#I don’t usually complain about fandoms but I have a job interview tomorrow and this is how I’m getting the nerves out

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

My controversial opinion about The Bear is that Sydney and Carmy have one of those character dynamics where them being in a romantic relationship/having romantic feelings for each other is the least interesting option, and I’m not just saying that because Carmy gives me aro vibes

[rushingheadlong]

Teasin’ Around With Me - A Brian May x Reader smut fic

Summary: Brian’s hands are paying the price after the first rehearsal following some time off. You know a trick or two to help him out, but it turns out that Brian has other plans on his mind.

Wordcount: ~3,700

Warnings: Smut, hand kink, fingering, teasing and orgasm denial

Notes: Written for an anon request for more fic about Brian’s hands. If this is what I’m gonna be known for in this fandom, I will gladly accept my fate. 

I seem to remember an interview Brian did where he talked about how his hands were always in bad shape for the first few shows of a new tour, and once that was stuck in my head I had to write this. I’m not a guitar player, but I did do far too much research on guitar calluses and maintenance for a smut fic so… there’s that.

Freddie is the first to cave, saying, “Alright, let’s call it there, lovies, shall we?” after a long day day of rehearsal, and no one voices any complaint. The first practice session for the upcoming tour has largely been a success, but you know the band has to be feeling the effects from the few weeks they had off. For one thing, Freddie is downing a glass of water instead of his usual beer or champagne, and you can see Roger shaking out his arms as he steps away from his kit.

You catch up with Brian as he’s putting the Red Special away, commiserating with John about the state of their hands and fingers after a long, grueling day of playing their instruments.

“I actually tried to keep up with the calluses this time, but I spent too much damn time in the ocean for it to do me much good,” John is complaining, showing his hands to Brian.

You watch as Brian takes one of John’s hands in his, no doubt taking a look at the state of Deacy’s fingers. Brian is gentle, his touch almost delicate; you watch, transfixed, as he turns John’s hand over in his for a moment, before laughing and holding out his own hands for the bass player to inspect. 

“Well, mine are in even worse shape than yours, I think,” Brian says, a little self-deprecating. You wrap an arm around Brian’s waist and he smiles at you, and pulls his hands back from John to drape an arm across your shoulders. He smirks down at you and adds, “Guess I just got distracted and forgot to keep up with them.”

You feel your face flush slightly as you remember exactly how Brian had been distracted- and what those hands had been doing instead of playing guitar. After having Brian more-or-less to yourself for the last few weeks you’ve become very fond of those hands and things they’re capable of doing.

John laughs. “Well by the end of the week we’ll both be back in fighting form- or playing form, as it were. Just gotta tough it through these first few days.”

Brian makes a small noise of agreement, and politely turns down an offer from the others to go out for drinks together. You catch Brian trying to subtly shake out his left hand as the two of you walk out to the car and you stop him, and take his hand to inspect it yourself. “Does it hurt much?” you ask. His fingertips are red and look sore, and there’s a muscle twitch in the palm of his hand from the strain of holding the thicker neck of the Red Special. 

Brian shrugs and tries to pull his hand away, but you give him a pointed look and he sighs. “It’s a bit sore, yeah,” he admits. “Always is, at first, but like John said I’ll be fine by the time the tour starts.”

You make a small, displeased noise in the back of your throat at the implication that Brian isn’t fine now. “I can give you a hand massage when we get home,” you offer as the two of you start walking again. “Might make tomorrow more bearable, at least.”

The smile that Brian gives you is wide, and almost blindingly bright. “That would be great, yeah,” he says. “Thanks, Y/N.”

The drive home from Queen’s rehearsal space doesn’t take long, and when you get back you direct Brian to go sit in the living room. “Do you want anything to drink?” you call over your shoulder as you duck into the bathroom to grab your favorite bottle of lotion. 

“Just a water, thanks,” Brian calls back, and you detour to the kitchen to fill a glass before rejoining Brian. 

Brian is absolutely sprawled out on the couch, legs spread wide and head tilted against the back of the couch to expose the long line of his neck. It’s an almost obscene image, and you have to push down the urge to sink a bite into the column of Brian’s throat. He looks back up when he hears you walk into the room and gives you a lazy smile that’s just smug enough for you to know that his pose isn’t a coincidence- and that you aren’t hiding your desire as much as you probably should. 

Well. If that’s how he wants this to go, two can certainly play at that game. 

You straddle Brian’s lap and kiss him quickly as you set the glass of water down on the end table nearby. “You ready to be wowed by my amazing massage skills?”

“Oh, is that what’s going to wow me here?” Brian teases. His hands drop down to your hips to help keep you balanced, and you shiver as his fingers dip under the hem of your shirt to tease along your skin. 

“Well, if you play your cards right, I’m sure I can wow you with some of my other skills later."

Brian’s eyes go dark at the implication behind your words and he kisses you, less chaste this time, and his left hand starts to move towards the front of your jeans. You pull it away, flashing Brian a knowing smirk as you do so, and hold it in front of you while you fumble to open the lotion bottle with your one free hand. 

“Actually, don’t,” Brian says suddenly and you immediately stop. He laughs at your worried expression, just a little, and nods towards the bottle. “The lotion. You’ll soften the calluses.”

You relax back against him. “Oh. Didn’t think of that.” You toss the bottle aside and shift on Brian’s lap, purposefully rocking against him- though, while the small gasp from Brian at the sudden friction is delicious to hear, you underestimated how much you were being affected by the situation as well and you bite back a whimper at the pressure against your own core. 

You can’t afford to get too distracted now. You still have a promise to keep, and you turn your attention to the job at hand.

You start at Brian’s fingertips, careful not to work the calluses too much for fear of softening them up, but you gently tug and stroke along the digits, massaging each segment and knuckle before moving onto the next. You aren’t intentionally trying to make this part of things sexual, but then you accidentally pop one of Brian’s knuckles and he groans at the sensation, rocking up against you almost unconsciously as his other hand tightens around your hip.

This time you can’t hold back a gasp and you grind down against Brian. He groans again and uses his grip on your hip to encourage you to keep rubbing yourself against him and you do, for a moment, letting yourself get lost in the friction and the feeling of Brian’s cock hardening beneath you… and then you force yourself to stop, resting your forehead against his as you struggle to calm yourself down again. 

“God, Y/N,” Brian pants. “Don't tease me like this.”

You chuckle and kiss his temple, before picking up his hand again and smoothing your thumbs along the back of it. “We still have a hand massage to get through, mister.”

Brian groans, this time in clear disappointment, and when he shifts beneath you again you move with him, denying both of you the friction that he’s looking for. “Fuck my hands, I just want you.”

“Oh believe me, I would love to fuck your hands,” you say, massaging around his wrist before flipping his hand over and digging your thumbs into his palm. “Just as soon as I finish this.”

Brian mutters something uncharitable under his breath, but he stops trying to grind up against you as you finish massaging his palm, moving to the inside of his wrist, and finishing by gently stretching out his fingers against your own. 

And then, because you absolutely do enjoy being a little tease sometimes, you bring his hand up to your mouth and lick across Brian’s fingertips, before sucking two of his fingers into your mouth. Beneath you Brian practically whimpers, thrusting up against you and twisting his fingers in your mouth as you lick and suck at them.

When you finally pull your mouth away Brian’s eyes are blown wide with lust and he gives you a dazed, almost confused look, and asks, “Fuck, Y/N, why did you stop?”

You let go of his hand and gently pry the other away from your hip, raising it up between the two of you. “I still have one more hand to massage,” you say sweetly, though the look you give him is positively devilish. 

Brian’s last shred of patience finally snaps and before you know what’s happening he’s moving, flipping you down on the couch and kneeling over you. You laugh, and spread your legs to give Brian enough space to settle between them, and can’t help but tease, “I take it that’s a no on the massage?”

“I can think of a couple things I’d rather be doing with my hands right now,” Brian says, and your answering laugh gets swallowed up in a heated kiss. You bury your hands in his curls as you lick into his mouth, and Brian slowly slides his hands down your body to pop open the button on your jeans. “You wanna help me get these off?” he murmurs.

You don’t want to stop kissing him and Brian laughs against your mouth as you refuse to let go of him, but you do wriggle your hips and help Brian slide your jeans and panties off. It’s only then that you let your hands fall to his shirt, tugging at the hem and telling Brian, “C’mon, take your clothes off too.”

“Too? You’re still half dressed yourself.” Brian stands, just briefly, long enough to strip off his shirt and pants, and although you roll your eyes at his comment you still sit up and pull your shirt over your head. Brian climbs back on the couch before you can remove your bra and he does that for you, throwing it to the side and cupping your breast in one hand as he trails kisses and lovebites down your neck. 

“Brian- ah, god, Bri,” you gasp as he swipes his thumb over your nipple and sucks a bruise into a particularly tender spot just above your collarbone. “Stop teasing, please.”

Brian chuckles against your skin and says, “I thought you liked teasing. You certainly liked teasing me.” He continues to play with your nipple as he leans up to kiss your jaw, before murmuring in your ear, “What was it you said before about wanting to fuck my hands? ‘cause that sounds like a good idea to me… work you open with my fingers, play with your little clit, make you beg for me to actually get you off…”

You whimper at Brian’s words, clenching your thighs around him and trying to thrust up against him. “I’ll beg now if you want me to,” you tell him, but Brian just smirks at you and sits back between your legs, pushing one up so it’s draped over the back of the couch and giving him plenty of access as he slowly runs his fingers along your wet folds. 

You gasp and rock against his hand, trying to get his fingers inside you, but Brian anticipates the movement and keeps teasing along the outside of your cunt and the inside of your thighs. “Please,” you beg, because you’ve never been able to hold out for long when Brian works you up like this. And usually it’s easy for you to get Brian to cave and give you what you both want, but tonight he seems determined get payback for you teasing him. It's clear that he's intent on driving you absolutely crazy and he keeps trailing his fingers through your slickness, occasionally slightly dipping inside your core but never filling you like you so desperately need. 

“Please, Bri,” you try again, and this time Brian sinks one finger into your core. You’re so wet that it slides in so easily and you gasp and push down against it, trying to get it deeper. “Ah, god- more, Bri, c’mon, I can take another…”

“You want more?” Brian says, his voice so low that it almost comes out as a purr. You nod, desperate to satiate the burning need consuming you, but instead of pushing another finger inside you Brian brings his other hand up to your mouth. 

You whimper as you realize what Brian wants, but you don’t hesitate to open your mouth so Brian can slip two fingers inside. He pushes down slightly, holding your mouth open for a moment as he runs his fingers along your tongue. You can’t do anything but pant, desperate and needy, as he toys with your mouth, until he tells you to start sucking and you do, wrapping your lips around his fingers and drawing them as deep into your mouth as you can. 

Brian twists the finger that’s inside your cunt, slowly moving it inside you despite your attempts to take him deeper, harder, anything other than the torturous, shallow thrusts that he’s giving you. He rubs his thumb over your clit, too gentle for you to get off on it before he pulls it away again, and your cry of frustration is muffled by the fingers that he’s fucking into your mouth at a far faster pace than he’s fucking your cunt. 

You try to reach down to rub your clit but that just gets Brian pulling his finger out of you, and pushing your hand away. “No, no, babe, let me take care of you,” he says. “Wanna see you come undone on my hand…”

You whine at that, but press your hands back against the couch and suckle at the fingers in your mouth, silently giving Brian permission to continue. He smirks as he pushes his finger back inside you, and you know that he’s not going to take this easy on you. 

By the time Brian finally works a second finger inside you, you’re so desperate to cum that you’re nearly in tears. You know that if you really wanted Brian to stop he would, without hesitation, but you don’t want him to stop. You’re so on edge, so turned on and soaking wet for Brian that you can hear every tiny movement of his fingers inside you, and that should be embarrassing but instead it just ratchets up your desire even more. 

Brian curls his fingers inside you and strokes them over your g-spot and you nearly jacknife off the couch at the overwhelming pleasure that courses through you, crying out so loudly that even having your mouth full does nothing to dampen the noise. “There we go,” Brian says, sounding far too pleased by your reaction. “Is that what you wanted, hm?”

You nod and moan, high-pitched and broken, as Brian strokes that spot again. His fingers are long and nimble, and he knows how to play you just as well as his guitar. He twists his fingers, scissoring them inside you, occasionally thumbing at your clit but never giving you enough sensation to actually come. 

“C’mon, babydoll, I asked you a question,” Brian murmurs. “You want my fingers here?” Another stroke over your g-spot and you try to answer, “Yes, yes, yes,” but it’s unintelligible around the fingers in your mouth. “Or maybe it’s too much…” He slowly starts to pull his fingers out and you whimper and shake your head, trying to clench down around them to keep them inside, but it doesn’t do you any good. 

“Maybe you want me to stop…” Brian trails his fingers along the outside of your folds, taking just a few seconds to tease at your clit, before moving to trace patterns along the inside of your thighs. God, you can feel how wet his fingers are against your skin and it makes you whimper again and clench down against nothing.

The fingers inside your mouth curl behind your teeth and gently push down, and you let your jaw fall open, panting and whining and begging Brian with your eyes and a desperate “Please,” that you can only hope he understands. 

Brian groans and rocks against your thigh. You can feel how hard he is, how turned on he is just from making you come undone beneath him, and all you want is for him to fuck you but you have no idea how to beg for that when coherant words are beyond your ability at the moment and Brian is still holding your mouth open around his fingers. 

“Please,” you try again, even though it’s no more understandable than your first attempt, and you lap at his fingertips as best you can, trying to rile him up enough to do something.

It seems to work because Brian moans and pushes three fingers back inside you, fast and hard, seemingly done with the teasing. You cry out and rock against his hand, meeting his thrusts and driving his fingers as deep as you can. His other hand is still holding your jaw open and you can feel drool start to drip around his fingers but you don’t even care as Brian starts to thumb over your clit- consistently, this time, and you feel your orgasm building so quickly that you barely have a second to breathe before it crashes over you. 

You scream as you come, thrashing underneath Brian and riding his hand as he works you through your orgasm. He pulls his other hand out of your mouth and brings it down to rub over your clit and you sob as unending waves of pleasure roll over you. It feels like it lasts forever, Brian prolonging your pleasure to the point where it almost becomes painful, gradually slowing his movements before finally stopping altogether. Still, you can feel yourself clench and twitch against the fingers still inside you as the last shocks of your orgasm fade, and when Brian finally pulls them out you whimper as his fingertips brush against your too-sensitive core. 

Brian presses a gentle kiss to your thigh, and gently lowers your leg back down. “You alright?” he asks softly. 

You’re not entirely sure that you’re capable of speaking at the moment, but you nod and offer Brian a blissed-out, dopey smile. He laughs, and kisses your knee. “Glad to hear it,” he says. 

You hum in response, letting your eyes slide shut for a moment while you catch your breath and your bearings. After a few seconds, though, you recognize the slick sound of skin-on-skin and you force your eyes back open and glance down at Brian, who’s quickly jerking himself off to the sight of you lying exhausted beneath him. 

The fingers curled around his cock are still slightly glistening with your moisture and you groan at the sight. It’s obscene, him using your own slickness to get himself off, and part of you just wants to lie back and watch Brian use those skillful fingers on his cock. But, after the fantastic orgasm he just gave you, it doesn’t feel right not to return the favor. 

You’re too sensitive for him to fuck you, and you’re not sure you’re coordinated enough at the moment to suck him off, but you still sit up enough to reach down and bat his hand away, wrapping yours around his cock instead and stroking him exactly the way he likes it. 

He moans, thrusting into your hand. “C’mon, Bri, come for me,” you tell him, swiping your thumb over the head of his cock, and he does, crying out as he spills over your hand and you gently pump his cock until he whimpers and pulls away. 

That wipes out the last bit of energy you had and you collapse back against the couch, watching as Brian grabs his shirt to clean most of his cum off your hand before lying down with his head resting on your stomach. You sigh and close your eyes again, content to lie here with Brian until you’re sure that you can stand up without your legs giving out from underneath you.

“The massage was nice, before we got distracted,” Brian says after a few moments of comfortable silence. One of his hands is still tracing absent-minded patterns along your thigh and you shiver at the sensation. “Though, everything else that came after was even better.”

You snort, and crack open your eyes to see Brian smiling up at you. You reach down to card a hand through his hair and scratch lightly at his scalp. “Yeah, well, for the record I offered the massage in entirely good faith. The rest is entirely your fault.”

“Mhmm,” Brian hums. “You know, I don’t really have a problem taking responsibility for this. Although…” His smile turns into a bit of a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he says, “So much for not doing anything to soften the calluses.”

You know you’re going to regret the question, but you still ask, “What do you mean?”

“Just, y’know, you’re not supposed to soak them while they’re forming,” Brian says. “And I’d definitely say that both my hands got soaked tonight.”

You groan at the absolutely awful joke and shove Brian away. He laughs and settles right back against you anyway, like you knew he would. “Well, it’s a good thing you still have a week before the tour, then,” you tell him. 

“Yeah, but I’m not sure how much good that’ll do me,” Brian says, sliding one hand up your side to tease along the very edge of your breast. “Considering how impossible it is to keep my hands off you…”

You should push Brian’s hand away. You both just came, and there were a thousand things you wanted to get done tonight… and none of that seems to matter as you arch into his hand. “If you’re planning on starting round two,” you tell him, “you’d better be planning on carrying me to bed.”

Brian laughs and pulls hand away, and although you’re a little disappointed you know that that’s probably for the best- at least until Brian stands, and scoops you into his arms, laughing at your surprised shriek as he carries you back towards your bedroom.

[graaaaceeliz]

BruceBat and Clark-man

I put up (finally) a second chapter of my fic where Bruce and Clark have made a Thing out of their resemblances to Batman and Superman. I'm linking chapter one, but it isn't entirely necessary to read it to understand the principle behind chapter two.

Chapter Two: Where have all the good men gone? (<1500 words)

Days like this were the best, thought Bruce. He’d never admit to that aloud, nobody wants to tempt the fates, but it was true. His children filled the home with noise and joy (and arguments and temper, but who was he to complain?) and Alfred’s eyes glimmered with theirs, whilst Bruce laughed more than he had since he was a troubled teenager with an adrenaline issue and the absolute chaos of Tony and Lex as his brothers. The rift between Lex and Clark saddened him, because they should have all been together, united against threats to Earth. They had plenty of those. But he was a united front with LexCorp most of the time, and people knew that Batman and Superman had as close a shield-bond as had existed. The Bats themselves were a clan, a colony, symbols of the end for evil and of hope for good. He couldn’t have ever dreamed this.

Clark nudged his shoulder into his. “Good day, huh? And I am coming with you to the dance tonight. I don’t want to go home just yet,” he trailed off slightly as his eyes glazed over. “B, I will be right back.” Bruce sighed. He truly sympathised with families linked to the emergency services. Alfred’s friend had called from England last night, and they’d sat around the kitchen table with the phone on loudspeaker as she talked about the mountains and the sea and the surprisingly good winter, which had led onto the topic of emergency responses and various light tales of their exploits. Bruce had missed her, actually, because she’d been around a lot when he was a kid (hardly any older than Tony, she’d introduced him as her baby brother in New York a few times in clubs) but he had only seen her three times since he became Batman. Jason’s funeral, when he came back to life, and seven months ago when she finally got out of MI-whatever. He didn’t know. Wasn’t sure he wanted to – she was quite possibly an assassin.

A sudden swish of the air to his left indicated Clark’s return. He seemed a bit flustered, collar crumpled and hair tossed by the impossible speeds he achieved when it was necessary. Bruce turned to him, wondering vaguely what that had been about. He hadn’t been gone long enough to have saved the planet, barely long enough to save a kitten. Bruce was well aware of how long it could take to save a world. It usually involved violence, subterfuge, and injuries. And payouts. And payoffs. Besides the point. Clark gradually quietened under Bruce’s steady patient gaze, as everyone eventually did. It was so human, for Clark to be soothed by his trusted brother, for Bruce to feel the urge to punch whatever upset Clark so. They were neither of them human as most imagined them to be. Grudges could be held for eternity.

“I went to a group of firefighters. There was a big fire a couple of days ago, remember I told you about it? The one in Boston that they told to me leave to them and go save those boys in the cave in Madagascar. That one. Well, they called for me, because they wanted to show me the exhibition they made. It’s about us, Bruce. The League, other known heroes, the Avengers too. And ordinary people. Doctors, nurses, grandparents, big sisters, teachers. Local heroes. And – Bruce, the exhibition is as large as the one we’re going to tonight at the Gallery. Heroes. Ordinary, brilliant humans, who save people.”

Bruce grunted into the warm evening light, keeping a close eye on the wrestling match between Damian and Tim that was getting dangerously close to his prize roses. He looked out to the pale blue sky, “You cried.”

“....Yeah. I couldn’t help it.”

“Quick back.”

Clark smiled slightly. “I want to show you,” he murmured, “it’s so full of wonderful people.”

Bruce quirked a smile. That would be good. Perhaps he should suggest that as the next exhibit in the Gallery or maybe the Precinct – local heroes. Hopefully it would boost the city’s morale without the necessity of drugs or alcohol. He’d make sure Jim got recognised. But going with Clark to this special one also sounded good. “Tomorrow.”

Clark smiled.

*~°~*~°~*

“Mr Wayne! Over here! Is this your friend? A reporter! Oh my!”

Hello, I’m Clark. A smile as innocent as a child’s. Hello Clark. I’m Bruce.

“Hello, Pietr. Bruce and I would like to talk to the curator of the museum, so we’ll have to talk at a later date.”

Sorry, but Superman and I have things to do, Señor Domingo. Adiós. What kind of a name is Lord Sunday? A stupid one.

“Well handled, Clark.”

“Eh. I hate the act you put on, so I’m trying to avoid it. Is that the curator?”

“Hm.”

Clark, that’s him, isn’t it? Yeah. Oh good, we can all go home soon. Shut up, I’m sarcastic all the time. A Hm can be sarcastic.

“Excuse me, Mr Hammerstein! Excuse me, ma’am, sir, excuse us, thanks. Mr Hammerstein, Mr Wayne and I- oh for goodness’ sake. Bruce! Come on, I need to interview some visiting rich folk and if you take all night I won’t get it done. Thank you. Anyways, Mr Hammerstein, we have an exhibit idea...”

*~°~*~°~*

“Please, call me Brucie.”

“Okay, Brucie. Now, we all saw the last time you pretended to be Batman. Tonight I heard that you have a friend who looks like Superman – oh, the crowd are excited tonight!”

“Haha, it seems so. Clark and myself do bear a resemblance to the famous heroes, yes. It gets pointed out to us periodically.”

We’re supposed to be undercover! We’re in our suits! What, so we pretend to be Brucie and Clark in our actual suits in an attempt to infiltrate Lex’s party?? That’s insane, Clark, absolutely insane. What – well, yeah, it might work... Lex won’t call us out on it, no.

“I have heard that at one of Lex Luthor’s famed Metropolis Galas you did an act?”

“Well, not an act, no. I had had rather a lot to drink, shall we say, but I was dressed up as Batman.”

“And yourself, Mr Kent is it? Yes – you make a strikingly good Superman. I’ve heard that you’re known in your office at Perry White’s Metropolis ‘paper for your impressions. Any chance the pair of you would do an act for us tonight?”

We have to go along with it just pretend, Clark, call it an act and just pretend like I do with Brucie, won’t be easy but you have to try Clark we have to try

“I’m afraid Brucie and I would rather not. However, we would like to talk some about our new venture, the Gotham branch of which is named: Where have all the good men gone? As you may recognise, we’ve taken the name from Bonnie Tyler’s song I Need a Hero. We’re aiming to put together an exhibition here in Gotham about our unrecognised street-level heroes. My nomination is the guy who does late night door duties on the hotel building I have often stayed at not far from here. He prevents people accessing the tower when they don’t have appropriate ID, opens the foyer to those waiting for taxis home, and has interrupted no less than five incidents in the last six months at the cost of his health. So here’s to you, doorman.”

There will always be hope as long as one man or child or woman is willing to stand up painpainpain and say no there will always be hope and that’s why I do this I am bringing hope despite blood and I refuse to give up and you are hope you embody it we are hope so don’t give up ignore the pain we get up it hurts so much but we get up

“My personal nominee is Jim Gordon. He’s always been supportive of my family and myself, has dedicated his life to cleaning up the police force and has really given hope to the youth of Gotham. The nomination process will be described in an interview tomorrow night, which will also be published in local papers. We would love for you all to nominate an unrecognised person who you see as a hero. Of course, our costumed vigilantes each get a photo in the exhibit, so there’s no need to nominate them unless you have a particular inspiring story.”

“All proceeds will go to soup kitchens and hostels, to help people get off the streets. Next month we hope to launch the Metropolis branch of the campaign, named in honour of our own superhero: Where are all the gods? It will run off exactly the same principle, with people nominating personal heroes. The Waynes and myself hope to establish skills centres in both of our cities to help people get off the streets and into jobs, and to teach transferable skills to as many people as possible. But please, please partake in this I Need a Hero campaign. The more we raise, the more people we can help.”

“Certainly the most admirable project I have had the joy of hearing about in several years. Well, folks, remember what these two have said to us tonight. Thank you both for agreeing to this conversation.”

“It’s been a real pleasure.”

[petaldancing]

fic: but only one truth

fandom: persona 5 characters: makoto, ann summary: she finds her in a koban, five years later. this time, things might be different. (chapter 1 of 4)

Makoto only noticed it was drizzling when she took off her helmet and hung it on handlebar. She eased the motorbike into its allocated lot next to the koban, mentally picking out the what she was going to include in her report. Leaning on the seat of her bike, she flipped open her lined notebook and began to jot down the details in point form. The neighbourhood patrol, which included helping tourists find their way around Tokyo and talking to Shujin students that were loitering out late, had taken her more than an hour. It was ritual more than anything else, the patrol and the report thereafter, and though it wasn’t anything exciting, it gave rhythm to an otherwise chaotic job. It was sort of like being student council president again. Makoto did not know whether the comparison was comforting or disconcerting, pressing the tip of the ballpoint pen onto the page for a moment.

She pushed these thoughts aside as she entered the koban, tucking her notebook under one arm. There was a blonde woman sitting on the waiting chairs along the wall, tapping the heel of her sneaker on the tiled floor. A visitor making a report  was common. What wasn’t was the fact that Makoto recognised her immediately. The pages of her notebook flapped open as it fell to the floor. 

The woman removed her sunglasses as her mouth opened in delighted surprise. “Makoto! What are the odds!” 

“Ann? What are you doing here?” Makoto rushed to her side after she picked up her notebook, concern overriding the embarrassment of having Ann see her in uniform. She was an officer now, and her priority was attending to the needs of the civilians, even if this one didn’t bother to hide the smile that appeared on her face.

“You look really good, Makoto,” Ann’s smile widening into a toothy grin. Makoto remembered how the whole gang had asked for a photo of her in uniform ever since she’d officially signed on to the police. She never took that picture, nor did she let on to which station she was posted at, which made Ann the first to see her on duty.

“N-nevermind that!” Makoto hoped that the warmth spreading across her cheeks wasn’t obvious. “More importantly, what happened?” 

Ann slipped her sunglasses into her red purse as she said, “There was a snatch thief. Ryuji didn’t manage to catch the guy, but he did get a good look at his face and his motorcycle plate. They’re getting the details from him right now.” She nodded to the back of the koban, which housed just one interview room and the staff office. Kurosawa was the other officer on shift, and she wasn’t the type who startled easily. She would be able to deal with Ryuji by herself. On the other hand, Makoto didn’t know if she would be able to handle Ann one on one. She fidgeted with her notebook and reminded herself that as long as she focused on doing her job, there wouldn’t be any problems.

“Where did this happen? Are you hurt?”

“Just down the road, near Yoyogi station. You know, at that intersection where 7-11 and Big Bang Burger are? Ryuji wanted to grab something to eat after running some deliveries, and I just finished a shoot nearby, so we decided to meet up,” Ann explained. 

It seemed that sheer coincidence brought them to this part of the neighbourhood. Makoto nodded, slowly adjusting to the fact that she wouldn’t have been able to keep her friends from finding out about where she worked forever. Still, she couldn’t help but feel out of her depth. Ever since she graduated from the academy, she only ever visited Leblanc on special occasions. It felt so odd and undeserved, for her to be talking to Ann now, and more than that, the thought of Ryuji and Ann grabbing a meal together without asking her reminded her that they were no longer as close as they used to be in high school, when they were the Phantom Thieves. 

Ann continued, “We were deciding where to get dinner and then the snatch thief ran past us and Ryuji chased him. When we didn’t manage to catch him, we tried to find the nearest koban, and here we are.” The bangles on her hand clinked with her gestures.

Makoto’s thoughts shifted from one kind of regret into another. If only she hadn’t taken so long on patrol. She would’ve heard the commotion on the way back if she were fifteen minutes earlier. Her hand balled into a fist at her side. 

Ann seemed to notice her frustration. “I know it’s a shame the guy got away, but hey, it looks like we’ve finally figured out where you work!” She pointed a manicured finger at Makoto and winked. 

In response, Makoto pressed her one hand to her forehead. “Please… don’t tell the rest.” Futaba would probably tap into the security cameras just for fun, and the others would surely drop by just to have a look since she’d been so strict about separating her career from what remained of her social life. Working shifts meant that she spent most of her off days training and reading. When was the last time she sat down with the gang? Perhaps Christmas, last year.

“Promise.” Ann lifted her pinky finger to Makoto without saying anything else.

Makoto blinked. She remembered a chilly winter’s day, her graduation certificate gripped tight in one hand, and the other, holding Ann’s and all the words she was too afraid to say.

“Makoto?” 

“Ah, um—” She linked her pinky with Ann’s before her brain could object, and felt like she was eighteen all over again. Ann held their fingers together before slowly letting go. Yes, it was just like back then, except now, Makoto was an adult who could no longer run and hide behind convincing excuses.

If Ann also remembered, she did not let on. Instead, she raised her gaze to the ceiling, as if searching for the next part of her sentence. The action gave a clear view of her neck and collarbone, and made Makoto acutely aware that Ann was wearing a dark off-the-shoulder dress. 

She lowered her eyes to the floor, nearly biting her tongue as she hurried to blurt out, “Tha—Thank you. I appreciate it.” 

“What’s up with that? We’re friends, Makoto. No need to be so formal,” Ann chuckled, and said these words like they were the simplest thing. 

Makoto couldn’t help but crack a smile. Ann never did hold anything back. Even now, she found herself wishing she could be just a little bit more like her.  

“Oh!” Ann interrupted her thoughts, having decided what she wanted to say “In return, I have something that I want you to consider very seriously.” 

Makoto pressed her heels together. When was the last time Ann had asked her for help? It felt so long ago since she felt like she was a senior in high school, and Ann had achieved so much on her own since then. She cleared her throat and asked, “What is it?” 

“Well... Shiho’s moving out in about two months. She got a great offer for work at a rehab centre in Kyoto. And I was looking for a roommate.” Ann tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as Makoto felt her chest tighten. “You’ve been staying with Sae-san all this while, so do you wanna consider moving in with me? Remember what we said years ago?”

Makoto couldn’t forget, no matter how hard she tried. The words came out instinctively, defensively: “Why me?” 

Ann creased her brow at Makoto’s sharp response, but before she could say anything else, the door of the interrogation room swung open just then, and out stepped Ryuji Sakamoto with his hands perched behind his head. 

“I’m starving! Ann, let’s go get dinner!” he called out loudly, no different from usual. His eyes flitted from Ann to Makoto as he registered her presence. He practically jumped as he shouted, “Woah! Makoto! You’re really a cop now! What did I say Ann? I knew we’d run into Makoto!”

“That’s what you say everytime we pass by a police station.” Ann rolled her eyes.

“And I was right this time!” Ryuji folded his arms triumphantly as he approached them. Behind him, Makoto exchanged nods with Kurosawa, who excused herself to the break room. 

“Anyway—dinner. Makoto, do you wanna join us?” Ryuji asked.

“She’s on shift.” Ann pointed out as she stood up and pulled the wrinkles out of her dress. 

“I’d love to, but my shift doesn’t end until tomorrow morning,” Makoto gave the young man an apologetic smile. “I’ll treat you to dinner next time, alright?” she added, feeling like she should. After all, Ryuji just saved her from a conversation she was not prepared to have.

“That sucks,” he replied, pocketing his hands in his loose shorts. “We can get you something if you want though, just drop a message! We’re probably gonna go to the ramen stall just across the road.” 

“When did we decide on that?” Ann asked pointedly as Ryuji stepped out of the koban. 

“It’s good,” Makoto offered, if only to stop the neighbours from complaining about the noise Ann and Ryuji would make if they got into a disagreement. “They have pretty good miso ramen.”

“Alright, gonna grab seats now. See ya’ Makoto!” Ryuji waved, before setting off, pulling up his jacket hood in the rain. 

Ann did not follow him straightaway. She stood at the threshold, taking out her sunglasses to wear even though the sun had set and the rain was getting heavier. “I hope you’ll take me seriously, Makoto. Being able to find you today... It’s a sign, isn’t it?”

Makoto could not reply to that. Instead,she reached over the front counter and pulled out one of the spare umbrellas they kept for civilians who happened to be caught in the rain. She stepped up to Ann and held it out to her. “Here. You can return this to us another time.” 

Ann’s eyes were hidden behind her sunglasses, but her earnest smile had not changed. She accepted the umbrella, hand brushing across Makoto’s. 

“I’ll take that as a maybe.” Then, she disappeared into the downpour. 

The smell of her perfume persisted in the koban, as if telling Makoto not to forget this time. 

notes: i’m so unsure about this that i don’t know if i should post it onto AO3 (yknow, like drabbles stay on tumblr and Good Work goes on AO3) but if you prefer reading on AO3 lemme know!! 

OK so would you believe me if i said that the prompt for this was ‘mako/ann, firm kiss’?? welp you know me, if it’s not satomaya i need to work my brain to come up with a reasonable scenario that would allow them to kiss and so ive been struggling over the storyline for a very long period of time and i think this piece might be the one that i can’t overcome/grasp the characters as well as i usually do, which is giving me a huge writer’s block, but all the more, i want to conquer this!! i’m not very confident portraying these characters but maybe if i pace myself and post it up as one chapter per week it might work out better and help me overcome this writer’s block, especially since the end of this part spoke to me like “hello... there is no way you can write the next part unless you break this fic into chapters” and voila!

[minrazinc]

My personal experience with Shatner part 1

I decide to finally write it down here because it just occupies my mind for so long and I with it could get out a bit so that I can “get a life”.

So firstly about myself. I’ve been into Star Trek after watching beyond, so it’s less than 2 years. Compared to many, I’m still quite new. Last year, somewhere between March or April, I was just lost in some deep regret that I’ve been into this fandom for so late that I forever miss the chance of meeting Leonard in person. I don’t want to regret for Bill as well, but most of his appearances are conventions. I’m not one of those “convention people”. I don’t like the idea of convention, which holds so many events about marvels, dc, and other popular shows that i’m not familiar with. Above all, it’s about hanging out with people, which I’m least good at. So I guess I may forever looking at Bill’s beautiful face through screen and I’m fine with that. 

but then.

Some news come up on my Facebook page, “William Shatner’s new movie is recruiting extras”. My mind was literally blown up right at the moment when I saw it. The shooting was in Palm Springs, not far away from me, since I live in southern California. I remember so clearly that I had a paper due at that moment, but completely lost my mind and I can’t focus on my work at all. I had zero idea of what was movie shooting like at that time, beside what I read from his autobiography. I ask some friends what I got to do to get accepted and then immediately send them email expressing my willingness. I tried to forget it after that, which I can't. But to my surprisingly, they actually replied to me that I was in! I guess it’s because it doesn’t require much to be an extra in a movie. Another funny thing is, this movie is called “Senior Moment”, and I’m a young adult. So the scenario is funny when I went to the interview and thought I might go into a senior club or something. 

So let me spare the tons of work I did to be excused by school, and deal with casting and producer. Today I can say it easily but at that moment it really kills me. I was out of my mind kind of exited at that day of shooting. I literally greet my friends at night by saying “I’m going to report to the Captain tomorrow. Goodnight.” That morning, when I stepped into set, that feeling just nerves me immediately. Lots of people going around, and equipment, and trailers... I’m not a social person as I said before, and quite suck in English. I was nervous, shaking, staying alone, don’t know what to do, until one of the extras speaks in a easy tone, “just to let y’all know, I just saw William Shatner”. I was like “whaaaaaat?!” in a high volume, which not surprisingly, shocks all the other fellow extras. “Where is he? He just came? Why does he can come thirty minutes later than us?” One question after another. Even though I tried very hard to be calm, and professional that day, at the first thirty minutes, I was well known among my fellows that here is a crazy fan pretending to be working. :) So after that they all remind me when they saw bill’s doing something. For these people you know, they understand Bill’s an important figure, but they’re far from being called “fans”, not to say craycray fan as I am. 

Anyway, that day of shooting was in a market, with a large parking lot. Most of the time, crew and extras who have nothing to do stand by in the parking lot. The first scene requires extras inside the market, so we get in, and I was a cashier. So all the extras nervously stand on their positions, whispering, while directors and other crews work. Once again I was exclusive inside our small group, so I just watched other people talk. Then I get boring, so I casually turned my head around. Guess what? Here he is. The man himself, sits right beside me, only several meters away, with the director by his side. He’s looking through his scripts, and having some conversation with the director. That scene for me was like a movie scene, really. You casually turn around, and saw the person who you admire the most in the world was just right there. Everything in the world was as usual except for me. I probably even have a background music playing inside my head, and a volcanic explosion. After starring him for a couple of minutes I suddenly realized that I can’t do that. It looks creepy and unprofessional. So I turned my head back again to my fellows, “He...he’s there!” And they’re like “yeah.right.” 

In the end, that day was a day that doesn’t require lots of extras’ work. So most people just sat there, while I walked back and forth between the market and the parking lot, to watch his movie performance live, and to make sure that my supervisor wouldn’t find me missing, How many times can we watch an actor’s movie performance live really? It’s amazing. Under that kind of intense heat in desert, he did scenes takes by takes, without any complain or any bad temper. His professionalism really moves me a lot. One scene was happening on the parking lot, so everyone was directly under the intense heat. He’s doing a simple move, which only requires him to put the shop cart back to position and cheer, which shot for more than a dozen of takes. Between takes, I guess he’s really tired, so he sat in a small chair, a really small chair for a while. And when all the crews and director get their things down, the next take was ready, someone just pull that small chair out from his butt drastically. Like, without asking him at all. He didn’t have any response but just stood up and walked to where he needed to be.

At the end of that day, extras and him were released almost the same time. I waited outside of his trailer, thinking I could at least say goodnight to him. But when he got out, seems to me that he’s tired and dried out, so my social phobia comes to me right at that moment, so I stepped back. I don’t have even one word with him for this first time experience, but I’m so satisfying and grateful. At the beginning, one of the reason that I come to admire him is because of his book “Leonard: My Fifty Year Friendship with a Remarkable Man”. Though it’s a biography he wrote about Leonard, he actually talks about himself a lot as well. i was so amazed by what kind of commitment these two legend have to their career. Their persistence at first, artistic input during their peak, and a true lifetime commitment in their later days. I have so much curiosity and wonderment to this industry, and it more or less truly shapes my life path. Being an extra to a movie itself, for someone who has zero idea of this field, is an achievement, not to mention that it satisfies my curiosity, my admiration to him on his professionalism and work ethic was validates, and overall I truly had a great time. btw it’s not really a job for me, because I didn’t take my salary, due to visa issue. 

stay tuned I have three other parts to tell. 

Part 1 Part 2 part 3 part 4

[robininthelabyrinth]

Summer in the City - Chapter 3

Fic: Summer in the City - Chapter 3 (AO3 Link) Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Mick Rory/Barry Allen

Summary: Barry Allen is a good CSI, but this whole stupid Heatwave serial killer thing is just killing him.

Or, you know, people around him.

Luckily for him, he’s always got Mick to complain to…

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm starting to think you're cheating on me with another pizza place, you call so late," Mick chuckles.

Barry smiles, phone tucked into the crook of his neck. "My job keeps me busy," he replies. "I wasn't sure you'd still be open."

"For you, I stay open."

Barry snickers. "Send me something I'd like, then," he says, suddenly feeling spontaneous.

"Not the usual?"

"Nah. I trust you."

"You're a trusting type of guy - and also a jerk, since you've given me no time to prep anything."

"Sorry," Barry laughs. "I promise to order the same tomorrow, how's that? Tonight just get me something fast."

"I'm holding you to that. Delivery'll be in twenty."

"You're the best. No desserts this time!"

"You're too skinny."

"You've never even met me!"

"You sound too skinny. Are you telling me you're not skinny?"

"Well, no," Barry concedes. He's not underweight, but he is, admittedly, a little skinny. "I just wouldn't say too skinny..."

"I bet," Mick says smugly. "Dessert tomorrow, then."

"Something with fruit involved, at least?"

"Can do."

"Thanks, Mick," Barry says, then hesitates. On one hand, he doesn't want to make this weird. On the other, he's been thinking it for a while. Might as well. "Is it sad that talking to you is a highlight of my day?"

"Not any sadder than the fact that talking to you's a highlight of mine," Mick replies immediately. "We're both very sad; just accept it."

Barry smiles. Mick's the best. "Good to hear. I'd better hang up - I'm going to eat then go straight to sleep, since I've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, interviews. We're following up on some things with some of the big labs in the city: Palmer Tech in the morning, then STAR Labs in the afternoon. Ramon Foundation tomorrow unless something comes up. Can't give you details, of course..."

"Of course. Have fun on your busy day, Barry."

Barry really likes hearing Mick say his name.

The food that shows up ends up not even being pizza, which Barry fully expected, but a medium-cooked ribeye with béarnaise sauce and some asparagus. One of the stalks looks like it's been nibbled on, like Mick grabbed the steak off of someone else's plate, but that's silly. Barry's sure Mick just grabbed whatever was available.

Honestly, he hadn't even remembered that this place did non-pizza stuff. They must have transitioned over to regular Italian as well.

It's delicious, as usual, which he reports to Mick with a smile (he vaguely thinks he hears someone yowling about having their plate stolen out from under them because someone can't man up about their goddamn crush, but Mick assures him it’s just the radio), and he sleeps well but still manages to wake up to his fourth alarm, so he even makes it to the front door of Palmer Tech on time.

Barry's not sure how he feels about Palmer Tech. The guy in charge of it - Raymond Palmer - was a player in Starling City politics and business for a while, which made everyone wonder why he was opening a branch in Central. The more generous said it was a natural expansion, taking advantage of the generous state interest in funding laboratories and scientific development generally; the less generous whispered about the corruption of the business class in Starling - that awful earthquake - and the slender gap left in the Families' supply of good money laundering operations after Snart had started his little meta crusade against them.

From what Barry's seen of his interviews, Ray Palmer seems like a pretty decent, upstanding guy, but Barry's more cynical side points out that the guy thinks of himself as an inventor - even humanitarian - first, businessman second, and that doesn't tally with his business' recent ruthless rise in market share, so either Ray Palmer has a hidden cold streak or he's got a second in command that's the real head of the business, someone with a real killer instinct.

"Barry, you're on time," Joe says, smile firmly affixed onto his face and on Eddie's. "Great. We're just waiting to see Mr. Palmer himself."

"What, personally?" Barry asks, frowning. "He's coming all the way from Starling?"

"Already arrived. Be nice, okay? We'll talk with him a few minutes and move on to the serious questions once he's assured us he had no idea what was going on, there'll be serious inquiries, the usual crap."

"Got it," Barry says. "Morning, Eddie."

"Good morning," Eddie says, looking tired. Then again, he recently got moved high enough up that he gave the media announcement this morning - the regular update on the Heatwave case, i.e. “Nothing yet but we’re working on it” - and he looks like he's been savaged by a bunch of media wildcats. But Iris’ boyfriend still has time to smile warmly at Barry, because he's always been incredibly sympathetic to Barry's plight (once Barry indicated he was getting over it and after one punch-in-the-face incident which Barry totally gets).

Just at that minute, Ray Palmer himself, recognizable from the fact that he's as tall as Barry and from the broad white-toothed smile you could see on all the advertisements, comes through the door, flanked by two blonde women.

"Detectives West, Thawne," he says, hand outstretched, seeming actually pleased to see them, not like he's secretly annoyed by these people trampling all over his lab at all. "I heard you'd called. And this is..?"

"CSI Barry Allen," Barry says, shaking Palmer's hand. "I'm accompanying the detectives today."

Palmer brightens like Barry said something incredibly interesting. "Wow, it's really great to meet you!"

"...really?"

"He watches too many police procedurals," one of the blonde women cuts in smoothly. Her smile is just a bit wicked. "Welcome, all three of you."

"This is Sara Lance," Palmer says. "She's my VP of Operations. And this is Felicity Smoak; she runs our R&D/Tech side."

"You didn't have to bring all the big brass, Mr. Palmer," Joe says. "We told you, we're just following up on the theft that you experienced a few months back."

"Naturally," Palmer says. "And please, call me Ray! I just wanted you to know how seriously we've been taking this issue. Sara and I will be taking you on the tour ourselves."

Everyone's smile gets a little more fixed onto their faces, because that's...great. If by great you mean absolutely awful. It's a careful balance in Central City between investigating with the full power of the city and state behind you, and not pissing off the politicians who count on the political donations and economic stimulus that rich people like Palmer brought with them when they expanded into Central.

Palmer was the politician's second favorite type of rich guy: spends a lot of money in Central building his business, but mostly concerned about politics in Starling and therefore no threat to their positions.

(Their first favorite type of rich guy being the kind that is willing to give them personally a lot of money.)

"We're delighted to have you as guides," Eddie says, even managing to sound partially sincere. "Thank you for taking the time. Ms. Smoak, you won't be joining us?"

"No, I just came here to see - uh, the investigation. How the investigation was. Was going! I'm R&D, you know, so I care a lot about theft. I mean, about investigations! Investigations into theft. Also in general. " She covers her flushing cheeks and closes her eyes. "Please pretend that made sense."

"Perfect sense," Barry assures her. "I do it all the time."

She opens her eyes and grins at him. "You're nice!" she exclaims, sounding a bit surprised. "I wouldn't have thought."

"The cops aren't all bad," Barry says, suppressing a smile. "Don't believe everything you see on TV."

“I’m glad we got the nice cops,” Felicity says, grinning at him.

“You have the luck of coming first in the alphabet,” Barry says, giving up and returning her smile. “So you get to go before STAR Labs this afternoon.”

This was true except for the Ramon Foundation, which started in the phone book somewhere after ZZ.

“Thank you, alphabet,” Felicity says with a laugh.

"We’re very thankful indeed," the other woman - Sara Lance, Ray had called her - cuts in smoothly. "Shall we begin our tour?"

Barry can feel the exchange of glances behind his back at the neat, careful people management, and he concurs entirely. Sara's too young to be behind Palmer Tech’s initial rise to prominence, which was mostly based on the sheer creativity of Ray Palmer’s inventions, but Barry would bet dollars to donuts that they've just met the brain behind its recent cutthroat expansionism.

Despite their initial fears, Ray actually proves to know something about the tech side of his business and is able to answer questions, rather than regurgitating a set of talking points crafted by a set of lawyers in a dark room somewhere.

"This is our Dynamite lab," he says. "That's a little joke, you see -"

"Thermodynamics," Barry says with a grin. "That's funny."

"You sure you want to keep up with this CSI stuff?" Ray asks. "We're always looking for good science people."

"And I haven't even pulled out my mad skillz yet," Barry says.

"No one says that anymore," Sara says, looking amused. "Assuming they said it, ever."

"It's definitely a first for a police investigation," Joe says pointedly.

Barry zips it.

Well, he tries. Ray's actually really nice - sure, he gets distracted sometimes and goes on tangents involving the possible uses of a dwarf star alloy, but that's super interesting to Barry's mind.

Just - maybe not that relevant to the investigation.

"So where exactly did you say the - ah - 'heat gun alloy' was?" Joe finally says.

"Over here," Ray says, gesturing at a set of shelves.

"You just let it sit out there?" Eddie says, frowning. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"It was only a model," Ray says. "We had eventually intended to make it into a gun, but we hadn't gotten anywhere near that point yet. Honestly, it was really just a lump of metal and some plans to show how it could be shaped to deal with the heat. The design of the alloy was meant to let it go up to as close as humanity has yet reached to absolute hot - which is to say, very, very hot - in a logistical manner, assuming you could fashion some source of energy that could get you the power you'd need to get there. The designs were suggestions on how to strengthen the metal so that it wouldn't melt by itself."

"That’s why the dwarf star alloys!" Barry exclaims. "If you make metal in part out of stuff that's been exposed to stars -"

"There's nothing on earth that should be able to melt it," Ray says, beaming. "Exactly! Are you sure I can't offer you a job?"

"Quite sure," Barry laughs. "But thanks for the offer. Can I examine the area?"

"You're welcome to, but it's been cleaned. And, well, a lab..."

"Industrial strength cleaner," Barry says, nodding. He's not going to find anything. But he'll look.

"While Mr. Allen does that, can you take us to your security system?" Eddie asks. "We'd like to look at the logs of who might have been able to access the alloy over the last few months."

"Sure," Ray says, though he looks longingly over to where Barry is unpacking his kit. "Follow me."

Barry's working by himself when there's a noise from outside. A crash, then barely audible cursing.

It's totally none of Barry's business.

Besides, it's a lab. If he wants to look out a window, he'd have to stand on a table, and that would be super unprofessional.

Naturally, Barry finds himself on his tip-toes on one of the sturdier-looking tables in under a minute.

He'd get down and scrub it off before anyone notices.

There's a guy in the alley outside, big guy, bald, shoulders round with muscle that's apparent under his cloth jacket even from Barry's vantage point. He looks pretty hot, though Barry can't see his face.

He's talking to Felicity Smoak, who seems to have knocked over a trash can and is waving her hands emphatically and bouncing a little on her toes in excitement.

Maybe he's an employee?

But if that's the case, why are they talking in an alleyway instead of indoors? He wouldn't have pegged Felicity as a smoker.

Huh. Weird.

There's a noise from the door and Barry has to scramble to get down from his perch in time to play it casual by the right table.

The table next to the right table. Damnit!

"Oh, good, you're done," Ray says, beaming as he sweeps into the room, luckily not noticing Barry’s unusual placement. Joe looks tired of Ray's sunny optimism already and Eddie's got his thinking face firmly fixed on. "Any chance I can take you all out to eat? I know a great Italian place..."

"Sorry," Joe says, only barely managing sincere. "We can't be seen to be influenced by someone even peripherally involved in an investigation."

"Well, maybe when your investigation is done, then," Ray says.

"We'll review department policy," Joe says, meaning hell no.

Ray and Sara then proceed to bustle them out in a haze of overwhelming good cheer that explains why Joe is looking like he's on the verge of murder. There's nothing like someone being aggressively, cheerfully unhelpful when you've running on three cups of coffee and no sleep.

Felicity's in the lobby, waving goodbye, and as Barry passes her, he notices the faintest smell of smoke lingering on her clothing.

Guess she is a smoker after all.

Though, that mention of Italian has him craving dinner...