if you’d like blackberry pomegranate or this mango lime sherbet they had.”

“This one’s good.”

“You wanna come back for the mango lime?” Mikey tempted hopefully.

“Nah.” After another bite, however, Raph added, “Might come back for more of the same though.”

“Boring,” Mikey booed, “You gotta open yourself up to the varied experiences of city life, dude. I’m getting smores next time, or maybe peanut butter—or peanut butter and chocolate and coconut.”

Raph shook his head, fondness balancing out the irritation of the sun against his skin and the anxiety of being out at this hour. They sat in companionable silence—there really was a crowded street below, after all.

Once they were finished, Raph was ready to get back underground. Mikey, it seemed, had other ideas.

“Hey, hey, hey Raph,” he poked him.

Raph slapped his hand away. Only Donnie was allowed to pester him like that, and mostly only because no one had ever figured out how to stop him. “What?”

Mikey was undeterred by his apparent annoyance. “Wanna sneak into a movie?”

Raph hesitated. A movie would mean they were out of the sun, but that was also a big risk for no reason. Pros: bragging rights if they succeeded, Leo would hate it no matter what, extra time away from the lair, and maybe they’d find a good movie. Cons: Donnie would look like a kicked puppy if he learned they’d done it without him, he and Leo and Splinter really would be worried, and it meant Raph was in charge of making sure Mikey didn’t lose focus (or resolve) and simply go up and start talking to people for the next two hours instead of the next few minutes.

Eh, what the heck. Bragging rights.

It turned out to be way easier than he thought to sneak in, and it kind of seemed like Mikey had done it before. Oh well; Raph was no snitch.

Mikey fell asleep during a showing of Little Women—it wasn’t the type of story he’d probably expected, but Raph enjoyed it. He nudged him awake as the credits rolled.

“Mikey.”

“Fi’ m’min.”

“No. I said I’d go with you for froyo. Get your butt up and get back underground.”

Mikey rubbed his eyes. “Aw, but that was a boring movie. Couldn’t we check around for, I don’t know, a superhero thing or a horror flick or something?”

“No way. We’re already gonna be in huge trouble when we get back.”

Mikey had nothing to say to that, but the crazy thing was, he didn’t relent. What Raph expected from the brother he knew was for him to visibly deflate, whine a ton, and immediately spout off six more things he wanted to do just to put off facing the music.

What he got instead was tight lips and shifting eyes. Much less like Mikey was putting off facing Splinter’s wrath, and more like he was carefully strategizing his next move. It was the focused sort of expression Mikey only wore in dire circumstances.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he forgot to keep his voice down, desperation and frustration taking over.

Mikey forced a painfully fake laugh. “Nothing, brah! I just don’t wanna go home yet because—uh—we don’t spend enough time together! Yeah, that’s it. I’ve been really hurting for some quality one on one time with my favorite red brother. Well, actually, you’re green, just your mask is red, but we’re all green and our masks are different, so—actually we’re all red, too, aren’t we? I mean we must have been at some point, because Donnie says we’re red-eared sliders. April’s video showed it. So, you’re not my red brother either.”

Raph blinked. Mikey blinked back.

“Michelangelo,” he tried to infuse some authority into his voice, the way Leo would when nothing else got through to Mikey, “You better tell me what’s going on.”

Mikey swallowed, eyes shifty. He fiddled with his phone and pretended to read the rolling credits.

“Actually,” he suddenly blurted, “We should go home! Right now. Yeah, that’s what we should do.”

“What?”

“Come on, Raphie, like you said, Master Splinter will be worried. We gotta get back before Leo and Donnie get in trouble for us being gone.”

Raph gaped. “Yeah, but just a second ago you were—”

“Come on, we can argue later.”

With that, Mikey was gone, and Raph didn’t know what to do but follow. Something big was going on, and for some reason no one wanted him specifically to know. That’s why Leo was so short with him, and Donnie swallowed a freaking flash drive. What had he done lately to annoy them? Or what had they gotten into that they didn’t want him involved in?

“Mikey,” he tried again as soon as they were underground, “It’s time to fess up. What’s got you guys all—hey!”

Mikey had taken off at a run, not the least bit subtle about avoiding the conversation. Raph ran after him, frustration turning into real, hot anger. It kept the fear at bay, for now.

His little brother slipped into the lair first, but he was right behind. “Mikey, I swear, you little—”

He stopped short.

“Surprise!”

“What?”

His family was seated around the table, which had been filled with chips, salsa, and cake and moved to the living room. A stack of presents was piled neatly next to the couch, and Forrest Gump was cued up on the TV.

“Happy Mutation Day!” Mikey chirped.

“But,” Raph said weakly, “That’s not for two more days…?”

“We know the party part hasn’t always been your favorite,” Leo explained, “And since this year we’re having people over for our celebration all together, we wanted to have something nice for you first.”

“And we figured you’d hate planning that too so we kept it a secret,” Donnie grinned.

Well, now he felt like his insides were made of mush. He cleared his throat and tried to pretend he wasn’t getting teary.

“Oh, that’s, uh, you didn’t hafta—”

Master Splinter put a paw on his elbow. He bent his head down to see his father beaming up at him.

“Happy Mutation Day, my brave little warrior.”

His heart swelled. Maybe the idea of guests had stressed him out more than he realized. Maybe he’d been feeling more isolated than usual, too. His family had all noticed, and they cared. They cared as much about him as he did about them.

“Thanks.” He gave Splinter’s paw a squeeze, and nodded shyly at each of his brothers. Then he jerked his head towards the screen. “Hey, me and Mikey just watched a movie. You guys up for video games?”

[citadelofmythoughts]

Mineta is just weird. In a series about breaking down and taking a look at certain characters, archetypes and cliches, you have this one dimensional pervert who never undergoes any significant growth or character analysis. He just...exists to be a one note perv. It's odd given that Kaminari (a character who only seems to act the worst whenever he's around Mineta) shares some pervy traits, but it's balanced out by his other qualities.

The weird thing is that there's plenty of angles that Hornykoshi could have gone with him. Like maybe he's obsessed with girls because his body suffers from dwarfism due to his Quirk taking nutrients from his body, and he's so self-conscious of how much difficulty he's going to have to get the attention of women that he thinks acting out his worst impulses is the only way he'll ever get anything, all the while ignoring how this is only making his chances even worse in the long term.

Maybe he's just too frightened to actually commit to being a cool hero completely because he's clearly got the smarts and skill, but his own cowardice combined with the above means that he's afraid of what would happen if he did try, but then ultimately society rejected him and he put in all that work for nothing? If anything it'd tie into his supposedly high intelligence stat but mediocre placement in the exams (9th out of 20).

Or maybe he hangs out on the MHA equivalent of an incel forum, where guys like him commiserate and go into a death spiral of hatred and lust towards women, and then later on Midoriya admits he'd once gone on that kind of forum because of something hero-related, only to be utterly repulsed and want nothing to do with it. Maybe have him or some other classmate express disappointment at how Mineta is wasting his life and potential and ultimately leaning towards a very dark path if he didn't get his act together.

MHA's deconstructive qualities can be bizarrely inconsistent at times.

Yep, they certainly could have gone with any of that.

But the fact of the matter is, Mineta is only there for one reason. He's a "safe" way to perv on the underaged girls.

I mean, as long as he gets "punished" it's fine to show him groping, making disgusting comments and harassing all the girls, right? RIGHT?

That perverted trope not only needs to die, it needs to be set on fire, buried, dug up, set on fire again and then launched into the sun.

[daysofourlivesrecaps]

Friday, 9 June 2023

Yesterday I lamented the fact that we didn’t get to see the old soap that Abe was watching (on videotape!) at his kidnapper’s house. Today, though, more than makes up for this egregious omission.

Behold: Body and Soul!

(Okay, I posted these caps separately because I was so very excited about them. So you may have already beheld.)

Okay. So. First, the DiMeras.

Megan restates the central premise of her “you have to marry someone to get the Von Leuschner family fortune so it might as well be Gwen” argument.

Dimitri is reluctant, but let’s be honest: he calls his mother “mother.” This guy is about 1/3 that guy from the Manchurian Candidate, 1/3 Buster Bluth and 1/3 Seymour Skinner. He’s obviously going to do exactly what she tells him to do.

Then Kristen (in this weird but exceptionally cleavagey dress) asks Megan what she needs with all this VonLeuschner VonLoot and Megan hints at a plot that involves actual world domination.

At the pub, Harris Michaels shows up, continuing to have no friends in this town and no real purpose for being here. He looks remorseful (pretty much his only move right now) at Roman and Kate for a minute.

Then Roman leaves and Kate gets down to business. “You want a job?” she says. “I’ll hire you to murder Megan Hathaway.” (I don’t think she knows about the DiMera declaration yet.)

Harris considers this, probably because he knows full well that he’s gonna need SOMETHING to do if he intends to stick around in Salem. But then he decides against it because he’s “trying to be good” now that he’s finally shaken himself loose from Megan’s brainwashing.

(Oh, but I forgot to mention that Megan strongly hinted that she’s gonna reactivate Harris as part of her whole world domination thing. Which feels like something you should probably know.)

Gwen returns to her home at the Salem Inn.

(So many characters have lived in this hotel room. Probably because it’s cheaper than decorating a set to serve as a specific character’s home. I’m almost certain we blew the entire set budget for 2023 on the stuffed cats at Nurse Kim Coles’ house.)

Leo vents to Gwen about having visited his Horrible Mother in prison. (This is where Horrible Mothers belong. There or Florida.) And with this cursory attention to a backstory and some actual emotions, Leo continues his transformation into an actual character rather than a sad collection of dick jokes in ugly outfits.

He and Gwen commiserate over bad parents and a distinct lack of love in their lives. And they make a pact to marry each other if they continue to strike out. Which is something I’m certain they’ve said before, but I’ll give them a pass because… again, Leo’s actually acting like a person today and I want to encourage this behavior.

Then Gwen leaves and there’s a knock at the door and it’s Dimitri. Is he still mad that Leo stole some vital component to the doomsday device he was trying to assemble in the Beyond Salem miniseries? I suppose we’ll have to wait till Monday for the answer to that one!

Back at the hospital, Paulina is still recovering from her panic attack (after a quick break to go harass Colin at the police station). She runs into Nurse Kim Coles and they do the tired dance of “does Paulina know that this is the woman who may have (definitely did) kidnapped Abe?” but no, of course she doesn’t.

Then Rafe shows up and says “hey, I knocked on your door for like an hour today but I guess you were here.”

Right, I also forgot to mention that Rafe knocked on her door for like an hour. Actually, I’m not forgetting these things so much as having difficulty writing about each plot thread separately when they intersect like this. Stop making the show so dynamic, Days writers!

Finally, Abe is still watching Body and Soul and not answering the door.

But then he gets to a part in Nurse Kim Coles’ VHS tape where a 2008 episode was interrupted by a news break involving… Mayor Abraham Carver!

And Abe’s all “wait a minute, that’s me! Maybe I have amnesia like that guy in that stupid soap opera I’ve been watching.” And I’m still trying to figure out if this is a genius level of meta-storytelling or maybe they just took things a little too far.

It’s gotta be the first one, right?

[inkdemonapologist]

[BatIM Call of Cthulhu Masterpost]

WE STARTED.... A NEW SCENARIO..... as you may have read in Boo’s summary post, for some unknown reason aLL MUSICAL AND PERFORMANCE ABILITY SEEMS TO BE??? GONE??? Sammy woke up, realised he couldn’t hold even the simplest tune in his head, and immediately lost THIRTY-ONE SANITY in one hit

..... YOU KNOW THAT MAKES SENSE HONESTLY

 anyway i have a some out-of-context quotes from the game for u all under the readmore if ur into that kinda thing!!!

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[GM] It's a tough voice to do, so you can't be as choosy, and your resident Bendy cannot act to save his life, so that's no good-- [Joey] Uh-oh. [Jack] Sorry, Lurks. [Joey] I'm just so worried he's going to have to act now... [Jack] Clearly, he should've used the time between scenarios to train that! [GM] Yeah, that's just what everybody wants I'm sure, is the Lurker training in LYING. That sounds like a great idea!

[GM] *asking for dice rolls to see how well our actual jobs are going* We can do a little bit of mundanity to, to treasure, and keep you warm later!

[Henry] Should I spend Luck points on this? No, I'm not spending Luck on work. [Sammy] That's a good general life policy

[Jack] Does Jack have any contacts? [Joey] No, he has glasses! :D [Jack] noooo that's my job! It's my job to make Jack's puns! ....Contacts probably didn't exist in the 1930s, that's okay. [Sammy] No, don't say that! Boo's going to have to look it up now!

[GM] What spell is Joey working on? [Jack] (Spell of Make Investor Like You)

[Joey] I think he probably has filing cabinets specifically to put occult stuff in and lock. And then the rest of his office is just piles and tables of animation stuff that you're like "...shouldn't this??? be??? in the filing cabinet???"

[GM] Allison remarks, "The companions of our childhood always possess a certain power of our minds, which hardly any later friend can obtain." [Sammy] Y'know, normal, just nORMAL CASUAL CHATTER, [GM] Tom, working on the pipe, just kinda mutters, "I enjoy friends, dear not only by habit and association, but from their own merits." And she gives him a look! [Jack] ...love at first whATEVER THIS IS,

[Sammy] ...Sammy's not amused. [GM] The band's amused! [Jack] Jack is probably amused.

[GM] So far things are going very well, but y'know, [Jack] Only so long until we crit fail something! [Sammy] NEVER TOO LATE TO MESS IT UP!

[GM] Allison's vibe is like, I Didn't Study This Exactly, But I Was Hoping It Could Just Work Out! [Jack] ...She has a lot of practice at just... making things work out, huh.... 

[GM] Is there anything else Joey would try to show off? [Joey] Tries to think... what else is at the Studio... [Jack] "Do you wanna talk to our janitor? He's really cool!"

[Joey] I roll to see if Joey can put two brain cells together,

[Jack] I have to appreciate that Bendy said he didn’t have the keys today. He’s been stealing them before, but THIS TIME isn’t his doing!

[Sammy] If there’s anything he needs to do himself, then he’ll come in early, but I don’t know what state we’re in -- [Joey] Uh, New York. [Sammy] ...what? [Joey] You didn’t know what state we’re in. :) [Sammy] [Sammy] thanks

[Joey] Oh Joey’s absolutely coming in early. Joey woke up, and felt great, so he’s going to menace every other department today, because he has the energy to get his fingers into everything! [Sammy] *distressed sounds in the background*

[Sammy] Hey how come when we did a Halloween cartoon, we all went to Haiti, but we’re doing a cartoon about a fair and we’re not going to a fair? [Jack] [Jack] I think we all know why.

*trying to decide who goes to Joey’s fancy dinner with an investor* [Sammy] I don’t know if Sammy will help you... [Sammy] Unless you bring Sammy and put him on a piano, like a small child that needs to be immediately handed crayons.

[Joey] Joey will say that they’re essentially the second hands in each of the departments-- [Jack] Yeah, Abby, the second hand… entire Art Department director, [GM] Uh-huh. [Joey] She… she knows,, [GM] Joey, [Joey] She knows that Joey… is … Big Gay for Henry,,, [GM] This is true, but I think she likes nominal acknowledgement that she holds a position, [Jack] He can just say that they’re high-ranking, and not-- [Joey] No I rolled badly, Joey’s going to say that Sammy and Henry are busy, so he brought his second-best! :) [GM] Abby is massaging her temples. [Joey] Sorry, Abby. He is,, an idiot,,, [GM] I think she’d be a lot more bothered if she couldn’t go and commiserate with Henry about it. Like, “why can’t he keep it straight?” [GM] ……………….well. She knows why he can’t keep it straight.

[GM] It’s about midnight, and something... strange.... happens. The trumpet player, who is leading the band -- [Joey] -- has a trumpet for a head! [GM] what no

*Joey succeeds a sanity check, Jack fails it* [GM] Joey, roll 1d10! [Joey] Uh, 3? [GM] Okay, you’re only down three sanity, that’s not so bad! [GM] Jack, roll 6d10! [Jack] what? [Joey] Six??? SIX d10s????? [GM] Yeah! [Joey] nICE KNOWING YOU, JACK!!! It’s time for Sillytime Jack.

[Jack] Smash cut to Henry, curled up in bed, nice and cozy,

[GM] I will also note, you cannot seem to Fast Talk. [Joey] ...what else can I do? [GM] Just normal talk. Like a normal person.

[Jack] I feel like Jack probably has a hunch that it’s weird nightmarish horror nonsense, on account of he just lost nineteen sanity,

[GM] Abby’s gonna try to take him to the hospital. [Jack] Jack’s just going to let that happen, because he’s shaken enough that he doesn’t have any significantly better ideas! Other than AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA,

[Sammy] *rolling sanity damage* 9… 9, stop that…. 4, [Jack] You’ve already lost more than Jack! [Sammy] 2, ...6, and 1! [Joey] That’s 31. [GM] Okay, Sammy has six sanity! [Sammy] eXCUSE ME?????

[Joey] Joey does want to head home… what day is it? [GM] Friday, the 13th! [Jack] HM, [Sammy] I GUESS IT IS, ISN’T IT… I wasn’t keeping track, but I guess it sure is! [GM] A delightful treat for myself, when I was looking up days in July, in 1934, [Sammy] WAIT, NO, ITS ACTUALLY A COINCIDENCE? Oh my gosh, [Jack] Because Friday the 13th wouldn’t even be a spooky day at this point in time! [GM] It is now! [Jack] It’s spooky, but just for us!

[Sammy] Sammy would try to call Jack, he’d try to call Joey, he’d try to call Henry -- probably several times, [Henry] sammy gets jack’s cat [Henry] phone is answered with meows [Jack] That does seem fitting for a really bad luck roll; the phone gets answered, and Sammy’s really relieved -- and it’s just the cat. [Sammy] Sammy, at 6 sanity: “jack’s tuRNED INTO A CAT,”

[Joey] The phone kept on ringing, so the cat just batted it off the cradle, [Jack] I feel like Jack probably doesn’t usually get a significant number of calls, so like, this many calls in a row is just obnoxious! [Jack] Cat’s having none of it. [Jack] Phone ring isn’t breakfast! [Jack] Where is the soft provider of food.

[GM] Oh no, you know what’s going to happen? Henry’s gonna get through to Jack, and then when Sammy calls it’s busy! [Sammy] cALLS JACK IT’S BUSY, CALLS HENRY IT’S BUSY, [Jack] I was gonna say maybe Henry would call Sammy first, because Sammy was one of the original three. [Jack] …Henry calls Sammy, Sammy is busy because SAMMY is trying to call someone, and then Henry calls Jack, and Sammy tries to call Jack again-- [Sammy] *laughing* THE HORROR, The deep, bone-chilling horror of A TIME BEFORE CALL-WAITING!!

[Henry] Is Joey there? [Jack] Yeah. [Henry] Are you guys alright? [Jack] ……………….hm,

[Jack] Cat is just sat on Joey, purring. Something is wrong with the human. Purr to fix the human.

[Henry] I called Sammy to make sure he’s okay, but-- [Abby] Was he? [Henry] No.

[Joey] Joey is going to be… obstinate feels like the wrong word? [Joey] He’s being the cat where you put the leash on, and the cat just sits down. [Joey] That is the Joseph mood right now.

[Sammy] *muttering* First one boyfriend turns into a cat, now the other boyfriend’s voice is wrong, today is terrible,

[Joey] This is Joey’s everything. [Sammy] That’s Joey’s contribution to the party! That’s like, your bard can no longer play music. [Sammy] ……….which is also true, but Sammy contributes other things. [Jack] Like Intimidate! [Sammy] Right now he contributes paranoia!

[neverdoingmuch]

Wangxian prompt: They see each other constantly. Like, maybe they're neighbors, or is a "my kid's teacher" situation. Maybe they meet at the bus stop, or work in the same company but different offices. So they're aware of each other and they exchange glances, maybe little inside-joke smiles about things they both notice. They see each other being brave, competent, kind, so so handsome. And when they actually talk to each other months later the first thing they say is "Marry me" and "Yes"

ooh!! this sounds like a lot of fun, i love it so much. i think office workers would be the best bc then we can contrast the banality of the rest of their lives to the quirkiness of their relationship so to speak.

okay so it all started when lwj decided that he wanted to eat breakfast on his apartment balcony

he takes his bowl and goes to sit in the chair outside and he’s prepared to just enjoy the cool morning air but when he looks up he sees a man sitting on the balcony exactly opposite his

wwx, by some strange luck, has the apartment across the street, and always goes outside to try and wake up bc he is not a morning person at all and the 9-5 job is killer for someone who likes to go to sleep at like three in the morning

anyway, lwj looks up and sees this kinda cute guy just sitting on the floor miserably blinking at the rising sun and is like oh weird and tries not to stare too much

but after that first time lwj sees him, he starts seeing mystery balcony dude everywhere, like everywhere and no amount of not staring is gonna save him

he goes down to his favourite cafe to get a cup of tea after breakfast and while he’s enjoying his tea and reading the newspaper he hears someone laugh loudly and glances over to the muffin display to see balcony man chatting with one of the staff as he orders his own coffee 

balcony man must have noticed his attention because he looks over and for a moment he looks confused but then he’s smiling brightly at lwj and it’s this absolutely amazing smile and he’s even hotter when he’s not sitting in a ratty t-shirt across the street and lwj panics, chugs the rest of his tea, and immediately leaves

he ends up arriving at the train station fifteen minutes early and is stuck awkwardly waiting while avoiding the grandma who likes showing men pictures of her granddaughter who is very beautiful and very single apparently

the train arrives and lwj gets on, finds a seat and pulls out his phone to respond to emails. then, just as the doors are about to shut, who should rush in but balcony man

he’s kinda sweaty and red but the guy makes it look good and he ends up sitting down a few metres from lwj, not that lwj notices because he’s very busy responding to his emails about how one of the teams in sales is having difficulties with one of their projects, so busy that he spends the next thirty minutes staring at the email unable to get past the second line

lwj and wwx end up getting off at the same stop and to lwj’s absolute horror they end up going to the same building

lwj tries to do the thing where you speedwalk past the person so they don’t think you’re following them but then wwx did the same thing to him so they end up arriving at the same time

they get in the elevator together, lwj near the door off to the left and balcony man in the far corner, leaning against the wall and looking down at his shoes

it’s kind of awkward but thankfully wwx gets off at the fifteenth floor - software design and tech support or something while lwj gets off at the twentieth floor - sales maybe?

he doesn’t see the man again until the end of the work day when they get into the elevator at the same time and go back down. they’re the only two people in there bc they’re working late or the stars aligned or something

and that’s just the first day. after that, every day the same thing happens and they keep seeing each other as they’re going to and from work. 

but also lwj goes to do the grocery shopping and when he’s paying wwx is in the next line across and when he goes to buy new strings for his guqin wwx is already in the store buying a new mouthpiece for his dizi

this goes on for a few weeks and then one morning, while wwx is trying to shock his system into waking up and lwj is just enjoying breakfast, they hear familiar shouting: the couple downstairs is breaking up again

lwj rolls his eyes, aware that come next week they’ll be dating again, and just blocks it out when the boyfriend comes stumbling out of the building with his shirt half on and the girlfriend still yelling

he looks across the street to see what balcony man thinks of it all and sees that he’s mouthing along to the argument (it really is exactly the same speech every time but it’s incredible that he’s memorised it). lwj snorts. it’s unseemly and rude but balcony man is over there acting out the break up as well as mouthing along and it’s the funniest thing lwj’s seen all week.

wwx notices him laugh and decides to wave at him. lwj tentatively waves back and with that the magic of their relationship sets in

now when lwj goes to the cafe in the morning wwx will look around the store until he spots lwj and wave at him, and lwj will lift his mug up in greeting which always make wwx laugh

then when they get on the train, they always get seats opposite each other and while they never actually say anything, sometimes lwj will glance over to see wwx sneaking a look at him. they both blush and look away but moments later they’re doing it again

when they walk to work, lwj crosses the street so they can walk at the same pace and not have to actually be right next to each other and despite having to cross back over, wwx is always still waiting to catch the elevator with him. 

now when they go up, they still don’t talk to each other but wwx always hums and lwj taps along with whatever tune he’s picked. 

same thing when they go back down in the evening and catch the train back

over time it starts to become more than just staring and smiling, now when the couple downstairs breaks up, wwx will hold up like three fingers and lwj understands that balcony man thinks they’ll get back together within three days

(wwx’s always right btw)

when they go to the cafe lwj will send wwx a thumbs down if the sports mum with eight kids gets in queue first and wwx will always make hearts with his hands whenever the baristas start flirting. 

when they get in the train and hear the angry businessmen argue they’re sitting there making funny faces at each other,, well wwx does and lwj just tries to keep his face blank. he usually succeeds but sometimes he smiles and wwx will always do a little victory wiggle which is honestly so cute lwj is dying

the elevator? they don’t even have to say anything. whenever a coworker they don’t like hops in they just find subtle ways to explain why they don’t like them and how

the best time was when lwj saw su she get in and immediately pulled a face like he sucked a lemon and had to try and mime “he always takes really long lunches and is really bad at sales but we can’t get rid of him because he’d whine too much and no one wants to put up with that” but he’s lwj and doesn’t really do miming. in contrast, when wen chao gets in wwx just holds up his thumb and pointer finger like he’s measuring something, and holds them only a few centimetres apart. 

they both get really good at reading each other like that

when they catch the train back home it’s always really late so lwj ends up reading a book while wwx sketches and, just as lwj always holds up his books so wwx can see the cover, wwx will show lwj whatever he’s drawn

at one point in time lwj comes home and sees a stray kitten hiding in a box near the entrance to his building but he can’t take it in bc of his rabbit so instead he goes out onto his balcony and just points straight down and holds up a cardboard box he has in his own apartment

without even hesitating wwx goes downstairs and crosses the street, still dressed in his pyjamas, and takes the kitten home. 

lwj kinda expected wwx to take the kitten to a shelter or something but within a month their morning routine changes to allow a kitten to climb all over wwx as he tries to wake up and it’s ridiculously adorable but also lwj is sitting there in absolute awe of how good balcony man is to just take in a stray like that 

there’s probably a few other scenes, like wwx and lwj going out to a dinner with their teams and they get seated at nearby tables and end up sending each other commiserating smiles whenever the conversation gets particularly dull and the time when lwj gets caught by the well-meaning grandma who always tries to set people up with her granddaughter on the train and he taps out sos in morse code and wwx just replies rip and stares out the window for the rest of the trip 

anyway this is getting a bit long so im going to say jump forward a year (doesn’t have to be a year i guess). they’re still enjoying this whole thing they’ve got going on and they know each other so well that when lwj sees wwx some mornings he knows to go to the cafe early and order an extra strong coffee for wwx and wwx will sometimes sketch pictures of rabbits when lwj seems a bit annoyed after work

(wwx will fold them into paper aeroplanes and throw them across the train to lwj and lwj always takes them home and flattens them back out and then shows them to his rabbit before before putting them up on the fridge)

one day the trains break down and they’re stuck waiting at the station in the morning and for once lwj feels genuinely sad that he might not get to work on time. like work is whatever but he doesn’t want to miss out on the half an hour on the train with balcony man and the way they speedwalk to see who can get to the office first and the awkward waiting outside the elevators where wwx bounces up and down and lwj taps out a rhythm against his thigh until wwx notices and starts humming along

but then he notices wwx walking over to him. he seems kinda nervous, hesitating at first but he puts on a confident smile and saunters over and lwj is panicking because they haven’t done this before and he doesn’t know what to do

wwx opens his mouth - he’s going to make the first move and ask out his mystery man, but then lwj takes one look at wwx, who’s standing right next to him and it feels different to all the other times they’ve been together, and he panics

wwx barely manages to open his mouth to say good morning when lwj blurts out will you marry me?

wwx blinks, blushes bright red, and immediately goes yes! (it’s a bit too loud and people around them turn to stare but neither of them notice)

lwj immediately whips out his phone and sends in an email saying that he’s taking a sick day and after he sends it off, he slips his phone back into his pocket, takes wwx’s hand in his and asks him what’s your name?

it takes wwx like fifteen minutes to stop laughing by which time they’re back at their cafe and this time, they both sit down at a table after ordering their drinks and it’s the baristas making hearts with their hands at them

[instasiswetrust]

Steve's not quite drunk but there's a pleasant buzz under his skin that leaves him feeling pliant and loose, enough to keep any unsavory thoughts at bay for the time being.

The scent of chlorine and bleach that envelops him once he opens the pool doors, familiar comforts by now, help clear some of the haze of alcohol that has befallen him from his last drink taken at the Auris that night. Or morning. He's not entirely sure.

It brings back the memories that he had been trying so hard to forget. A lavender envelope had been in his mail that day, inside of it an invitation trimmed with delicate filigree. For Nancy's and Jonathan's wedding.

A fall wedding.

The type which he and Nancy had joked about back when they were together, not long before Jonathan had joined them.

He had gone through his work with the kind of detachment that usually meant nothing was truly registering. Adam might have noticed at one point, too attuned already to the tells under the porcelain of Steve's mask, but the memory is fuzzy and he can't remember if he ever gave a proper answer to his manager's concerned query.

As soon as work was done, he had made his way to the Auris in search of something to get his mind off the pain that clutched the shards of his heart like a vice. Or rather, someone. It had been his favorite dancer's day off or something though, leaving him to spend the rest of his night watching the dancers on stage and sipping on the ocassional drink.

Something had made him want to climb the stairs to the gym's pool, though. And that's why he was here now.

"Are you drunk?" The voice that speaks has become familiar in the same way the scent and sounds of the pool has and when he looks up to meet the eyes of its owner, he finds them startled if slightly amused.

"Only a little bit." He shrugs, plopping down by the edge of the pool with his legs crossed under him. The bleach might leave stains on his Levi's but he can't really muster enough energy to give a fuck right now. "'s not that bad."

"You kind of reek of cigarette smoke and whiskey."

Yep. Definitely amused.

"Spilled some scotch on my shirt. The smoke is probably from the cab driver." Another shrug but this time he levels Billy with apologetic doe eyes. "I can leave if it bothers you."

"You're fine, I was just curious." The blonde swims closer, crossing his arms over the edge next to where Steve sits once he's close enough. "First time I've seen you up here wearing something other than your ridiculous pajamas."

"They are not ridiculous!" Steve protests at once, pouting. "And you have seen me in swimwear too!"

"Last week you were wearing bright red shorts that said Bite Me across the ass, and a t-shirt that said Friends don't lie in big bold letters with a heart-shaped waffle at the center." Billy deadpans, raising a single eyebrow. "The shirt was at least two sizes too big for you."

"They were gifts." Brown eyes narrow into a glare but the petulant pout kind of offsets the vibe.

"I thought models were supposed to have taste in clothes."

"We're supposed to look pretty while others dress us. It's not in the job description to have taste."

"So you admit you have no taste then." Billy was giving him that smirk, the one Steve called insufferable but discretly considered hot as fuck. How dare he be so sinfully handsome.

"I said no such thing!" Steve crosses his arms over his chest, tipping his chin up in the perfect picture of snotty petulance. He could already feel the laughs bubbling in his chest, wanting to break the mock facade.

It takes only a second or two of Billy giving him an skeptical look before they are both laughing.

He had missed this kind of easy-going banter. Most of his friends he only saw around the holidays, and the environment at work was more prone to talks about weight loss and botox than anything else.

New York never slept but that only made it all the more lonely.

His sullen mood must've reflected on his face because he feels something poke at his thigh, meeting Billy's eyes when he turns to look at him.

"You didn't just come here so I could make fun of your taste in clothes, did you?"

"I-"

It's only then that Steve realizes Billy is right.

The reason his alcohol fogged brain has preferred to come up here rather than crash into his bed wasn't just some way of punishing himself even further. Not entirely at least. He had come here because it was a place of comfort for him.

And because he had a friend here, too.

"No. Not just that." Steve sighs, letting his eyes focus on the slow movement of the pool water instead of Billy's face.

"Do you..." A moment of hesitation, as if he's not sure about his words. "want to talk about it?"

Brown eyes close, keeping his focus on the in and out of air through his lungs for a few moments until he feels less like he's going to burst out crying the moment he sets these awful thoughts into words.

Makes them all the more real.

"My... exes. They are getting married. To each other." He doesn't open his eyes, doesn't do anything more than try to keep his voice steady even as the aching pain of heartbreak weighs down on his chest. "I received the invitation this morning."

There's a low whistle. It sounds like sympathy. It sounds real.

"That bites," Billy says, and his voice has a dulled edge to it. Commiseration with flavor, or something like that, but it's three am and there's nothing but cold tile and the soft wake of lit water. "Is this ... like a sudden spur of the moment thing?"

When Steve turns doe eyes to him, Billy raises up his hands, only moderately pruned, in an easing gesture.

"You don't have to answer. Just..." A pause. A beat as the swimmer looks for the right string of words. "Just trying to gauge how much of a dick move this is."

There's a laugh, dull and mirthless. A sad little sound.

“We have been friends since high school. All three of us dated for a bit longer after that. We went through some hard stuff together back in Indiana.” He shrugs, keeping his eyes closed. Tears at bay. “Was supposed to be the kind of friendship that lasted even after we broke up.”

It’s all my fault. He doesn't say.

My stupid heart and I. We ruined it all.

It takes a split second of contemplation, because, after all, they're total strangers. But once upon a time, someone gave Billy this sideways kindness and it helped. Maybe Steve and his overly fancy hair won't mind it too much.

So Billy acts on the impulse.

It's a tiny splash. Really very minuscule. Aimed and precise for the minimum impact upon the sitting duck target. But water is water. Nobody can tell tears from pool water.

"You were thinking too hard." He places the excuse on the table, sinking lower into the water, comfortable in this strange company. Even if the guy seems to be at the end of his rope. There's something about him. Like a dream you don't want to forget. "I could see the smoke. Had to cool you down."

The water is warm and yet is still enough of a shock to force Steve's eyes to open.

His first instinct is to protest, say something about the action being rude and uncalled for. Stand up and leave, most likely.

But what he sees in Billy's face — hears in his voice — is enough to give him a moment's pause. To truly appreciate the action for the small kindness it is.

This time when the tears dribble down his cheeks in quiet drops, he has something to hide them behind.

“You really think you're funny, huh?”

And if his voice is a little too wet to be considered normal, they don't have to talk about it.

"I'm hilarious," Billy says as he sinks a little lower into the water, mostly to hide his smug grin, but in part to hide away. "The girl gang that lets me tag along sometimes says so."

“Of course you are.” Steve rolls his eyes, using his fingers to brush back his mostly dry hair. He should probably wash the chlorine out of his hair before going to bed or it would be stiff come morning.

“Is that why you're trying to become a prune? For maximum fun effect?”

“Nah,” Billy waves off the prune comment. He’s hardly started his routine. Pool time ain’t over until everything has that post-workout burn and his stomach begs for food. Makes time easier to keep that way. “I just like to swim.”

Just like Tony Hawk likes to skateboard, he supposes, but understating his profession like this is one of the best parts of the job. Gotta get your kicks when you find them.

“Why? Got something against prunes?” He laughs, “They just want to help you. Healthy stomach, and all.”

“Not particularly, but they do remind me of my Nonna. She likes her prunes.” Another shrug, this time easier. Easy banter is much better than worrying about that little envelope sitting on his coffee table.

The tears have stopped too, the contacts itching slightly against his eyes. Probably from the mix of salt and chlorine. Thankfully, his cardigan is mostly dry and he takes it off to use it as a makeshift towel.

“Is that why you're always here at weird hours? You some sort of pool cryptid or something?”

“That’s only step one of my master plan.”

Billy likes the sound of pool cryptid. Sounds a lot more mysterious and fun than what he’s actually doing, which is training until he drops so the nightmares won’t kick up.

A snort, loud and sudden leaves Steve at that, straining a little in his throat. Mom would say it's undignified. Dad would say it's ugly. He doesn't particularly care either way.

“And pray tell, what would step two entail? Flooding the city?”

Cute laugh, Billy thinks briefly surprised. Much better than seeing the guy choke back tears. Let's see if he can't instigate a bit more of that amusement. It's bound to taste better than the misery the brunette wanted to wallow in.

"What kind of water-based supervillain do you take me for?" Billy, mock-miffed, places a hand over his heart and huffs. "That's so silver-age comics. And you're not even my henchman. Why should I tell you anything about my master plan?"

A finger taps at his chin, seemingly thinking hard about his answer. Steve's not particularly well versed in comics but Dustin’s done his best to keep him on the smallest of loops.

He no longer mixes Superman with Captain America, at least.

“Fair point. You don't have the looks to pass off as Aquaman.” Steve purses his lips, offering his best apologetic doe-eyed look. Although he's definitely bluffing because if there's anybody out there who could give Aquaman a run for his money it would be Billy. “And who says I couldn't be your henchman?”

"Did you fill out the paperwork?"

Everyone knows bureaucracy is the lungs of evil. Or something like that. Sue him, he was never great with metaphors on the fly.

“Honey, if I wanted to fill paperwork I wouldn't have taken modeling as a career.”

It's an exaggeration for the most part. Steve's too used to poking fun about himself these days that it doesn't sting as bad as it used. Not too much.

Billy cocks his head and lets the loaded sentence drop and drift away.

"Then guess you can't be a henchman."

“I can make killer margaritas, though.”

“I don’t really drink too much.” The nightmares get worse when he’s anything but sober. It’s better to be exhausted. It’s the easiest way. “Medication reasons.”

A little white lie that’s hardly a lie, he really shouldn’t drink with his ADHD meds, but who ever listens to that rule? Nah. Only when it suits him.

“Model thing explains your hair though. Glad we solved that mystery.”

“Fair.” Steve offers a smile, crooked and a little pinched at the edges but a smile nonetheless. “I’m not supposed to either. Nutritionist's orders.”

To be fair, he's not supposed to be drinking at all. Smoking too. It's a little hard not to indulge every once in a while, though.

The model comment surprises him. There's a billboard with his face just a few blocks down from this apartment complex. He can see it from his room. How has this guy not recognized him?

It's surprisingly refreshing.

“Hm? Oh no, the model thing has nothing to do with my hair. That's just personal taste.”

Now that Billy cares to look, Steve’s face is achingly familiar. Oh, the trials and tribulations of having attention issues. At least there’s a better reason for the weird familiarity than must just have one of those faces.

“Can’t relate.” He’s not particularly attached to any bodily feature of his. It’s a side effect, he’s told. Reassured. It's just a consequence, and nothing more. “Doing things with hair? Nah. Sounds too complicated.”

“Sounds like the kind of thing a pool cryptid would say.” There’s a story behind Billy's words. Something missing, hidden skin deep. Steve hopes the light jab helps diffuse that somewhat.

“What are you, a cop?” Billy smirks, and because he is the pinnacle of maturity, he dips under the water with an obnoxious splash.

“Asshole” Steve hisses, droplets dribbling down his bangs and into the cardigan bunched up in his lap.

With a sigh, he forces himself to get up. Might as well take that shower now.

Billy surfaces, still grinning, because even if the guy looks pissed at him, that means he’s not stewing in the past with his soon-to-be-married exes and the Hercules-class weight of baggage that relationship caused.

“Guys by the pool get splashed. No matter what time it is or how cute they are. Cryptid rules.” His smirk it's wide, tip of his tongue between his teeth. "If you weren’t prepared to get wet, then why’d you come?”

Steve shrugs, doing his best to ignore that peek of a pink tongue. “The local cryptid makes for good conversation.”

“So you’ve been watching me?” Billy makes a little show of floating back, caught in thought. “I don’t know how I feel about spectators.”

“I can stop.” Painfully honest. If Billy really wants him to, Steve would stop. He would prefer not to, though.

“Nah. I’m only pulling your leg.” Billy returns to the pool’s edge. Rests his cheek on the edge, looking up at pretty boy model Steve.

“Things get too quiet sometimes.”

Steve hums softly in agreement, feeling relief ease itself back into his bones. He would have stopped, yes, but he wouldn't have particularly liked the prospect of it.

“You come here every day? Or have I just happened to stumble in on the days you're around?”

"Almost every day. Sometimes I take this side-show to other pools." Billy cracks his best Han Solo roguish smile, levies it against Steve's still too flat smile. "Gotta keep the government guessing sometimes, you know."

“Of course, wouldn't want to get caught and all that.” A yawn gets past Steve's lips, startling him. He hadn't registered how tired he was. “I’ll keep that in mind, for next time.”

“Thank you.” Quieter. Softer. Barely above a whisper but loud enough in the gentle silence of the pool.

It comes just as soft. It's almost tender, really, as the word casts across the water and tile and the near-lonely pool.

"Anytime."

---

The next time Steve visits, it's once again 3 AM but he makes the mistake (is it really a mistake?) to bring a tin of sugar cookies with him.

"Oh shit, are you sharing, or is this all to tease me?"

Steve is sitting by one of the benches, already halfway through a cookie. “Come out here and find out.”

Billy narrows his eyes, lips pulled into a thin frown.

"Fool me once." He waggles a single warning finger and doesn't even really bother to dry off as he drags himself out of the pool to plop down on the floor next to Steve and steal into the snacks.

There are enough cookies for both of them stuffed neatly in a tin container. It's awfully pretentious according to Dustin, but then again Steve's Nonna always said cookies tasted better stored that way.

“I'm not mean enough to just eat while you watch. Yet, at least.”

"Oh just wait until you know me better." Billy chirps, shoving two into his mouth, wholesale and choking a bit.

"Robin and Carol would do that in a heartbeat."

“They probably would have a good reason too.” Steve teases, watching with amused eyes as Billy almost chokes. They are just sugar cookies he managed to scrounge up with whatever was in his kitchen. Nothing that good.

“Easy there tiger, cookies ain't going anywhere.”

"You have no idea how hungry I always am."

Steve blinks, surprised. The words come out before he has a chance to truly think them over. “I’m a good cook.”

"Prove it." It's out of Billy's mouth before he can take it back, but on second thought, he doesn't really want to. Steve's good company, or at least he has been so far.

And he hasn't had a nightmare since.

Good omens.

“You're kind of choking on the proof right now.” Maybe it comes out a little lighter, a little too surprised.

That's fine. Whatever this thing is, it doesn't seem like too bad of a chance to take.

“But if you need some more convincing, I can offer dinner too.”

Wheezing, but recovering, Billy grins up at Steve but there's a hopeful spark in his blue eyes that wasn't there before. "Fuck yeah, gotta make sure it's not a fluke."

Steve offers him the thermos of coffee he had brought with him, suddenly too distracted by watching Billy drink to remember what he wanted to ask. “Uh... When are you free?”

"This Sunday, I think. Getting back from a rapids trip that I shouldn't keep doing but like fuck am I gonna listen to other people for something dumb like my health."

“Is it like, you could die type of thing or just one of those things doctors say we should stop doing and everyone ignores? Because dead people don't particularly eat.”

"I do dumb shit because regular training gets boring and people who actually like me have to put up with it." Billy waves a dismissive hand. "But that's what it takes to get me moving on schedule so. Yeah."

It drives his coach insane because doing his reps in real rivers with real currents isn't exactly... well. It's not what everyone else does for training and given that he has passed out mid-stroke before, he can't even say the risk is just the current. But he knows that upstate rivers like the back of his hand.

Yeah, life would be way easier if he didn't have ADHD, less doctor's notes for the cause of amphs in his piss, but it would also be super boring and he'd be even more traumatized, probably. And that would suck.

Steve thinks of Indiana, and a bat full of nails. Of cliff diving at the quarry, drunk on stolen bourbon and tasting cheap cigarettes. Of the Auris with his slew of dancers most of who he's shared a bed with more than once.

He thinks he has some experience with the whole doing dumb shit just to get his schedule moving.

"I will take your word for it then." Hums, thinking back to his schedule and what he has paged in for Sunday. There was that casting thing Adam wanted him to do but it was morning. "I should be free on Sunday. Any allergies I should account for?"

“None that I know of.” Spoken cheerfully

“Great. Gives me more to work with.” And this time when he smiles, it's the most honest he's offered since they met.

---

When he finds it again, it is entirely on accident.

Adam had scheduled a trip to California for a gig, something about a new summer line of wetsuits and surfboards this company wanted him to advertise. It was a big opportunity and it was good cash too, of course so Steve wasn't going to question why they thought it a good idea to present a summer line in the middle of august. But as usual, he had forgotten to pack his suitcases until the night before, and now he was left to scramble around his apartment searching for his stuff.

So when he finds the lavender envelope buried under a few recipe books and a hoodie, still unopened, he doesn't think much about it and opens it. It's only when he's staring at the date stenciled in black calligraphy under Nancy's and Jonathan's name that he realizes what he's looking at.

Oh right. Those two were getting married.

The familiar ache in his chest is still there, but it's muted enough that he's surprised. Between canceling his exclusive membership at the Auris, and his relationship with Billy coming out to the media, he had sort of forgotten all about the wedding.

Maybe...

Grabbing his phone from the bed, he shoots his boyfriend a quick text.

How do you feel about being my plus one to my exes' wedding?

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Out Tonight (Part 4)

<- Part 3 | Part 5 ->

Summary:  The morning after your drunken hookup with Rafael Barba, continued. More awkwardness and unpacking the dubcon.

3,294 words

You had been nervous waking up next to a stranger. You knew you’d both been drunk, and caught up in a karaoke dream. Now that the night’s carefree energy had worn off, and the glamorous glow of stage lights were replaced by the garish light of day, you were worried things would be awkward.

Of course, you had pictured something more along the lines of, he would think you were ugly, or you would freeze up and blurt something stupid, or he’d slip his wedding ring out of his pocket, put it back on his finger, and smack you on the ass as he swaggered out, and you’d feel like an idiot.

You had not expected the shitstorm of him not remembering anything.

He was drunk, but with the way he was spouting off legal advice, you would never have imagined he was blackout drunk. You never imagined waking up to being accused of drugging him. God—this was what you got for letting loose for once. It always seemed so glamorous when your college roommates brought guys home after a night of partying, but of course the one time you do, you’re a sexual predator. Fuck!

Then again, it was starting to make sense. Because immediately after accusing you, he practically tried to arrest himself. The open, flirtatious charmer you met at the bar was so unlike this tightly-wound ball of anxiety, he must have been down to his last brain cell last night. It was just that each and every one of his brain cells happened to contain the entire New York bar exam.

But that didn’t make you a predator, did it? He was fine. Maybe not fine, but not… It wasn’t like he was unconscious. Oh, god, was that really how low you wanted to set the bar? It’s fine to take advantage of drunk people so long as they haven’t passed out yet? Or so long as they’re men? Your stomach turned. Everything he said about filing charges against him… suddenly you were certain you were the one who should be standing in front of a grand jury.

***

Barba waved the compact hotel-provided blow dryer over his freshly washed and rung out boxers. His pants and shirt would need to be ironed before he would dare leave the hotel room (it was bad enough that he had none of his usual hair product and was already dreadfully fuzzy), but the large ironing board wouldn’t fit inside the small hotel bathroom. He would have to go back out there, but he didn’t have a change of pants. He wondered if would be appropriate to walk around in just his boxers. You had already seen him naked, he supposed. Maybe. He didn’t really know what happened between you, but it seemed a bit late to be feeling shy.

Then again, he still could not be certain he wasn’t the one who pushed himself on you. As he got into the shower, he had smelled you on his fingers, and the scent was so intoxicating he had to stop himself from licking them. A little clip of memory returned, your lips warm and inviting against his, the taste of your tongue, his hips rolling desperately against yours, and he realized what that feeling was that he could not quite place. It was attachment: a deep, carnal, passionate, bond. Probably the product of oxytocin or… pheromones? Some lizard-brain part of him had developed an irresistible need for you.

It wouldn’t be unusual for a victim in your situation to act friendly toward her abuser, if you hadn’t fully processed yet. If he had taken advantage of a drunk woman at a bar, he certainly had no desire to traumatize you further by strutting around half naked.

He put on his toasty boxers and mostly-clean undershirt, and knocked at the bathroom door, poking his head out into the room, eyes averted. “Sorry to ask, but do you have a pair of sweatpants that might fit me?”

There was a flash of movement, and a loud sniff as you jolted up into a sitting position. He looked up, and noticed you hadn’t moved from the spot on the bed where he had left you, and you were facing away from him, rubbing your eyes.

“I… I might have something,” you said, trying to hide the waver in your voice.

Without thinking he rushed out, closing the distance in three steps, then stood awkwardly by the side of the bed, suddenly aware that he had no idea what to do. “Are… are you OK?” he asked. A knot tightened in his stomach. It was him, wasn’t it? You must have remembered something he did.

Your big eyes looked up at him, red and glistening with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you whimpered.

Oh. He dropped onto the bed beside you, staring at his lap.

“I didn’t think you were… You wanted it so much! You didn't seem…. But you were. God, you were crying! You hugged me at the bar and cried into my shirt, I should have known you were in a vulnerable place. I took advantage of you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to—what do I do to make this right? Are you going to press charges? I’ll do what you said you would, I’ll plead guilty.”

His lizard-brain had the strong impulse to pull you into his arms and tell you it was all alright. His lawyer voice answered automatically, “There’s no case. You committed no crime in New York State if I consented at the time, so long as I was not drugged against my will. Which you… didn’t?” he hazarded a guess. “Even if there was a sexually based offense here—a male victim and female defendant? No jury would ever convict you. The D.A. wouldn’t touch it without ironclad proof of wrongdoing.”

“Th-that’s not the issue! And that’s terrible!”

“It’s… the system,” he gave a commiserating shrug. “Justice has never been blind.”

“But if I hurt you…” You fell silent, and were quiet for awhile, not sure what to say, or do. His words were not exactly comforting, but they weren’t condemning either. You were more confused than ever.

“If you want to make it up to me, start by lending me some pants?” he asked with a smirk that was somewhere between rakish and about-to-die-of-embarrassment, dragging a corner of the blanket over his lap.

***

A tiny cloud of steam puffed from the clothing iron as Barba methodically pressed the appropriate creases back into his dress pants while smoothing the unwanted wrinkles out. His ejaculate had not left a permanent stain, and, vain as it was to admit, that had him feeling significantly relieved about the entire situation. That, and vomiting his guts out, taking an aspirin, and downing several cups of bad coffee from the coffee maker.

“Alright,” he said, taking his eyes off the iron just long enough to give you a probing look where you sat, cross-legged on the bed, “Walk me through everything that happened last night. Step by step.”

His gaze, though brief, was intense, like you were a witness for the defense and he was ready to poke holes in anything less than the full and complete truth. Yet it was harder to be intimidated now that he was wearing your pink and blue plaid Vermont Flannel pajamas, looking very domestic in front of an ironing board. And since you had noticed his pink heart socks that matched the color of his tie.

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

The flash of memory of your warm lips sprang, unwanted, into the forefront of his mind. He pushed it away, and dug further back. “The McCaskey trial ended. Everyone took the verdict hard.” His lip twitched but he restrained himself from saying aloud that it was all his fault. Nobody needed a pity-party. “Everyone else had their own Friday plans, so I went out to drink alone. Don’t give me that look, I drink alone all the time.”

The look you were giving intensified.

“OK, I see how that sounded worse. I drink moderately. I have never done anything like...” He lifted the iron and used it to gesture to the entire waking-up-drunk-in-a-strange-hotel-room situation. His brow knit as he tried to peer deeper into his memory, but everything grew dream-like from there. “I need to know how this happened.”

“Do you remember singing?” you prompted.

“I sang?”

“We did half the soundtrack of RENT.”

“Dear lord…” In his stunned embarrassment, he stopped moving the iron and nearly burned his pants, jerking the iron up at the last second.

“You have a beautiful voice,” you smirked, suddenly quite enjoying his bewilderment.

“Oh god,” he moaned woefully.

He folded his pants and set them aside on the chair with his jacket, which also needed a bit of care, but would suffice enough for the walk of shame back home. He spread his rumpled dress shirt on the ironing board.

The thin fabric of his undershirt stretched over his chest, so that every movement showed off the working of robust muscles. Its low cut neck revealed a swath of dark chest hair. The overall effect made you fight with your inner voice not to run your hands all over him.

“Anything coming back?” you asked hopefully, but he only glanced up and shrugged. They say music has a profound connection to memory, so you risked singing a few bars. “What’s the time? Well it’s gotta be close to midnight...”

At first he just gave a wry little chuckle, focusing on ironing his shirt. Then his head snapped up, eyes focused far beyond the wall of the hotel room.

“They set up karaoke in my bar?” He set the hot iron aside as his mind worked over this bizarre realization as you nodded your head, confirming it was not some weird dream he had. He covered his shameful face with a large hand, pinching the tension building in the bridge of his nose. His eyes darted down at you between his fingers. “We sang together,” he breathed. He raked his hand slowly down the length of his face. As his palm brushed over his lips, the sensation of yours came back to him again: a supple, giving pressure, your tongue wet and eager and sweet like strawberry. A racing, fluttering in his heart made his breathing hitch. He felt sweaty.

He was just breathing now, staring down at you with such intensity in those leaf-green eyes, the urge to run your hands down his chest returned. But it was more than that. For the first time since you woke up, his eyes were looking at you with something like recognition. You almost glimpsed the friend you’d made, the one whose absence you’d been feeling like a hole in the gut. Then he shook his head, and it was gone.

“Tell me what happened next,” the prosecutor said.

***

The Rafael Barba of this morning was much more like what you’d expect a big-shot city lawyer to be. Now that you had seen him sober it was obvious how drunk he was already before he got up to sing. Everything you told him turned his face and his neck a new shade of red.

By the time you finished the story, he had finished ironing and changed back in to everything but his jacket and tie. He sat down next to you on the bed, his weight sinking into the mattress so you had to resist gravity not to lean into him.

“So we didn’t have sex?”

“No. I could tell you were too drunk to consent. You just fingered me. I probably shouldn’t have let you get in my pants at all, but I… I guess I really wanted to.” You blushed and your head fell, trapped between wanting to savor the delicious memory and ashamed of your conduct.

He groaned, pressing his lips thin into a tense but smug smirk. “Legally? Everything about that statement is wrong. New York law states that someone who becomes drunk voluntarily is not deemed mentally incapacitated to give consent.”

“I know. You’ve said that twice already. What’s legal isn’t always the same as what’s right.”

His bright eyes sparkled when you said that. “Agreed. But irrelevant,” he brushed off your interruption. “For the purposes of determining criminal sexual assault, New York law also does not distinguish between penetration by penis, finger, or foreign objects. In other words—if, hypothetically, New York changed its laws regarding intoxication and consent—I would be guilty of raping you.” He said it in his callous, matter-of-fact voice, then after thinking about the weight behind his conclusion, looked as if his head might explode. His eyes fell across the marks still visible above your collar. “The way you tell it...” he began hesitantly, low and shamed, “It sounds like I’m the one who got drunk and pushed myself on you.”

“No!” you cried immediately, with a force that startled you both, and aggravated your headaches. "You didn’t push. If I said no, you would have stopped… I checked,” you added with a small laugh.

He exhaled in relief. “Really?” he raised a soft brow with a bit more blond in it than his hair.

“Yep. You’re quite the gentleman, even blackout drunk. That’s why I didn’t think you were…” You trailed off.

“Well. It’s good to know there are lines I won’t cross.”

Your hands were folded tightly in your lap. He was hunched over with his chin buried deep in his fist. You opened your mouth to speak, but he spoke first, and you apologized at the same time for talking over each other.

“You first,” he said.

“I just… I’m sorry, Rafael. Mr. Barba? I don’t…” you sighed, and gave him a weary smile. “Last night was a lot of fun. We had fun together. I liked getting to know you. I’m sorry it turned into such a shit show. I should have just gotten your number and said goodnight.”

“I don’t know which one of us to blame,” he said with finality. You looked so helpless and small, the fierce urge to protect you welled in his chest. He hated to think of you carrying guilt over his own stupid mistakes. “I don’t blame you.” He reached an arm behind you to pat your back, but his hand froze, shaking, without making contact. He didn’t know how you’d feel about him touching you.

You leaned into the open space his arm created, turning your head into his shoulder in a side-hug. The primal impulse fighting him for control screamed in victory, taking in the smell of your hair and relishing it. His hand patted your upper back stiffly, three times, like a good soldier obeying conscious, sober, higher-brain Barba. You pulled back and stammered an apology, cheeks darkening.

“Well. Then.” He stood suddenly, swallowing. He bustled about the room collecting his things, touching up his hair, getting ready to leave.

***

You leaned against the wall by the door, waiting to say goodbye, debating and mentally practicing the words you wanted to say. Finally, he stood in the narrow entryway, and you had your chance.

“Hey. Maybe this is too forward, but… do you want to hang out again?” you asked, eyes having trouble deciding whether they wanted to gaze deep into his or avoid him entirely and stare at the ground.

“What could be forward about a date after this?” he shot you a look from under his eyebrows. “The fact that I would remember it?”

Ground. Your eyes made up their mind; you stared doggedly at the ground hoping it might open up and drop you eleven stories to merciful death on the lobby floor.

“It’s nothing personal,” he began buttoning up his jacket, “it’s just… this was a mistake. I do not have time to be frolicking about like a sophomore at a liberal arts school. I let myself get out of control. Whoever you met last night is not who I am.” He tugged the jacket to straighten it for emphasis, though all the while his heart was fighting against the bounds of his rib cage. You looked so downtrodden. Apparently you had a wonderful, magical time singing musical theater karaoke with his drunk alter-ego, and in less than an hour sober he had already made you cry once, and seemed poised to do it again. “You don’t know me,” he sighed. “I know you even less. I doubt you would like me very much.”

“But maybe I would,” you said, finally returning his gaze with fragile determination. “I’d like to at least get to know you sober. To see if this… meant anything. I don’t want to believe this was all a mistake, that everything I felt—that I thought you felt, too—was a lie. I don’t know if you’ll like me, either, but how do you ever get to know anyone if you don't give getting to know them a chance?”

His jaw tightened with the obvious answer that he didn’t. Barba had work, and he had his lonely Scotch at his usual bar (which it now looked like he might have to replace if it was turning into a karaoke dive).

“Aren’t you lonely, Mr. Barba?” you asked, as if reading his mind.

“No,” he said tersely, but then softened his answer, “My work keeps me too busy for relationships. I don’t have the time.”

“Is there no room in your schedule for one date? I’m not asking for a relationship, just… a half hour to do something fun. I feel awful about how bad this was for you. I just want to leave you with something to remember me by… that you’ll actually remember.”

He did have more fun with you than he’d had in years. Even from the handful of scrambled memories that came back to him, he could tell that much—how good it felt to let go and belt out songs he only ever sang in the shower, to have a partner singing back to him, completely in sync with each other. He remembered babbling on about laws, and you patiently listening like it was actually interesting and not obnoxious. As you fidgeted nervously awaiting his answer, you added a coy, “¿Por favor?” and his mind filled in por favor, papi. It brought with it another snippet of memory. A song you were singing, together, your beautiful eyes looking right into his, pleading. “The heart may freeze, or it can burn.”

He grumbled and shifted feet. “I have a lot of prep for my next case, but I should be finished with it by nine,” he said. His tone was so flat and sharp it took you a long moment to realize what he meant. “If you want to… have dinner.”

You beamed ear to ear, pushing off from the wall to bounce on your toes so vibrantly you made yourself nauseous and had to stand still. Then your face fell. “Ah—you mean tonight? I can’t tonight, I’m going to Hamilton with my parents. How about tomorrow? I’m getting dim sum with a friend at Radiance. She’s bringing her girlfriend so I’ll be a total third wheel if I don’t have a date.”

“You want to bring the stranger from your drunken hookup to lunch date with an old friend?” he grimaced. “Won’t that be, I don’t know, awkward?”

“Oh, incredibly. But we can lean into that, for fun, and science!” you grinned dangerously.

“How about breakfast,” he offered. “Coffee?”

“Coffee would be great.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba  @caked-crusader @itsjustmyfantasyroom@thatesqcrush @dianilaws @permanentlydizzy@eclecticreader2020  @mrsrafaelbarba @da-po 

[alwaysmychoices]

Contamination

Here is my Chapter 10 rewrite. I hope I did it justice.

Synopsis: When Charlie makes a chilling discovery about Senator Farrugia’s illness, lives are put at risk...

Chapter 16 of the “With and Without” series

Previous Series: “A Weekend with Dr. Ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 4.7k

Rating: T (language)

That morning, the sun was bright. The world was good, and Charlie was happy.

Ethan woke her with a kiss and an offer of coffee, but she refused and bought a steaming cup from the coffee shop a block from the hospital. Before her shift began, she cozied up in Kyra’s hospital room, and together, they laughed like they didn’t fear it would be the last time.

“So, what did you get up to last night?” Kyra asked, eyeing Charlie’s latte with envy, “And if you tell me you watched Netflix from your bed, you need a better life.”

“I actually didn’t go home last night,” Charlie admitted cheekily, and to her delight, Kyra reacted with scandalized enthusiasm.

“You’re kidding?” Kyra leaned closer, eager for every little detail, “You have to tell me everything.”

Charlie would have – even who it was with – but she didn’t get the opportunity. Her gossip stood no chance against Bryce’s authority.

“It’s time,” he announced, knocking on the door belatedly with a solemn stare. He was smiling, but it was more resolved than happy. He was ready for surgery, not goodbye.

Charlie promised herself not to cry, so she hid her flash of concern in the act of straightening her white coat. Her eyes were sad as she took Kyra in, but she refused to say a word. Kyra was ready, and Charlie didn’t feel right adding any crack in her armor. She loved her friend enough to take a deep breath, smile, and hug her good luck.

“Give me all the sordid details tonight,” Kyra demanded.

“Every single one,” Charlie affirmed, “Even the parts you don’t want to know.”

This made Kyra laugh, and that was enough for Charlie to feel compelled to keep her promise.

As Charlie walked out of the hospital room, she came to Bryce’s side, and in all seriousness, she said, “Take care of her, Lahela.”

“If I mess up, the only person that will hate me more than you would be me,” Bryce gave a single, concerned glance in Kyra’s direction. It was the only one he allowed himself for the day, and once it was over, he assumed his bravado by adding, “Besides, look at me. I don’t even know how to make a mistake.”

Charlie rolled her eyes, but she felt safer with Kyra in his care. She wished them both a bit of final good luck and a goodbye, and then she walked out.

And as she walked away, despite everything, she felt light – like everything would be okay, like this story had a happy ending.

It was the last time she would feel that way for a long time.

Charlie started her shift with rounds and scheduled her patients so that she could squeeze in time to check on Kyra’s surgery from the observation room. She wasn’t even thinking of Senator Farrugia when Danny approached her.

There wasn’t much to think about. After Charlie discovered his lead poisoning, her most difficult patient was finally off the agenda. Instead of bothering the diagnostics team with questions or observations, he stayed in his hospital room, making calls, taking interviews, and answering emails. He was so busy trying to monopolize the publicity that his difficulty manifested in his refusal to follow his treatment plan if it didn’t suit his schedule for the day. Listening to him work made Charlie’s stomach churn. Every day he stayed in Edenbrook was another day that he exposed a new, corrupt facet to his personality. More than once, Charlie and Ethan stood outside his door, wondering if stealing him from Mass Kenmore was worth it.

“Charlie?” Danny approached her, a test result in his hand, “I have the results from Senator Farrugia’s paint samples. You marked them as urgent.”

Charlie briefly abandoned her charts to accept the results, but when she read them, her face twisted with confusion.

“Are you sure these are the right results?” Charlie asked distractedly, reading the paper over and over again as if it would change the contents.

“I double-checked,” Danny affirmed, wearing a matching look of bewilderment, “They’re right… I don’t know how, but those paint samples tested negative.”

That wasn’t the answer Charlie wanted, but she trusted Danny too much to doubt him.

If it wasn’t the paint, what could be poisoning Senator Farrugia?

Charlie thanked Danny. With a heavy sigh, she collected her charts and walked to the diagnostic’s office for further research.

So much for her break…

Charlie didn’t know where to start, so when she logged on to the computer, she ran a general search for the senator. She flagged anything about trips or notable habits, looking for any clue of contamination. Most of this information had already been studied during their preliminary search, but at that time, they weren’t looking for lead. Even under the new lens, she was able to throw out most of the news stories.

The further she went, the less clear it became.

Senator Farrugia lived in a new, high-end condo in D.C. The area had no reported lead problem, and the building was too new for lead paint or lead pipes. She had already called up all of his regular haunts in the capital, and none had any helpful information. His life in Massachusetts was limited to his office, his home, and the farmer’s market he frequented for publicity. None were insightful.

She searched the internet until Farrugia’s name had the title Mayor preceding it.

 Charlie stumbled on a story from a decade earlier, when 3 died from lead pipes poisoning the water supply. She made a note to test his pipes in his home, and she clicked on the article for more information.

That was when she saw the photo of 13-year-old Jonathan Perry. The young boy was smiling for his school picture, all braces and excitement. He was the youngest victim of the lead poisoning, and there was something eerily similar about his pale skin and thin features. And the name…

Perry.

Like Travis.

On a hunch, Charlie googled Jonathan Perry. There wasn’t much to find – his old social media page, which was full of messages of condolences after his death, a news story about his middle school soccer team’s victory at state, and an obituary. She clicked on the sparse obituary. In lieu of flowers, the family requested donations for the local children’s hospital. They also used the same school photo as the newspaper article used.

Charlie skimmed the article, making an effort to remain doubtful.

But she knew.

She knew before she even read the last sentence.

“Jonathan Perry is survived by his parents – Deborah and Samuel Perry – and an older brother, Travis.”

Charlie’s blood ran cold, and she read the sentence again.

The second the thought – the horrible, terrible suspicion – crept in, Charlie jumped up and rushed to the senator’s room.

Charlie spent years reliving these moments. All in all, it was ten minutes at most, but they were replayed so many times that each second was accounted for. Charlie found every “what if” until they each tortured her.

What if she hadn’t rushed in? What if she had waited? What if she called Ethan and asked him what to do?

What if she just let Senator Farrugia die?

Would her friends still be alive?

Would she still be haunted?

But on that day, at that moment, she had none of those thoughts.

She just needed to get to Travis before something terrible happened.

Outside of Senator Farrugia’s hospital room, she found Bobby Gunderson, the security guard, talking with Raf about his upcoming move to Brazil. They were happy. They wouldn’t be once she spoke to them.

“Have you seen the senator’s assistant? Travis?” Charlie interrupted their conversation frantically. She looked between them both for a reply, though Bobby was really the only one who knew Travis. He had been assigned to Senator Farrugia off and on for the last week, and his dislike for the senator was matched by his disinterest in Travis. He never laughed at Bobby’s jokes, and Bobby took that as a sign of flawed character.

Bobby, understandably, was the one to answer Charlie. He looked startled by her, and she began to wonder if her anxiety was visible.

How could it not be?

She was on her way to confront an attempted murderer. She wasn’t prepared for this. She was terrified of being too late but also facing him at all.

“He’s inside with the senator,” Bobby replied, hoping that he would get an explanation in return. She didn’t immediately offer one.

“The weasel-looking guy? He was acting weird,” Raf chimed in, equally concerned by Charlie’s strange demeanor. He knew her well enough to know that he had never seen her like this.

He’s inside.

Charlie’s heart rate accelerated. The blissful morning turned sour, and every passing second felt more serious, the consequences direr. The stakes were higher now. Charlie felt young and inexperienced as she tried to do all the right things.

Nothing prepared her for this. She suspected a man of poisoning her patient. This was a man she had known for weeks, one that she had commiserated with over long nights working on Farrugia’s case. He seemed friendly and helpful. Now, he was dangerous. And he was on the other side of the door, potentially close to another murder attempt.

The moment she heard that Travis was inside, she started walking to the door. Panic clouded her vision until all she saw was Travis and the senator and that door. Turning to Bobby, she said, “Bobby, we need to call the police for a suspected poisoning and attempted murder of a public official.”

Bobby’s face dropped, and wordlessly, he joined her as they barreled for Senator Farrugia’s door. He radioed the call in immediately.

As Charlie twisted the handle, she didn’t notice Raf walk in with them. For a long time, she wondered if she would have stopped him if she would have noticed, but she likely wouldn’t have. And even if she had told him to stay away, he wouldn’t have listened.

The hospital room was calm and quiet, save for Ed Farrugia’s typing on his keyboard. Danny was at the end of the bed, perusing Ed’s chart and making notes in the top corner. Travis was closer to the senator, standing right next to Ed’s bed as he fished through a backpack Charlie had never seen before.

Once the door opened, Charlie’s anxious energy flooded the room, and all three looked to the group in surprise. Everyone was looking at them, but Travis’s eyes stayed on Charlie.

“Dr. Greene?” Danny asked, confusion evident in his voice.

“What’s going on?” Farrugia echoed, pausing his typing.

Charlie didn’t look to either of them because she never dropped Travis’s stare. She watched realization dawn on him, and his brown eyes filled with understanding. He almost seemed to revel in it, like he wanted to stop hiding. Like a curtain falling to reveal the light, cruelty was exposed, and it made Charlie shiver.

At that moment, she had no doubts about Travis.

She knew he was guilty, and she knew he was dangerous.

“Mr. Perry, we would like to speak to you. If you come with us, we can resolve this quickly,” Bobby’s voice was authoritative now. It was a little intimidating, even. Travis didn’t flinch.

“Dr. Greene, are you sure?” he was still looking at Charlie.

She felt disgusted by his attention. He made the question seem intimate, like they were in on some big secret. Never had her name sounded so vile.

“Officer Gunderson asked you to step away from the senator, Travis,” Charlie was firm and her gaze resolved. Travis’s face hardened.

“Why?” Ed asked incredulously. He didn’t like being kept in the dark, and he certainly didn’t like the tension in the room. He had a virtual interview in fifteen minutes, and he didn’t need the distraction.

Travis knew that he had been discovered, so with unreserved harshness, he turned to his long-time boss and answered, “Probably because I’ve been poisoning you.”

As angry as he looked, Travis seemed relieved with his admission. Ed gasped and instinctively jolted away from his aide as he mumbled a weak, “W… what?”

Bobby moved towards Travis just as Ed decided to get away from him. While the senator scrambled out of his bed and hurried towards the door, Bobby held out his hand, expecting to apprehend the young man as he said, “Alright, come with me…”

Travis didn’t even look at Bobby. All he saw was Farrugia running for the door.

In a wild panic, Travis reached inside of his bag to retrieve a black canister, and he brandished it as a weapon, pointing it to each and every person in the room as he demanded, “STOP!”

Everyone obeyed.

They had never seen a canister like that, but the way Travis held it commanded fear and trepidation. It appeared sinister, even from across the room.

Travis looked at them all but mainly Ed as he screamed, “Stand back! I mean it!”

Farrugia, who had almost escaped before Travis’s threat, took one cautious step in the direction of his aide. He didn’t come too close because he wanted the option to run. With his hands up in a pleading gesture, Farrugia urged Travis, “Travis… think about what you’re doing. Please…”

“Think about what I’m doing?” Travis repeated with disbelief, “What do you think I’ve been doing for all these years? From the moment we met, I’ve only been thinking of this.”

Travis waved the canister in Ed’s direction, eyes growing hard as his finger curled around the trigger.

“Travis!” Charlie interrupted, startling him just enough that his grip on the trigger lessened.

She couldn’t hear her thoughts for her heartbeat. She hardly remembered how to speak, let alone what to say. Her eyes kept drifting back to the canister, which was still dangerously aimed in her direction. She felt it watch her, like it was preparing for something horrid.

She felt everyone watch her.

And as Travis granted her his attention, the pressure prickled at her skin.

“This won’t bring your brother back,” Charlie said gently.

“You think I don’t know that?” Travis scoffed, “I will never get my brother back. I’ve lived with that since I was fifteen, and that knowledge destroyed my family. It destroyed my parents, and it destroyed me.”

His finger was back on the trigger, his hand shaking with the concentration needed to keep from pulling it. One slip and they would all find out what made Travis so confident in his weapon.

“Travis, let’s talk about this,” Charlie begged, refusing to look at the canister and instead looking for some sliver of humanity left in her opponent. If she could just find the right words, she could end this.

She could save everyone in this room.

She truly believed she could. Charlie believed in the world. She believed that tragedy and pain had an end. She believed that happy endings could be found if you worked hard enough.

She believed she would walk out of that room traumatized but otherwise unscathed.

She was wrong.

“No,” Travis refused, almost laughing at her, “There’s nothing to talk about. If I leave this room, I’m going to jail, which will be the end of it. And Dr. Greene, you don’t know the details of this story, but I’ll tell you how it ends. Ed Farrugia doesn’t survive.”

Travis surveyed the hospital room. He eyed Farrugia, who was just waiting to be out of his line of sight so he could run. Then, he looked to the four bystanders who had wandered into his plan.

“It’s unfortunate that four others will have to die as well,” Travis mused.

“It doesn’t have to end this way,” Charlie was shaking. Something was breaking inside of her. Maybe it was hope that they could leave this room, or perhaps it was faith in all that was good in the world. She begged for his humanity, but it felt too distant. “Please, you don’t want to hurt us. You don’t even know us. Travis, we have nothing to do with this. And you know you’ll regret it. Please.”

Travis offered a sympathetic shake of the head, “Charlie, you didn’t have to do this. You could have let him die. You know who he is. You know what he does. You know that his policies kill people. Don’t you see that you’re complicit? Not just in what I’m doing but in what he does!” Travis frowned in disgust, “You could have stayed quiet!”

“I couldn’t do that,” Charlie managed, fear gripping her so tight that even small words were shaky and uncontrolled.

She had lost control of herself. She had lost him, too.

Travis shrugged, “I hope your conscience is enough for you, then.”

Everyone knew they were in a final hour, that whatever was coming was so close that it breathed down their neck.

That was why Bobby stepped forward.

“Dr. Greene is right,” Bobby asserted, “Come with me before anyone gets hurt.”

And this was what Charlie lived a thousand times over – until she recounted the sound of Bobby’s step on the linoleum towards Travis and the inhale of Rafael to her side as he held his breath. It was never any less painful to experience the moment before it all unraveled. At best, it was numb. Today though, it was blisteringly agonizing.

Bobby reached for Travis, but his grip wasn’t strong enough. Travis pulled free, and without a thought or a word, he pulled the trigger on the canister. An aerosol gas released in a puff in Bobby’s face. There was a horrible, aching strangling sound as Bobby fell to his knees. He coughed violently, choking on the gas and his own breath. He gargled and thrashed in pain until he was on his back.

Charlie moved towards Bobby, but Danny made it there first. Instinctively, he pressed his fingers to Danny’s artery in his neck. An oily sheen covered Bobby and spread to Danny’s hands.

“Charlie, he’s going into cardiac arrest!” Danny yelled, already beginning the chest compressions.

They didn’t have time, and they didn’t have the equipment. Charlie belatedly realized that she was screaming into the hall for equipment, but she never finished the sentence. She was running to Bobby when she came face to face with Travis, who wielded the canister in her direction. She froze, the words dying on her lips.

“At least I’m not the only one with blood on my hands,” Travis sneered, and he began to pull the trigger.

In the split second before the gas was released, Charlie couldn’t move. There wasn’t time to run, not that she really thought to. Her vision was clouded with tears, but she could see the barrel pointed at her. And for it was worth, she accepted her fate.

She didn’t want to die, but she knew she would.

And for her last thought, she wished she had told Ethan that she loved him.

It wasn’t her last thought, though.

“Ahh!” Charlie cried as she was shoved to the side. She fell to the floor in an uncoordinated heap, and she looked up just in time to see Raf tackle Travis to the ground. They landed with a heavy thud, and Raf scrambled for the canister.

What followed was blind panic.

Gas filled the room as they fought for the canister. It spilled out of their grasp, and spinning in the middle of the room, it coated everyone but Charlie with a layer of oil. Charlie coughed as it infiltrated her lungs, burning and stabbing as it went.

Danny frantically tried to resuscitate Bobby as Raf fought to subdue Travis. Charlie, coughing through the mist, caught Farrugia sprint out of the room and heard Travis scream in response. The scream was guttural and garbled, and it was the worst noise she had ever heard.

Clambering to sit up, Charlie looked around the chaos and tried to find the place to help, but she couldn’t. She was startled still, watching as everything fell apart.

“What was that?” Raf demanded, slamming Travis against the wall.

“I don’t know!” Travis pulled free, only to vomit into the trashcan. Raf raged until he was consumed with a cough.

Danny’s efforts to save Bobby grew weak as both Bobby’s situation grew worse and Danny’s strength gave out. Danny pulled his hands away, examining them, and he breathlessly expressed his horror, “My… my hands are covered… I’m-I’m covered.”

Charlie shielded her eyes from the sight, tears streaming down her face as she hid from the terror and distress of her dear friend.

Her gaze landed on the door, and she knew what she had to do. Crawling on the linoleum, Charlie’s back was to the plight, but she felt it every second. It consumed her. It cemented her and demanded everything until she could give nothing. She couldn’t feel it now. She engrossed herself with her mission and shoved her trauma and her pain and her fear and her guilt out of her mind.

Charlie reached the door just as Ethan could be seen in the window. He walked towards the room with the innocence of a man who didn’t yet know that the world was ending.

Charlie wanted to run to him. She wanted him to save her.

But instead, she slammed the door closed.

Ethan’s confusion settled into surprise and concern, and with each step, he felt it mount. By the time he reached the door, he was terrified. He watched Charlie’s face – stained red from tears and eyes bloodshot. She shook, and he saw her ragged breath as she struggled against a burning cough.

And he pulled on the door handle, but she was holding it shut.

His Charlie.

His Charlie is not okay.

He pulled on the door harder, demanding to be let inside. He had no reasonable thought, only a visceral instinct to protect her and save her from whatever horrors were inside.

“What is going on?” Ethan pulled even harder, but she focused all of her strength in holding that damn door shut, “Let me in, Charlie!”

“Shut down the wing,” Charlie ignored the pain in his eyes. She ignored the way he stared. She ignored that he loved her, and she pretended she didn’t love him to spare herself.

If she opened the gates now, she didn’t know what would come out, and she didn’t know if she could do what needed to be done.

“Charlotte!” he jiggled the handle desperately, banging his hand on the wooden door like it might give way if he tried hard enough.

“Travis has tried to kill the senator with an unknown gas. We have no idea what it is, but Farrugia escaped,” Charlie felt empty as she tried to stay calm. Calm meant ignoring everything, yet she cried. She hesitated, and she almost cracked. She almost fell into the pit and lost herself in the sorrow as she said, “Bobby went into cardiac arrest after getting a blast of it to his face. Danny and Raf have been sprayed with it, and I breathed it in.”

Ethan stopped jiggling the handle, his hand slack.

He didn’t want to understand.

He wanted to break the fucking door down.

“We can’t risk it getting out of this room,” Charlie hadn’t lessened her grip on the door handle. She wasn’t sure if she could. She was bonded to her station. It was all she could do to maintain control.

It was all she could do to try and save someone.

Because the someone didn’t get to be her, or Bobby, or Danny, or Raf.

But it could be Ethan. It could be anyone on this hall.

She had blood on her hands, but it stained less if she could help someone else.

Ethan’s world slipped through his fingers, but he watched her instead. Everything – nor rather nothing… it was gone.

And he ached. He burned. He suffered.

He couldn’t remember kissing her in bed this morning and slipping her out of his apartment before his dad woke. He couldn’t remember making dinner with her or wandering Boston with Charlie on his arm and Jenner on a leash.

He only saw her now. Crying. Sick. And pushing him away.

“You’re right,” Ethan whispered breathlessly and helplessly.

He was broken, and she couldn’t look.

A sob was building in her chest – a body-wracking, heartbreaking, life-changing sob. She swallowed it and fought the air to keep breathing.

In the room, Danny and Travis were vomiting. Raf comforted Danny and glared at Travis. Bobby, perfectly still, was alone now.

Charlie found an air vent, and in it, she found her next distraction. With her back still turned to Ethan, she pointed to the vent and said, “Raf, I need your help to seal that!”

She opened every cupboard until she found plastic and tape, and Raf found a pair of scissors for her to cut it to size. Raf offered her a boost, and he lifted her up to tape it off. Once he let her down, she came face to face with him, and to her surprise, she wanted to scream at him.

She couldn’t believe how fucking irresponsible he had been! What the fuck did he think he was doing endangering himself like that? Why did he have to save her? Why?

But Danny was wheezing, and Charlie didn’t yell at Raf.

Charlie fell to Danny’s side as he leaned back against the hospital bed. His face was ashen white, and every breath was labored and pained. He tried to speak, but the effort was too hard. He only managed to say, “I… I don’t feel…” He paused, and his head fell back.

“It’s okay, Danny,” she whispered and took his pulse. It was weak and slow.

A lump formed in Charlie’s throat, and she squeezed Danny’s hand as she repeated, “It’s okay, Danny.” He weekly squeezed her back.

Charlie had to look away. When she eyed Bobby, she was on the edge of collapse. She felt everything and nothing, and one felt dangerously close to consuming her. Yet, hesitantly, she crawled in his direction.

Before she even touched him, she knew she wouldn’t find a pulse.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t heartbroken when it wasn’t there.

Raf followed her, and after a diligent attempt to find Bobby’s pulse, he grimaced.

They sat in silence, too many words to say to even begin speaking. The finality and grief were palpable.

They hadn’t saved Bobby, and they never would.

Charlie covered her mouth with her hand, holding her breath until the world might make sense again. It never did, and she exhaled in defeat.

Her limbs felt heavy, like a thousand atrocities now sat on them.

She was convinced that the world would never seem the same.

And she wanted to cry, but she didn’t. She couldn’t yet. Maybe not ever.

“Did you get much on you?” Raf asked finally, his eyes still on Bobby.

“Not much,” Charlie answered. She didn’t ask about Raf because she knew he was covered. He was relieved she didn’t mention it.

Charlie looked back to the window, where Ethan was on the phone. Behind him, she could see patients and employees evacuate, and she tentatively met his gaze. Face twisted with sorrow, Charlie nodded solemnly in Bobby’s direction.

Ethan understood, and it knocked the wind of out him.

Bobby was a good man. A colleague and a friend.

And he had been exposed to the same thing Charlie had.

His rookie. His Charlie. No.

Ethan pulled the phone away from his ear, and approaching the glass, he announced that the CDC was on their way.

“You’ll be okay, Charlie,” he promised, and trying not to panic, he affirmed, “All three of you. You’ll be alright.”

He said it because it had to be true.

It had to be.

He couldn’t lose Charlie, not like this. She couldn’t leave him when he’d just found her. This kind of thing doesn’t happen. And it doesn’t happen to her. It doesn’t!

And it won’t. And it won’t hurt her!

Anyone else but her.

He didn’t care if it was the senator. He was sad if it was a colleague. He was pained if it was a friend.

But it wasn’t her.

He didn’t know how to breathe. He didn’t know how to talk. He knew how to work, and he knew he needed to save her. That had to be enough.

His darling, wonderful Charlie.

He told her that she would be alright because it had to be true.

But Charlie didn’t believe him.

note: I probably should have spent more time working on this chapter, but it came out in one emotional sitting so I decided to share it.

tag list: 

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[touchmycoat]

svsss extraordinary you!AU

shoujo main lead Luo Binghe, the poor kid at Cang Qiong on a scholarship that only barely takes care of his ailing mother’s hospital fees, relentlessly bullied yet relentlessly optimistic

shoujo love interest Shen Qingqiu got looks got smarts got money, top of the school hierarchy, most prominent member of the school’s peak tier trio of heartbreakers, nicknamed, what, the Lords? the Immortals?

secondary love interest Yue Qingyuan also got looks got smarts got money, is the son of the school’s president, famously kind and super darling and popular. Mournfully plays the erhu in LBH presence a lot while SQQ steals LBH’s attention from him

B-plot male lead Liu Qingge, the grumpy pants of the peak lords but also gao fu shuai, son of corporate scion

B-plot love interest Shen Yuan, LQG’s fiancé who’s been pursuing him for ten years, but LQG hates his guts. Has a chronic heart condition that causes many convenient plot lines

One day Shen Yuan begins to grow increasingly aware of the weird page-flipping noises he hears, the gaps in his memory, the way he does things he doesn’t actually want to do, like weep in the middle of a courtyard after LQG snaps at him to stop following him around

Genre-savvy SY sees LBH being bullied, sees the Peak Lords, sees the way everybody immediately forgets any and all rude or “uncharacteristic” thing he says, and makes the educated deduction that he was in a shoujo manga. He’s bound by weird rules here, whether or not he wants to—he’ll always chase after LQG no matter how horrible the things LQG says to him are, he’ll always appear in tropey scenes to help forward the romantic plot line between SQQ and LBH

like when LBH gets locked in that bathroom stall! where did those random wet wipes in SY’s hand come from?? he helps LBH out, and keeps up this constant sighing litany of “oh you poor thing, suffering this shit writing, how many times will they shove you into a locker how many times will they beat you up, how many times will SQQ give you a random debt and demand you be his servant this is such BAD WRITING”

but LBH of course doesn’t remember any of it

as SY develops this habit of commentating on all the scenarios’ being shit, one day he suddenly enters a scene with the super busy school administrator Shang Qinghua, who hears him, and suddenly is all “!!!!!!!!!” and drags him aside

SQH is all “bro, oh my god you’re conscious thank god” and SY is like “??? who are you?” and SQH is all “You don’t remember???”

“What are you talking about?”

“Bro, we’re not from here. This isn’t our world. But thank god you’re awake, seriously, I’ve been so scared this whole time watching you all run around with your bullshit romance plots seriously it’s like they didn’t try at all and that’s coming from me hahaha... Well anyways, we have to wake everybody else up, okay? If you can be woken up... Maybe they all can too.”

“...Who are ‘they?’”

For personality reasons, they decide to try YQY first. SY points out that he’d been talking shit to their faces this whole time, but it’s never worked, they’ve never remembered past the next required plot scene. But they investigate anyways—or well, SY investigates, since he’s the one actually popping in and out of the scenes, while SQH is the most background extra to exist and still have a name in this manga.

SY tries a handful of things, but they never seem to work. YQY is always still staring longingly at SQQ and LBH from afar.

One day, when he’s near giving up, SY asks YQY, “what do you like so much about him anyways?”

“...I don’t know.” Classic shit writing for side characters, Yue-dage!! I’m sorry you got so shafted!! “I just... I just really feel like I’ve always loved him, and have never known how to stop.”

“Man, sorry to hear that, unrequited love must really burn.”

“Well you’d know best, wouldn’t you Shen Yuan? Heheh. I appreciate your commiseration.” Here, YQY’s expression grows frustrated. “I just... I just wish he liked him back, is all. He not liking me back is one thing, but to watch him suffer too? Why can’t he just give him a straight-forward answer already, you know?”

SY, blinking, “I... Sorry, you lost me. You wish who liked who back?”

“Luo B—”

“Shen-xuezhang!” LBH comes bounding over, ditching SQQ mid-convo. “Yue-xuezhang.”

Ah, darling main character, you can’t just leave your love interest behind like that!! This is why Yue Qingyuan keeps hoping you like him back!

“Um, I’ve actually been having a little trouble with the new math material lately, and I think a tutor would really help...”

“...Ah, sorry,” YQY says, attention completely on SQQ glaring at him in the back. SY of course thinks this is about their love triangle with LBH. “I’m no good at math.”

“That’s fine,” LBH dismisses way too quickly. “What about Shen-xuezhang? Please?”

“I don’t mind,” SY says, frowning. “But I doubt the plot will let me. Isn’t your tutor supposed to be Yue Qingyuan, any way you look at it?”

FLIP

SY is LBH’s tutor. SY reluctantly gives the author a little kudos for going out of the box with this one, but he assumes, of course, that he’s meant to be forwarding the love triangle. LBH asks if SY is going to the annual school ball with LQG, and SY goes “aha,  I’m supposed to invite him, doll him up, and bring him to the ball to shock SQQ and YQY’s poor hearts mhm.”

LQG also shows up. Cue scene. SY asks LQG if they’re going together and LQG yells at him and refuses to go and, heroic heroine Bingmei says he’ll go with the quietly crying SY. Typical.

They go the ball. YQY is there first, and SY gets ready for YQY to get the “oh my god he’s beautiful” close-up glowing shot when he sees LBH, but to SY’s surprise it doesn’t come. Instead, it’s when SQQ shows up that there’s some sparkles, and what’s this, a delayed stage effect? What kind of poor scene management!! SY wants his money back!! But at least SQQ gets the glowy close up when he sees LBH.

But before SY can inquire further, he’s flipped into another scene with an angry LQG, snapping at him about using his family’s corporate power to pressure LQG’s family into making LQG keep SY company etc. etc. SY is helplessly sniffling while on the inside he’s like god let me die this is so contrived end the scene already.

The scene finally ends, and he completely snaps out of the weepy setting. He slaps LQG on the arm mid-sentence and is like “shut up for a second, let me ask you a question about YQY—has he been acting strangely recently?”

LQG is a bit startled at first, but does answer. “Not particularly, why?”

“He hasn’t been... asking questions? Talking about gaps in his memory? Hearing strange sounds?”

“Why are you asking??”

“Sigh, grumpy pants Liu-juju of course you’re no help. But that’s not your fault.  It’s not like I’m not taking any of your shouting to heart, though it still sucks a surprising amount to be shit on all the time about a health condition I can’t even help, I’ll be honest. But anyways, I’m off.”

“...Sorry.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t mean to shout about your heart condition,” LQG grits out. “I said I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Wow.” Come to think about it, this is SY’s first time talking to LQG outside of a scene. “Huh, I guess you’re actually not a bad guy, without bad writing? They really did you dirty. Don’t worry about it man.”

[lambourngb]

"Explain the tearaway pants again?"

“you can stay afraid ( or slit the throat of fear and be brave)” - title from Gang of Youths, and that’s all @haloud ‘s fault.

“Explain the tearaway pants again?” Alex asked, picking up the soft, shiny fabric from the box with an incredulous look to Kyle. Of all things he would have predicted as a birthday gift from Kyle, tearaway stripper pants was on the last page of the book, right before a father-son vacation voucher. 

Which he had also received, as a birthday gift from Eric, his latest and most recent now ex-boyfriend. His heart was in the right place, since Alex did say he was estranged from his dad, and well-meaning but ignorant Eric, who called his parents daily, thought a trip to baseball parks would help.

It was hard to explain to anyone he dated that when he said he wasn’t close with Jesse Manes, that it wasn’t just parental tension over his sexuality that could be eased with more talking. How do you say to someone that your dad didn’t just hate his sexuality but had attacked and maimed a teenager over it. That even drugged up with Alex waving a white flag of surrender, even faked as it was, his father had shut down any mention or acknowledgment of who Alex was. 

It was just easier to say that he and his dad did not see eye-to-eye and that it was unlikely to change. Alex had that weird thought that people, even alien shaped people, should be treated with dignity and not eradicated from the earth. There was no common ground to be found over genocide.

“I thought on the weekends, when you were wearing the prosthesis, you might find some use in easy to remove pants if you had your boyfriend over.” Kyle smiled, and moved to show him the tearaway seams that were cleverly hidden. “You told me that sometimes the mood fizzled because of getting undressed-”

“Ah,” Alex acknowledged, looking down at the box again. Another small white lie was coming back to bite him. It was true, getting undressed with someone new, was an ordeal. Forrest had handled it the best, outside of Michael, knowing just when to offer help and just when to back the hell off, but ultimately the secrets and running off because of a text about alien nonsense wore thin with him. After Forrest, he gave up on trying for a deeper relationship considering the number of secrets he guarded and went back to using a dating app which resulted in a few less-than-desirable responses to his leg.

Blaming the fizzle, on his awkward way of undressing, to Kyle was easier than mentioning that some guys lost their interest when the theoretical knowledge of his amputation became factual.

“You hate them.” Kyle reached for the box, which Alex tightened his grip on stubbornly.

“No, these are great and thoughtful, thank you. I was just thinking about the fact, I ah, Eric and I broke up today.”

“What?! Seriously?” Kyle glanced around Alex’s house with a clenched fist, as if he was waiting to see Eric appear, so he could fight him. “That dick broke up with you on your birthday? I never liked that douche.”

Alex smiled weakly, “You thought Eric was great, don’t lie.”

“I thought he was great because he didn’t act weird about your friendship with Guerin, and he’s one of the best scrub nurses in the OR but if he broke up with you on your birthday-”

“Okay well no need for workplace awkwardness, I broke up with him. In fact, you should probably take his side.” Alex gathered the wrapping paper to ball it up, and stood up to head into his kitchen, with Kyle following on his heels. He lifted the trash can lid, picking up the trip voucher on top to hand over to Kyle before disposing of the colored paper. “It’s not his fault, he is just probably too idealistic about the world for my taste.”

“Jesus, a father-son bonding trip? Yeah, no.” Kyle shook his head, before leaning against the countertop and studying Alex intently. “I don’t blame you for dumping him, I mean, you told him about how your dad treated you right?”

Once upon a time, to keep Kyle from demonizing Jim Valenti, the only man who was ever kind to Alex, he had revealed the extent of the abuse he suffered growing up. He never imagined that Kyle would end up being a part of his daily orbit, so it was at the time, a safe admission. The only reason he had any sort of comfort around Kyle now was he knew that Kyle had his own reasons for hating Jesse Manes. The support he received wasn’t pity, it was shared pain. Kyle understood, and of course Michael understood, but the rest of the world? He couldn’t trust it.

There were days when he wished he had been able to conceal the truth from Maria as a kid.

“My dad is a level of evil that approaches comic-book villain. It’s hard to come up with the vocabulary to explain it. It’s definitely not first date ground to cover.” 

“You could just say what you said to me, that he was an abusive, homophobic dick.”

“I tried that actually, with Matt, but his dad is Army, so he thought I was just talking about typical macho man bullshit. His dad called him a fairy and won’t pick up the phone when he called his mom, but he’d never tried to kill him for being gay.” Alex rubbed at his forehead, and shrugged dismissively, “even if I could explain it, there’s still alien bullshit to worry about. Forrest couldn’t deal with my secrets, so…”

“Now that, my friend, we can commiserate over. Even if Stef understood my friendship with Liz, she was less supportive of running out on her to answer Isobel Evans' every little call. As Rosa calls it, those bitch ass aliens, strike again.” Kyle picked up his half-empty beer from the counter to clink against Alex’s in solidarity.

Later, after Kyle was gone, Alex wandered out to his patio to light a fire. Despite the voucher from the now ex Eric and the funny gift from Kyle, his birthday had gone well. Maria had treated him to an amp for his sound setup, an expensive gift had it been new, but this one was reconditioned by Guerin. Liz and Max had treated him to lunch at the Crashdown with a four show pass at the local concert hall. Rosa had baked a gourmet cake, and even Isobel had dropped off a bottle of expensive scotch. 

Though it hadn’t worked out, Forrest had texted a nice birthday message along with an invitation to join a group of his friends for an antique market trip to Santa Fe. 

Alex tipped his head back in his chair, listening to the crackle of the firewood settling in the pit and finally allowed himself to think about Michael, or more specifically the absence of Michael today. It was pressing on a bruise, to consider the gift from Maria might actually have been a joint gift. He didn’t think they had gotten back together again, but he wasn’t sure.

The gap in knowledge about Maria warred with the feeling that maybe Michael had forgotten, and it ached. He wasn’t sure which hurt more. 

His phone vibrated against his leg. Alex placed his beer on the ground next to his chair and opened the notification. It was his security system letting him know that someone had pulled up to the front of the house. His heart thumped painfully but hopefully as he recognized Michael’s truck.

Sitting with his back to the gate made him itch in anticipation but not fear as he heard the crunch of Michael’s boots against the gravel. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, sorry. Um, happy birthday” Michael replied as he closed the distance in the dark to Alex’s chair. He threw himself into the chair gracelessly, before picking up his phone to check the time, “I’m not too late am I? This says it’s after midnight.”

Shivering a little, even though it was warm, Alex took a sip of his beer. “You’re never too late, Michael.”

The words settled between them, weighty and revealing. Alex immediately wanted to take them back. That was too truthful. Perhaps he was getting maudlin because of his birthday, but having Michael, someone who knew him inside and out, after a day of feeling just out of step with everyone else, was a balm on his heart.

Michael placed his hat next to them on the patio, glancing back toward the house with a sympathetic glance. “I figured. And um, I heard from Valenti about Eric, so, I thought you might not turn me away if I showed up.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Alex took another long swallow, staring into the flames, as the previous comfort of Michael’s presence faded. Not a pity visit. He couldn’t take that. Not daring to look at Michael because seeing his profile lit up by the firelight always did things to Alex’s heart, he finished his beer. Things he was still working on letting go of for his own good. “I’m fine, it wasn’t serious with Eric.”

“I’m glad you’re fine, but that’s not why I’m here.” 

There was a rustle of paper that caught Alex’s attention, and as he finally turned to face Michael, he froze. There was a folder in Michael’s hand. He couldn’t help but remember the recent past, where the cover of a folder barely covered the horrors of within. It was always gruesome intake forms or grisly after action reports that gleefully detailed the murder of civilians and the incarceration of aliens.

Michael shook the folder gently, “go on, it’s not gonna bite.”

Pressing his lips together in resignation, Alex reached for the folder. As rocky as things had been in the past, he was certain Michael wouldn’t try to hurt him on his birthday. It wasn’t his fault that Alex was a pessimist. Flipping open the manila cover, he paused again. His eyes roved down a list of names and numbers, along with a familiar family name.

“That’s my grandmother’s name,” Alex furrowed his brow in confusion looking over to Michael, as he leaned forward in happy anticipation.

“So last year, remember how I went to Texas with Max,” Michael began, and paused at the pained expression on Alex’s face. Right, it was unlikely that the beginning of Maria’s feelings had been forgotten. “Dumb question, okay well, we met an old woman from the Mescalero Res and her granddaughter. They were practicing some fake faith healing con game, which kinda pissed me off, until I realized the props they used were drawn from a visitor they had.”

“A visitor?”

“Yeah, they used lights to make their hand glow when they healed. She described a woman who lived there, and never spoke but had that ability. I drove there last month to ask her more about it. It turns out this woman was introduced to the tribe by your grandmother.” Michael smiled broadly, his fingers tapping with impatient energy. “So I went to the Diné people to ask about her. I know she’s passed on, but she left stories. An oral history. Err, they didn’t want to talk to me, being a white guy, but after I fixed just about every car on the Res-”

“That’s where you’ve been every weekend?”

Michael looked pleased, “You noticed?”

Caught out by just how aware he was of Michael’s movements, Alex gestured, “That’s not important, um keep going with your story.”

Still looking pleased, Michael picked up his tale, “So after I fixed every piece of shit car, every finicky generator, and promised that I would only repeat this to another member of the People, they told me what happened. Your grandmother and great-grandmother ran a sort of underground network for women in trouble. One night, in 1947, a group of ...visitors found her and her mom on the side of the road. They were waiting for supplies, from a sympathetic doctor.”

“Wait,” Alex stuttered, looking down at the list of names and numbers. “Are you saying-”

“They saved ten crash survivors that night, and scattered them to other tribes for safety.” Michael reached over to tap the paper, “I have no idea where they went, that’s still a secret to me, but… some of my people lived, free. Because of your family.”

Overwhelmed, Alex squeezed his eyes shut tightly. It was no use, he could feel the tears spilling out rebelliously down his cheeks, as he sucked in an unsteady breath. The weight of his name, of the evil done by his father, was still there, but now there was a counter-balance. Harshly Alex gasped for another breath, shuddering as a sob broke through his control.

“Sweetheart, oh god, I didn’t mean to make you cry-” Michael murmured, distraught as he shifted closer, placing a tentative hand on Alex’s shoulder. The simple touch unleashed what shaky hold on control Alex had, as he collapsed into Michael’s arms. Without hesitation, Michael pulled Alex into his embrace, letting him shake in the safe confines of his strength.

The poison that Alex had felt, writhing under his skin, from as long as he could remember was slowly being lanced and drained. It didn’t matter that Michael had never blamed Alex for his family, no words could touch that reservoir of toxin inside him that marked him a Manes Man. Only actions could. 

On the day celebrating his birth, Alex could finally feel peace regarding the blood in his veins.

“I’m sorry, I should have let you know I was looking into your family after Arizona’s grandmother mentioned it. I was going to, if my campaign of fixin’ shit didn’t work, ‘cause you’re a member, they would have talked to you, I just wanted to give you some good info. But if I crossed the line, I’m sorry-”

Alex silenced Michael’s apologies with his lips.

His action halted Michael for a moment, before he groaned against Alex’s lips and deepened the kiss hungrily. His hands came up to cup Alex’s skull gently even as he increased his efforts of climbing into Alex’s skin through the sheer connection of the kiss. Long moments passed as Alex bit gently before diving into the silky heat of Michael’s mouth.

The need for oxygen won at last over his other instincts and reluctantly Alex broke the kiss. He kept his forehead pressed against Michael’s as they traded deep breaths in the silence. Closing his eyes, Alex spoke quietly, “If *I* crossed a line just then-”

“You didn’t, as long as you’re not sorry.”

Looking up at Michael’s dark, still slightly stunned eyes, Alex smiled weakly, “I’m not, but I admit, I didn’t see this happening. With you. I thought you didn’t want to go down this road again.”

Michael reached up, combing his fingers through Alex’s soft, growing dark locks gently. “I don’t want to go down the *same* road, but I was hopin’ we might find a different path. And full disclosure, we’re kinda ahead of my plans. I didn’t think you were gonna dump Eric today-”

Huffing a soft laugh, Alex replied wryly, “I wasn’t planning on it, but he thought my dad and I could patch things up by going to Wrigley Field together. He bought me a Field of Dreams-themed trip for me and dear old dad.”

“What. The. Fuck.” Michael blinked a few times, clearly running the words through his mind for meaning. “For one thing, you don’t even like baseball, and for another, your dad is a homophobic murdering psychopath.”

Alex burst out laughing at the offense in Michael’s voice. Pieces slotted into place, knowing that Michael understood not just on a theoretical level, but a deeply personal level just how fucked that suggestion was about Jesse. “God, you’re right, I hate baseball.”

He captured Michael’s hand, still stroking through his hair, and pressed a soft kiss on his rough calloused palm. Hands that had spent weeks working tirelessly for free just to get Alex some answers and peace about where he came from and who he was. A fresh burn of tears threatened as he thought about the effort Michael had expended.

“More tears?” Michael remarked softly, feeling the wet brush of Alex’s eyelashes against his hand. 

“Happy tears.” Alex straightened and got to his feet, holding onto Michael’s hand. He cast a considering eye on the fire, deciding it had burned down low enough to install the fire pit cover. Rubbing his thumb against the silky seam of his pants, he tugged Michael toward the house, “So Kyle got me these pants for my birthday, and they were the second best present I had today.” His smile turned wicked as he led the way toward the bedroom with confidence, “I would really like to show you how they work, if you’re interested...”

[chartedrights]

Golden Age AU Masterpost

For everyone lacking context, the Golden Age AU is just me riffing on every piece of comic book media I’ve ever consumed. Here are some single-paragraph rundowns I’ve made to keep track of things as I start to write!

The Board of Directors is analogous to the Justice League- they’re pretty much entirely people with superpowers (with the exception of Carol, at first), they’re very prestigious, and they come together to ward off larger threats like the impressive super powered task force they are. Or they used to. Membership’s sort of dropped, and people with powers are getting harder to find and recruit, and the big headliner who ran it left it in the hands of some nurse, which is like. So not sexy.

PEIP is PEIP- they fit right in where they were. In the shadows, in the dark, fighting the threats that the “special people” won’t, protecting people on a lower level than “oh god, the apocalypse,” because apparently the superheroes aren’t concerned with espionage or alien meteors anymore. The pricks. Mostly run by people without superpowers- as far as they know- and deeply concerned with keeping heroes responsible for their own actions. They would be oversight, if they were allowed to be.

CCRP Technical is an interesting place. Charlotte and Ted work there, for Sam, though neither of them is quite sure what it actually does. Paul was recruited in hopes he’d grow into upper management, but he didn’t have the ambition for it. Bill has been there for a decade or two now, ever since he started attending those meetings with Becky and Mrs. Davidson. Melissa... Melissa is their rising star. Mr. Davidson isn’t sure what they found in her, but he’s glad to see her succeed! Good for her! Four for you Melissa, you go Melissa!

Hatchetfield.... is Hatchetfield. It’s small, it’s insular, it’s full of gossip and weirdness and people with eccentric ideas of morality. It might be easier to admit that superheroes and supervillains exist, but let nobody say that the citizens of Hatchetfield ever took the easy road. They will walk uphill, in the snow, denying the supernatural both ways.

Paul is a real sweetheart. He’s autistic, he’s quiet, he likes his routine and the simple pleasures in life... and he just happens to be unkillable and he maybe possibly sort of has the ability to fly. He could be an excellent addition to either team, but he refuses to be a proper superhero, making him Hatchetfield’s most obvious target. Which in turn means that he often ends up acting like a proper superhero against his own will. He thinks Emma is perfectly lovely and still hasn’t noticed her committing crimes.

Emma is Hidgens’ Lab Assistant, which is code for “committing crimes for college credit,” and she does a lot of the footwork for him. Being a henchman definitely tops food service, lets put it that way. She also gets to follow in the family business- a long line of Perkins supervillains ended when Jane broke free and became a real hero for Tom’s sake. She always wanted to be a good person, but Emma is not as opposed to violence. She also cannot wait for Hidgens to level Hatchetfield, which is made complicated by the fact that she likes Paul rather a lot, and he likes Hatchetfield.

Hidgens is a supervillain. He never leaves his house, orchestrates incidents of immense damage to the civic infrastructure, and refuses to acknowledge that just maybe putting children into the path of radioactive chemicals is not a valid scientific experiment. He’s not necessarily a bad person, it’s just that his morals refute even the idea of black and white. More like blue and red. Orange and green. He is of the opinion that world peace can only be achieved by world domination, and therefore has begun a track to world domination. He and Sam have a blood feud of indeterminate origin.

Becky Barnes, low-level healer and walking anesthetic, somehow ended up in charge of the Board of Directors. The last leader disappeared three days after handing off control, and Becky is still looking for them. Becky is very conspicuously not looking for her ex-husband, however. It makes some people suspicious, and nobody more than Sam, who is Stanley’s most obnoxious cousin. Apparently, ruining Becky’s life runs in the family. Despite these troubling events, Becky does her best to keep the city standing and the world turning- she and Bill manage what they can, Carol and PEIP manage what they can’t. She’s still in a precarious place, however, and she’s looking for help.

Frank Pricely supplies everyone with gadgets. Hero and villain alike, everyone pays. Not always the same price, but everyone pays. He’s a neutral party, and he acts the part, but everybody likes to debate his loyalties. There’s no such thing as truly neutral, right? Everyone has their price- even him. It’s just a matter of what that price is.

Lex is his cashier, which means that she learned early on in her career in retail that the panic button is not half as good a first resort as the paralysis darts Frank keeps in the cash drawer. She has the ability to manifest objects, as long as she knows where they are. She needs a concrete location to pull them away from, which means that she snoops in every house she visits, checks the staff rooms of every store she enters. She can, on command, find you just about anything you need. For a price. She’s learning a lot lately, though, and what she learns about her powers might put her at risk.

Bill is one of the few members of the Board of Directors still standing. He and Becky get coffee all the time, and commiserate about the lack of help in Hatchetfield. He has telepathy, and certain illusionary abilities, which come in especially handy when he’s talking people down or trying to sneak hostages out of hostage situations. A gentle, well-intentioned man, Bill is not outwardly very intimidating, but he’s strong. Much stronger than most people would like to think. Becky keeps trying to hand off leadership to him, and he gently hands it back every time- he’s got other problems to deal with right now.

Formerly married to the infamous Perkins family heiress, Tom tries to live a nice, quiet life. He used to be a hero- and a damn good one- but Jane defected for him, and then died for it, and he carries more guilt than he probably should. Tom never thought of himself as special, really, and he still doesn’t. He can warp matter- twist it into shape, turn it from one thing to another, and he’s a fine craftsman when he wants to be. But it’s a dangerous thing to have on hand when you’re angry or frightened, and Tom still has an awful case of PTSD hanging around his neck. He’s doing his best to wrangle with it, but he’s going to need some help.

Ethan is just a teenager. Really, he promises. He absolutely swears. Nothing special about him! He’s just real intuitive! He and Lex have been looking into that whole “experimentation” thing they did at CCRP back when they were babies and it wasn’t even interesting! He’s just a mechanic, honestly. He’s a straight C student! He hasn’t even joined the cult off the coast on that houseboat!! He’s a good kid. No reason to be concerned at all.

Ted is also Hidgens’ henchman, but definitely the lower-ranked of the two. He applied hoping he’d make some friends, but thus far all he’s managed to do is fall in love with Charlotte, who is Sam’s henchman. It’s not going badly for him, but it’s not going well, either. He and Paul still work together. Every time Hidgens asks, Ted is like “Paul? Nah. He’s totally normal.”

Gary is a mob lawyer. He used to work for Emma’s family, but now he works for Sherman and Linda. They’re technically competition, and if they ever find out that he’s playing both sides he’ll absolutely die, but in the meantime he is racking up that cash. He is so rich. He is capable of great evil, and occasionally does terrible things, but overall he’s an affable guy. He and Charlotte had an unfortunate tryst once that ended with her tying him to the Welcome to Hatchetfield sign with his own scarf, but he still pines for her. She’s the one that got away. And continues to get away. cops hate her: local woman refuses to go to jail.

MacNamara still works for PEIP, which is only slightly a different job, on account of there being very public superheroes in this world. He and Xander have been married for ten years, but they are both under the (mistaken) impression that it wasn’t a real marriage because it was done undercover. He thinks about that and is very sad about it sometimes. But they’re partners, and that’s good enough that he can be content with it. For now. He has the ability to intensify or nullify other people’s superpowers, and he does his best to keep it quiet. He thinks there’s something noble about living without superpowers, and vaguely wishes that he and Chad’s roles were swapped- until he remembers that Chad has one (1) brain cell to his name.

Xander has the ability to speak to computers. It’s not flashy, at first glance. It doesn’t have the pizzazz of Paul’s gifts or the subtle mind fuckery of John and Bill’s. But he can know whatever he wants, can hear anything, tap any phone call, look through any webcam. He doesn’t, because he’s not a fucking creep, but he can. PEIP was lucky to find him before CCRP- and so was everyone else in the world. Xander’s not flashy in general- he keeps a lot to himself. He and John have been partners for a long time, and they still haven’t said they love each other. He still hasn’t told John that he’s a member of the Board. He still hasn’t told John that he and Paul are in the same book club.

Schaffer doesn’t need powers. You think she needs powers? Her power is that she breathes and death turns away. PEIP was built by good people like Schaffer, people with principles and strong hearts and ice cold spines of steel. Normal, human people, unremarkable except that they chose to be better. She’s fourth-generation PEIP, born and raised to believe in the service they do, the protection they provide. Some of the more bitter agents will say that Schaffer benefitted from nepotism. They will never say this in front of her, because deep down they know she did not and they know that she will prove it by kicking their asses. She and Carol used to date, but the strain of crossing enemy lines in what was, essentially, a Cold War between PEIP and the Board got to them both. Schaffer is the person Hidgens called after he got struck by lightning.

Charlotte is Sam’s henchman and quietly in the running for longest con ever pulled. One day she is going to off him and take his place as the leading supervillain in Hatchetfield, but that day is not today. She likes Ted, but Sam keeps telling her to kill him, so their relationship amounts to “the inherent eroticism of trying to murder each other”. Nobody is entirely certain how she does what she does, but she’s very, very good at her job. Emma looks up to her just a little. She had a therapist once. He tried to sleep with her. She no longer has a therapist. She does have a very lovely goldfish, however.

Mr. Davidson is MacNamara’s twin brother and Hidgens’ ex. His wife is a genuine bona fide Batman-level hero in a bigger city, so he occasionally gets kidnapped or tortured. Hidgens still writes him bitter and mildly threatening love ballads that he genuinely treasures and sends very heartfelt thank you notes for. His life is so messy. There’s so much drama. He’s also completely powerless and cheerful about it. (Re: the Working Boys.... he’s Chad. Chad MacNamara Davidson.)

Alice is developing absolutely no superpowers and she’s really really annoyed about it. She used to take this out on Lex, as teenagers will, but after Lex dropped out she began to regret that. Too little and much too late, but regret is regret. She keeps trying to mend that bridge, but it’s not working. Unfortunately for her, she’s still been seen with Lex and Ethan, and that’s enough. Imminent danger perceives no difference between friend and foe. Alice is full of a very different kind of potential, however, and sooner or later all that bottled-up anger and stress will lash out.

Deb, on the other hand, is an intern at the Board of Directors’ headquarters, which is now St. Damien’s given that Becky is in charge. Interns for heroes are much less common than henchmen working for villains, but Deb has a keen interest in coordination and overseeing operations. Bill hates having her on comms for missions, but she’s just... so good at her job. She can brew a pot of Red Bull twice-steeped coffee, arrange a date with Alice, avoid an international incident, redirect PEIP and talk Bill through defusing a bomb in the same ten-minute stretch. Lesbians can do anything. This is a fact. They are the backbone of our society.

Hot Chocolate Boy is full of secrets. And hot chocolate.

And speaking of St. Damien’s, do you recall poor Bridgette, who lost her eyesight in a horrible accident? I’m not saying Hatchetfield is going to have it’s very own Matt Murdock expy, but I am saying that. She’s blind, she’s Catholic, and she’s coming for your kneecaps.

Linda is a very low-level villain who operates out of her husband’s office and sics her Boating Club on people. Gerald should technically be a threat, given that it’s the Monroe family prerogative to slaughter rising heroes with an alacrity that distinguished them from all the other families in Hatchetfield. He is not. He’s barely even a henchman. Linda got all the bloodlust between the two of them, and she is out for blood from the start. Though initially quickly defeated, she grows in seriousness over the course of time and ends up a formidable threat with a weighty grudge against Becky and Lex. She’s not much in a physical fight, Linda, but she is deeply, deeply vindictive, and she’s willing to make any deals she has to to bring Becky down. Any deals. With anyone. Anything.

Sherman Young is a mob boss, and you know it. He’s a real creep and he’s got some sick hobbies, even for a man in his line of work, but somehow the 80s jacket and the comb-over mullet make it all worse. He’s the richest man in town, and that’s saying something, but if Linda has a say in things he won’t be for long. The Youngs, the Monroes, and the Perkins have been at war since the founding of the town, and Sherman is cutting down his competition. He might have even arranged for Jane’s accident to happen, but nobody is sure. Nobody living, anyway.

Sam is a villain. He’s not super or anything. He’s just a villain. He’s top-tier Joker-level normie, but he still goes toe-to-toe with all kinds of heroes. Notable for being pretty much exactly the same as his show counterpart in regards to his proclivity for threats and violence. He once told Paul to “talk to his fucking gun” only to find that Paul is, despite all outward appearances, fucking immortal. He is still very embarrassed about it. He’s up and coming in the Hatchetfield Villain circuit, but he’s definitely a threat. To who? Who can say. Somebody, somewhere.

Papa Ed is a PEIP informant, and he has the ability to speak to animals. He’s raising Peanuts to be a very small, very enthusiastic little squirrel spy.

Man in a Hurry is a former speedster who lost his powers and compensates for it by Being In A Hurry at all times.

Homeless Man is a CCRP agent. He specializes in camouflage and compassion. He doesn’t remember what came before, but he knows something did, and finding out what it was is all he has left to hope for.

Howard Goodman does not have superpowers, but he’s got gumption. Okay, I lied. He doesn’t have gumption. But he’s a very nice man.

[nat-20s]

PROMPT! the first time the s1 archive gang hangs out outside of work (any variation of the group, doesn’t have to be All of them)

This is only the Archive Assistant sqaud, bc I’m sorry Jon, but no bosses allowed. Also it’s VERY silly and soft bc sometimes u just wanna write nice things u know

(also also fuck I lovecompletely missed that this said “first time” they hang out but uhh. I hope u like it anyway.)

Tim Stoker like to think that, sometimes, not to toot his own horn, but he can be something of a genius. When a cousin’s cousin had offered to let him use their cozy little cabin for a night or two in exchange for help with moving, he had been struck with what could only be humbly described as “inspiration of the most divine nature”. For, as nice as a Friday evening away from it all by himself sounds, it’s so much nicer for a Friday evening away from it all to serve as Archival Assistants Bonding Time™. Or well, more like Tim and Sasha, Who Are Already Best Friends Forever, Figure Out What Martin’s Deal Is, Because For A Guy So Chatty, He Sure Is Mysterious Time™, but that’s not nearly as catchy. Truly, his plan was brilliant, bringing two compatriots and an excessive amount of food and drink to a spot away from the prying eyes of the world and bosses, and feast in the openness and silliness that comes from having a great fucking time.

His plan, and his genius, were tragically derailed. While he knew on their drive up that the air was rapidly getting cooler, Tim couldn’t have even pretended to predict that an hour into their stay would bring a freak blizzard that means they’re snowed in for the next three days, which was 3 times longer than he had accounted on spending with his coworkers/friends. There was more than enough food to last them, and almost enough alcohol, but as Sasha so kindly put it:

“First you make us reenact the first scene of every bad teen slasher movie, now there’s a fucking white out. If we lose power, I’m telling you, there is absolutely going to be a murder.”

“Pfft, no way. The guy who owns this place is one of those weird ass prepper types, there’s a back up generator for the back up generator. And even if we did lose power, we’re all much more the “huddle for warmth under a shared blanket in front of the roaring fire” types than the “get panicked and stab someone in darkness” types, right? Back me up here, Marto.”

Martin, who at three shots in is both hilarious and mean, directs his response to Sasha. “in the event of a black-out I vote we kill Tim. I can take him down and you can finish the job.”

Sasha tips her cup at him, saying, “I like the way you think,” at the same time that Tim yells out, “Hey! Why am I the one dying?!”

Sasha tells him, “Duh. This whole thing was your idea, which makes you the Dr. Black* of this situation. Any good mansion murder mystery dictates the the host dies first. Then, in a moment of entirely unplanned synchronization, her and Martin start chanting, “Host dies first! Host dies first!”

“Okay, you know what? Fuck both of y’all, it’s not my fault that you’re both thoroughbred city slickers that can’t handle being in a cabin with plumbing and running water and electricity. Didn’t either of you go camping as kids?”

Sasha replies “No I’m far too pretty for that,” while Martin bursts out laughing. It takes about 20 seconds for him to settle down. Wiping away a tear, he elaborates, “Sorry, sorry, just. Can not imagine my mother on a camping trip.  I mean, sure, she probably hoped at one point or another that I’d be lost in the woods as a child, or maybe even now, but I think that’s a bit different.”

Tim leans over the kitchen counter, placing his chin in his hands as he says, “Oh shit, Martin lore. Spill the deets.”

Sasha, who’s loyalties tend to sway towards whatever’s most interesting in the moment, piles on with, “You called her your mother, not your mum. That’s means she’s pretty much a right bastard, or a member of the aristocracy, which is just another term for right bastard but you got to grow up as a rich kid. Am I right?”

It’s clear the the two of them have made a grave mistake. All joviality flees Martin’s expression, and he shrinks down both his physical presence and his voice to something that could easily be overlooked if someone wasn’t paying attention. “Oh, um, well, I definitely didn’t grow up as a rich kid. And, it terms of the ‘right bastard’ thing, she’s not- er. That’s to say, she’s- she’s sick and. She’s doing the best she can, given, given everything.”

Martin pointedly looks at his hands while Tim and Sasha panickedly look at each other. They go to either side of him, and when he doesn’t flinch away, they each place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Tim immediately feels the itch to fill the heavy quiet, and he happens to know he has quite the talent for blazing on ahead after these kinds of moments. It’s how he’s survived basically party for the past decade. “Ooookay, I’m gonna go ahead and say that all depressing familial reveals shall be held off until at least the second night of being trapped. While Sasha may have irritatingly few skeletons in her closet in that regard-”

“I have Tory grandparents?”

“We all have Tory grandparents Sash, that’s absolutely nothing. As I was saying, while Sash’s family is boring and semi functional, you and me are gonna do some fuckin’ commiserating on our journey from work friends to friend friends. However, I’m going to have to be 40% drunker, go through a decently strong hangover, and then once again get hair of the dog drunk before I can even start to consider heading down that path. And in that spirit, I think it’s time to start up the drinking games. Truth or dare might end up a bit too heavy for our needs, but Never Have I Ever should suit us just fine. I know I’m gonna regret saying this considering Sasha is 100% going to target my ass, but I think we should establish that whoever puts all ten fingers down first has to chug the rest of the box wine.”

Sasha pipes up with, “Ugh, no, not drinking games, that’s such twenty-something bullshit. I expected better from you.”

“Hey, Martin is a twenty-something, so that still works fine actually-”

“Tim!”

“What?”

Martin’s directing wide, bordering on frantic, eyes at him, and Tim is almost certainly missing something, though he can’t for the life of him figure it out. Sasha’s head is bobbing slightly between the two of them, and shes apparently able to parse what Tim has not. “Oh! Martin, uh, I already know that you’re 2, and it’s cool.”

“Did..did Tim tell you or?”

Tim scoffs out an “I wouldn’t!” even though there’s a distinct possibility that, entirely on accident, he would, and Sasha makes a reassuring coo. “No, no, babe, nothing like that. It’s just that, uh, the Magnus Institute is kind of notorious for not doing any background checks pretty much ever, so when I get a new coworker, I..do it myself.”

Martin’s face blanches, and his eyes somehow get even wider. “Oh god, please don’t tell Jon or Elias, I know I don’t have the credentials, but I really need-”

“Woah, woah, I’m not gonna do that. First of all, archival assistant squad, we ride together we die together in a snowed in god forsaken log cabin, secondly, it’d be hypocritical as fuck if I got up your ass about qualifications. Not a single one of us is qualified for our jobs, not even Jon. Maybe especially not Jon. It’s like, raise your hand if you have a degree in library sciences. No one? Okay, cool, that’s not weird at all for an archive. Actually, maybe bring that up next time he gives you shit. He’ll be all like ‘bluh bluh, you didn’t document this spooky bullshit well enough, it’s not up to the High Standards here at Spooky Bullshit Emporium’ and you can be like ‘whatever buddy, you’re an English major, what do you fuckin’ know?’. It’ll be devastating. He’ll be devastated.”

Martin laughs in the manner of someone who knows that they shouldn’t be, and his shoulders relax into  a lower position. “Why would you want me to devastate him? I thought you guys were friends?”

“We are, which is why we all collectively need to get back at Jon for acting like such a prick. He’s always been a bit temperamental, but I honestly don’t get what his deal is, especially with you. I mean, c’mon, you’re great, being mean to you is like kicking a puppy.”

“Thanks? I think?”

Tim pipes up with, “Oooo, since drinking games are apparently too childish for Sasha, what if instead we play ‘What’s Jon’s Deal Anyway, Featuring, Seriously, Why Target Martin, The Baby of The Archives’-”

“-That feels a bit reductive of who I am and I also I think I’m technically older than Jon?-”

“-Whoever comes up with the best explanation, and by best obviously I mean most entertaining, gets an all expense paid trip from the other two to one of the charity shops I know we all frequent.”

Sasha snorts, “Wow, a whole twenty quid, who could resist such temptation. But also, I’m in, I think I have a winner and I have a violent need to out-cardigan Jon.”

Martin’s relaxation is gone again, which Tim thinks need to be fixed through aggressively passing a glass of wine towards him. He takes it without protest, takes a long drink, and says, “This seems more like 3 am conversation than a 9 pm one.”

Sasha gives an encouraging nudge, prompting another drink, and replies, “Yeah, well, I am not gonna make it to 3 am. I’ve got about an hour until the Alcohol Sleepiness sets in, and I know Tim will be right behind me.”

“Sashaaaaaa, you’re ruining my reputation as a young-at-heart, party-all-night kind of guy.”

“Babe, you’ve complained about your bones aching often enough that you’ve never had that reputation.”

“Surrounded by mean drunks, that’s what I am. I should be pitied.”

Martin shoots a glance towards Sasha, then replies, “You’d be more pitiable if this entire thing wasn’t, you know, entirely your own fault.”

Sasha nods sagely, “It’s true. If you were pitiable then maybe you wouldn’t have to die first.”

“You know what? I am uncomfortable with the energy that’s been created in this room, how about we divert some of that towards complaining about our bosses, as coworkers who are hanging out and having a good time and not bullying me are supposed to do.”

Sasha giggles slightly as she leans down and presses a kiss to Tim’s cheek. “Aw, sorry, Tim. I promise to double cross Martin when if becomes killing time.”

Tim melts a little, even as he’s replying, “Wait, when?” Martin takes another sip and says, “Whatever. I could take you both.”

How the hell are you supposed to resist a set up like that? With an over the top wink and cheesy grin, Tim says, “I bet you could, big guy.”

He’s expecting a slightly flustered reaction, maybe a higher pitched voice and a blush, if he’s lucky. He gets all of those things, but it’s Sasha saying, “Oh my god.” Martin only gives him a raised eyebrow and level stare, and Tim makes a mental note to reevaluate his dedication to only considering Martin in a strictly platonic fashion. Sasha continues talking, cutting through the..tension? with, “Okay, now I am uncomfortable with the energy that’s been created in this room. Tim, tell the studio audience what you think is up with Jon.”

Tim blinks, hard, gives a shake of his head, and says, “Oh, obviously the Jon we know is dead. His ‘promotion’ to Head Archivist was actually Elias killing him off and replacing him with a robot that has the command If: see Martin Then: be dick. Don’t worry Marto, now that Sasha is aware of the issue, she’ll surely be able to reprogram him.”

Sasha hums a bit, then says, “I buy it. I think my explanation’s better, but Elias does seem the “kill a dude and replace him” type. Like if I was gonna suspect any particular person of murder he’s in the top five.”

“Seriously? Elias? Somehow has middle manager vibes even though he’s the head honcho Elias? Mr. ‘I probably wore boat shoes and khaki shorts for the entirety of university’ Bouchard? Voted most likely to put a thin layer of mayo in between two pieces of white bread and claim it’s a sandwich Elias? The area man that’s almost certainly gone on record as saying that golf and networking are his favorite hobbies Elias? He’s far too boring to have committed a murder.”

Tim’s looking at Martin with shock and delight, and he knows Sasha is wearing the exact same expression. “More of this. Please describe more of the things that Elias is.”

“I mean, sure? Uhh, guy that would pay $80 for a dime bag because you told him it’s a premium strain. Person that ironically says things like “kids these days” and “the youths” and you know he’s talking about people well into their 30s. Genuinely believes that if you can afford a cell phone then you shouldn’t be complaining about being  poor, because apparently a one time purchase of around a hundred bucks is the same as trying to pay monthly rent. Tells people to haul themselves up by their bootstraps. Thinks he got to where he was ‘without anybody’s handouts’ even though he’s had a trust fund since he was 15. Writes weekly editorials to the local newspaper complaining about the liberalization of media, and they’re like ‘sir, please stop submitting to us, we’re just trying to talk about Lisa’s gardening club’ because they can’t professionally tell him to fuck off. Thinks salt and pepper are the only spices one could ever possibly need, everything else is simply excessive. Somehow gay and homophobic. Like, yes, he’s taken a male lover, but he’s also seconds away from calling you a slur at any one time. Actually, no, that’s too interesting, and I refuse to believe he’s had a lover. Legally, he cannot have a lover, I’ve decided, so just gay and homophobic, both in theory alone. Has said that Boris Johnson is “a bit much, but really not so bad, and much better than any of the alternatives, really.” All of the cousins in his family banded together and officially got him banned from any sort of major holiday dinners. Basically every shitty boss you’ve ever had, especially if you’ve worked retail, rolled into one.”

Tim lets out a low whistle. “Damn, all right. Get fucked Elias.”

Sasha emphatically agrees, “Get fucked Elias.”

They all clink their glasses together, and then there’s a beat of silence before Martin says, “I’m pretty sure robots can’t get eye bags.”

Tim and Sasha let out a “huh” and “hmm?” respectively, so Martin elaborates. “You posited that Jon had been replaced with a robot. Pretty sure robots aren’t able to look that tired.”

Tim snaps. “Drat, you’ve pointed out the one flaw in my impeccable logic. So what d’you think is up with him? I know you don’t have the Before The Archives comparison, but I think you could provide a fresh perspective.”

“Oh, fuck, I don’t know. Two months ago, I might have had some choice words, but first off, you all genuinely got on, so it didn’t really make sense for him to be awful all the time, and secondly ever since the, um, worm thing, he’s actually been pretty nice? I haven’t heard any snide comments, and whenever I mess something up he’s a lot more, um, gentle about explaining what wrong. He actually complimented my work the other day so. I guess I think Jon’s deal was that he was stressed out and I was very nervous and not very good at my job and he picked up on that?”

“So you think he’s like a horse.”

“Explain.”

“He sensed your fear and he became skittish and irritable in kind.”

“Horses can sense fear?”

“Horses can sense everything.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Right?”

“Guys, we’ve gone on like four different tangents in one conversation. Martin, I’m very glad to hear that Jon’s changed his behavior towards, because it means I don’t have to yell at him on your behalf, you’re getting to see the person that me and Tim both know who is actually pretty cool, and also mostly because it feeds perfectly into my winning theory.”

“What, you’ve got something better than Martin’s ‘accurate but boring’ reasoning or my ‘super cool but now that I think about it for .5 seconds actually kind of a bummer robot’ knowledge?”

Sasha’s incredibly self-assured when she says, “I sure fuckin’ do. Jon’s secretly been in love with Martin the whole time, and he’s been previously overcompensating by acting like he hates him.” which makes Tim choke on air and Martin emphatically reply, “Fuck off, he is not.”

“No, no, hear me out, I have, I have receipts, as the kids say. First point of evidence: Martin’s stupid hot, and there’s no way that Jon is straight, so obviously he’s not gonna be impervious to that.”

“What?”

“Oh come off it Martin, it’s just a fact. Like, me personally? I don’t even do the whole romance thing, but the first time I ever saw you I blacked out slightly and thought ‘Now there’s a man I could raise some ferrets with.’.”

“I, um, I, well. Is that...supposed to be a euphemism for something?”

“What? No, I’ve just always wanted ferrets, and asking someone to raise pets with you is like the height of romance, I’m pretty sure. Back me up here Tim.”

“On the ferret thing or the Martin hot thing?”

“Either? Both.”

“Aight. Yes, asking someone to raise ferrets with you is basically a marriage proposal if that someone is Sasha, and I hate to break it to you Martin, but you’re incredibly good-looking. We’re all incredibly good-looking, to the point where I think the only qualification for the archives staff is being a straight up hottie. OH! We should name the group chat “straight up hottie squad”. Anyway, yep, point for Sasha.”

“Not a point for Sasha, even if I believe you about about my, em, physical attractiveness,-”

“-Don’t have to put belief in a fact, Marto-”

“-that doesn’t mean anything. By that logic, he’s equally as likely to be in love with either of you, and my money would be on Sasha if it was anyone, because you’re clearly his favorite.”

“Ah, but that’s exactly why it isn’t me, but thank you for the transition into my second point which is: Jon is the kind of person that sees anything that might make him vulnerable and starts aggressively defending himself against it, and what’s more vulnerable than a crush? He’s not crushing on Tim, because Tim’s fucking great, but sometimes he’s also the walking, talking embodiment of sensory overload, and while I myself I love that, Jon clearly gets a bit overwhelmed by it at times. He’s not into me, because he knows better than that, and overall I’m pretty non-threatening to his whole thing, so of course he’s going to be the most relaxed around me. You, on the other hand, are single, hot, kind to animals and people alike, and make a great cup of tea. Incredibly crush worthy, thus incredibly threatening, thus Jon acting like That.”

“Hmm, this still seems like something that comes from watching one too many corny rom coms, and that’ s coming from someone who loves corny rom coms.”

“I also love corny rom coms, but that’s completely beside the point. Because, okay, sure, if Jon had just been a weird asshole to you, I wouldn’t be like ‘oh, yeah, that’s a classic case of covering for something’ but you’re right about him being nicer since the worm thing. So nice, in fact, I shall be bringing in Timothy as my star witness that’s going to blow this whole case wide open. Martin, you may not have heard how Jon has started to talk about you, but me and Tim sure have.”

“God, yeah. Like if we thought he wouldn’t shut up about you before-

“-which he wouldn’t-”

“it’s gotten way worse now.”

“I think the whole life threatening worm woman flipped a switch for him and now he’s all fuckin. ‘Oh, Martin should stay in the archives, let me give him the place that I sleep.”

“Oh, Martin, I don’t think he should go out on too many research trips anymore, I’d much prefer for him to be ~nice and close~”

“Oh, Martin, good lord, did you know that his tea is quite good? I’m think it might actually be the best I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, Martin, his work’s rather improved, don’t you think? It’s really quite impressive, especially considering all the stress he’s had to endure.”

“Oh, Martin, I just want him to take me into his big, strong arms and whisk me away from all of this.”

“He did not fucking say that last one.”

Sasha throws her arms up in the air. “He may as well have!”

Nodding sagely, Tim replies, “This whole thing holds water. I vote Sasha gets the shopping trip. Martin?”

Martin stares at his drink as if it has any ability to give him any sort of answers, then lets out a sigh with his entire body. “You know what? It’s probably nicer than whatever the fuck is the truth, so sure, why not? Let’s get Sasha her cardigans.”

Sasha lets out a whoop. “Hell yeah! Can’t wait for spree, assuming all three of us get out of this cabin alive.”

“Okay, nope, clearly Sasha needs another distraction. Got any suggestions, Martin?”

“Uh, wasn’t a karaoke machine part of the sales pitch for this place?”

“Martey babey, yes! I wouldn’t have thought you’d spring for that sort of thing!”

“If this were a public bar or something where I’d have to listen to drunk strangers and they’d have to listen to me, then no, I’d rather have my brain pulled through my nose a la mummification. But with only you guys and fourish drinks in? I’m down to clown.”

“Sash, you with us?”

“Dunno, what songs are there?”

Tim shrugs, and heads to the storage closet that contains all the various entertainment equipment. It takes a bit of searching, and a bit more digging, but he’s able to unearth the ancient portable karaoke machine. He also grabs some of the jigsaws, mostly on the thought that sometimes a bitch just wants to hang out with their friends and do a puzzle. Also because in light of the fact that they’re stuck inside with no sort of access to the outside world for two days longer than planned, there’s pretty much no way that they’re not going to reach a point where they all say fuck it let’s do a puzzle.

Plugging in the machine, it takes a solid several minutes to boot up, which is the perfect length of time to take it upon himself to take one for the team and chug the box wine himself, with Sasha and Martin chanting in the background. When he finishes, they cheer, and then Martin immediately shoves a glass of water for him to down as well, muttering something about how he wants him to be alive in the morning. Tim can tell he’s well inebriated by now, because the simple thoughtful gesture is enough to make him a little bit misty-eyed, and Sasha can attest to alcohol turning him into the world’s biggest sap. In order to avoid prevent himself from becoming the kind of person who says “I love you” in a gradually more sloppy repeat, he starts flipping through the discography of the now running machine. “Alright y’all, it looks like we got 80s songs or...80s songs. Ooo, they have the Grease 2 soundtrack.”

That gets him a well deserved “No!” from both parties, with Sasha adding on, “Not even if it was Grease 1. I’m putting an embargo on musical theater in general.”

“Oh come on, some musicals are better than other. Right, Marto?”

“I’m with Sasha on this one.”

“Boo. But fine, what do you want?”

Martin and Sasha glance at each other, and Tim’s amazed at how well the bonding night-turned-long-weekend has gone so far, considering they seem to have already mastered the art of silent communication. Martin speaks first, with, “They got Dolly Parton?”

The process of scrolling through individual letters to type is achingly slow, but luckily all he needs to get through is “DO” before she shows up. “They do.”

Sasha says, “Do they got 9 to 5, by Dolly Parton?”

Tim’s eyes light up with realization as he says, “They do,” and in a moment of spontaneous understanding, all three of them know that they’re not simply going to sing 9 to 5. No, they’re going to do a  full blown music video for the benefit for nobody but themselves, because why the fuck not.

The next hour is spent in a very silly fashion. They figure out how to use the cabin’s layout to their advantage, assign various parts of the song to each person, and practice their inexpert choreography a few times with the song tinnily blasting from Sasha’s phone. The final result is hardly of professional quality, but it is of making them all giggle quality. It starts off in a relay like manner, each of them in a different area to coordinate with “Tumble of out bed and stumble to the kitchen” (Sasha on the couch), “Pour myself a cup of ambition”, (Tim at the coffemaker), and “Yawn and stretch and try to come to life” (Martin at the fridge), with them finally crowding around the karaoke machine together to scream sing the chorus. Despite their practice, they quickly go off key, and while they might end up with low points for accuracy, they get full marks on enthusiasm.

When the song ends, it takes them a few minutes to settle down into something less giddy. As they do, Sasha, out of breath, says, “Fuck me, I’m sleepy now. What the hell?”

Tim hums in affirmation. “Goddammit, I’m tired too. Let me guess, Martin, you’re young enough that you could go all night?”

“No? I’ve never pulled an all-nighter in my life. Actually, I know that it was supposed to be in case the power went out, but huddling together under a blanket in front of a fire sounds really nice? I mean, um, if you guys were down.”

Sasha leans her head against Martin’s shoulder and takes on the expression of a deeply content cat. “Mmm, I call Martin, he’s warm.”

“Absolutely not, I also want to leech Martin’s warmth. You good with being in the middle?”

Martin’s practically beaming, but his voice manages to almost fake being put upon. “I suppose it’s a sacrifice I could make.”

With Sasha already half asleep, Martin brings her over to the couch, while Tim gets them all set up. He manages to find the kind of big, fluffy blanket that all cabins should contain and wraps it around their shoulders. Luckily for them, the fireplace is gas lit and can be put on a timer. He sets it for 30 minutes, even though all three of them are going to be long passed out before them. Sasha is already softly snoring away, and Martin’s head keeps drifting down and snapping back up. Tim curls up against Martin’s other side, and even though all three of them are going to wake up with aching backs and worse heads, he thinks he really just might be a genius after all.

*Why is Mr. Boddy’s name Dr. Black in the UK. I hate that. Why would you not have the dumb joke of  naming the victim “boddy”. Hey brits explain your crimes.

[gleekto]

Summary: College AU/Famous!Blaine and Fanboy!Kurt - Kurt POV

Kurt really doesn’t have time to figure out the dating world between being a freshman at prestigious theatre school, LAADA,  and his active but secret blogging life in the Sing!Fandom. So what if Sing! ended last year? There are still fics to read and actors to follow. Especially the uber talented heartthrob lead, Blaine Anderson. He can act. He can sing. He can even dance. He’s gay. He’s out. And he’s only 24. Kurt is willing to twiddle his thumbs and click refresh until Blaine Anderson’s next project.

He just didn’t expect the next project to be on his roommate Rachel’s new TV show.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Even Better Than the Real Thing (4/15)

It takes Kurt until the following afternoon for the haze to lift and for his feet to land back down on the ground after spending the evening floating. He finally logs on to his tumblr and to the entirely unsurprising 13 messages, all anonymous, all asking him if he heard about whether his source met Blaine. He deletes all of them and clicks on his direct message from Mercedes last night.

From LimaBlaineFan to MercedesSing! : Guilty as charged. You found me out.

MercedesSing!: So let me get this straight - Your roommate and close friend is literally working with Blaine Anderson?!

LimaBlaineFan: He’s her love interest. They kiss.

MercedesSing!: Please don’t tell me you’re jealous because you know that’s all acting and you have suddenly gone from number one fanboy to real life acquaintance overnight and there are a good few hundred followers who would be intensely jealous of you if they knew.

LimaBlaineFan: They don’t. And they won’t. But no, I’m not jealous. Blaine is indeed gay, and you know, he doesn’t have a boyfriend right now. Was too difficult to meet someone while on a show like Sing!

MercedesSing!: He did not tell you that.

LimaBlaineFan: He did. And we commiserated about growing up in Ohio - two gay kids. We’re like peas and pod, Blaine Anderson and I.

MercedesSing!: Shut up. You had a heart to heart with Blaine Anderson. 

LImaBlaineFan: Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves. But I can confirm that he  is even more beautiful in real life.

MercedesSing!: This is nuts. I’m happy for you. Hell, I’m happy for me. Do you think he can hook me up with Jo Johnson for some music lessons? Kidding. No not really. Anyways. You met Blaine Anderson. And shit got real.

Kurt and Mercedes plot out just the right amount of info to post publicly on his blog from his “source”. 

My source confirms that Blaine Anderson is a genuinely nice guy, but you’ve all heard that before. He did find out that Blaine sang in his high school Glee club, and oh, he’s single right now. Don’t get any ideas though, fandom, because Blaine knows there’s a difference between a fan and a friend. Anyways, sounds like Blaine Anderson was as cute as ever - oh and he was wearing cherry red shoes.

...

“Let’s go, Kurt. Off your laptop, put away your homework, we’re going to the cast open mic night.” 

Kurt looks up over his computer skeptically. “Open mic night?”

“Oh come on. You don’t even have to perform if you don’t want to. And Blaine asked if you were coming-”

“He did? We talked for like five minutes. How does he even remember my name?” What.

“Yeah. I know it’s weird but I think you’re a good excuse not to have to be networking the whole night. For me too,” Rachel emphasizes. “Come on.”

Kurt nods his head from side to side, feigning indecision but of course he’s going. Blaine Anderson asked for him to come. Or asked if he was coming. Or whatever. He’s obviously going.

...

As he and Rachel are whisked into the Limelight - closed for a private event - by the security guard at the door, he’s sure he has accidentally fallen through a portal into the world of Sing!, with Blaine’s character, Roy Royson, up on stage as usual, serenading his on screen love interest with an unplugged version of an 80′s rock ballad. Today it’s Jack and Diane. 

Only Roy Royson would be wearing a plaid flannel shirt and not a fitted red cardigan with tight dark blue jeans and a navy bowtie. And man, Blaine Anderson can rock a bowtie. 

“He’s good, right?” Rachel gestures to Blaine on the stage, who sees them and gives a wink and smile. What a showman. “Talented.”

“He was on Sing!, Rachel. Not a shock that he can carry a tune,” Kurt shrugs. No way is he letting Rachel know how captivated he is. He’s seen Blaine as Roy perform on screen countless times and then on repeat, but something about seeing the real Blaine, all styled and a touch deliberately flamboyant but also very boyish singing classic 80′s rock, completely holding the live audience in his hands. He’s hard to look away from. By the time Kurt catches himself staring slightly open mouthed and manages to turn around to get a drink, Rachel already has a drink in hand and is sitting at a table with Jesse St. James and a few of the others he met the other week.

Kurt orders a ginger ale with one lime (can’t be caught drinking underage with the high profile cast), and turns towards Rachel’s table where Blaine is now conveniently sitting. Kurt would not have normally dared to sit beside him for fear of spilling his drink from shaky hands, or worse being tongue tied when being asked a mundane question, but it appears that the chair beside Blaine is the only empty one and Kurt is not sure if it’s a punishment or a reward. So it’s facing his fears or cozying up to the showrunner at a separate table. Awkward.

“Great performance,” Kurt starts as he sits down beside Blaine.  “I can appreciate a strong stage presence despite the strange choice of music genre.”

Blaine looks up and his smile widens amusedly as he shifts his chair over to make more room. “Thank you,” Blaine nods and then leans in to Kurt’s ear. “Well, despite the choice of genre, I may have caught you staring.”  Blaine winks. Did he just-

Kurt is mortified but Blaine just elbows him in the side and takes a sip of his beer.  He was caught. But Blaine doesn’t appear to be mad, or embarrassed, or irritated - In fact, he seems happily entertained . Cocky bastard. “Well, my dad is a big Mellencamp fan, and I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching a classic performance where the lead is in anything other than stone washed jeans and flannel.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh it’s a compliment.” Kurt turns to him. “I did try to do Mellencamp once in a Glee club assignment in my junior year - complete with the flannel. But somehow I couldn’t pull it off. My dad even called me out.”

Blaine laughs, eyes sparkling and staring right at him. Man, that eye contact. “Too forced?” 

“Too straight,” Kurt answers and Blaine laughs again like Kurt is both funny and entertaining. “I think I got a lecture about not trying to be someone I’m not just to impress him. That he loves me just as I am blah blah blah.”

Blaine’s face turns serious. “That’s lucky.”

Kurt stares back. “I know.”

“So you were out?”

“Yeah. And maybe thanks to my dad and my Glee club, I survived Lima. But it wasn’t fun. Guess Lima’s just too narrow for all this fabulousness,” Kurt jokes, gesturing at today’s outfit - lime green tight army jeans with a purple button down and scarf. And of course a heart shaped broach. 

“Lima’s loss,” Blaine says seriously, reaching out to touch Kurt’s arm. Kurt jumps and then Blaine’s hand is gone again. “Well, you’re in LA, now. The fun is only just beginning.” Kurt’s jaw drops slightly and he can feel himself staring at Blaine, again, and trying to stop being drawn to that impossible magnetism.

“Let’s go, Kurt! It’s our turn.” Luckily Rachel pulling at his arm against the magnetic force rescues him.

“What?”

“I signed us up, of course. Defying Gravity. Let’s go.” Kurt normally loves performing. Loves performing Broadway hits. Loves performing with Rachel. But performing in front of his celebrity crush - that was not on his agenda. “Come on!” She pulls him up on stage. Ah well. Good thing he’s a good actor. Game face is about to be in full force.

When they take their bows, the room full of appropriately enthusiastic applause, Kurt lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “That was great, Kurt!” Blaine seems genuinely excited. “You’re a countertenor - You have an amazing voice!” Kurt beams. He has an amazing voice.

Before he can second guess himself, Kurt turns to Blaine and whispers, “Thank you. And I assume your love of Broadway is why I caught you staring.” 

Blaine laughs and chinks their glasses. “Guilty.”

...

When he gets home that night, high from all the performances, from the performing, from talking to Blaine Anderson again, he closes his door and screams silently into his pillow. He grabs his phone and texts Mercedes who is of course asleep in New York City.

Kurt: Mercedes, I’m back. We talked. Again. A lot. He kind of stared at me through my whole performance with Rachel. Which he admitted. And laughed. He even likes my voice. I think we’re friends. Like actually friends.

In the morning, Kurt wakes up to Mercedes’ reply. 

Mercedes: Of course he likes your voice. You’re epic. And friends? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?

[the-loners-library]

You were only young, but since your parents had known Captain Holt and his husband Kevin for many years this meant that he was willing to let you intern at the Nine Nine for a short while during college.

You still weren’t completely sure what career you wanted, but you knew you wanted to help others so working at a police precinct with people who had similar ideals to you was very good experience.

You got along with everybody at the Nine Nine- some on a closer level than others.

Amy was very sweet to you and seemed to take you under her wing in an “older sister” capacity. Jake was more of the annoying older brother who was still very protective. Charles was kind of weird, but still very nice and always helping you with little odd jobs. Rosa was off-putting to start with (and she still scared you sometimes with how intense she was) but you could tell she secretly cared about her family at the Nine Nine. You had to constantly remind Terry that you were there to work, and he didn’t have to treat you as one of older kids (although, to be fair, he treated all of the others as his unruly children so you didn’t take it personally). Gina liked the fact that she had a “slave” to do all of her paperwork and get her coffee and food whenever she wanted. It took a little while of getting her purposely incorrect items before she realised you weren’t at her beck and call and she softened up after that. Even Hitchcock and Scully you got along with. You weren’t sure exactly what they did around the precinct, but they were entertaining to watch.

After a couple of weeks, you had noticed the way Jake acted around Amy. He always stared at her with puppy eyes and scoffed when she spoke about Teddy, her boyfriend. This was after Jake came back from being undercover, and Charles had told you that Jake and Amy had an almost thing and he was waiting for them to get married.

You rolled your eyes when he said that (a bit too eagerly) but you kind of agreed- they would be a cute couple.

After that, you constantly made little hints to Jake about his feelings. If he would make a really bad pot of coffee, you would ask if Amy liked bad coffee, he must know, right?

A really juvenile joke? A comment on how Amy likes mature men, not teenagers.

But at the same time, you shared commiserations with him whenever Teddy came around. He wasn’t a bad guy, but he did seem really boring.

It wasn’t until much later when you had left your internship (and graduated college) that you got the invite to Jake and Amy’s wedding.

Although the original wedding fell through, you were able to make to their sickeningly sweet alternate wedding, and if you shed a few happy tears, nobody but Charles would know (and the only reason he knew was because you were both gripping each others arms and squealing).