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Sep 18ᵗʰ, 2015: It has been three years since UN Embassy bombing in Vienna resulting in the deaths of several delegates including then-king of Wakanda T'Chaka; The Sokovia Accords have since been ratified. The Avengers who refuse to sign the Accords have been forced into "retirement" or declared "Persons of Interest" and warrants have been issued for their arrests. And keepign with the Accords, any known super-powered persons exceeding category tl-5 have been re-classified as WMDs and relocated to restricted campus for their protection.
Nick Fury retains control of S.H.I.E.L.D. following his skill handling of the attempted Hydra uprising which was quietly contained within the hangers of the Tiskeleon. Tony Stark continues to fund the Avengers and has relocated them to a renovated Stark facility in upperstate New York, Natasha Romanoff has assumed the mantle of leadership of the current Avengers lineup. Together they have begun begun the work in keeping with the Accords of making the world a safer place for all peoples of Earth as directed by the Accords; The primary duty of the Avengers, now known as the Innitiative, has become handling of WMD resistant to the Accords; The United States has begun discussions of a second, more specific national registration which would require a mandatory genetic screening at age birth and manual complaince with all people who have not so been tested.
However, not everyone has agreement with these proceedings, most noteably Steve Rogers who retiring from the Avengers has since become a very vocal descenter and activist protesting the the Accords. There have been rumors that he leads a team of super-powered "activists" who run interference when possible to prevent families from being split up by the actions of the Accords and the Innitiative. This group has been covertly with an as yet unidentified sympathier within the initiative from various Wakandan Embassies and a network of numerous underground safehouses (provided by an unknown sympathizer to their cause) to identify and find superpowered humans before S.H.I.E.L.D./The WATCH is able to too usher those found into "protective custody".
From the sidelines, various groups and people of possible interest watch with growing interest ranging from academics like Professor Charles Xavier and the reclusive Doctor Henry McCoy to noted researchers like as Moira MacTaggert and Karl Lycos, revered evangelists such as the good Reverend William Stryker, to industrialists like Emma Frost and Boliar Trask and rising political stars such as Donald J. Trump.
Meanwhile, Asgard has relocated to the oceanside village of Tønsberg now renamed "New Asgard" in Norway in homage to their Asgardian heritage. They have begun the great task of building their great former realm now here on Earth, but the work goes slow as they have become distracted at times with their daliences with mortal Terrains.
DATE
Sep 18ᵗʰ, 2015
CLIME
snowy
TEMP
30 °
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AFTERNOON;midKnight;
The sign on the break room door read Closed for Maintenance—a small lie that no one would question. Not here, not from him. Pasha sat at the furthest table, brown bag lunch open in front of him: a modest sandwich, a crinkled bag of chips, bottled water, and a small metal flask with two plain paper cups placed beside it, like a quiet offering.
He hadn’t even taken a bite.
The room was still, but inside him—chaos.
Fingers tapped idly against the table as he stared at the doorway, waiting. Would he come? He’d said he would. Doctor Adam Bashear did not strike him as the sort of man who made casual promises. No, he was something else entirely—bigger than the walls around him, than the whispers that clung to his name.
Pasha’s eyes wandered over the table, then to the dull fluorescent lights above, then drifted again to the flask. His thumb ran over the edge of the paper cup, back and forth. He didn’t drink often—not when he needed control. But tonight felt like the kind of night one might need something warm in the chest.
What was it about Adam Bashear?
It wasn’t just the body—though yes, God help him, that didn’t hurt. It was the weight he carried, the way silence bent around him. Not like fear... like gravity. Like the air itself knew to make room.
And those eyes. Pasha had replayed them more than once since that first encounter. Sharp, but not cruel. Calm, but not detached. Eyes that seemed to see.
A different life flashed across his mind—one where there were no chains of ideology, no handlers waiting for updates, no careful rehearsals of lies woven into truth. Just... freedom. To be curious. To be seen. Maybe even... to want.
His jaw tensed. He glanced at the door again. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for tonight. Conversation? Connection? Maybe just another moment with someone who made the world feel bigger—and made him feel, if only for a second, a little more real.
He reached for the flask, uncapped it, and poured a small measure into each cup. Just in case.
Then he sat back, nervous energy coiled beneath stillness, and waited.
DETAILS
ic
MILIEU
TEMP: 42° wi-cloudy
LOCALE:
- Fort Sam Houston - - Gamma Base 1 - Section G1 - North America
Blue Marvel:: Adam was convinced that the institutional nature, with its linoleum floors and concrete walls, was meant to rob employees of their will to live. Even for a scientific facility, this place was stark, and the lunchroom made taking a break seem like punishment. However, the sound of music caught him off guard, and he could not disguise his smile when he saw the source. He was almost tempted to glide towards the table like Arthur Mitchell taking center stage at the New York City Ballet, but he did have some self control, and if Pasha was going to laugh, he'd rather it be because of something he said, and not his attempt to be graceful.
"I don't think I have ever eaten at this restaurant," he said, setting his black metal lunch box on the table. He let his gaze linger on Porter, drinking in those piercing eyes. He retrieved his thermos and two po'boys. He had a great love of seafood and had bought a second sandwich to share. This is dining at its best.
midKnight:: The overhead fluorescents hummed with a sterile insistence, buzzing like anxious thoughts. Pasha stood, crossed the small room, and flipped the switch. Silence followed—blessed and immediate. In their place, the soft glow of the vending machines cast long, ambient shadows across the blue-grey linoleum floor.
It was better this way. Dim. Subdued. Honest.
The break room wasn’t built for comfort. Nothing on base really was. Institutional blues and steely greys washed the space in cold neutrality. The walls were slightly scuffed near the doorframe, paint chipping where years of boots and trays had scraped past. A row of square tables sat in quiet formation beneath a narrow window that offered no view—just reinforced glass and a slice of moonless dark.
He reached into his bag again, not for the sandwich, but for a small, battered transistor radio. The edges were worn smooth, the volume knob a little loose. He turned it slowly, catching static, a brief whisper of some distant preacher, then—
A low saxophone slid in, warm and sleepy, followed by the brushed rhythm of drums. Mellow jazz. Maybe Chet Baker. Maybe not. It didn’t matter.
The sound curled around the room like smoke.
Pasha returned to his seat, letting the music settle into his shoulders. He adjusted one of the paper cups so it sat straighter, then leaned back, head tilted against the cool wall behind him.
There was a stillness now, but not emptiness.
It felt like the eye of a storm. Not calm. Expectant. Something was coming.
And he would be ready for it.
Or... as ready as anyone could be for the arrival of a man like Adam Bashear.
He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and let the music carry him.
midKnight:: The moment Adam entered, Pasha couldn’t suppress the grin that spread across his face. He came. He had actually come. And that small, quiet thrill pulsed through him. He rose, moving with an almost practiced grace, as though the words you came were somehow a victory on their own.
“I am so glad,” Pasha said, his voice light, genuinely pleased. He made his way to Adam, stepping closer with an unspoken invitation to join him at the table. He gently took Adam’s arm, his fingers brushing just enough to linger, before guiding him toward one of the chairs.
As his hand brushed along Adam’s bicep, Pasha couldn’t help but admire the firmness beneath the suit. “My, what a big and firm arm you have, Mister Bashear,” he said with a note of intrigue in his voice. “I can’t recall ever feeling such a solid arm—what is your training routine? I’m genuinely curious,” he added with a playful edge, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary. The firm muscle beneath his touch left him a little breathless, though he quickly hid it behind a smirk.
Pasha took a small step back, eyes sweeping over Adam’s appearance. His gaze was frank, almost appreciative. “You are a very handsome man, Doctor Bashear,” he remarked casually, his tone soft but filled with something deeper—something more speculative. “Mysterious too. So much to wonder about.” He raised an eyebrow, as if daring Adam to comment on the unspoken question hanging between them.
Pasha couldn’t resist the next part—his own little joke. “I suppose this is ‘Le Port de Chez,’” he said, gesturing at the table with a flourish, before snorting lightly. “Excuse me,” he added, covering his mouth briefly, “I couldn’t resist the joke.”
His eyes then landed on Adam’s lunchbox. It was almost charmingly ordinary. “You have a lunchbox?” Pasha said, a slight chuckle escaping him. “I would have thought you’d be dining at the officer’s mess—some of the best food on base there. I know; I’ve been assigned to mop those floors a few times. The trash cans... they have the best aroma.” His lips curled into a knowing smile, one of someone who had spent enough time in those places to know their secrets.
Pasha moved to sit, the energy between them shifting ever so slightly, though he held onto that curious, playful air. This was, after all, a delicate dance.
Blue Marvel:: Adam smiled at the compliment, he was certain it was flirting now, anyway what did he have to worry about? Sometimes, when he was really honest with himself, he knew that he was above the judgment of others. The fact that he was interested and excited by a man that others merely saw as the janitor, if they saw him at all, was, in his opinion, a positive quality, and he was going to go for it. He allowed himself to be led to the table.
"Oh, the lunchbox, most of the time, I eat in my office adjacent to the lab," he said, "If I have time, I like to go to the nearby gym for a workout, and that gives me more time to do so." Working out was a way he felt more human. Weight-wise, what he lifted was meaningless, but the action itself was a benefit to him. He tried to imagine what he would be like if he had been the classic nerdy scientist with a slight build, but with the powers he had gained. He wasn't like that Rogers guy in the 40's he already had the build.
"I also am trying to save my pennies for my own lab," he said with a smile. It was only partially a joke, he had invested in Xerox, Coca-Cola, and several other stocks, quietly amassing a fortune. He had very few needs, and so it wasn't much of a sacrifice to turn some of his intelligence towards doing something for himself. "I love the ambiance, a four-star restaurant in an unexpected neighborhood. I feel a little gouache bringing in food, but I wanted to share one of my favorites with you."
midKnight:: “You came,” Pasha said warmly, voice low and full of genuine pleasure. “I’m so glad.” He rose to greet Adam properly, moving with easy grace as he approached, and without hesitation, slipped his arm through Adam’s. “Please, Doctor Bashear—your table awaits,” he said with mock formality, gesturing toward a chair with a playful sweep.
As he guided Adam to sit, Pasha’s hand lingered lightly at the crook of his arm. He gave it a gentle squeeze and raised an eyebrow. “This arm,” he murmured, “is very firm. You must do more than lift test tubes, da? I don’t think I’ve ever felt one quite like it.” His tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of real admiration in it.
Pasha slipped into the seat next to Adam, not across, close enough for their shoulders to nearly touch. He leaned forward slightly, chin resting in his hand as he looked him over, eyes bright with both curiosity and amusement. “And you look—how do you say it? Devastatingly handsome. Mysterious. The kind of man who lives half his life in the shadows… or in very well-lit laboratories.” He grinned. “There’s so much to speculate.”
He gave a soft laugh. “Normally, it is very hard to get a table at Le Port de Chez,” he said, gesturing around the break room with mock grandeur. “But lucky for you, I know the maître d’. He owes me several favors.”
His eyes fell on the lunchbox, and he gave an approving nod. “So you do eat like the rest of us. I’m shocked. I assumed you dined in the officer’s mess—where the food smells like real food and even the trash has a hint of garlic and roast beef.” Pasha gave a little sigh. “I mop floors there sometimes. Best-smelling garbage on base.”
He looked Adam over again, slower this time, as if memorizing the shape of him. “You go to the gym, I can tell. Maybe I could join you sometime? I’m sure you could teach me a thing or two.” He grinned. “I bet you have incredible form.”
Then, a softer note crept in—he glanced down at the table for a moment, fingers idly tracing the edge of his paper cup before he spoke again. “Your own lab… that’s something. That’s real vision.” His voice was quieter now, more sincere. “Me? I always dream of something small. Quiet. A little farmhouse somewhere no one thinks to visit. A few animals. Books. Paints. Maybe someone to share it with.”
He looked back up at Adam, smile still present, but tinged with something bittersweet. “Silly, da? But… sometimes I let myself pretend. For a moment.”
Blue Marvel:: "They're very heavy test tubes," he teased. Most of the time, he didn't even use test tubes, not while working here, that is. He was a bit of a polymath, so sometimes, he was that kind of scientist. Still, Adam smiled at the compliment, a little surprised that Porter was so forward, but relaxed, realizing they were on the same page. He settled into the seat next to him, patting the hand that touched him. His mind entertained the possibilities were they to pursue the feelings between them.
"I really don't see the point in doing things just because everyone else thinks it is prestigious. I find it is better to just be who you are, what you eat is probably healthier than what they make in the cafeteria," he said. Then, realizing that he might be patronizing, he said. "I'm sorry, I have tried so hard not to think about the difference between social classes that it sounds like I am dismissing the differences, but I have straddled so many different worlds that I try to make the differences seem trivial.
He wasn't exaggerating; not only was he an intelligent black man trying to make his way in the mostly white scientific community, but he was actually a god among men. Added to that, he was attracted to men as well as women, though he definitely had a preference. These were things he tried not to think about. Fortunately, Porter let the conversation drift towards Adam's mention of a lab.
"I would think that the two would not have to be mutually exclusive, a lab on a farm would be perfect, although I cannot imagine that I would be a good painter, but I would love to see what you might paint."
midKnight:: “Oh, I paint,” Pasha said with a chuckle, leaning forward on his elbows, voice smooth. “Walls, ceilings—sometimes furniture. Very avant-garde. I’m terribly gifted, just ask anyone who’s ever rented one of my safehouses.” He grinned at Adam, eyes bright, teasing.
Then, something softened in him.
“You know,” he continued, more quietly, “you’re very charming. Do you know that?” He gave a faint shake of his head, like he didn’t quite believe what he was saying, or maybe he couldn’t believe he was saying it out loud.
“They always say lady-killer,” Pasha added, almost absently, the phrase curling off his tongue with a bit of a smirk—but in letting the words come, something else came with them. His carefully curated Midwestern drawl slipped, just slightly, letting his more Eastern European inflection rise to the surface, warm and natural.
He didn’t try to pull it back.
Adam had that effect on him—disarming. Grounding. Maybe even dangerous, in the gentlest way.
If Pasha was Superman, then Adam was definitely his Kryptonite.
But he wasn’t Superman, not really. That wasn’t the right metaphor. He was something else entirely—something darker, slipperier, harder to pin down. The kind of man who’d disappear before the sun came up if he thought he was getting too close. But right now? He didn’t want to disappear. He wanted to stay.
He glanced at Adam’s profile—those impossible shoulders, that cut of jawline, those eyes so steady and kind, and lips that looked like they could deliver either salvation or devastation depending on the moment.
Fuck, he was so hot.
No way Adam didn’t know it, right? No one who looked like that could be that unaware. He shaved. That meant he looked at that face every morning. That face.
The thought made something flutter unexpectedly in Pasha’s chest.
“I don’t think you’re dismissing anything,” he said finally, voice quieter now. “I think you’re just… tired of being made to live in the spaces between. I get that.”
He looked down for a second, fingers brushing the edge of the table, then back up with a half-smile. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’d make a very good painter. Though honestly… I’d rather watch you build something.”
He paused, then added with a wink, “Preferably without the shirt... because you know, we woudln't want it to get dirty woudld we.” PAsha added a half-wink to punctuate the thought.
Blue Marvel:: "Safehouses?" Adam repeated. he was sure he heard that right. Painting walls, renting safe houses. This man was more than he met the eye, but he already knew that; he was just beginning to get an idea of what that truly meant. Safehouses to Adam meant some kind of spy, the FBI, possibly a criminal, but more likely a spy, but why had he said that? Was Porter trying to gauge his reaction? He noted the floating accent but thought it was endearing, and many immigrants to the US had floating accents, based on where they were from and where they lived.
Ultimately, he was more interested in Porter as a person than anything about his profession. He wasn't trading state secrets with him, he didn't even have state secrets to trade. If Porter wanted to know about his work, he could read it from his papers. Granted, Banner was working on something top secret, something with gamma radiation. He had designed emitters, but he didn't know what the man was ultimately going to do with those emitters. People assumed scientists knew everything their colleagues were doing, but he sometimes they worked in silos, working on only one part of a project.
"You know," he began when the topic of him working shirtless came up, blatant flirting, "Don't think that just because I don't say so, that I am not thinking similar thoughts, just a lifetime of caution has taught me not to say things like I want to stare into you eyes all day, but just know that I am thinking about more than just your eyes." There, he had said it aloud. He was excited to be around this man.
midKnight:: Pasha barked out a laugh, warm and genuine, the kind that softened the sharp edges of his usual dry wit. “Safehouses? Come on, that was a joke. If I owned houses—safe or otherwise—you think I’d be slinging a mop around a military facility?” He gestured at the sad sandwich still in its crinkled plastic. “And if I did own property and still chose to be a janitor for the thrill of it, I’d at least be eating something better than off-brand cold cuts. C’mon, have some respect. It was a joke.”
He shook his head, still smiling, but his expression sobered just slightly as his eyes settled on Adam again, studying him not with suspicion but with something a little more raw—vulnerability, maybe. Or maybe it was just plain truth.
“I hope you’re having similar thoughts,” he said, softer now. “Because I’ve taken a lot of chances just sitting here like this with you. Flirting. Gay man in Texas, aiming his interest at a possibly gay man—yee haw, that’s practically a necktie party waiting to happen. Throw in a hootenanny for good measure and we got ourselves a midnight picknic with Granny's special slaw don't cha know.” He chuckled, but the weight behind the words lingered. There was danger in being seen. In being honest.
But even so, he didn’t look away.
“In all seriousness,” he added, tone sliding gently back into that light, teasing drawl, “if you ever do need help in the lab, just know I would sit quietly in the corner all day and watch you work with your diodes.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with intent. “Preferably without you having your shirt on... I just feel like you have so much to admire, it'd be a shame if no one was admiring all you have to offer.”
Blue Marvel:: Adam decided that yes, it would be very likely that Porter might be a man with a great deal of secrets, but he concluded that he wanted Adam to know, but also didn't want him to press the issue. More importantly, Adam didn't care, he had no state secrets to trade, and most of what he knew was already in a preliminary white paper about to hit the journals. He knew others were working on much more militaristic programs, but he was only an assistant on those, and he didn't discuss his work with them with anyone, including the principles involved outside of the lab.
So when Porter changed the subject, he let it drop, not because he had been convinced, but more like amused by the explanation. It wasn't necessary to go into it, they were not here for work, whatever that entailed. He gave him a reassuring smile.
"Rest assured, we are traveling in the same direction. I am attracted to you, which is not something that happens often," he admitted. "I am not sure how much work I would get done. If I knew you were in the lab with me, that would be a criminal misuse of my time."
midKnight:: Pasha chuckled, a soft, warm sound that melted into the dim buzz of their space, his eyes lingering on Adam with growing fondness.
"Well… if we're traveling in the same direction," he began, his smile curling mischievously, "then maybe you should be the conductor. And if that's the case, I've got a ticket for you—first-class, even—if you'd care to punch it. No refunds though. Once you’re on this ride, you’re stuck with me."
He laughed a little at his own boldness, the confidence balanced by the slightest note of nervousness—just enough to make it endearing.
"I'm really glad you find me attractive. That means more than you know, Adam. I mean, look at you—you’re brilliant, you’re principled, you're literally the kind of man people write folk songs about. If you saw yourself the way I see you, you’d understand why I have to try playing a little hard to get. Just to keep some illusion of balance. Gotta let you earn me a little… or at least pretend you have to."
His gaze dropped for a second, brushing the line between flirtation and genuine admiration. "Truth is, I’ve already got more respect for you than I know what to do with. And if I'm honest, you intimidate me a bit. Not because you’re distant—quite the opposite actually—but because you’re the kind of man who walks into a room and owns it without even trying. You make it easy to want you. And that’s dangerous."
The playful glint returned to his eye, and he leaned a little closer, voice dropping into something silky.
"Now, if you were able to actually get work done around me, I’d have to assume either I’ve lost my touch, or you're sleeping on the job—which would be criminal. But don’t worry… I can think of plenty of other criminal uses for your time."
He grinned, lowering his voice even more. "Just a fair warning though: most of them are very much clothing optional. Actually, scratch that. Some are just plain no clothing required. So you can pack light—unless you're packing heavy, which... I kinda hope you are." He let the words hang for a heartbeat, eyes dancing with flirtation and admiration.
"And if you are packing heavy? Good. That tells me you're prepared. I like a man who comes ready—mentally, emotionally, and otherwise. And you, Adam Bashir? You seem like the kind of man who’s ready for anything."
Blue Marvel:: Porter raised a question that Adam hadn't really considered, but having himself described to him, Adam had to reevaluate himself. He had never felt that he should be ashamed of who he was, but he always thought about what his role was supposed to be for others in his community. Even before his powers, he was a man with an embarrassment of riches. His personal belief was to be who he was. However, he had witnessed the effects of his being more of a man than the white power structure was comfortable with. Often, they took out their inability to belittle him on others, so he metaphorically kept his light under a bushel. One nice thing he was learning as time went on was that he could glow a little brighter.
Still hearing this incredible man laying bare just who he was, had the effect of forcing him to take stock. "I sound almost impossible when you describe me," he said with a grin. "And you are a beautiful mystery that I would love to unravel, especially if that requires taking off the outer layers."
When he shifted to what he was packing, he laughed. "I haven't compared myself to many men, but I suppose I was blessed in that way too, so I suppose I am obligated to share my good fortune."
midKnight:: Pasha let out a soft laugh, his head tipping back just slightly as he looked at Adam like he was trying to memorize every part of him.
"Impossible? Please," he said with a grin, voice playful but reverent. "You are so handsome it's almost unfair. Your voice is like velvet dipped in bourbon—smooth, deep, warm. You're brilliant—like, intimidatingly smart—and you speak with such elegance, it's no wonder I keep forgetting what I was going to say when you open your mouth."
His eyes moved slowly over Adam, appreciation clear in the way he looked at him.
"Your shoulders are so broad, your eyes are this impossibly rich color I can't stop staring at, your jawline could cut glass, your face is ridiculously symmetrical in a way that feels like it should break some kind of law. You're tall—like statuesque—and your chest? I mean, come on. And the way you carry yourself? It's powerful, but not arrogant. You're... the walking, talking, ridiculously attractive embodiment of an embarrassment of riches. And somehow you’re also humble. Approachable. Kind. And your hair—God, your hair is beautiful. And don’t even get me started on those cheekbones. I could keep going, you know. I bet even your toes are hot."
He laughed again, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks at how quickly his admiration was spilling out, but he didn’t try to stop it.
"And as for layers..." he leaned in just a little, voice dropping low and teasing.
"I already feel like I’ve peeled away a few of yours tonight. You’re kind, you're open, you're very... very fine." He grinned, letting the pause hang between them.
"So tell me, Adam Bashir... how many layers until we hit your briefs? And just so we're clear, I'm not talking about your briefcase—I mean your briefs."
He burst into laughter, hand over his mouth, eyes wide with mock-shock at himself.
"God, forgive me. That was so crass. That just fell right out of my mouth like a dropped candy bar—messy and probably a little sticky." He laughed harder, his cheeks pink now, but there was a wicked sparkle in his eyes that betrayed any feigned shame.
"I'm sorry, truly," he said through his laughter, "but also... I’m not really sorry at all... I do like the idea of messy and sticky - how do you feel about peeling down to messy and sticky?" Pasha grinned a wicked grin, then compossed himself once more.
Blue Marvel:: Adam laughed easily, glad they had the room to themselves, even if there was no stigma about men being attracted to one another, America was not that free about public displays of affection, never mind sexy talk. "Anyway, you are my personal Shakespeare ,or perhaps more accurately the other way around. As for layers, I assure you there are far fewer physical layers, just two, and were the location different..."
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Adam wasn't particularly a fan of poetry, but he had always loved this particular poem even before he realized that it was likely about a man. "I think when next we dine, it should be much more carnal, and with greater privacy."
midKnight:: Pasha gave a breathless little laugh, one part awe, one part flirtation. “You quote Shakespeare and make it sound like a man just invented the word ‘love’ for the first time,” he murmured, voice tinged with admiration. “What a marvel you are, Adam Bashir. Your voice alone could melt permafrost.”
He shifted his weight, eyes lingering appreciatively. “Tall, impossibly broad… with those shoulders, that face—like a hero carved from marble. And your voice, rich like honey steeped in history. No man should be allowed to be that handsome and also have a mind like yours. It’s—unfair.” A smile tugged at his lips. “You are the very definition of an embarrassment of riches.”
There was a pause, and he tilted his head, eyes softening. “In my country,” he said carefully, “we have poets, too. Passionate. Melancholy. Always bleeding onto the page.” His brow furrowed as though trying to recall. “There’s one… Sergei Yesenin, yes? I used to know it all.” He cleared his throat, started hesitantly in Russian:
"Ты меня не любишь, не жалеешь…
Разве я немного некрасив?"
He faltered and glanced away, suddenly shy. “Ah, but I’ve forgotten the rest. It’s been years. I should look it up—it deserves to be recited properly. Not butchered by a tired janitor.”
That last word he said with theatrical resignation, tipping the brim of his cap—but then, in a small gesture of reveal, he reached up and removed the hat. From beneath, his dark hair spilled down in thick waves as he pulled out a single stick securing it. It framed his face dramatically, no longer the illusion of a man tucked away in utility closets and shadows.
“My hair is clean,” he added with a wry smile. “But if I had known someone like you would be sitting with me, I would’ve washed it again. Twice.”
Then, softer now, his voice gentled with something like sincerity. “Thank you. For letting me peel back a few layers. For making me feel like I am… being seen. The help is seldom acknowledged—except in rehearsed, hollow ways designed to keep everything just comfortable enough for the powerful. But you… you sat with me. You listened. And I can’t express what that means.”
He looked down, briefly embarrassed by his own honesty, then back up with a sheepish smile. “Forgive me if I get sentimental. I blame the sonnet. And the man who read it.”
Blue Marvel:: "Do you know how beautifully romantic it is to know someone who can speak from their heart. Look around us, we are surrounded by men who cannot identify any emotion beyond anger, unless they are drunk. But you know what you feel, and who you like with a clear heart, clear enough to speak poetically, if not a poet." Adam said with a genuine smile. He caught his janitor's hand in his, caressing him with his other hand. "I love that fact that you are completely incomplete, do you know what that means?"
He paused dramatically for a heartbeat. "It means that there is more than one dimension to you; to know you means to open your mind and experience your thoughts and your voice. And then there is the physical you that I haven't even scratched the surface of, what lies under those clothes? A perfection that matches your face, your eyes? By just existing, you are moving poetry, but so much more than that. What are you when you are somewhere else, not defined by the job you perform."
midKnight:: Pasha smiled softly, visibly warmed by the kindness and depth of Adam's words. “Completely incomplete,” he echoed, testing the phrase like it was a jewel placed in his palm. “I have never heard that before. I like it. Yes. That’s good.”
He tilted his head thoughtfully, eyes glimmering with sincerity. “I have longed for someone most of my life. But I never let that longing define me. That would be… a very sad existence, da? It is fun, I think, to play the tragic figure in a story. But unless you get your kicks out of making every breath a performance, such a life would be like a tour in the tedious I am thinking. Tragic, yes—but also dull. Blah! Who wants that?”
He shrugged with mock nonchalance and a flicker of charm in his smirk. “So, I chose to be complete—even if I wasn’t. I stitched something together out of willpower, defiance, and a bit of cleverness. But then—” he let his gaze linger on Adam “—then I met you. And I like you. I feel... drawn to you. I imagine many are. If they are not, they are stupid or blind. Maybe both.”
Pasha’s breath caught slightly—not from shock, but something gentler, rarer. He let himself linger in the moment, in Adam’s gaze, in the feel of his hand being held with such reverence.
“Careful,” he said, voice lower, more intimate now, “you are very close to making me believe you see me.” His smile curved differently this time—still amused, but touched by a vulnerability he didn’t often let free. “Not just the part that talks too much or flirts too easily, but the part behind my eyes. That part I do not show unless I must.”
He exhaled, slow and deliberate. “You speak like a man who has studied galaxies, but who also knows the gravity of words. And you say I am poetry?” He let that sink in, shaking his head just once. “I am not used to being seen as anything more than what I do. You see a janitor, most people stop there. A broom. A schedule. A uniform.”
His gaze dropped momentarily, almost shy—but when it rose again, there was fire in it. “But you asked what I am when I am somewhere else. When I am not defined by what I do?”
He leaned forward just slightly, voice lowering again. “I am dangerous when I choose to be. I am kind when the world doesn’t deserve it. I carry so many versions of myself, Adam, I forget sometimes which ones are masks. But I think—if I were to believe you—I would want to be all of them with you.”
He gave a crooked grin then, more playful again. “And as for what lies under my clothes?” He shrugged one shoulder with theatrical ambiguity. “Maybe perfection. Maybe too many freckles and a stomach that loves bread too much. You will just have to find out, da? But I promise you this—whatever is there, it will not be boring.”
Then, after a beat, more softly, “I want to be more than what I do. I just never thought someone like you would notice that I already am.”
Blue Marvel:: "That is rational, people are not one thing," Adam said seriously, "I am a black man, a scientist, I am someone's son, but recently I am a superhero, and when I am honest with myself, I am the definition of a physica god, but under that all I am Adam Bashear, I am attracted the you for a host of reasons, not the least of which is because I feel like I will always be discovering new things about you. No pressure, because I think even if I did eventually feel I knew everything about you, then you will be like a comfort blanket."
He laughed at himself, "Did I mention that I try to make myself sound much more profound than I am?"
midKnight:: Pasha's expression didn't shift right away—years of training had taught him not to blink too fast, not to flinch when something unexpected was said. But inside? Inside, his mind froze for a beat like a record scratching under a needle.
Superhero?
The word echoed through his thoughts like a dropped glass on marble. Did he just say... superhero?
He smiled. He nodded. But his breath stalled. His fingers curled slightly tighter around Adam's hand before easing again. Not enough to notice, not unless you were already looking for tells.
This is bigger than Banner’s scribbles. A living weapon. A Black American Superman. The implications flickered behind his eyes like a slideshow only he could see—this information, in the wrong hands, in the right hands...
He locked the thoughts away. Pushed them down. Let his face relax into the well-worn expression of amused affection (that was far more real then it should have been), the kind that made people underestimate him.
He exhaled softly and let a note of wonder enter his voice.
“Did you mean to say… superhero?” His head tilted, just slightly, his lips curving in that teasing half-smile. “Like—what, like Captain America? Or Sun Girl? Wait, no—are you a superhero like the Blonde Phantom was? All slinky and sexy and international?” He raised a brow playfully, clearly enjoying the idea. “Or maybe more like Thor? With the lightning and the muscles and the booming voice?”
He gave Adam a once-over, head to toe, openly appreciative. “Or perhaps you are both. Strength and sexy. The slinky sexy muscle booming voiced Black Lightning. Hm.”
He leaned in, his voice dropping into something more intimate—conspiratorial, as though they were sharing a deeply personal secret.
“You can tell me whatever you wish, Doctor Bashear,” he said, voice low and smooth. “I will keep it most quiet. You can be sure of that.”
He gave a soft sigh and a glance to the side, almost wistful.
“You already figured out I hide my immigrant status so I can get good job, da? If they find out I am Eastern European—Ukrainian—I would be in stockades, for sure. Or sent back to scrub floors somewhere that smells like vodka and despair.”
Then he looked back to Adam, sincerity shining through.
“So you see, I know how to keep secrets. I know what it means to be something more than what they see. And if you are something more... I will never tell.”
A beat. Then a soft smile, equal parts affection and intrigue.
Blue Marvel:: "I did say that, didn't I?" Adam said with a smile. He didn't actually keep it a secret, but rather that he didn't talk about it. He thought of it the same way he had imagined that silent movie actors who didn't make it into "talkies" might go on with their lives, occasionally mentioning it to others around them. "I suppose it is supposed to be a secret, so I am glad that you will not say anything, it might complicate things."
He wanted to backtrack on that, but it didn't sound like he wanted it to. He had wanted to say how much he appreciated Porter for who he was, but he relaxed when he learned more about the man he was dining with. None of the things mentioned should have mattered, but they were in a country where even the smallest of things could be the reason for condemnation.
He gave him a smile. "We are more than the things we don't tell others, I promise I will never forget that."
The Leader:: The lab was quiet. Too quiet. Perfectly quiet.
Dr. Samuel Sterns stood at Banner’s desk, fingers trembling ever so slightly over the open notes. Scribbled equations, erratic margin scrawls, circled cells and cortisol spikes—all pointed to a single, ridiculous truth.
"
Test subject (self, B. Banner) exposure to gamma radiation at X-level thresholds results in total systemic transformation. Aggression, strength, cellular regeneration off the charts—he becomes a being of near-limitless power under emotional stress. Hypothesis confirmed: the Hulk is me.
I am the HULK.
"
A low, incredulous chuckle slipped from Sterns’ lips which settle into a devious smile.
“Well, well, well… Look at you, Banner,” he murmured. “You genius idiot. You accidental god. All that power and no real get up and go unless you stub your toe.”
He turned slowly to face the Gammatron, his eyes glinting under the flicker of green indicator lights.
“This is what you’ve been hoarding,” he whispered. “All this time… keeping it to yourself. Playing the tortured beast, hiding in the desert… wasting it.”
He paced now, circling the machine like a priest at an altar. “You used your gift to run. To sulk. But me?” His voice dipped, oily and eager. “I wouldn’t waste a second if I had such power Banner.”
His mind raced with possibilities—not of justice, not of science. Of dominion. Indulgence. Revenge.
He saw himself standing tall while military generals grovelled, politicians knelt, and nations scrambled to obey. No more deferrals. No more funding committees. No more being overlooked. He would rule—amd not from the shadows, but above them with the physical power of an emerald irradiated god.
And the women… oh, the women. Sterns’ lip curled into a grotesque grin. No more being ignored. No more stammering, sweating conversations that ended in awkward silence and him being sent to the corner a humbled man. No more rejections.
“They’ll all want me,” he said under his breath, “and I’ll take what I want.”
He imagined one now—some lovely girl, her mocking voice now turned to screams as he pops her pencil skirt with a flick of his finger, trying to say no. He imagined reaching for her, pulling, feeling her thrash and scream until she is brutally reduced to a sputch on the wall—
His shoulders twitched with laughter, sudden and sharp.
“Now that’s what you’d call birth control,” he muttered darkly.
He smirked to himself. Petty. Vicious. Intoxicated by the mere idea of power.
“I’d be the last thing they ever felt. Or saw. Or prayed to.”
He touched the Gammatron console with something close to reverence.
“This isn’t evolution,” he whispered. “This is ascension.”
And Samuel Sterns smiled, teeth bared.
“Let the age of monsters begin.”
With that, with Banner's notes in his hand, Sterns started to work the controls, the lights thoughout base started to flicked as the Gammatron started to consume the power
midKnight:: Pasha’s eyes softened, just for a flicker—a crack in the performance, gone almost as fast as it came.
“Then you understand,” he said quietly. “That is rare.”
He let the moment linger, the jazz curling lazily through the silence. Then he reached across the table, fingers brushing Adam’s knuckles—not overtly, just enough to feel the contrast between them. Muscle and heat and impossible stillness. A man who could split mountains, trying to stay small.
“You speak like someone who knows what it costs to be more than what the world will let you be.” His voice was low, thoughtful now, the teasing gone quiet. “Not just strong. Not just brilliant. But… seen. And still alone.”
He smiled again, slow and subtle. Then, with deliberate lightness—just enough to lift the weight in the air—he tilted his head and said, “Also, I must admit—your shirt is doing a terrible job hiding what you are. Very tragic. Very noble effort.”
He made a small, innocent gesture—two fingers flicking upward. “Tell me… do you do it? The flex. The… pec thing. I have only ever seen it on the morning physical fitness show with the Jack La-La-LaLanne. Is very American. Is very inspirational. Very educational. I try to do sometimes but I do not know if I am not doing it correct or if I am not big enough to do so... your shirt, the way it hugs you ches says you are certainly big enough to make the bouncey bouncy though.”
Pasha’s grin returned, softer now, but unmistakably flirtatious. “I would be most impressed to see you do so. You know. Scientifically.”
Then, with a low chuckle and a glance toward the checkered cloth between them: “You keep my secret, I keep yours. And if you happen to bounce once or twice, well… I would never tell. Afterall who would care right? Is only for scientifically purposes.”
He smiled before taking another took another bite of his sandwich, clearly pleased with himself; His English more broken, his language partners following his native Ukrainian roots.
Blue Marvel:: "Pec bouncing," Adam repeated in surprise, before unintentionally laughing, "I don't even want to find out if I can, I think I saw it in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, or maybe Popeye." He was admitting that he watched animated films, he had been watching them ever since he was a child, and saw no reason to stop. He finished his sandwich, mostly to cover his amused embarrassment.
"I am afraid you would have to suffice to see my chest as still a Greek statue, but given the care they took with the statue's creation, I think they spent a lot of time manually observing the muscles of their models." After a drink of water to allow the thought to settle in, he added. "I think touch is the best way to confirm that what we see is real."
midKnight:: Pasha made a soft sound, equal parts amusement and appreciation, like a cat purring over a particularly fine piece of poetry. He tilted his head slowly, gaze flicking across Adam’s face before returning, pointedly, to his chest.
“Greek statue, you say? Mmm. Yes. That tracks. But let us be honest, lyubov—there is not a statue in the Louvre, nor a ruined temple in Athens, that looks like this in motion.” He gestured lazily, two fingers drawing a slow, indulgent circle in the air that somehow felt more like a caress. “Besides, what is art without... touch, hmm?”
His accent thickened with teasing delight, especially as he leaned in just a little—just enough for his voice to drop again. “You forget I am from a country of sculptors, my dear Adam. We do not only look. We feel. We learn every angle with hands, not just eyes. Otherwise... how would we know where to worship?”
Pasha let that linger a beat too long, the jazz brushing behind them like a conspiratorial whisper.
Then, as if nothing scandalous had been said at all, he sat back with an almost innocent shrug. “Of course, if you wish to deprive the world of this noble bounce, I shall respect your artistic integrity. But... if ever you reconsider, I am willing to provide thorough peer review. In private. For science. Obviously.”
He took a final bite of his sandwich with a pleased hum, licking a bit of mustard from his thumb like a punctuation mark.
Blue Marvel:: "I have always felt that art should be a hands-on experience, both in the making and the final appreciation," Adam said with a small smile. He really did think the human body was a work of art, so he wasn't insulted to find out that someone else had that feeling.
He took a slow sip of his drink, washing down the last of his sandwich.. “Still,” he added, softer, with the faintest lilt of mischief, “since you're so determined to make this a scientific endeavor... I suppose we can conduct experiments, no laboratory required.”
Adam leaned forward slightly, close enough that his breath could be felt at Porter's side. “No promises on the bounce, though. Some forces of nature refuse to be tamed.”
midKnight:: Pasha’s smile bloomed slow and wicked, blooming across his face like ink in warm water. He let Adam’s words hang there for a moment—testing their weight, savoring their temperature. The room, once filled with casual jazz and the scent of cheap mustard and rye, now seemed charged with something else entirely.
“No laboratory required?” Pasha murmured, his accent clinging to the words like silk to skin. “How deliciously reckless of you, Adam. You say it like we are not already playing with unstable elements.” He tapped his fingers lightly against the table, slow and deliberate, like counting down to detonation. “You must be very confident in your containment protocols.”
He rose from his chair in one graceful movement, gathering their discarded plates with one hand and trailing a fingertip along the edge of Adam’s shoulder with the other—not quite a touch, but close enough to be felt.
“You know, when I locked the break room,” he said over his shoulder, tone light, “I told the staff I was handling a delicate cleanup. I do not think they assumed you would be the spill.” He tossed a glance back, mischievous and molten. “But I do not mind. I have a very steady hand.”
With a flick of the lights, the overhead fluorescents dimmed to the soft flicker of the vending machine glow. Pasha stepped toward the sink with the plates, but his voice lingered in the air between them.
“And as for forces of nature,” he said, quieter now, almost reverent, “some of us are not trying to tame them, Adam. Some of us… just want to be close enough to feel them break.”
He rinsed a dish, the water hissing softly beneath his words. “Besides, peer review is never about changing the subject… only understanding it better.”
He turned back, one eyebrow raised, a smirk curling just so. “ We have about four minutes left and then I gotta unlock the door and go clean some labs unfortunately... still four minutes... got anything you'd like reviewed?”
Blue Marvel:: "Four Minutes..." Adam said with a sly smile, "Anything we do in four minutes would only make us look bad, except..." He glanced at the door with an impish change in his posture. "Of course," a kiss is almost an Olympic sport in that time frame, but then again... you are the investigator in this case, I am your subject."
Despite what he said, Adam traced a gentle hand down Porter's face, wanting to touch the beautiful man with a self-effacing nature. Was it practiced? It didn't matter, it felt genuine. Sometimes people displayed exactly the things they tried to conceal, like a keen, observant mind and sharp intellect disguised as a janitor.
"Maybe one day I will figure out how to make four minutes last an eternity, if we want it to."
midKnight:: Pasha turned slowly as Adam’s fingers traced the side of his face, a soft, reverent touch that made the air between them thrum with the tension of something unsaid but deeply felt. He stepped forward and—unhurried, unashamed—tucked himself into Adam’s waiting arms.
One hand curled lightly around the edge of Adam’s waist, the other settled between his shoulder blades, fingers spreading against the heat and solidity of muscle that made Pasha feel grounded... safe. His temple rested just below Adam’s jaw as he inhaled, slow and steady, letting the scent of him settle into memory.
He tilted his head, eyes rising to meet Adam’s with an expression far more vulnerable than his smirks ever suggested.
“That’s funny,” he murmured, voice low and smooth. “You would try to turn four minutes into eternity.” A faint smile tugged at his lips, something caught between affection and ache. “And right now... I think I’d trade eternity for four minutes with you.” Pasha raised his other hand so that his hands where clasped behind's powerful broad shoulders.
There it was—real and quiet and impossibly sincere.
And when he rose to kiss him—soft at first, but deepening, layers folding into layers—it wasn’t just heat or hunger. There was something else. Something old. Something weightless and strange that curled into the air like a forgotten truth. Around them, small objects—the salt shaker, the coffee stirrer, a packet of sugar—began to rise gently from the table. They hovered in slow motion, like suspended breath.
The lights above them dimmed, flickered, popped—sending showers of sparks arcing downward.
Then came the siren.
AIR RAID WARNING: BASE LOCKDOWN IMMINENT.
The voice was clipped, urgent, unmistakably military.
The overhead fluorescents cut out entirely, replaced by a stark red pulse that cast them both in harsh, war-time shadow.
Pasha didn’t flinch as the coffee pot shattered behind them or as two glass light covers burst from the ceiling in a storm of sparks. He pulled back slightly, just enough to glance toward the sealed door, then back at Adam.
All affection vanished into razor-cool calm. Not fear. Readiness.
“I am thinking you are much too beautiful to stay in this place,” he said evenly, brushing Adam’s chest as if smoothing his shirt would keep him safe. “And this place? It’s about to become very unpleasant.”
His eyes flicked to the corridor. “You should go. Now. I’ll check the labs—consider it my patriotic duty. I am part of maintenance, after all.”
And yet, even in this moment, even with the alarms screaming and chaos unraveling around them, Pasha smiled again—one last flash of warmth reserved only for Adam.
Blue Marvel:: Adam was thrilled at the kiss. Every kiss, every person was different, and in this moment, it was far better than any he had in the past. It was his choice, both the moment and the person. It wasn't that he had hidden himself in the past, just that he took the easiest path because he had been told that was the most natural. Four minutes or an eternity was fine, but real life forever nipped at their heels.
The siren caught him off guard, because while it was an ever-present threat, it did not seem likely would ever happen. Then the lights exploded. Whatever it was that was happening, it could affect things far removed from its location. His mind sorted out the possibilities. Two came to mind: Power surge, or Electro-magnetic Pulse, which were technically the same thing, just from different sources.
"Don't worry about me, there is very little that can hurt me, except the idea of something happening to you. Let me deal with this."
He threw the door in an instant, forgetting that it had been locked.
midKnight:: Pasha blinked once, expression flickering between awe and exasperation as the sealed door groaned, screeched, and gave way under Adam’s strength like it was nothing more than cardboard. The sound echoed down the corridor—final, irreversible.
"Ah, I see you have a knack for subtlety" Pasha muttered, but there was no real bite in it. Only concern, carefully disguised in dry humor. His fingers brushed a shard of glass off his sleeve with casual elegance, then he stepped up beside Adam, the red emergency lighting casting his face in stark angles.
He placed a hand briefly on Adam’s forearm, grounding—not to stop him, but to steady them both.
"You know, I’m very flattered," he said, tone quiet but firm, "that you’d risk everything for me. But that wasn’t the deal."
His eyes lifted to meet Adam’s. They were sharper now, steel beneath the velvet.
"I told you I’d check the labs. I wasn’t being poetic. I’m not just some civilian you tuck behind you like a fragile thing. I was made for this kind of night, remember?"
There was a beat—tense, electric. Around them, the air shimmered faintly, the ambient Darkforce beginning to gather at the edges of Pasha’s silhouette like smoke curling inward instead of out.
"And whatever’s happening? If it’s affecting systems basewide, it’s not just brute force we’ll need. It’s finesse. I didn't think it at first, that are battering ram, Adam—I’m the scalpel. I am trained custodian, I am trained to investigate such situations. You are doctor and far to important to endanger youself."
A faint smile returned, flickering like candlelight.
"Besides, it’s not forever yet. Just four minutes more. Maybe five, if you’re feeling generous."
He stepped backward into the shadows, his outline already thinning at the edges as he began to fade into the corridor like a ghost melting into night.
"But don’t follow me. Stay safe - this could be radioactive - is dangerous."
Blue Marvel:: Of course, he knew that Porter was more than met the eye; he had sensed it from the beginning, but this was such a prosaic revelation, no, it was actually quite poetic. That the mystery man was shrouded in actual darkness was the most logical extension of his nature. He had never encountered darkness that could be shaped. He promised himself not to let his scientific curiosity get the better of him. Instead, while he admired his man in motion, he focused on the issue at hand.
"My concern about the Radiation is more academic than it is personal," he said, following Porter anyway. As he moved, he drew the radiation into himself, rendering it harmless. He supposed this was the price of not advertising his powers. "Besides, this might require the application of your talents and mine. Besides, didn't you just tell me to be the man I am supposed to be?"
His mind immediately went to Banner. Either something had happened to his work, or because of it. It was the most likely reason for the emergency.
midKnight:: Pasha heard Adam's voice echo through the corridor, closer than it should have been. His lips parted—not in surprise, but in a quiet, almost fond sort of irritation. Of course he followed. Of course he did. It was very him. And for one, flickering moment, Pasha hated how much he liked that about him.
"You are impossible," he murmured, almost too softly to hear.
The shadows writhed at his feet, responding to the quickening of his pulse, the tension that curled in the pit of his stomach like a coil about to snap. He didn’t turn around yet—not until Adam finished that maddeningly sincere line about being who he was meant to be.
Then Pasha exhaled through his nose and stepped forward.
"No, darling, what I said was stay safe. What I meant was don’t die horrifically from acute radiation exposure in a corridor lit like a B-grade horror film. You’re far too pretty for that."
A smile ghosted across his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He moved fast. Not with brute force, but with practiced, silent efficiency. The Darkforce swelled at his side, rising like a curtain of mist drawn from the air itself. Then—snap—he tore it open.
A rift. Cold. Silent. Absolute.
"Forgive me," he said, almost reverent now, voice dipping into something prayer-like. "For the deception. And the theft. Of time. Of touch."
He reached forward, brushed Adam’s chest once—like closing a locket—and the portal swallowed the man whole, shunting him a hundred miles away to the rooftop of an Esso station cluttered with blinking equipment and a single, and one heck of a confused seagull.
The rift sealed behind him before Adam could recover enough to break it or make sense of what happened - he had never been teleported before.
Pasha stood alone, bathed in red light, his silhouette dissolving at the edges like smoke and memory. His heart ached—not for what had just happened, but for what might not come next.
Under his breath, he whispered a line from a childhood lullaby. Then:
"May you survive this, Doctor. And if not—thank you. For letting me feel something true, even if only for a moment."
Then he turned back toward the dark, toward the source of the corruption, and stepped into the war ahead.
[Scene continues in Fried Green Valentines → https://mxdc.us/is_forum/thread.php?t=18&u=1&n=Leader&s=Big_in_the_60s:_Fried_Green_Valentines&v=view]
Pasha dims the harsh fluorescent lights, letting the soft glow of vending machines create a more intimate mood. He plays mellow '60s jazz on a transistor radio, filling the cold, blue-grey military break room with warmth. As he waits, he savors the stillness—nervous but ready for Adam’s arrival, caught in the quiet pull of anticipation.
Pasha greets Adam with enthusiasm, expressing his pleasure at his arrival. He guides Adam to a chair, complimenting his strong, firm arm and inquiring about his training routine with a flirtatious tone. Pasha admires Adam’s handsome and mysterious appearance, teasing him about how much there is to speculate. He makes a light joke about their lunch being Le Port de Chez before teasing Adam about his lunchbox, surprised that someone like him would have one instead of dining at the officer’s mess, where Pasha has mopped floors and noticed the food and trash cans.
Pasha warmly welcomes Adam, flirtatiously complimenting his physique and appearance while joking about the break room being a high-end restaurant. He sits beside Adam, impressed by his gym habits and ambition to own a lab. Pasha shares his own quiet dream of a peaceful farmhouse life, hinting at his longing for something normal and meaningful beyond espionage.
Pasha flirts openly with Adam, joking about painting walls and ceilings, then softens to sincerely compliment Adam's charm. His usual Midwestern accent slips, revealing a hint of his Eastern European roots, signaling he's letting his guard down. Internally, Pasha is swooning—captivated by Adam's strength, presence, and looks—comparing him to a kind of personal Kryptonite. He acknowledges Adam’s struggles with straddling different worlds and assures him he understands. The post ends with Pasha teasing Adam playfully, suggesting he’d love to see him build something—preferably shirtless.
Pasha laughs off the safehouse comment as a joke, saying if he owned property, he wouldn't be eating cheap cold cuts while working as a janitor. He opens up a bit, expressing that he's taking a big risk by flirting—being a gay man in Texas isn't always safe. He hopes Adam is on the same page, because this moment means something to him. Pasha ends on a playful note, saying he’d gladly sit in a corner and watch Adam work shirtless in the lab.
Pasha flirts back with a mix of innuendo and vulnerability. He jokes that Adam can be the "conductor" of their shared journey and offers a "ticket to punch." He admits he'll try to play hard to get to earn Adam's respect, though he already deeply respects (and is a bit intimidated by) him. Pasha teases that Adam better not get any real work done around him, as he'd be insulted, and then launches into a playful string of flirtatious, clothing-themed innuendos, ending with a cheeky line about Adam "packing heavy" and being well-prepared.
asha responds to Adam’s self-deprecating comment with a flirty and deeply complimentary monologue, listing all the things he finds attractive about Adam — from his looks (broad shoulders, rich eyes, square jaw, symmetry, height, chest, hair, and even his toes) to his intelligence, eloquence, and humility. He jokingly calls Adam “the embodiment of an embarrassment of riches.”
When Adam alludes to peeling away layers, Pasha turns the metaphor playful and risqué, saying he’s already peeled back some layers tonight and teasing about reaching Adam’s “briefs” — not his briefcase. He quickly blushes, mock-apologizes for the crassness, but makes it clear through his laughter and twinkling eyes that he’s not really sorry at all. The reply is filled with flirtation, charm, and a growing affection for Adam.
asha responds to Adam’s self-deprecating comment with a flirty and deeply complimentary monologue, listing all the things he finds attractive about Adam — from his looks (broad shoulders, rich eyes, square jaw, symmetry, height, chest, hair, and even his toes) to his intelligence, eloquence, and humility. He jokingly calls Adam “the embodiment of an embarrassment of riches.”
When Adam alludes to peeling away layers, Pasha turns the metaphor playful and risqué, saying he’s already peeled back some layers tonight and teasing about reaching Adam’s “briefs” — not his briefcase. He quickly blushes, mock-apologizes for the crassness, but makes it clear through his laughter and twinkling eyes that he’s not really sorry at all. The reply is filled with flirtation, charm, and a growing affection for Adam.
Adam Bashear expresses admiration for Pasha’s emotional depth and layered identity, calling him “completely incomplete”—a person of many dimensions, both emotional and physical. Pasha, touched, embraces the phrase and reflects on choosing wholeness despite lifelong longing. He admits his attraction to Adam, mixing honesty with playful confidence. When Adam speaks of truly seeing him beyond his janitor role, Pasha thanks him sincerely, letting his hair down as a symbolic gesture of vulnerability and trust, maintaining the artifice with humor but clearly moved.
Pasha is stunned to learn Adam is a superhero—this intel could be far more valuable to his Russian handlers than the gamma research he was sent to steal. He masks his shock behind subtle body language and practiced charm, then recovers with flirtatious curiosity, asking what kind of superhero Adam is—sexy like Blonde Phantom or powerful like Thor. He assures Adam his secret is safe, referencing his own need to hide his Ukrainian identity, and ends with a teasing but sincere line: “But I will definitely stare.”
Samuel Sterns is alone in Bruce Banner’s lab, having discovered Banner’s secret notes revealing that he is the Hulk. Instead of being horrified, Sterns is thrilled—he sees the gamma mutation not as a curse but as the key to ultimate power. He fantasizes about using such power not to help others, but to dominate, indulge his every whim, and enact revenge on a world that’s overlooked him. His thoughts turn grotesque and violent, especially toward women, imagining himself taking what he wants with brutal finality. He touches the Gammatron with reverence, dreaming of ascension, declaring this the start of the "age of monsters."
Would you like a follow-up post where he begins experimenting on himself, or perhaps where someone nearly walks in on him?
Pasha acknowledges Adam’s statement about being more than what one hides, expressing quiet appreciation for being understood. He gently touches Adam’s hand, noting the cost of being truly seen while still feeling isolated. Then, to lighten the mood, Pasha playfully teases Adam about his physique—especially his chest—and flirts by asking if he can do the American “pec flex” he's seen in magazines. He offers to keep Adam’s secret in exchange for a little harmless fun, maintaining both intimacy and levity in the moment.
In Pasha’s reply to Adam, he continues his flirtatious banter with a playful yet sensual tone, comparing Adam not just to a Greek statue but something far more dynamic and breathtaking. He teases that in his culture, true sculptors use their hands to fully understand their subjects—implying he’d very much like to do the same. Suggesting that touch is the most honest way to appreciate beauty, Pasha offers to "peer review" Adam’s physique in private, all in the name of science, of course. He ends the exchange with a satisfied bite of his sandwich, letting his suggestive words linger while pretending innocence.
After dinner in the break room, Pasha responds to Adam with flirtatious heat and playful reverence. He teases Adam’s “no laboratory required” comment, suggesting their chemistry is already volatile and dangerous in the best way. As he clears the table, he brushes close to Adam—barely touching, but deliberately charged—and jokes about telling the staff he was handling a “delicate cleanup,” hinting at Adam being the real mess worth tending. In a softer moment, Pasha admits he doesn’t want to tame Adam’s powerful nature, only be close enough to feel it. With a mix of desire and wit, he offers to begin their “research,” making clear that for him, connection is as much about understanding as it is attraction.
Pasha pulls into Adam’s arms, sharing a tender moment and kiss filled with more than emotion—something unseen stirs. Objects around them begin to levitate, hinting at strange energy between them. Just as things heat up, a base-wide emergency hits: red lights, alarms, and explosions. Calm and composed, Pasha urges Adam to flee, taking responsibility for investigating the disturbance himself while masking his concern behind a smile and a promise of "four minutes later."
Pasha responds with a mix of affection and resolve, touched by Adam's protective instinct but firm in his independence. He reminds Adam that he’s not fragile and insists on handling the lab situation himself, asserting that he was built for chaos like this. With a hint of warmth and lingering intimacy, he vanishes into the shadows, asking Adam not to follow—leaving behind the promise of more moments to come.
In a tense and intimate moment, Pasha confronts Adam for following him despite the danger, expressing both exasperation and deep concern masked in dry wit. Realizing Adam won't back down, Pasha reluctantly uses his powers to open a shadow rift and teleport Adam away to safety, shielding him from potential radiation exposure. Before sending him off, Pasha quietly thanks him for the unexpected emotional connection they've shared. With Adam gone, Pasha turns back alone toward the threat, determined to face what comes next.
[Scene continues in Fried Green Valentines → https://mxdc.us/is_forum/thread.php?t=18&u=1&n=Leader&s=Big_in_the_60s:_Fried_Green_Valentines&v=view]
midKnight r 3 | 3 | 3 As a former Soviet super-soldier, Pasha has a complicated past filled with morally ambiguous missions and difficult choices. Now seeking redemption, he has joined S.H.I.E.L.D. to use his skills for a greater good. While he deeply values personal freedom and independence, he is drawn to individuals who embody strength—both physical and moral. He respects and admires those with the power to inspire and lead, finding a sense of balance in their presence. Loyal to those who demonstrate integrity and superhuman capabilities, Pasha seeks meaningful connections and hopes to find love with someone who shares his commitment to justice and compassion. His journey is one of growth, as he strives to reconcile his past with his desire for a brighter, more hopeful future.
r1 / h0279k00-t00
Born in 1983 in Ukraine, Pasha Svyatopolk Krylov, aka the midKnight is a mutant with a profound connect to the Dark Force which is a multidimensional yin to the yang of our dimensions dark matter. He is observant, practical, and independent. He is reserved and guarded, valuing trust, loyalty, and respect above all else. While he appears outgoing, he is deeply private, revealing his authentic self only to those he truly trusts and they are few and far between.
Krylov's life was irrevocably shaped by the Chernobyl disaster and his father’s groundbreaking research into dark matter. After his mother’s death in childbirth and his father’s apparent suicide, Pasha became a ward of the state, studied extensively for his unique genetics, and eventually trained under the codename of "The Eternal Child" due to apparent lack of aging, he was trained as a Soviet super-soldier in the Winter Garden, a program similar to the Red Room. As a member of the Winter Guard, he participated in espionage and assassination missions, honing his skills as a lethal operative. However, in 2012 with the aid of the Black Widow, he defected to the United States, seeking asylum and a chance to leave his dark past behind. His defection to America reflects his desire for a fresh start, and he is drawn to the idea of American exceptionalism: the idea that America is defined by the role it plays in world history, one which is often tied to its founding principles of liberty, equality, and individualism, as well as its perceived mission to promote democracy and freedom globally. Krylov values freedom above all other things.
Blue Marvel r 3 | 3 | 3 Superhuman stable antimatter reactor
r9 / h0492e11-t10
Adam Brashear, a brilliant physicist and former U.S. Air Force officer, became one of the most extraordinary figures of the 20th century after a catastrophic accident transformed him into the superhero known as the Blue Marvel. While working on his groundbreaking Negative Reactor project—a device designed to harness anti-matter energy—an unexpected explosion exposed Brashear to a mutagenic reaction. This event altered his physiology, granting him immense superhuman abilities, including enhanced strength, flight, energy manipulation, and the unique ability to function as a stable anti-matter reactor. Determined to use his newfound powers for the greater good, Brashear adopted the identity of the Blue Marvel, dedicating himself to protecting humanity from threats both terrestrial and extraterrestrial.
For years, Brashear operated as a masked hero, his true identity concealed from the public. However, during a fierce battle, his mask was damaged, revealing his face and, consequently, his African-American heritage. At the height of the Civil Rights Movement, this revelation sparked controversy and political pressure. In a deeply regrettable decision, President John F. Kennedy requested that Brashear retire from public heroics to avoid exacerbating racial tensions. Despite his desire to continue serving, Brashear reluctantly stepped down, a decision that haunted him for decades.
Though he retired from the spotlight, Brashear never abandoned his commitment to justice. He continued to work behind the scenes, using his scientific expertise and resources to aid others in secret. It wasn’t until the 21st century, as societal attitudes evolved and new threats emerged, that Brashear boldly reemerged as the Blue Marvel. Donning his iconic suit once more, he reclaimed his place as a hero, proving that his dedication to protecting humanity had never wavered. Today, Adam Brashear stands as a symbol of resilience, intellect, and unwavering moral courage, inspiring a new generation to fight for a better world.
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