So. About a year ago, the lovely Innytoes created a list of spicy writing prompts. And I, being the dorky ace that I am, decided to take it as a personal challenge to see just how UN-spicy I could do some of said prompts. The actual giving of prompts was kept to a few friends, and it was mostly a silly thing back when I could actually sit down and spin up a one shot in an evening. (A few of said prompts actually made it to ao3 at various points, you can read them here, here, here, and here!)
HOWEVER, I took a couple of the prompts off of the list before I offered it to my friends for prompts. Mostly cause I just had no idea how to make said prompts not sexual. But one of them has continued to haunt me for over a frigging year now! SO, here's some little snippets of how one could de-saucy-ify the prompt, "The lube is what flavor?"
Option 1 -
"Okay so what am I supposed to be getting again?" Alex asked, the phone to his ear as he entered the O'Reillys.
He heard Bobby groan on the other end of the call. "We've been over this at least five times, Lex." Alex could feel his exasperated glare without even seeing him.
"I'm sorry," Alex sighed. "I just know literally nothing about car fluids. Blame the gay in me or whatever."
"You do realize I'm gay too, right?" Bobby pointed out. "But again, you're looking for silicon lubricant. And for the love of God, don't get that Red and Tacky garbage Chad 'recommended'."
"I'm sorry, the lube is what flavor?!" Alex demanded, turning onto the aisle marked 'Fluids'.
"You're not supposed to-whatever-just get the silicon stuff," Bobby said instead of answering. "Valvoline usually works just fine."
Alex glanced around at the overwhelming shelves of bottles and jugs. He drummed out the beat to a song Luke and Julie had shown them the day before on his leg as he narrowed down the options. There, that looked right.
"Okay I found it," he told Bobby. "But you're explaining how car lube can be 'red and tacky' to me later."
"Deal," Bobby responded, sounding relieved.
Option 2 -
"-and the vocal folds need to be kept moist," Julie explained.
Luke nodded, but Julie knew she was losing him. His vocal health notes had dissolved into scribbles and half-finished lyrics. She'd better wrap this up.
"So they're naturally lubricated with a really thin layer of mucus," she continued. "And in order to keep that layer thin and stuff, you have to stay properly hydrated."
She paused to pick up the light blue plastic water bottle from the studio floor. But when she looked back up to whack him with it, the mostly full container seeming like a decent way to make a point, he was already staring at her, eyes full of confusion.
"What?" Julie asked, one hand flying automatically up to her ponytail to see if it had come loose or something.
"The lube is what flavor?" Luke asked, mouth hanging open a bit.
"I-what?" Julie asked again, now feeling almost as confused as her bandmate looked.
"The voice cord lube stuff," Luke responded. "You said it's like mucus. But isn't that just... snot? Your voice is covered in stuff that tastes like snot?!"
Julie tried to hold back. She really did. But she failed. She burst out laughing, dropping Luke's water bottle in a futile attempt to hide it. "Luke, mucus is more than just snot," she tried to explain through her giggles. "But yes, that's what keeps your vocal cords moist."
Luke shook his head. To all the world, he may have looked like a man who'd just been told he was colorblind, that everyone else could see a universe of shades his eyes couldn't comprehend.
But only Julie would know the truth. At least some part of her mini-lecture on vocal health got through.
Option 3 -
"Okay, and then pass me the 205?" Flynn requested, holding out a hand to Reggie, who was sitting on the floor along with most of Flynn's tools.
"Um, the what?" Reggie asked sheepishly, glancing around at the various brushes, screwdrivers, and small tubes surrounding him.
"Oh, the switch lube," Flynn clarified, pointing at a small jar. "It's GPL 205G0, and there's lots of types of keyboard lubricant, so we usually just use the numbers to ID them."
"Oh, right, sure," Reggie responded, passing her the container. "Sorry. Computers aren't really my thing."
"Well that's what you have me for," Flynn pointed out, smirking. "I fix your glitchy keyboard, you keep me from failing math."
Reggie laughed and leaned back against Flynn's bed while she worked. After a minute, she passed him back the jar and started fitting the keys back into place. He entertained himself by inspecting the black lid.
"Wait, so the lube is what flavor?" he asked, looking up at Flynn again. "Da-vinny-key?"
"Divinikey," Flynn corrected easily. "And that's a brand, not a flavor. Please don't eat keyboard lubricant."
"Well I wasn't planning on it..." Reggie said, letting his sentence trail off suggestively.
"Reginald Jacob Peters, you wouldn't dare," Flynn warned, shooting him a glare over her shoulder.
He held her eyes for one moment. Two. Three. Fo-
Reggie burst out laughing, with Flynn only a moment behind.
"I make no promises," Reggie wheezed as he got his breath back.
"I'm not taking you to the hospital when it poisons you," Flynn shot back, her grin betraying her words.
Thank goodness Reggie's keyboard was done already.
Thank you, sorry for wasting your time with my brain worm!
18 notes
·
View notes
Cuddle Party
George figured a new couch was in order, given the last one kinda uh. Exploded. Might as well help him break it in!
I blame @george-weasleys-girl for this. It literally all stemmed for this pic
Warnings: Heavy petting. ((Yeah it seems like a vanilla warning, but hey sometimes you aren’t in the right headspace for sexual content. Even if there isn’t sex. You valid sweetie!)) lots of fluff, and some wholesome “teaching your kid about deafness”
Writing coms open
“See? As if nothing had ever happened!” That nothing being your son, Fred the second, inherited someone’s pyrotechnic passion. Wasn’t Freddy’s fault. He wasn’t even old enough for a wand yet, but he was showing brilliant magic. Even so young. You two made sure he understood it was an accident, but also used it as a good learning lesson that when accidents happen you do your best to fix them. Gentle parenting was what helped Freddy best, and like hell you would ever yell at him for such an accident.
“You wanted an excuse for this, didn’t you?” You would tease, as you leaned over the massive thing. Was pretty much a alaskan king, with many purple cushions to accent the orange material. It was loud, and that was how you liked it. It was also perfect for when family was over. Just move the furniture around, and the couch was suddenly much longer with many seats. You did like that. This would make having company over far easier. You really did like it.
"MAYBE~" He cackled, before he jumped onto the thing. A graceful flop he went, with so much space to move around. That had you rolling your eyes, but you were smiling. Your husband. Such a adorable man, and that made you so happy. Kept you feeling young, even with so much happening. With that being said, it also meant you had a streak of mischeif all the same. Before your husband knew it, you jump right on him. Making him wheeze, before laughing.
"NO FAIR! IM DEAF I COULDNT HEAR YOU COMING!" He, playfully, argued. Along with took advantage of your laughter to pin you down. Made you laugh more, as you would fight back. Your wrists pinned, and sock feet flailing, as your were attacked with kisses. Left you squealing, as he made sure to attack your sweet spots. Leaving no mercy, as the two of you broke in the new furniture.
“You are a menace to society, just my type~” He growled, as he gave you a kiss. Then another, and another, and before either of knew it. It was more than just kissing. You two were just engulfed by each other. Utterly addicted to each other’s flavors and scents. The fresh ash, and sweet pastries.
Suppose you two were breaking in the new couch, that’s for sure. As if either of you could complain. That is, until your passionate moment was interrupted by someone jumping onto George’s back. Made him wheeze, before tumbling across the furniture. Leaving you to have someone fall on your stomach.
“ITS LIKE A BIG BED-!” Junior shouted, before he crawled off of you. Quick to stand up, and jump on it. Meanwhile, you two needed a moment to breathe again. You caught your breath far quicker than George did. Since he was full on WWE-ed.
“Dad! DAD-!” Junior shouted, but George was busy with a bruised back. Not to mention his good ear was forced into the cushion, so he didn’t hear Freddy at all. You used that to your advantage, and soon scooped Freddy up.
“Remember, Daddy doesn’t hear to well. Right?” A nice learning moment. With Freddy in your lap, as you sat crossed legged. “Yeah yeah-! He hears only half the stuff we do-!” Junior would agree, and made the sign for ‘silent’ on his left ear. Just like where George’s was missing.
“That’s a good job-! Oh you did so well, you remembered!” You praised, making your son beam. Learning languages sure comes naturally, when half your family’s speaks more than one language. Romanian, Mandarían, French, Arabic, Latin, and throw in some British Sign Language.
“And you remember what we said about yelling?” You asked, as he nodded. “Not everyone likes it! So you gotta ask em first. Cause yelling is scary sometimes. Like when grandma Molly yells. She yells loud!” Junior said, making an explosion motion with his hands.
“Oh she got lungs alright-“ George huffed, as he caught himself again. Once he was steady, Junior was quick to camper over to George. Yanked into the older man’s arms, and held high in the air. Then, he collapsed on the couch. With Junior plopping on his chest. You were quick to snuggle your husbands side, as Junior sat on his chest. Having to much energy.
“Your kid-“ You tease, before kissing your husbands cheek. That made Junior stick his tongue out, and George mimicked him. Having a silly face off. That made you laugh, as you enjoyed the cuddle session with your family.
Eh, that old couch had been here since you three had got the permit for the place. Some things needed to be replaced. But memories like this? Never. You wanted to simply keep creating, and keeping, more and more. Forever, and ever.
46 notes
·
View notes
OPD spoilers up to the end of episode 7, because episode 7 was fun but brain insisted on a couple of thoughts before I can move on (or, apparently, work on thing I was supposed to upload today). Injury warnings, spoiler warnings, and talk about potential death, and also er I've had these characters for one episode running on auto-translated-auto-subtitles. You will pry them from my cold-dead hands, but it's not exactly the best way to study things like speech patterns, especially when my Portuguese is... I can now catch the gist of things and follow the rpg mechanics mostly, but very very far from me being able to use any words? I just kinda can sort of follow via context and stuff I /recognise/ but don't /remember/. Enough rambling, have two guys in a car.
"Where to now?" Johnny asks, as they drive away. "You're the one with the maps."
A groan.
Johnny glances up, checks his partner in the rear-view mirror. Some of his muscles still shift in ways Johnny is pretty sure aren't entirely voluntary, and Rubens holds his entire body like it is in pain. Still, he gives half of a shrug, and keeps looking out of the window.
Johnny is also sore, yes, especially from having been immobilised - but he's /not/ the one whose breathing sounds kind of janky, and hissed when the seatbelt touched his ribs.
"That bad?" He adjusts his question to, glancing up from the road every few seconds.
"Just head home," Rubens answers the first question instead of the second. "We can pick in the morning."
"What morning? It's already gone seven," Johnny takes the turning towards their flat regardless. A pause and then. "You sure you're good just to go home?"
Yes, they need to continue the investigation, but even Johnny can see that Rubens can barely stand; no matter what help they wanted to give those two other agents, it wasn't going to happen.
"What-" Rubens is cut off, hissing, as they go over a bump.
"Yeah, you know what, driver's rules - we're going to the hospital."
Rubens' lack of reply, not even a grimace, is pretty damning. It is also a little worrying, especially with the flinches and extremely deliberate breathing.
It is not that Johnny is paranoid, it's that he knows what that attack did to Johnny himself, and he's gained a decent feel for Rubens' tolerance over the last few months.
He takes the turn towards the hospital, and already starts constructing a lie. Rubens can probably pass for an electrician, and Johnny could have just been helping, and maybe someone turned the mains back on before they were finished? That's got to happen all of the time, right?
"Do you think we'll see them again?" Johnny asks, searching for a conversation topic. He's got to keep driving, but he is more than starting to get worried. "No clue what's up with the boy, but they seemed decent. Good to know the Order's always got people."
Rubens' laugh isn't very happy, "no."
"I thought you were an optimist?"
"Your job," Rubens shifts, seemingly trying to alleviate some discomfort, and only making it worse. "I'd like to, but… you saw them. Injured, electrocuted, and going to where their team went dark? They won't survive. We might not."
It's true, but that doesn't mean he has to say it. There's been a lot of deaths, recently, if what Sam has been telling them is true. Johnny isn't sure, but can't see any reason for Sam to lie about that; Johnny and Rubens have been undercover for months, but have managed to keep themselves above water so far.
A lot of people haven't, though. A great many people haven't.
"You left them your knife," Rubens follows up with.
"Shut up and sort through that notebook instead."
"No." At least he's perked up a little, actually sounding a bit more awake, thinking and shifting a little and worrying his lip before he speaks again. "Maybe they'll surprise me and you'll get it back? Can't read the notebook. The bag is in the boot."
Neither of them comment on how, usually, Rubens would still just lean over and grab it.
"Maps, then?"
He makes a left turn, and they find themselves nearly there.
"They're maps," Rubens replies. "We need the notes to work on a target... Gameshow, orphanage, orphanage, gameshow, Menefreda, puzzles, Energy... I can't see the link; do you think there's any crossover in the cases? Should we ask Samuel for their notes? Something's missing here."
"Can't be sure," Johnny has to focus on this bit of road, busier than the further out streets. "We can ask, though."
"And the girl? Erin? She said the woman's voice was-" Rubens cuts off with a gasp.
Immediately Johnny looks up, checking over his shoulder. Rubens' back is arched and he struggles for air; he shoves on his hazard lights and pulls over before unplugging his seatbelt, and inelegently scrambling across.
By the time he has done so, Rubens' body has relaxed. He has leant back, breathing heavily and clutching at his chest. Johnny places a hand on his back, rubbing a thumb into the twisted muscles there.
"Rubens?" Johnny asks, voice lower. "You good?"
The shudder looks just as involuntary, but a little more normal; Rubens leans slowly forwards, resting only one elbow on his knee, and folding his chin onto it.
One moment, two.
Rubens starts gesturing a reply, only to cut himself off with a wince.
"An answer, please," Johnny keeps his voice low, doing his best to be reassuring.
"I'm good," he answers, blinking fast as he shifts to looking at his hands. "I'm... Good, yes, good. Just, fuck, the speed bump."
Johnny had barely even noticed it; Rubens has got to be much more injured than he looks to react that badly to just a speed bump.
"I'll be more careful," he promises, though he isn't quite sure how. "Good to keep going? We're another ten minutes out, looking at this traffic."
"All good."
It is not quite believable, given everything going on, but Johnny chooses to let it pass. He knows shit all about these things, only that his partner is suffering. He's also suffering, but he's Johnny - he can take it.
Rubens... Not so much. Not really his skill-set; Johnny doesn't jump in the way of fists because he enjoys getting punched, after all.
Choosing to climb back over instead of getting out, Johnny only slightly catches his ankle on the gear-stick. Still, he gets back to the driver's seat safely, turns off the hazard lights, and pulls back into the road.
"Any thoughts so far?" he asks instead.
Johnny can put pressure on a gunshot wound just fine, but electricity is weird. Magic electricity? Even weirder. He does, however, know that so long as everyone is managing coherent conversation he /probably/ can just drive to the hospital instead of faffing with an ambulance.
(Don't they have their own doctor now? Johnny isn't quite sure, but he does know that contacting the Order, outside of secure and prearranged chats with Samuel, is likely to break their cover.)
Rubens shifts his face from side to side, mouthing words to himself and gesturing his hand around in a much more typically Rubens fashion. After a little while he shrugs - only with one shoulder and that's something to make the doctor check - and answers, "hopefully the paperwork is more useful to us; I don't think the Director was actually anyone important. Show, Director, he only does this one bit most likely? And only had, what, five staff members?"
"Barely a crew," Johnny replies. "I don't like the thing with Erin's grandmother - she's definitely not any of the corpses. None were old enough. So why was her voice there?"
"The man too," Rubens replies. "You shouldn't have told them we were Order agents; the cameras were running. Whoever runs it might have heard."
"Shit," Johnny can immediately see the problem but, to be fair, in the moment that had been far from his highest priority. Getting the grenade out already blew more of his cover than either of them liked - he should have just stolen the gun and tried shooting the glass. "We can adapt, but..."
"Danger," Rubens replies. "We'll need to be more careful, right?"
"Right," and, fuck, Johnny has been here before. "We might need to be subtler to get in."
"Games," Rubens replies.
"Hm?"
"He likes games. If we-" another speedbump, and Rubens gasps again, entire body twisting at the pain, but he settles himself quickly, moving on. "Fuck. But, if we do get in... it might be to play with us specifically. If the recording got through. Champion's match. New difficulty."
"Maybe the information we have will be enough?"
The look Rubens gives him is absolutely scathing.
"Yeah, okay, they weren't important enough to have anything actually good. I can wish, though; don't really want to be watching over my shoulder forever."
"It could work in our favour," Rubens settles on. "We need to get into deeper areas anyway. Toying, playing - if we interested whatever's in charge, perhaps it will bring us deeper to try again."
"They're deathtraps."
"But somebody always has to win. It's a bad game, otherwise."
Two people could have won the game they were playing, if they stuck to the rules, or perhaps there would have been more to it. Johnny doesn't expect them to be that generous again, though.
Ah, well, they'll work it out.
They always do.
---
It is not that much further to the hospital, and 7:30am is a blissfully quiet time. Most people from the night before have already left, but it's too early for most sorts of accidents.
Parking is easy, but getting out is more difficult. Well, no, Johnny can get out fine - stiff and weirdly cramping, but fine. It's Rubens he worries about, Rubens who scoots rather than steps out of the car, and still almost immediately collapses to the floor.
The concern - the /worry/ - is back nearly instantly.
"Ow, fuck, shit," Rubens mutters, in between the curse words as he uses the side of the car to leverage himself up.
Yeah, no, that is not going to stand. Johnny comes back over, taking the one of Rubens' arms that he isn't holding strangely, and pulling it over his shoulders. His own arm he wraps around his partner's back, protecting him from any potential falls.
When he squeezes his fingers, Rubens hisses; Johnny shifts them further down with an apology on his tongue.
"It's fine."
It's not fine.
The angle is awkward, so Johnny much crouch a bit as he helps Rubens to the emergency room. Even with the help and the rest he still keeps staggering and stumbling, his legs barely able to hold his weight.
The reception desk is even worse. By the time they get there, Johnny is supporting all of Rubens' admittedly meager weight.
"Hey," he says, reminding himself she may be the gatekeeper but if he isn't polite then they are both in trouble. "Sorry, we were doing some repair work, and some asshole turned the mains back on while we were working. I'm just kinda sore, but my buddy's having trouble breathing."
Always mention the breathing. They hate it when you cannot breathe properly.
Her eyes flicker momentarily wider, looking at the now disturbingly grey Rubens.
"Names, please?"
"I'm Johnny Tabasco, this is Rubens Naluti."
Rubens seems to try to smile and wave, only to grimace and flinch instead.
A few more questions follow - dates of birth, occupations, next of kin, particularly concerning symptoms... Rubens says unusually quiet, getting slowly heavier against Johnny's side.
Eventually, the questioning comes to an end.
"Please go sit down, and fill in these forms," two clipboards are handed to Johnny. Right. Insurance paperwork and medical history - at least he knows enough of Rubens' to fill it in, after so long doing this work together. "Someone will likely be with Mr Naluti shortly, though you yourself will likely have to wait longer. We're not overly busy, but there are still a few incidents already."
"Thank you," and oh, Christ, he's just glad to be able to get Rubens off his feet.
They end up on the plastic chairs, Rubens flinching at it.
"You alright?" Johnny asks him.
There are a good number of fast blinks before Rubens nods, "let's not repeat this, though."
"Sure thing."
Rubens' hand (and only one hand, the other stays at his side) shakes badly as he starts filling in his form - the simple bits like address he leaves just in case, and starts with his medical insurance details. Allergies, pre-existing conditions... Rubens is doubling back to fill in his basic details when a doctor appears.
"Mr Naluti?"
"Here," he raises his clearly good hand.
"If you would come with me, please?" she asks.
He glances to her, to the gap between them, and then to Johnny. Johnny goes to get up to help, and she says "wait here, please, triage for adult patients is done alone."
And, sure, but didn't they get the notes?
Rubens looks at Johnny, only slowly nodding after they have made eye contact. Johnny is not entirely sure what it means, but he prepares himself for trouble anyway.
And then Rubens /tries/ to stand.
This time when he falls, he catches his weight on his bad arm. Johnny just about manages to stop his head or chest crashing into the floor, snapping at the doctor with a "didn't you /read/ he can't walk right now?!" as he helps him back onto the chair.
It leaves Rubens even more off-colour, and shaking, and Johnny not a great deal impressed with what is going on.
"I'll be right back," the doctor vanishes back the way she came.
"Will you be okay alone?" Johnny asks.
"Eh," Rubens manages a small laugh - his breathing is not settling this time, remaining too fast and too shallow. "I'll manage."
"Of course you will."
Johnny wishes there was an easier way to solve this specific bullshit at least.
Quickly, Johnny finished Rubens papers, and lets him sign them. They are ready when a different doctor appears - this one accompanied by some lower ranked staff member pushing a wheelchair.
"Mr Naluti, I'll be taking over from my colleague," the new doctor says. "We need to speak to you alone - privacy and protocol, you understand - but he can help you transfer if that is better for you?"
It is better for Johnny, at least.
"It's up to you," he still manages to say, standing and offering his arms, just like getting out of the car.
Rubens nods, and takes them, struggling the few short steps from the chair to the wheelchair. Johnny helps him get... not comfortable, but less uncomfortable, before placing Rubens' clipboard on his lap.
"See you shortly," Johnny promises.
"Yeah," Rubens replies between tight breaths. "See you soon."
---
Johnny does not see Rubens shortly, not even close thereto. They did bring the evidence with them, split between their bags - it's been stolen from their car before, and that was it's own form of nightmare - but he cannot exactly work on it here. Neither can he work on it without Rubens, who...
"Mr Tabasco," one of the nurses had told him. "Your friend - Mr Naluti? He asked us to tell you... He needs to be admitted due to internal damage? Primarily to his lung. There is surgery involved, though the tear is small and so it is a relatively simple procedure. It is not common with electrical injuries, especially with mains supplies, but it can happen. The doctor wished to work on it immediately, and he consented. There were some other internal injuries too - all consistent with severe muscle spasming or electrical burns. You'll be able to see him once the doctors have finished, but he'll be here a few nights most likely; until the chest tube comes out, at least, perhaps longer depending on his ribs. Given the nature of his injuries, and that you were injured together, the doctor wishes to see you immediately."
And Johnny liked none of that, not at all. He complied with the doctors simply to get through everything, and given an injection to force his muscles to stop cramping. He hates how it helps him feel less like shit, and concedes to their desire for at least 24 hours of wires and monitoring only once he realises it will place him and Rubens on the same ward.
The ward is louder, and busier, and Johnny hasn't slept since this time yesterday, if nobody counts getting knocked out and kidnapped. Still, he cannot rest yet, not until he knows Rubens is fine. There are, at least, some non-work related books in his bag; he'll text Sam with an update once he's sure what's going on, and until then at least try to relax.
Thankfully, he does not get more than two chapters in before Rubens is brought through. Something he said must have stuck with the doctors, as he is given the next bed along. Propped to half-sitting, with some wires and tubes and thick bandaging around one shoulder, but awake and unhappy about it. Johnny waits for the medical staff to finish adjusting him to take a better look; Rubens' eyes trail after them somewhat nervously, and hospital blue does not suit him but he is looking a distinctly better colour.
"You alright?" he asks, drawing attention from the room to himself.
Rubens visibly relaxes when his eyes catch on him, bored and reading. He gestures to himself with his unbandaged arm, clearly moving carefully so as not to disturb anything.
"You?" he returns with.
"Painkillers help," Johnny offers, and receives a firm nod of agreement. "I'm sore, but fine. Might have torn something, but swelling needs to go down to check. The burns are too deep, but my nerves are a bit sensitive and they want to be absolutely sure the ones around my heart are fine before they let me leave."
"Heart?" Rubens asks, his attention focusing in for a second, before someone dropping a tray of medicines with a loud 'fuck!' draws a flinch and his attention.
"Doctor said if there was going to be a problem there probably would be by now, but he wanted it monitoring just in case," Johnny does his best to reassure. "You... look a bit more alive?"
"Not alive enough to read."
Johnny laughs, "I wasn't going to ask you for that already. Did they say how long you're here for...?"
Rubens shakes his head a little, "no 'heavy exercise' for at least 4 weeks. Maybe more. Depends on my ribs."
"I'll let Sam know. We can sort through the paperwork and update reports in the meantime."
"Ugh," he flops harder into the pillows, seemingly trying to lay down - something the nurses made impossible for the both of them - but gestures consent. "Tell him 'just hack the hospital records'."
"Alright. Get some sleep, or I do have our bags? I think your wallet is in there if you want to buy access to the TVs. Not sure what else you packed."
There is just the problem of getting Rubens' bag to him.
Rubens seems to choose sleep, though, or at least closing his eyes to think about something - it's been a long night, and Johnny will probably follow once he's reported in.
Just a short text message; Sam can work out a more secure connection if he wants information immediately, otherwise he can wait until at least Johnny can head home and ring. Scanning he can also do, but accessing the digital documents will have wait for Rubens. Not that the Order is ever running to time anyway.
'Hey Sam' he types, keeping things on their personal phones as civilian sounding as possible. 'So first off, don't panic, nobody's dead or dying, but Rubens and I are in hospital. He said to tell you to just hack the hospital records, so now I've said it. Not really in the mood to explain
.., but the short is some asshole got us electrocuted...'
16 notes
·
View notes