#poor eugene somebody help him pls

[itzmemyselfandi]

Just realized here that it looks like Eugene or Flynn isn’t being squished by anything and just has pascal sitting on him which must feel like nothing is on him right?

Wrong. To him that is a older teenage man about twice his size not a tiny frog

[himbowelsh]

7 from the kiss prompts with runner/chuckler pls xx

sha-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy  💋 (accepting!) 7.  routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing

Vera doesn’t quite understand what Hoosier means, when he opens the door to them in the middle of Sid Phillips’s already bustling house party, and declares, “Finally! Someone to tell me I’m not crazy.”

“Got the wrong guy for that, buddy. Unless you ask real nicely,” Bob declares, patting Hoosier on the shoulder as he steps inside. 

Hoosier shrugs him off with a grunt, hardly sparing his friend a glance. “What makes you think I’m talking to you?” He looks offended at the idea. Instead, his sharp gaze is fixed solely on Vera, drawing her inside before she even has a chance to say hello. “You. Somebody with actual eyes in their head. Thank fuck you’re here, cause I can’t take another second of this.”

“Hello to you too, Bill,” she remarks fondly, shrugging her coat off and handing it off to her waiting boyfriend. Bob smirks over his shoulder as he abandons Vera to Hoosier Smith’s mercy; Vera, quite content to be abandoned, just smiles back. She enjoys Hoosier, for all his idiosyncrasies. He’s coarse and forthright, says exactly what he means… and always smiles like he’s got a secret, and sharing it with you is an act of remarkable magnanimity. Vera loves to be in on those secrets, passed so sparingly from Hoosier’s lips to whoever he chooses to honor. She loves figuring them out. She loves figuring him out  —  sometimes thinks she’s almost got it.

“Look,” he declares without preamble, keeping one firm hand in the center of Vera’s back to guide her through the crowd. Though a little baffled, Vera is nonetheless intrigued. She follows, waving at a few faces she recognizes, flashing grins of greeting that Hoosier doesn’t acknowledge at all. It’s a full house tonight, the crowd swarming through Sid’s downstairs parlor and dispersing amidst his family’s substantial living rooms. The upstairs is blocked off out of common decency… but no doubt, a few couples will find a way to sneak up there, trusting the Phillipses to have guest bedrooms to spare. No doubt Bob will want to give it a try… and, at some point, Vera might even agree.

For now, though, she could do with a drink. Relief ripples through her as they step into Sid’s kitchen — a picture of modernity, marble floors and countertops highlighting the latest microwave model his father’s been able to afford. A few kids have taken advantage of the chic coffee maker; a few others have scattered ice chips and rock salt, dissected lime slices forgotten on the counter. If there was a bartender, he’s gone. It’s every man for himself, and the drinks are flowing.

Hoosier sets her up very strategically near the doorway, in a perfect vantage spot to survey the room. “Wait here,” he declares, adjusting her shoulders at an angle.

“Rum and cranberry juice,” Vera informs him, like reading off a price tag.

Hoosier smirks. “Lady with taste.”

As he goes, her eyes follow himself across the kitchen. It occurs to her, not for the first time, that Hoosier is blunt to a fault; it wouldn’t kill him to elaborate a little more, especially when he wants something. Vera’s got no clue what she’s supposed to be looking at, or for. as her eyes drift from Hoosier to scan the kitchen, she finds herself at more of a loss.

There’s Stella, perched atop the counter with her legs crossed, steadied by a young man with both hands on her hips; if they twitch too far sideways, the drinks forgotten beside them will spill everywhere, but neither one looks concerned. Sid’s red headed friend Eugene is frowning at his highball like he doesn’t know what to do with it. A harassed-looking Jay is trying to pour out a plate of chips and salsa, but people passing by keep stealing them as quickly as he can lay the snacks out. Standing behind the island, which doubles as a bar, Chuckler and Runner have set up and are taking orders.

Vera catches Chuckler’s eye. Immediately, he breaks into a grin, calling out a greeting to her. She waves back, perching on her toes to be seen over the crowd. God knows this dress looks great on her — Bob stared for a solid minute, before declaring turquoise was suddenly his new favorite color — but the matching flats do nothing for her height. Chuckler’s tall enough that he can be spotted anywhere.

Hoosier makes it to the bar just in time; Chuckler has already nudged Runner, and they ignore their friend in favor of calling out to her. “Hey, Vera!” Runner says, voice carrying easily over the music and chattering crowd. “Who’s entertaining you over there?”

“You guys, as always.” Hoosier looks supremely put-out, which is Vera’s cue to leave her assigned spot. She joins Hoosier’s side, laying a fond hand on his arm while bracing herself against the bar. “Bill’s my date for tonight. I lost Bob somewhere on the walk in.”

“His loss, not yours.” Runner is already mixing up her drink order, movements deft and confident. “Anything you feel like, tonight — Sid’s given me official bartender status, cause I’m the only one who knows how to make a decent screwball ‘round here.”

Chuckler puffs up with pride. “I’m helping.”

“Help,” Runner scoffs, shaking a steel thermos violently. “That’s one word for it. You see what he did over there? You see that?”

Vera has, in fact, seen the mess left on the counter. Her lips purse in sympathy.

“Do you know how dangerous cutting lines can be?” demands Chuckler, defensive on principle. “The juice squirts. It’s like acid.”

“Don’t say you got it in your eyes —“ He leans in, proving exactly that, in more explicit detail than Vera would like. Her frown turns into an full-on grimace. “Ooh, Lew.”

Runner sets two drinks in front of them, sliding a whiskey towards Hoosier and Vera’s crimson concoction, adorned with one of the lethal limes, her way. “Ahh, he’s fine,” he declares, smacking Chuckler in the center of his broad chest. “Look at ‘im — healthy as ever.”

And that’s when it happens. Vera’s not sure what she was expecting, really, when Hoosier demanded she look — but Runner’s hand lingers where it struck Chuckler’s chest, and almost on reflex Chuckler turns into him. Just like that, they kiss. The peck on the side of Chuckler’s mouth is so deft, so effortless, that if she weren’t looking right at them she might think she imagined things.

Neither of them bat an eye; they just go right back to what they were doing, Runner mixing and Chuckler setting out glasses, like it’s any other day.

Hoosier pinches her hard underneath the bar top.

With no one else reacting, Vera finds herself at a loss. A few seconds pass, threatening a silence bound to be awkward, before she summons her most charming grin and swipes her drink off the bar. “Alright, you guys,” she says lightly. “We’d better go track down Bob.”

“Save the poor bastard whose ears he's talking off,” Hoosier adds, deadpan.

“A rescue mission. Right.” Vera claps his arm, subtly towing him away. “We’ll see you around… keep up the good work!”

Chuckler and Runner have other customers, and more orders to fill. They just wave, Chuckler sending Vera another bright smile, as their friends go on their way.

To his credit, Hoosier waits until they’re out of the kitchen to shoot the elephant in the room. “You saw it, right? You saw that shit.”

“I saw it.” She doesn’t know what else to say. Her head is still kind of spinning from it. Eager for a distraction, Vera takes a sip of her drink. Her eyes widen— possibly larger than at the moment her two friends smooched. “Oh my god, this is actually amazing. Why is this — he actually knows what he’s doing.”

“First time in his life.” Hoosier still clutches his rum; the expression on his face makes it clear he’d have preferred the whole bottle. “They been doing that all night. All week. It’s been going on for fuckin’ weeks.” He rounds on her, and for the first time, Vera sees desperation in his eyes. The worst part is, she gets it. “And every time I bring it up to your boyfriend, he looks at me like I going the crazy. Can’t decide if he’s blind or I’m stupid, but they’re definitely…”

“Dating,” Vera decodes promptly.

“You think?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“I…” Hoosier blinks, mirroring Vera’s baffled expression, with twice the consternation thrown into the mix. “Well, how the fuck do I know? I’m not dating either of ‘em, I dunno what they’re like.”

“The kissing speaks for itself, Bill,” says Vera, gently, feeling like she’s telling a child their goldfish has died. 

A familiar voice from behind them cuts through the awkward atmosphere like a hot butter knife. “Kissing?” Bob echoes, sidling up behind Vera just to wrap an arm around her waist. She leans into him, because he likes to show off in public, and went through the trouble of wearing her favorite cologne tonight. When she turns her head to greet him, he’s grinning, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Don’t tell me you went off and had fun without me?”

Hoosier must be relieved for the distraction. He smirks. “A lot more fun without you.”

“Bill unhooked the bra on his first try,” Vera adds brightly.

Bob clicks his tongue, looking between his best friend and girlfriend in a terrible impression of abject betrayal. “Showing me up, huh? I thought we were friends.” Sensibly, he doesn’t give Hoosier the chance to reply. Instead, he scans the crowd around them, eyes narrowing. “You guys seen the terrible two around here?”

“Just left them tending bar in the kitchen,” Hoosier replies; as quickly as it vanished, that same harassed look floods back over his face. “They’re doing it again.”

“What?” 

“Don’t give me that. Vera saw it too.”

“Saw what?” Bob demands, innocent as a Catholic schoolgirl. When he looks toward Vera — honest-to-god question plain on his face — she stares at him for a moment before shaking her head.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what?” Bob demands, voice rising an octave as he darts between Vera and Hoosier. When Vera rounds on the only other sane person here, expression demanding an explanation, Hoosier just shakes his head. I told him, the mile-long look in his eyes declares. I told him more than once.

If he really hasn’t noticed, there’s no choice. They’ve got to show him. With a nod of agreement, the two set their conspiracy into motion. Hoosier seizes Bob’s arm, tugging him through the crowd, while at his side Vera encourages in the gentlest, completely non-pushing way possible. Bob lets out a squawk of protest, because he was just talking to someone else with an interest in the French and Indian War, he could introduce them — but Hoosier isn’t having it.

“Leave me to deal with it on my own, then tell me you didn’t notice… shitty eyesight, piece-of-shit observation skills for a goddamn journalist — quit dragging your toes, Leckie, and get in here.”

They come to a stop in the doorway, roughly where Hoosier left Vera ten minutes ago. She settles her hand on his shoulder and declares, “Wait.”

“Wait — for what? I’m not even allowed a drink?”

“Shut your mouth and open your eyes,” Hoosier hisses.

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes — that’s the incredible part. They don’t have to observe any longer than it takes for Vera to finish her drink until, out of nowhere, Chuckler proves their point again. This time, he catches Runner with a kiss as he’s squeezing by to serve a drink on the other side of the bar. Runner doesn’t even acknowledge it, save for the ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. When they maneuver past each other again, Runner squeezes behind, and his hand goes somewhere that makes Chuckler jump.

“Yeah,” Vera affirms, nodding to herself. “Definitely dating.”

“Nah,” replies Hoosier. “My money’s on fucking. They don’t have the emotional intelligence.”

“What am I looking at?” asks Bob.

They both turn on him, baffled.

“You didn’t,” Vera says — then stops, takes a deep breath, and tries again. “You didn’t see them do that?”

“You didn’t see ‘em do it last week in the diner? Or the other night, in the back of your car? Or on my goddamn couch?” At Bob’s blank stare, Hoosier slowly leans in, seizing him by the arm with a calm fierceness almost guaranteed to bruise. “They’ve been doing it for the last few weeks. Everywhere.”

“It’s almost cute,” Vera muses. “They make it seem easy. Bob, you’ve never kissed me like that.”

“Like what?” Bob exclaims.

“Really?” says Hoosier. “He ain’t ever kissed you like muscle memory?”

Vera regards her boyfriend for a long moment. Bob shifts under her gaze, helpless and inflamed at some offense he wasn’t even aware of making. His ignorance is his one saving grace — Bob Leckie has never played dumb in his life, so genuinely missing what’s right in front of him is the more likely bet. It’s all a matter of perception, Vera supposes. You see what you want to see.

Or, in poor Hoosier’s case, what you don’t.

“Don’t worry,” Hoosier declares, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “I’m sure if you ask nice, those two’ll be happy to give you pointers.”

“Pointers for what?” Bob demands, two seconds away from choking on his own bafflement.

There’s no point telling him. He’ll have to figure it out on his own eventually… and until then, Hoosier will have to put up with fifth wheeling between Bob and Vera, and whatever’s going on behind the bar. Runner’s shoulder bumps against Chuckler’s own, casually affectionate, and it takes all of Vera’s self-control not to, “aww,” out loud.

Maybe soon her boyfriend will be as quick on the uptake as those two are with their kisses.