#andersonfalls

[yoursxcruelly]

@andersonfalls​ asked: “ what’s wrong? what happened?”

The PI looks up from the bloody brown paper sack in his hands, blue eyes landing on Anderson. He’s silent for a moment, giving his anger a chance to dissipate some before tossing the bag to the detective. “Our friends at the precinct left me another wonderful message.” He says, walking behind the empty reception desk of his newly opened office. The place needed a lot of work, but it was his, and after being kicked off the force, it was a huge step in the right direction of freelancing Private Investigation work.

“Good thing we’re in LA. There’s an abundance of dead rat’s for them to get their grubby hands on. You know-” He begins, taking a seat, kicking both feet up near the unringing phone. “-I found one in my mail box the other day and another nailed to my door? You think they’d get more creative.”

[manstar]

“SEVEN MINUTES” (only if u want)

7 minutes in heaven // accepting. 21 -- Nibble the ear

His wife died, Sylvester.

And, all right, so he’d finally gotten rid of the bozos who killed her, but that didn’t change the fact that Jeff’s wife was six feet under and Syl wasn’t entirely certain he’d gotten over her.

Somewhere in the middle of Jeff’s grief they’d managed to bond-- Syl had believed him from the beginning, and though his work as Starman kept him from helping substantially, he’d listened to Jeff’s theories every time he had something new without argument, had taken care of Frankie when Jeff’s mother needed a break, had tried to be a friend when Jeff most needed it-- but Christ, he hadn’t thought it would escalate to this.

Joint operations with LAPD didn’t often end in parties, and in the Society’s defence, Syl had been the only one to accept the little get together with the investigation team Jeff had led for this last case. Hawkman had given him a stern look with the unspoken judgement of letting his work as a hero coincide with his personal life, but frankly? Hawkman could suck his dick.

He hadn’t expected this, though. He hadn’t expected 7 Minutes in Heaven like they were teenagers instead of adults with jobs, hadn’t expected the bottle to land on Jeff at his turn, hadn’t expected the kissing to be so easy once the initial awkwardness passed. Usually Syl never passed that stage of awkwardness, too, and he wasn’t sure what was different now, but he sure knew that Jeff’s mouth was wet and warm and he wondered if it broke his rules of sobriety being able to taste beer on his tongue.

They were catching their breath now, with Jeff having been crowded against the wall somewhere in the middle of their kissing, and as Syl tucked his forehead against the side of the shorter man’s head, he bent to nip lightly at his ear, affectionate and soft. Even their breathing was in sync. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“You okay?” he asked, more quiet than he usually was, but this felt like a moment he had to be quiet, especially with the way his hands were still on Jeff’s hips. Syl pretended his voice hadn’t dropped lower on instinct, too-- whatever the low rumble of it implied was something he didn’t want to think about right now.

[manstar]

(🥃) My muse finds your muse in a bar, late at night.

Moonlight Aesthetic Starters // accepting.

It wasn’t often that Starman, of all people, entered a bar, but drastic times called for drastic measures, and Jeff was doing so much more terrible than he thought he would after the loss he had to suffer. “So this is where you holed yourself up in.”

And God, it wasn’t healthy, what Jeff was doing; he was a far cry from the man that worked with the JSA, the man that was one of the few detectives the superhero team actually trusted to do the right thing. Hawkman had told him that it was a lost cause, and that it wasn’t a superhero’s job to interfere in someone’s personal life, but...

You could get the boy out of the small town, but you couldn’t get the small town out of the boy. Starman couldn’t not worry about the people he’d fought with, the people who’d risked things for his sake.

“Guess it fits your M.O., though,” he said, taking a seat on the stool by Jeff’s side. The Cosmic Staff had been wrapped up, slung on his back, but that didn’t make him look any less ridiculous in his star-spangled tights, even if he did wear a jacket on top of it. “Dark bar, all on your own, drink in hand...”

Catching the bartender’s gaze, Starman nodded his head in acknowledgement of the man’s disbelief, and only because the look on his face screamed: a member of the Justice Society of America, here, in my hole in the wall shit bar!? And it was, indeed, a valid response.

“Almost makes me wish I still drank.” Then he lifted his hand for an order, and smiled when the bartender assured him that yes, Starman, we do have Coke! Hold on right there.

“...how’s your investigation been going, huh, Anderson?”