#i asked where his parents were and apparently they were queuing for a table at the restaurant across the street

[beaft]

a small child came into the café today and asked to buy a chocolate truffle. he tapped a credit card on the reader and it did not go through, mainly because it was not a credit card but in fact a junior cinema pass. i gently explained he couldn't use that to buy things in shops and he looked so gutted that i was like "...but just this once you can have it for free, don't tell my boss though" he said thank you and walked out with his truffle and as he went i heard him chuckling to himself and saying "yes..... yes!!!!!" like the sickos comic

#slightly dotty child or world's most precocious scam artist? you decide. #i asked where his parents were and apparently they were queuing for a table at the restaurant across the street #he even pointed them out to me #so don't worry this was not an unsupervised bébé #be shh now #containment breach

[dolly-on-the-dotted-line]

Interlude: Doorway

Pash: A brief infatuation for something.

Rating: 18+ (for consistency)

Warnings: None

A/N: Thinking thoughts about the first time Javi and Bug come head to head after that night. Enjoying the process of these two working one another out. Also... yes we're back! Plenty of Changes queued up and coming soon. Got over my own anxieties and just decided to jump back in.

Laredo, Winter, Age 19: Doorway

“So this is where you’re hiding?”

You look up from the buffet table in the back room to find Javier staring down at you, an expression of imposed disappointment on his face as he tut tut tuts comedically. 

“Hardly hiding,” you scoff back, determined not to rise to his teasing so easily, “I’m just looking for something to drink.” 

Settling for another beer, you offer it up instinctively for him to open and watch as he props the cap against the edge of the table and smacks it with the butt of his hand to loose the top. You grimace at the mark it leaves on the woodwork and rub at it half-heartedly for a second. The boy is a well-meaning bull in a china shop. 

“Evening’s that bad, hey?” 

“No,” you ponder fairly, “it’s one of my favourite nights of the year. I'm just a little... overwhelmed.” 

This was technically an adequate truth. The yearly Christmas gathering was your favourite. It had been for as long as you could remember. But since you’d moved to college, home, surprisingly, was not.

While you had expected to come running back with open arms, simply needing a few weeks to clear your head of the complicated events of the summer, the long semester had transformed the harder parts of your life with welcome reprieve.

The suspicions you'd been harbouring had come to roost. Leaving had been good for you, great even. As you started to get a real glimpse of the kind of life you could be living, one free of the aches and pains you couldn't help but feel here, your list of priorities in Texas was dwindling, with only two very notable exceptions.

Consequently, being back so soon felt like a confusing sentence, tearing you between your need for space and your desire to be with the people you loved most.

It was a dilemma you weren't emotionally equipped to deal with just yet, and one that was feeling all too apparent in a room full of people you'd known your whole life.

“Missing school?”

“Not exactly. It's more than that. It’s more that I’m not missing many people here, if that makes sense.”

He frowns at you, opening a beer for himself with another smack and taking a long drink, eyeing you warily as he does it. “I’m going to assume that doesn’t extend to me, you know.”

“Good,” you smirk back, feigning annoyance. “I’m not stroking your ego just for the sake of it. But you know I don’t mean you. Once I’ve ticked off you and Pa, the rest of it just feels... tricky.” 

“They’re not here, you know, if that’s what you’re worried about. Pa asked them not to come anymore. Not that I think they even would.” 

Your heart simultaneously sinks and soars with the pull of your different emotions. Your old family and your new one, very deliberately apart.

Your parents were long gone, packed up and across state lines as far as you were aware. The distance didn’t always help, though. You still found the impression of walking in familiar spaces jarring, despite their positive connotations. Sometimes the knowledge that they had nothing to come back for was painful enough. Contradictory bastards. 

“It’s not just them… but it is usually mainly them,” you resign, forcing a pathetic laugh along with it. “Call it… residual bad energy, superstition-” 

“-Trauma,” he butts in shamelessly, but not unkindly.

Mincing words with him was admittedly useless, you knew that, but you often forgot to give him credit for the astuteness of his assessments, even now.

Hiding from him was best done in plain sight. That was the only way you could get anything past him, by making it obvious. But, even then, the chances of getting away with it unscathed were slim to none.

He didn’t miss a beat when it came to your biggest foible, and knowing they had packed up without even saying goodbye as soon as you'd moved to college was always going to have its consequences eventually. 

The two of you turn in the small space to prop yourselves up against the table, your shoulder immediately bumping up against his as he places himself as close to you as possible. It’s muscle memory, you think, the way the two of you slot into place against one another no matter the available space. 

“You still love it, though, right?” You ask, trying to hide the way your voice wavers just a little. 

After spending a lifetime together, you wonder if you’ve come to find certainty in his own; vicariously living through the absolute faith he has in his definitions of home, or justice, or family.

His confidence is electric, and it’s hard to avoid the feeling of affiliation he seems to carry with him wherever he goes, no matter the room he enters. It’s an addictive sensation, the assurance that you belong, but also an uncomfortable reflection of where your own skillset… lacks.  

What’s it like to be so sure of everything all the time? 

“Me? Yeah. Of course,” he replies roughly, keen to display just how obvious your assumption is, how automatic that reply is. It’s a line practice-perfect from repetition, time and time again. “This place is everything to me. I could never say no.” 

What would it be like for you to do what you want for once?

“Couldn’t say no, or wouldn’t?” you tag on frivolously, turning to look up at him for just a second as you ask.

He smiles blithely but doesn’t reply, instead tucking his arm around you lovingly when he sees your unsure expression. 

In the same vein, you wonder how much of his insecurity he hides under your own. A familiar scapegoat for complicated ideas about insufficiency, independence, and guilt, that have no place in the mind of someone who has everything laid out before them. You rode the waves of your unfortunate circumstances with a half-hearted smirk on your face. Javi, on the other hand, was more reliant on the good nature of things. 

Swings and roundabouts. Que sera, sera. 

You notch your head into his shoulder without a second thought, focusing on the way you meld together, bit by bit, seeping easily into comfortable companionship whenever the proximity allows for it.

When you were little you used to hypothesise about stepping into one another's bones, walking together, talking together, stuck together like glue. Now you think you understand what that would feel like, to occupy that space the way you try to now.

You think it would feel good. 

Four years of college is quite a long time, you consider, perhaps for the first time. This semester alone had been the longest you'd ever been apart.

The rest of it after that is even longer. 

So it wasn't just the difficult stuff that bothered you about being back. It was the nice stuff, too. Maybe they were one and the same.

Maybe you were going to really miss this bastard. 

“It wouldn’t be the same without you, though,” he adds, just to be sure that the sentiment is clear despite your divided nostalgia. He knows how much you need to hear it sometimes, and how easy it is for him to stoke the gaps in your opinions. “You know that.”

The combination of his tone and his arm around you almost makes it believable. 

And so you just stand there like that for a minute, propped against the table, watching the people go by and taking remedy in the fact that even you had something to offer the golden boy, because even he did not possess everything. 

After a moment, as if he’s let the cogs in his head finally come to a stop, you catch him in your peripheral turning his head upwards and staring toward the ceiling. Hatching a plan, scheming and scheme. 

“It’s bad luck not to, you know.”

“Not to what?” you query, genuinely confused by his choice subject. 

“Kiss.” 

He draws his eyes up more deliberately to the mistletoe strung above the doorway on a decorative piece of ribbon, and takes another long drink as he brings his eyes down to meet yours again, waiting.

Outside of the realms of his usual conversation, he’d laid off the flirting since the ‘incident’ last summer. He had been right: nothing changed. Not for him, anyway. If anything, you could even say things had gone the other way; you felt more assured of the exacting nature of your relationship now that you’d been able to carry on as if not a thing had changed. He hadn’t made it awkward, in fact, he’d barely mentioned it at all. As expected, he’d been nothing short of the perfect gentleman. And you couldn’t help but be a little disappointed by that fact. 

When you lay awake unable to fall asleep, tracing the memory of the places he’d reached, you took a conflicted comfort in the notion that that night was your little secret, a sacred gap in time that belonged in some untouchably sweet way to just the two of you.

Instead of seeing it as a blip in your friendship, you visualised it as a loop; raising the stakes, careening over, and then gently coming to land exactly where you had been. It’s how these things worked, you suppose. People take what they need, give something back in return, and then go their separate ways.

It happens all the time. Right? 

Your relationship has always been an affectionate tug of give and take, just like this conversation. You demonstrate the need for comfort, he steps right in to offer it. That night had been no different. Just bigger, further. 

And this was just another example of that. 

Right?

And people kiss, too. All the time. 

Right…? 

“We’ve done worse than kiss,” he offers softly, as if reading your mind.

When he makes little comments like this- sideways remarks, dirty jokes- his voice takes on a completely different tone. It’s warm and deep, as if he can cover up the trail of what he’s saying with the intoxicating hum of the way the words sound. It’s hard not to be affected, however insincere he may be. He’s too good at it. 

“You said that last time, and look where that ended up,” you manage to shoot back, but you find your words equally glazed, practically simmering with the intention clinging to the underside of them.

He’s setting a paper trail and you’re shocked by how easily your words are setting it alight. 

It’s intriguing. Maybe things had changed more than you'd realised.

“I thought it went well.”

“I could say the same.” 

“So really,” he begins, changing tact now to something altogether more direct, more rational, “what we’re both saying here, is that it would be unreasonable not to.”

“To what?” you quip back, matching his flirtatious tone now. It’s fun, you note, dancing with him like this, heavy with the knowledge that it’s all true. You’d done much worse than this. And you’d liked it. You’d both liked it. 

“To kiss.” 

His reply has such a determined finality to it you both know the discussion is done. Your chemistry has backed you both into a corner, and from the way he’s leaning into you, neither of you seem particularly unhappy about it.

He’s never been so brazen with it before, though, so clear about the way he’s running his toe along the edge of the line he might be about to cross.  

You feel the tension rise just a little as you consider the power you have here, for the second time now. Why not three times, or four, or more. It’s a funny sensation. You can feel in it your stomach, in your toes. You refer back to the graph in your head, the loop of the stakes rising and falling and coming to rest again. Why not more? You loved rollercoasters. 

With overexaggerated clarification, you place your beer on the table behind you, leaving both your hands free to draw your arms up and around his neck. 

“Well, I guess if that’s the case, you’re right. It would be rude not to.”

You note the way he lingers as he runs his hands up your arms to secure them tightly there, encouraging your fingers to intertwine with one another until he finds himself satisfyingly locked in. It’s indulgent, you think, how he takes his time. A kiss can be quick if the situation calls for it. This is not that. 

When he finally appears to have you where he wants you, guard down, your chest only half an inch from his own, he rests his own hands at your waist and pulls, closing the gap between you completely.

You’re sure to keep your eyes locked on his, determined not to give yourself away for even a second as you observe the familiar way he tries to push your nervous tendencies to the limit. Little does he know you’re feeling anything but afraid right now. Or maybe that fact is what he’s relying on. 

The fact that, for the second time now, you’re letting him lead you somewhere else. 

“Merry Christmas, Bug,” he whispers lowly, that deep octave causing the words to reverberate around his throat in a way that would make your head spin if you let it. 

“Merry Christmas, Javi.” 

And it’s him that leans down first, scooping you gently up into his arms as he curls them around you to hold you snug against him. 

You kiss once, twice, three times.

There’s a confidence about it that is simmering between the two of you, one that you can’t quite interpret in the moment. If the summer was a demonstration of affection, assistance, this is something closer to showing, taking. It’s greedy and frivolous, without intention but also full of ambition.

For as long as you can remember you’ve both had a point to prove, a proverbial chip on your shoulder. It was why you worked so well together, a sheer determination to get things done and see them through. But adding them together like this was lining up cards you didn’t even know you were holding. You’re both imagining what it would be like to do what you want for once. 

As you lean in for the fourth time to press your mouth into his, you’re drearily reminded of exactly where you are as the piano starts off next door, followed by a surprisingly rowdy cheer from the relatively sauced attendees as the carols begin. 

You linger for just a second more, liberal in the way you take your lips apart. He puts you down as deliberately as he picked you up, sure to show you that there’s nothing spontaneous about it. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he quirks, but in the small space, he’s transparent. Javier Peña loves women, loves to kiss them and hold them and make them feel special. This is his favourite kind of game, the one that results in his getting to show off his best sides. You almost take pride in the fact you could fall into that remit, even for a minute. 

“You’re right, that was actually quite enjoyable. I could probably do that again.”

You picture it, quietly, for just a second. Letting him crowd you into the darker corner of the room. Lifting you into his arms again to kiss you, but this time with the flat of your back pressed to the wall of a quiet alcove.

He’d probably put his hands through your hair, he had done that a lot that night, would let it curl between his knuckles and maybe pull it to turn your face towards his.

He was so much taller than you when you came cheek to cheek. You liked the way he made accommodations for it, leaning down, picking you up.

He would be insistent but gentle, taking his time at first but ultimately getting carried away. It would be too fun not to, here, just a wall away from a room full of people who wouldn’t be able to let it slide; you and him, not acting the way you’re supposed to- however you’re ‘supposed to’. More fun than it should be for exactly that reason. You and him and a whole room of disapproval. It’s not what you were supposed to do. 

Or so they would say. 

You see one eyebrow twitch up at your remark, but before you can say another word you collect your beer from its spot on the table and finish it off in an impressive gulp. 

“Come on,” you huff, “let’s go and sing before someone asks where we’ve got to.”

He’s as cool as he can manage as he turns his face back to the crowd, unwilling to suggest he’s been caught short even slightly, especially not when it was his game to play. “Yeah, sure. Sure, sure, sure.” 

He leaves the alcove first, quickly, and you watch the back of him as he hovers in the doorway, immediately starting a conversation with the first available party he finds adjacent to him. 

You bring your hand to your lips to trace the tingle of his stubble, as if you can capture the drag of it across your skin and keep it there for a little longer. 

That feeling, you ponder, as you eye up his frame, his hair, the gentle slope of his body that you realise you know the shape of.

That funny, funny feeling.

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[lu-undy]

Another Sniper/Spy fluffy “short”

Spy and Sniper are sent on a mission where Spy has to disguise himself as a woman. Sniper falls for him *even more* and when he catches Spy flirting with the bad guy, well, the Aussie takes it badly. But in the end, all is well ;) Follow this link!

"Hey, Miss Paulin'?" 

"Hey Scout, d'you know where I can find Spy and Sniper?"

"Ya got a job for'em?"

"Yes, I do." Miss Pauling had barely arrived at the base that the young man was all over her, like a bee on a flower. 

"I can do it. I'm sure I can do it on my own too, I'm pretty strong, see?" He flexed his arm and Miss Pauling rolled her eyes before looking away. 

"Scout, I need those two to do the job, not you." 

"I can do it with them, if that works better for you, eh?" 

The young woman sighed and pushed living-room's door.

"Hey everyone."

"Howdy, Miss?"

"Mmh-hmm!" 

Most of the team was there but as Miss Pauling scanned the room, she didn't find Spy or Sniper. 

"Any idea where Sniper and Spy are?" 

"You'll find Slim in his van I guess, and for Spy? I'd say give a knock on his door." The Texan answered from the sofa, a beer in his hand. 

"Alright, thanks." The young woman spun on her heels and bumped on Scout. "Scout!"

"Yeah, I'm here." 

"You wanna do something for me?"

"Sure!" He excitedly answered. 

"Get Spy and Sniper in the meeting room in 2 minutes."

"I'm on it!" 

And a couple of minutes later, both mercenaries were in the meeting room with Miss Pauling. 

"Alright, guys, I have a job for you two. I know, it's quite unusual for both of you to team up with anyone but unless one of you can split himself into two, you'll need each other." 

Spy and Sniper were sitting face to face on one end of the long table, the closest to the screen. The Frenchman lit a cigarette and raised his hand. 

"Spy?" Miss Pauling was surprised that he should have a question so soon.

"Is this mission only to be heard by Sniper and my ears?" He asked. 

"Yeah, why?" The young woman raised an eyebrow. Spy stood up and went to the meeting room's door that he opened abruptly. Scout was trying to look and listen through the keyhole. "Ugh, Scout, if you don't leave right now, I swear I'm never giving you any jobs anymore!" 

"You never do anyway!"

Sniper pushed his chair back to stand up but Miss Pauling put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. 

"I did! I asked you to go and get Sniper and Spy and you did it brilliantly, now, please let me have this meeting with them." 

"Does that mean you… were impressed by how well I handled it?" Scout's eyes shone with enthusiasm. 

"Yeah, it does, now please…?" 

"Alright then, I won't be far though, just in case you need anythin' eh?"

Spy looked at Miss Pauling and she nodded, after that, the Frenchman pushed the door shut on the young man's face.

"Ooh, sorry about this, I know neither of you like to waste your time…" Pauling grabbed a remote and switched the big screen on. "Now, let's talk about the mission. The Admin's got you two tickets for a ball given by this guy. Apparently, he has a bar of pure unrefined Australium that the Admin wants. One of you will have to distract him while the other retrieves it." She pushed a button and the screen showed a mansion. "That's his house, where the ball will be. I'm told that the Australium is in his bedroom, upstairs, right there…" She pushed another button. "It's on that shelf. I talked to Engie and we'll have the CCTV system and the security rigged off so it's just a matter of picking it up."

"Do we know anything about this gentleman?" Spy asked. 

"Yup," Pauling pushed a button and the next image appeared. 

"Bloody hell, how many sheilas is that…?" Sniper straightened his back on the chair and started counting them. The picture showed the man surrounded by women of all colour and all tastes.

"Five." Spy answered. "Those ones are in a group of five, admirable women and very helpful in times of need." Sniper's eyebrows jumped and he looked at his colleague across the table. "So he enjoys the company of women?" Spy asked Pauling, unfazed.

"Yeah, so Spy, you'll have to go as one, keep him busy while Sniper goes upstairs and takes the prize. Any questions?” 

Spy raised his hand.

“Yes, Spy?”

“When is this mission due?”

“The party is tonight. Here’s the address.” Pauling took a piece of paper out of her pocket and showed it to Spy. The Frenchman took a second to look at it then nodded, and Miss Pauling showed it to Sniper.

“Y’know the area?” Sniper asked his colleague and Spy nodded, blowing the smoke of his cigarette between his thin lips. “Alright then.”

Miss Pauling took the paper and burnt it. “There, you guys have the address. Now, the Admin insists on doing the job cleanly, no corpses. Besides, there’s no respawn there, so try to not get killed, ok?”

Both Sniper and Spy nodded.

“Right, if you don’t have more questions, I’ll be on my way.” Miss Pauling went to the door, both mercenaries on her heels. Spy opened the door for her and both Sniper and her passed through before he went through last and shut the door.

The evening came and Sniper had spent his entire afternoon on his own. After the dinner that he shared with his colleagues, he retreated to his van again and prepared himself. Well, a fancy ball, huh? Good thing he had kept a suit in his stuff. It had been his father’s so it was old, out of any kind of recent fashion and a bit on the short side for the tall Aussie, but who cared. He was just going to steal something and he would be back before midnight no doubt. Sniper trusted Spy to offer whatever distraction was needed for him to take the Australium stick easily.

When the Aussie finished putting on his black, now dark greying, suit, he quickly combed his hair and looked at his reflection on his van's window. 

“Well, that’ll do.” He concluded and exited his van to go and get his colleague out. 

“Ooh, looks like Snipe’s goin’ on a date, eh?” Scout said and whistled at the older man. Sniper growled and bared his teeth on the side. “Who’s the lucky one, eh? There ain’t any lady kangaroos over here, eh?”

“Bugger off, Scout.”

“Pfff….!” The Bostonian snickered as Sniper disappeared in the corridor. 

There was a knock on the Frenchman's door.

“Go to your van, I shall join you.” The voice with the French accent answered from the other side of the door with the knife symbol.

Sniper rolled his eyes. 

“Alright.” He answered, and left. A minute later, he was in his van and the door on the passenger’s seat squeaked open. “Are you read-oh, wow…”

“I am indeed ready, now let us not waste time.” Spy answered matter-of-factly.

Sniper’s eyes lingered on his now very lady-like colleague. He couldn’t see much but the long hair and the shine on Spy’s lips was a change and a half. 

“Jesus, that’s one hell of a disguise… You really look like a sheila…!” He started the engine and off they went. 

“Thank you, I take it as a compliment on my make-up and disguise skills.”

“Yeah... How did you manage that…? I mean, I guess the long hair’s a wig, right?” Sniper cast a glance at his colleague. “No... Is it really your hair?”

“Non, you Bushman, of course not. It would never fit under my mask. This is indeed a wig.”

“And you put on make-up?”

“Oui.”

“You know how to do that?”

“Oui.”

“Wow… ‘M not gonna ask how or why.” Sniper said more to himself but of course Spy heard him.

“It is a skill, like shooting, you get it through learning.”

“And trainin’.” Sniper added. “You did that much?”

“Oui, not usually to make myself more feminine. Make-up can be used to hide your distinctive features, or create some that you do not originally possess.”

“Makes sense for a spook I guess.”

Spy raised a curious eyebrow to his colleague but of course Sniper was way too focused on the road to notice it. The Frenchman was surprised that his colleague did not mock him for his womanly disguise but instead chose to compliment him on his efforts. Hm, surprising coming from Sniper. Although anything that came from Sniper was a surprise. The man lived like a hermit in his van, he was almost as secretive as the Frenchman himself. Looking at him better, Spy noticed that Sniper had put on a suit. Well, something that vaguely resembled one. Even through the darkness of the night, the Frenchman could tell that this was no custom-tailored three-piece suit.

“And you have put on a suit?”

“Well, it’s an old thing, but yeah, I tried.”

“If you wanted something a bit more modern, I could have lent you something.”

“What? Seriously? You’d lend me one of your super expensive ones?”

“Well,” Spy answered. “I would have given it to you, no doubt you would have deformed the silk and cotton. But still.”

“You’re smaller than me though, so I don’t think anything would have been my size.”

“Hm, that is correct. Such a shame we had so little time to prepare or we could have gone to find you something a bit more appropriate.” Spy said.

“We?”

“Well I certainly would not trust you to find something adequate on your own, no offense.”

Sniper smiled. 

“None taken, I think you’re actually right…”

They exchanged a glance and a smile.

“Still, it’s weird to hear you with your usual voice but see you with long hair, I mean… I can hardly see anythin’, it’s dark, but your silhouette’s like a sheila’s.” Sniper’s eyes went down to Spy’s chest and nodded to himself. The Frenchman definitely looked like a woman.

“And you have seen the gloss of the lipstick and the longer eyelashes because of the mascara. You have keen eyes.”

“Guess so.” The Aussie took the compliment with a smile.

“No doubt about it.”

“Alright, Spook, we’re in the city now so you’ll have to guide me. I remember the address but no clue where that bloke’s palace is.”

“Fair enough. Go straight until the natural history museum…” Spy started helping out his partner in crime. After a few turns and a few more minutes, both could see the palace. 

“That bloke’ house is as big as my parents’ entire farm.” The Aussie queued after the line of cars to enter the mansion’s parking lot.

“I take your word for it.” Spy answered. 

“I mean, seriously, why d’you need a house that big? Must cost ya a fortune to take care of… Plus you’re eatin’ out space for other people or animals, makes no sense.”

“Animals?” Spy asked.

“Yeah, imagine if he had a normal house, the rest could be a forest or something, you could have a bit of life there instead of marble and whatnot.”

Spy smiled. That was such a typical thought of Sniper, thinking of the wildlife almost before he thought of himself.

“The queue’s not movin’ that much…” Sniper said, drumming the steering wheel with his index and middle finger.

“Indeed it is not. Cigarette?” Spy took his cigarette case out of his purse and flicked it open between Sniper and him.

“Oh, uh, why not? Thanks, Spook.” The Aussie helped himself to one and Spy lit both of their cigarettes.

“Sniper?”

“Yeah?” 

“Would you mind if I adjust your tie knot. It is not straight.”

“Oh? Uh, ok, thanks, mate.”

“No problem, it is inconveniencing me more than you, no doubt.”

“Well, I’m not seein’ it so yeah, I guess you're right.” Sniper stopped the van’s engine and turned towards Spy. 

“Is there any light in your van?”

“Oh, sure, here.” The Aussie flicked a switch and his eyes snapped wide. 

Spy raised gloved hands to his collar. But it wasn’t his usual dark, short pair, nah, those went up to his elbows, they shone shyly, in white satin. The Aussie realised that Spy was wearing a dark blue, bustier dress with thin sequins, revealing a shy, yet womanly chest. 

“You may breathe normally, Sniper. And I am only adjusting your knot, no need to be so anxious. I can hear your heart beat through your breath.” Spy chuckled, not understanding why his colleague was so nervous, but he soon finished and raised his eyes to meet Sniper's. And that's when he understood. Sniper’s face was flushed as red as a brick. “Sniper?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, thanks, ahem…” Sniper looked away and gulped down hard. That split second that Spy had looked into his eyes had been so intense. The Frenchman sure did know how to put on makeup! As Sniper shut his eyes to erase that image, those eyes so light, they look like angel’s, that eyeliner highlighting their mellow, curvy shape, the mascara making his eyelashes look like butterfly wings, and his thin, red lips… To no avail. The image of that face was burnt into the Aussie’s memory. 

“Are you alright?” Spy asked. “Is my cigarette too strong?”

“N-nah, nah, it’s fine, actually, they’re not strong at all.” Sniper started the engine again and followed the caterpillar motion of the line of cars.

“Indeed, if it were my cigarettes, I would have been surprised.” Spy answered. “I know that I smoke like a fireman as we say in French, so I keep to light, menthol ones. I do remember you smoke occasionally too, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sometimes. But mine are cheap and taste like crap next to yours.”

Spy chuckled and Sniper followed him. 

“I understand my appearance surprised you.” Spy said, blowing the smoke of his cigarette in a little cloud. 

“Yeah, I mean, you really look like a sheila.”

“I have to.” Spy answered. “By the way, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For appreciating my efforts. I imagine that had I gone to complete this mission with any other one of our colleagues, my feminine disguise would have been almost blackmail material for them.” 

“You mean they’d make fun of you for it?”

“Oui, I would imagine so.”

“Well, yeah, guess that’s true.”

“But you haven’t. Instead, you complimented my hard work. I appreciate it.”

“Hah, well, you’re welcome, Spook. And thanks for the tie. I never manage to get them right on my own.”

“An easy skill to learn, you just need more training.”

They eventually entered the property and found a parking spot. 

“From now on, you do not know me and I do not know you.” Spy said when Sniper stopped the engine. The Aussie nodded. "You do have your earpiece on, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." 

"Good. Then we shall either communicate through that, or as we usually do." 

Sniper nodded again. Over the months working together, Sniper and Spy had developed a form of wordless communication. It was useful ok the battlefield, when one distracted the enemy and the other took his chance to take them down. 

"Anythin' I should or shouldn't do?" Sniper asked. "'M not exactly used to sneaking around and all." 

Spy got flattered that Sniper should ask him for advice. 

"Well, do not overdo it. The best way for you to go through people is to mingle with them. Those people are here to party? Well, you shall partake too, but reasonably so. Needless to say that a drunk partner in crime is a useless one."

"Yeah, o'course. How will I know when to go upstairs?" 

"Keep an eye on me, you will know when you can go."

"Alright, ok." Sniper tried to store all these words preciously in his memory. 

"Could you please switch the light back on for an instant?" 

"Oh, uh, sure, here." 

"Ah, I knew it. This isn't my usual brand of lipstick and part of it went away with the cigarette… I should have had some imported from France, I knew I was running low…" Spy looked through his white purse and took a tube of lipstick. The Aussie couldn't help but stare at his colleague fixing his make-up. "There…" Spy brushed his lips against each other to spread the red lipstick evenly. "This should do. How do I look?" 

Sniper was speechless. 

"Uh, I-I mean, great, I mean, for a sheila who isn't one, it's… I'd never guess you're a bloke, unless I hear your voice." 

"And what about now?" 

Sniper's jaw dropped, his colleague now sounded like a woman. 

"Alright… You're a sheila alright…" 

"Perfect, I shall exit the van first, you wait a few minutes and make your way inside."

"O-ok, yeah."

"See you, Sniper." 

"Yeah, see ya…" 

Sniper did as he was told and waited in his van, in the silence of his own mind. How the hell could Spy do that…? He looked like a sheila, sounded like one…! The bloke even had at least the upper body of a woman! 

"Bloody hell…" Sniper leaned his head back and dived in his own thoughts. He closed his eyes and saw it all again, the feline eyes, the thin lips, the long mane of wavy black hair… "Gosh." 

Spy looked attractive as a woman… too. 

Sniper took a deep breath and sighed. 

This was better than Christmas. He got to spend an evening with the ladykiller dressed and made-up like one himself. Even as a man, Spy was far from repulsive, Sniper thought even if his face was mostly hidden by his mask. His silhouette was exquisite, a bit shorter than Sniper, his shoulders slightly less broad, long, thin legs and he couldn't possibly dress more elegantly. The man was a candy bar for the eyes mounted on two skinny legs, and Sniper had nothing against skinny legs, far from it. 

He remembered that one day he had seen Spy without his jacket, just with his white shirt, his tie and his vest. The Aussie had seen him from behind and only then did he realise that the Frenchman's trousers moulded his waist and thighs deliciously. Well, especially his waist from behind… 

Sniper blinked and shook his head as if to land back on Earth. 

"Right, anyway, time to go." 

He exited his van and walked towards the house's entrance. Two massive bodyguards were standing there. He passed them without an issue and climbed the white stairs to the house itself. 

Gosh, that's a lot of people…

Immediately, Sniper found himself swimming amongst the dresses and the suits, some waiters were coming and going with trays of thin, fancy glasses on them. One of them stopped in front of Sniper. 

"Ah, thanks." He took one and walking through people to find Spy, Sniper kept close to the walls, melting with the wallpaper itself. 

C'mon, Spook, where are you…?

The Aussie's keen eyes darted left and right, scanning the crowd. 

Or I could find the bloke we're gettin' the Australium from, I'm sure Spy's not far from him. 

Sniper looked left and right, crossing different rooms, some wider than others. Finally, he made it to the most spacious one. Along one of the walls were tables filled with food and drinks and opposite that, a jazz band was playing. The Aussie recognised the tune. He leaned back against the wall and sipped on his champagne while his eyes looked at each and every face. Without realising it, his foot was drumming the rhythm of the tune. 

Ugh, there were so many people and they were dancing, swarming the place like bees around honey… 

"You like this song? Maybe you'd like to dance?"

Sniper's eyes darted down to whoever the woman was who was talking to him. He gasped when he recognised him. 

"I-I can't really dance, I mean…"

"Come on, it'll be fun and easy, follow me…" 

Of course it had to be Spy. Ah, it had been too good to be true! The Frenchman had been too nice with Sniper and the Aussie had started to wonder if the mischief in his colleague was just something he put on with his colleagues and decided to turn off with him…! But no! Of course he had to play games like these…!

Spy had taken the Aussie's hand with his white gloved one and he pulled him to the dancefloor. The song in the background suddenly sprang to Sniper’s ears. The Frenchman put his colleagues’ hands on him, one on his hip and the other against his palm. Spy started moving left and right, gently rocking the both of them. Sniper looked down and his eyes shot back up when he saw Spy’s chest. Even though he knew it was all an illusion, make-up and some hard work, his parents had nonetheless not raised him to look down womens’ cleavages…

“Mh, not bad.” Spy said with his female voice. “You lead now.” He stopped moving and Sniper, still looking up at the ceiling as if it would burn his eyes to look at his dance partner, started leading. Well, leading was a big word, he was moving, rocking left and right. “Just follow the rhythm…”

Sniper’s heart threatened to burst out of his ribcage. Spy was leaning his head against his chest.The Aussie gulped down hard and looked down. The fact that Spy wasn’t looking at him eased him somehow, he relaxed and moved in rhythm now. His hips swung with the double-bass, and soon, without realising it, his hand slid from Spy’s hip to his back. The Frenchman smiled, his eyes closed against his colleagues’ suit, and he pushed his hands to splay them both on his broad chest.

“What’re you makin’ me do, Spook…?” Sniper had managed to forget the people around him to only focus on the warmth of Spy’s body against his. He spoke with his eyes closed too.

“You took your time to join me here.” Spy answered. 

“Sorry… I just… Bah, whatever.”

“It is fine, as long as you are here now.”

Spy’s feminine voice just wrapped Sniper warmly in a fashion that only rivaled with his normal, male voice.

“S-Spook, we should be gettin’ to work…”

“Oh but we are.” Spy smirked before he raised his fair eyes to Sniper. “You see the man in the black and white suit over my shoulder? He is wearing a red satin scarf on his shoulders.”

Sniper looked in the direction indicated by Spy.

“Yeah, I see’im.”

“That is the man that I shall entertain. I tried getting his attention but I am afraid that the competition tonight is hard for me to match.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Sniper asked.

“Those women following him, he has eyes only for them. He is practically blind to the rest of the world. Arh, Miss Pauling should have told us earlier, I would have had time to dye my hair black….”

“What’re you talkin’ about? Your hair is already black.”

“It has some grey, too much of it. I couldn’t dye it so I had to use a wig with matching greying temples and front. It would have been odd to have long black hair but some grey roots.”

“I don't think your grey hair’s a problem. I mean, it’s beautiful as it is, I mean the wig, heh…”

Spy raised his eyes to Sniper again. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome… But uh, so what’s the plan, now?”

“Now, I need to attract his attention in a different way. If my looks in this attire are not enough, then I shall try something else. You, keep an eye on me and wait for my signal, d’accord?”

[Understood?]

“Alright.”

Spy freed himself from Sniper’s dancing embrace. 

“Spook?”

“Oui?”

“You… You be careful, ok?”

Spy gave him a smile, one that he had never seen before, it was a lopsided grin, his eyes were smiling too, his eyelashes bowing gently.

“You too.”

And just like that, Spy was out of Sniper’s arms. The Aussie’s eyes lingered on the Frenchman and that’s when he realised that the dress he was wearing had two long slits left and right, revealing his legs up to a half of his thighs. Spy was also somehow managing to walk with high heeled stilettos, black ones, that laced up his calves. The laces then dissolved into black stockings that hugged his leg in the most enticing way, up to his thigh.

“God, he’s somethin’...” Sniper said out loud, even though no one heard him. “Hold on, what is he - what the…?”

Spy walked to the jazz band and Sniper saw him talk to the leader. After a few seconds of Spy talking, the leader of the band nodded and the music died down. Sniper went to the table and grabbed a glass before he leaned on the wall next to him. 

The music started again and Sniper frowned. Why was Spy staying there? Why was he taking the microphone? Why was - oh…

{To the reader, the song is “Dream a little dream of me” by Pink Martini and the Von Trapps}

“Stars shining bright above you,

Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you",

Birds singing in the sycamore tree,

Dream a little dream of me.”

Sniper’s jaw dropped. The song was so delicate, the dancing area filled quickly, and as Sniper cast a glance over to the wealthy man surrounded by his harem of lightly dressed ladies, he noticed that the performance had caught his eye. Good old Spook, has more tricks up his sleeve than we imagine, Sniper thought. His eyes went back to Spy. He sang with his shining, satin, white gloved hands left and right from the microphone stand, his hips swinging deliciously, revealing in rhythm his left and right thigh. A spotlight switched on, right on him, and Spy pushed a lock of his fake long hair behind his ear. Sniper could definitely not agree with Spy, his greying hair at the front and on his temples was absolutely an asset, not a setback at all. It shone in silver under the spotlight.

“Say "Night-ie night" and kiss me,

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me,

While I'm alone and blue as can be,

Dream a little dream of me...!”

A man shoved Sniper as he passed by and the Aussie was about to say something when he realised that it was the man in question, the man they were about to steal the Australium from. His face then radiated in triumph. Go, Spook, go! You got him! That's it! And you were doubtin’ yerself, look at you…! Who in their right mind wouldn’t take a second to look at you now? I mean now and anytime! You’re just… Sniper bit his lip. Thinking those words was too much. He shall not even think them but keep them in their raw form, as a thought, not mould them into letters and sounds, no, he shall keep that warmth inside him and leave it as a flame. 

“Stars fading but I linger on, dear,

Still craving your kiss,

I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear,

Just saying this...”

Gosh, Sniper wished he could stay and listen to the whole song, listen to more of them even. How could Spy sing so well and with a feminine voice at that…? How…?

“Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you,

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you,

But in your dreams whatever they be,

Dream a little dream of me…!”

 The plump man and his flock of sheilas was at the very front now watching the show. Sniper saw him and his eyes quickly darted back up to Spy, he did not want to miss anything of his performance. It was certainly the first and the last time that he would hear the Frenchman perform this way.

But the song ended and the guests applauded loudly. 

“Thank you.” Spy said in the microphone. “I would like to dedicate this song to the one hunter brave enough to climb the stairs of my stone hard heart and steal the golden wand of love that he put there.”

Sniper took it as his cue. Without hesitating, he spun on his heels and went to find the stairs. On his way, he heard Spy starting a new song. 

So I have about three minutes before the song ends… He thought to himself and climbed the stairs. Once he reached the first floor, he walked through the corridors until he found the right room. 

He gasped. A guard was coming! Quickly, Sniper stuck his back to the wall at thecorner. Arh! He needed something to distract the guy away from his path, but he had nothing on him but that short suit and - oh! 

The Aussie got an idea. He took one of his sleeves and tore a button of his cuffs off before throwing it on the hardwood floor. 

"Huh?" The guard heard the noise and went to inspect whatever caused it. Meanwhile, Sniper snuck past and slipped in the right room.

Alright, let's do this… 

He closed the door after him and looked around. The room might have been part of a museum. It contained all kinds of artefacts, statues, coins, paintings, knick-knacks of all sizes and shapes. 

Ah, there ye are…

A stick of Australium not longer than a pen but quite thicker was under one of the glass panes. Sniper looked left and right before he got his fingers closer to the glass. 

Please, Engie, tell me you disabled the alarms…!

The Aussie put his fingertips on the glass and taking a deep breath, he pulled the glass upwards very slowly, the sweat breaking on his brow. No alarm rang, there wasn’t a sound. 

Hah, piece o’piss!

Sniper put the object in his inside pocket and made his way out of the room. He luckily found his button back and picked it up from the floor to put it in his pocket. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he melted in the people, looking for Spy to tell him he had what they needed; that they could leave that posh party. 

“Oh…” 

Sniper stopped sharp. From where he was, people walking around him, swarming like ants, he stood tall, his head above the average crowd and what he saw had an unexpected effect on him. Spy had indeed caught the guy’s attention, no doubt about that. Sniper found the Frenchman off the stage, a bit further were laid a few sofas for the VIPs no doubt. Spy was on one of them, well, not directly on the sofa, the Frenchman was on the guy’s lap, a glass of champagne in his hand, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, his stockings showing entirely on one leg. The Aussie was fuming. He wanted to go there, cover Spy’s leg with his jacket, take the Frenchman’s hand and drag him out. He frowned, furious.

At some point, Spy caught sight of him. He murmured something in the guy’s ear and Sniper couldn’t bear it anymore, he spun on his heels and made his way to his van. Well, Spy would understand that those parties weren’t really Sniper’s natural habitat and that he preferred to wait in his van. 

So Sniper left the mansion, hurtled down the white marble stairs, retreated to his van, and slammed the door shut as he slumped down on his seat. He sighed and taking the steering wheel in his hands, he started drumming his fingers impatiently. 

Impatiently?

The fact that the patient hunter lost his ability to behave professionally and wait made him blind with rage, boiling on his seat. He shut his eyes and leaned his head back to take a nap. He tried, but the frown on his brow kept him up, he could not possibly relax. 

“Sniper?”

He opened his eyes. Spy had opened the passenger’s door. 

“Do you have it?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect! Let us be on our way then.”

“Yeah.” Sniper waited for Spy to fasten his seatbelt before he started the engine, and off both of them went back to the base. 

The drive back was mostly silent, if one ignored the rumble of the van’s engine.

“Sniper?”

“What?” 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Spy frowned. 

“What is it?” He asked.

"What's what?”

“This attitude of yours.” Spy answered. “I left you after the dance and come to find you another different man altogether, and not in a good way, what happened? Did you get caught?”

“No.”

“Did you have to kill someone?”

“No.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“Spook, please.”

“What?” Spy asked.

“Get off my back.” Sniper coldly answered.

“I will not.” Spy replied, determined.

“For Christ’s sake…”

“What happened for you to turn so… furious?” Spy asked. “I demand to know!”

“Pfff, you demand nothin’, mate.”

“Yes, I do.” Spy answered and removed his wig. “I thought you were in a good mood up until I left you, what happened then?”

Sniper sighed.

“Was it something I did or said?” Spy asked.

“Leave me alone.”

“Non.” Spy started removing the padding on his chest and he sat back on his seat. 

The rest of the drive back to the base was utterly silent up until Sniper parked the van in front of the base. He waited for Spy to get out but the Frenchman remained marble-like. 

“We’re here, Spook, you can get off.” Sniper undid his seatbelt and hopped off. He went to the back of his van to get a change, but as he climbed up at the back, he noticed that Spy hadn’t moved, as the van hadn’t shaken on its tired suspensions. So the Aussie went back to his driver's seat and opened the door. As he did so, the lights came on inside the van. “Hey, you heard me? We’re back at the base.” Sniper wasn’t even looking at Spy.

“I know.”

“Well then get out, go to your room and do whatever your spooky arse does in the evenin’...!” Sniper said, looking at the base.

“Non.” Spy answered. “Not before I know what is driving you to speak to me in this manner. But If you do speak to me so, then surely I am responsible for your foul mood. So I demand you tell me what I did wrong.” 

“Arh, for fuck’s sake, Spy, you did nothin’ wrong! Now just go, will ya? I’ve got stuff to do!”

“Oh, that you have, Sniper.” Spy finally uncrossed his arms and turned to look Sniper in the eye, the Aussie raised his head and with the lights of the van on, he noticed that Spy had removed the make-up somehow and the wig had gone too. He was… He was Spy again... minus the mask! “And the first thing you will do is explain to me what I did for you to become aggressive!”

A light switched on in the base and it lit a window brightly. Sniper looked at Spy who was still in his dress and himself, still in his suit. 

“We can’t stay here.” Sniper said and hopped off, followed by Spy this time. Sniper opened the back door and hopped in, he turned and saw Spy extending a hand up to get some help. Sniper raised a curious eyebrow.

“Some of us are wearing high heels and a dress, Sniper.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Sniper took Spy’s satin, gloved hand and pulled him in, as he did so, Spy climbed the high step as best as he could but his balance was fragile, so Sniper pulled him by the waist before shutting the door after both of them. 

“Now, pray explain everything to me.” Spy said.

“There’s nothin’ to explain, I’m just… I’m just tired, is all.”

“Liar, and a very poor one at that.” Spy switched the light on inside the van and went to a jar containing some candy. He helped himself to one, which pushed Sniper deeper down in his anger. 

“Alright, it’s you! I mean, me!”

“What did you or I do?”

Sniper sighed and Spy knew he had won. 

“It’s just… It’s my fault, I got carried away…” Sniper sat on the bench and lowered his head, holding it in his hands. 

“Carried away?” Spy asked, taking a seat next to him. “What do you mean?”

“The… The whole thing… You as a sheila, the party, the dance, your singin’... I put funny ideas in my head, is all.” Sniper admitted and immediately regretted it. It was Spy he was talking to, the man who used blackmail as butter to spread on his morning toasts…! “Yeah, alright, you can go tell the others or laugh at me, or whatever it is you wanna do with it.”

“Sniper…” Spy put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Do you mean that… you thought there was more to my performance than mere acting?”

Sniper silently nodded, still not looking his colleague in the eye, his head lowered. 

“I enjoyed this evening too, you know.” Spy said. “And you surprised me with your dancing skills.”

“Spy, spare me your mockin’ and go straight to the point. You’re gonna ask me to pay you to not tell the others or somethin’? Well I don’t give a rat’s arse, you can tell’em, you can tell what happened and even more than what happened, I don’t care. I just…”

“I… I don’t follow you, Sniper.”

Sniper shook his head. 

“I surprised you with my dancin’? Yeah, well I told you I couldn’t dance but you insisted. That’s what you get.”

“Sniper, I did not mean it that way, on the contrary!”

“What?” Sniper’s head jerked back up and he looked at his friend with wide surprised eyes.

“I… You were hesitant at first but when you finally let go, it was… divine.”

Sniper raised an eyebrow, he expected to see irony in Spy’s eyes, but either he was playing too well or there was really none…

“I didn’t really dance, I just, I just moved a bit, that's all.”

“Yet you held me close and…” Spy chuckled, hearing himself. “Pardon my sentimentality, it must come as a surprise to you.”

“That, or you’re really actin’ a part.” Sniper answered. 

“I am not.” Spy shook his head. “Would I be sitting here with you, in a dress and face naked, to tell you lies?”

Sniper sighed. 

“I don’t know.” He answered.

“But all that does not answer my question, Sniper. Why were you so tense, angry even?” Spy gently brushed his hand on his friend’s arm and Sniper turned to look him in the eye before he realised that Spy’s eyes were a lot to take in, and he averted his gaze instead. 

“Well, I told you a bit, I might as well come clean with ya.” Sniper took a deep breath. “Look, I saw you today and uh… Well, I mean, usually… Uh… Arh, I’m sorry, I’m not the best when it comes to words.”

“Then, stand up.” Spy stood up and offered his still gloved hand.

“What?”

“Stand up, come on.”

Sniper obeyed, although he had no idea where Spy was going.

“Alright, now what?”

“Now close your eyes. Can you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Sniper asked with his eyes closed.

“The music, the same mellow tunes that we heard and danced to, a few hours ago. How were we, again? Ah, yes, just like so.” Spy put Sniper’s hands back where they were. “Are your eyes still closed?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you see?”

“We’re back there and uh… I’m wonderin’ what you’re makin’ me do.” 

Spy smiled when he felt Sniper’s hand slide from his hip to his back, exactly as it had done earlier. The Frenchman leaned his head on Sniper’s chest.

“Gosh…”

“Now, tell me what bothers you.” Spy’s voice was velvet like.

“I just… I held you there and you, you looked amazin’, Spook, you were… beautiful. Heh, as a bloke you’re not too bad either, but I don’t know, seein’ you like that, it was just… Gosh…” Sniper was talking almost to himself, out loud, forgetting that Spy was against him, even though he felt the warmth of his body, the comfort of his sweet embrace. He was rocking him left and right, as he had when they danced.

“What happened that made you so angry?” Spy gently asked. 

“Seein’ you on that bloke’s lap.” Sniper admitted, his eyes closed. "I just… I don't know. I felt like… I saw you there, drinkin' and-and your dress…"

"What about it?" 

"It…" Sniper frowned. "It was wide open and… You might as well've been naked, it was wrong, it was so wrong, the way he… He groped you and touched you… I felt like…"

"What did you want to do?" Spy whispered, and he felt Sniper tighten his embrace around him. 

"Wanted to cover your legs with my jacket… Didn't want him or anyone else to see you like that." Sniper had now stopped dancing, he was only holding Spy dearly against himself. "I'm sorry, it's… patronisin' and pathetic, I saw you like a defenseless sheila even though I know you'd never let anyone play with you."

"It is not patronising, I appreciate the thought. Besides," Spy slid his hands on Sniper's chest and raised his head. "I thought I was clear."

"About what?"

"Do you remember what I said at the end of the song?"

"Somethin' about a hunter climbin' stairs and getting some gold, yeah, that was your signal, wasn't it?" Sniper was looking down at Spy. 

"Oh oui, it was a signal, it was a lot of signals. Do you remember my exact words?" 

"Nah, not exactly."

"I would like to dedicate this song to the one hunter brave enough to climb the stairs of my stone hard heart and steal the golden wand of love that he put there.”

"Yeah, poetic, eh?"

"It was a declaration, Sniper." Spy's tone of voice was serious. 

"A declaration of what?"

"Of love." Spy answered. "I sang that song, Dream a little dream of me, as a declaration of my love for you." 

Spy paused for a second, to let Sniper take the measure of what he had just said. He saw the shock in his wide open eyes and his cut breath. The Frenchman leaned against Sniper again. 

"I enjoyed dancing with you so much that for a second I dreamt that we weren't there for business, that we could take our time, that I could have a dance with you. While I was waiting for you, the hesitation of the choice gnawed me on the inside: should I go and dance with him? Should I not? Well, although the answer was 'I should not or we could get caught together', my heart decided to ask you to dance anyway." Spy basked in the warmth of Sniper's body against him. "I wished that we could make that music last forever, I wished that I could prolong that song and that dance until the end of time."

"W-what…?" Sniper's voice came out as a hoarse whisper. 

"But listening to what you felt now," Spy went on. "I have to ask you." He raised his head to Sniper. "Were you feeling… jealousy in your heart?"

Sniper closed his eyes and nodded. 

"It's stupid but… I felt like, because of that small dance with me, I felt like we were, y'know, something. And when I saw that guy touchin' you and treatin' you like one the other sheilas, I lost it. Because you're not a sheila, and even if you were, you wouldn't be one of those. You're different." 

"You know, in my long career and even longer life, it is not the first time that I have to disguise myself as a female. However, it is the first time that I felt natural doing so, all because of you, Sniper."

"What d'you mean?" Sniper looked down at Spy. 

"You looked at me as if you were looking at a woman, you did not see a shred of masculinity in me and your eyes devoured me, not the Spy me, the woman, me. The jealousy you felt, was all because I looked like a woman." Spy took a step back from Sniper. The loss of warmth between them made them realise that the van was quite cold in fact. "Thank you for helping in that wordless way, my performance was enhanced by your faith in my skills." Spy removed the long, white gloves. "I… I shall not bother you any longer, it is quite late already." 

As Sniper had been mostly silent all along, not once contradicting Spy, the Frenchman thought that the Aussie had only been attracted by the disguise, not the person under it. He sighed and walked out of the van, leaving Sniper alone. 

The Aussie 's knees gave up and he sat on the bench.

What? He thought. He sang… To me? What did the song say again? Uhm… C'mon, it's a classic, I know it… 

Sniper closed his eyes and pressed his brains. The lyircs came back to him.

“Say "Night-ie night" and kiss me,

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me,

While I'm alone and blue as can be,

Dream a little dream of me…"

Gosh. Sniper looked through the window. The lights were out in the base, at least the side of the building that he could see. 

"I need to talk to him. He thinks I just felt jealous of the sheila he played, fuck!"

Sniper leapt out of his van and ran to the base, he entered and ran again through the corridor, he took a flight of stairs down, hurtling down, and stopped in front of the door with the knife symbol. He gave a knock. No answer. He knocked again and waited, looking at the keyhole and the whole door, wondering how he could enter even if Spy didn't let him in. 

"Whoever is bothering me at this hour of the night, prepare your spine, my blades will kiss you goodnight!" A furious voice with a French accent roared from behind the door. Spy opened the door, in his pyjamas with a blade in his hand and a balaclava on his face. He stopped sharp and sighed, lowering his weapon. "What are you doing here?" 

"We need to talk." 

"I said all I had to." Spy answered and didn’t move from his door. "There is nothing for me to add."

“Spy, please…?”

The Frenchman sighed before he yielded and moved from the doorway, letting Sniper in. He shut the door after him and removed his balaclava and gloves, before he put his blade away.

“Can I…?” Sniper looked at the sofa. 

“Pray do.” Spy nodded and took a seat on the sofa too.

“You were wrong.” Sniper said without introduction and Spy scoffed.

“About what, if I may ask?”

“Pretty much everythin’.” Sniper answered.

“Ah, well, in that case, please enlighten me at this advanced hour of the night where my heart and mind have suffered long and through, please add to my misery.”

Sniper looked at Spy in a way that meant that he had not come to him for an exchange of witty remarks.

“I didn’t just feel jealous cause you looked like a sheila and I somehow forgot you were a bloke. ‘M not stupid.” Sniper said. “I felt jealous anyway. I just didn’t like the way the guy touched you, regardless of what you look like.”

“Ah, charming and very gallant.” Spy’s sarcasm was a way to let his frustration go but it contaminated Sniper. 

“Listen,” He answered and Spy could hear the annoyance in his voice. “I got jealous regardless, I got jealous because the guy had his dirty hands all over you, Spook, you.” Sniper pointed his finger at his colleague. “I didn’t care that you looked like a sheila, I didn’t care and I don’t care what you look like at all, cause before this evenin’ I had no idea what you looked like without the mask.”

Spy’s eyebrows jumped. He hadn’t thought of that.

“So… It wasn’t because of my disguise as a female?” He tilted his head.

“No, you idiot! I just… I loved the dance with you, it felt… normal. I’m not big on these things but it felt nice with you, even though I had no idea what I was doin’, it was almost like it didn’t matter. You were there and… And you were holdin’ on to me and… Me too. Felt nice, really nice.” Sniper crossed his arms on his chest. 

Spy scooted over to Sniper on the sofa. He slipped one arm around the Aussie and hugged it while leaning on him. 

“Spook?”

“Hm?” Spy had closed his eyes.

“Did you sing that song… to me?”

“For you, oui.”

“Did you… mean the stuff you sang?”

“Every single word.”

“Oh.” Sniper relaxed his arms and looked down to his left. Spy was clinging, breathing slowly.

“And you, were you really jealous?” He asked with his eyes shut.

“Yeah… Yeah, I was, for real. I’m a bit dumb like that. You touched me and I just… I just imagined things. Felt like a dream though, really.”

“The best kind of dream, the one that you make with open eyes.” Spy answered in a sigh, his heart swelling in his chest.

“Spook?”

“Oui?”

“Hold on…” Sniper pulled himself out of Spy’s embrace and the frenchman failed to hide his disappointment at the lack of contact. “It’s gettin’ late and uh…”

“You want to return to your van, I suppose?”

“Yeah, I mean… As much as I'd like to stay with you, uh…"

"Who said you couldn't?" Spy asked. 

"No one, but… Even my bunk's more comfy than your couch."

“What about my bed?”

The surprise of the question made Sniper stop talking for a long moment. Spy smiled. He stood up and extended his hand to Sniper, the same way that he had done to invite him to dance. Sniper's eyes went from Spy's to his hand. He hesitated for a second, but raised his hand and put it on top of Spy's. 

"Come on." Spy led him to his bedroom and shut the door after them. "I can lend you something to sleep with, although it might be a bit short on your legs."

"It's fine… I mean, I usually don't sleep with much but uh… Spy, you sure about this?" 

Spy went to the other side of the bed. He satdown and gave his back to Sniper. 

"I would love you to join me, please."

"A-alright." Sniper took the opportunity of Spy not looking at him to shed his clothes only to stay in his tanktop and boxer shorts. "You can turn, Spook." 

"May I?" 

"Yeah."

Spy turned and even in the low light of the night lamps Sniper saw his pupils blow wide. 

"Uhm… So, you take that side?" The Aussie asked. 

"The only side I take is yours." 

Both slipped under the blanket and Spy latched on his lover. He put a hand on Sniper's chest, slithered a leg between his and rested his head on his shoulder. 

"Woah…" Sniper said, overwhelmed by it all. 

"If you would rather I faced the other side,-"

"No." Sniper cut Spy. "Nah, it's… you're alright."

"Sniper?" 

"Hm?" 

Spy raised his lips to be near the Aussie's ear. 

"I am yours." He whispered.

"Gosh… c’mere…” This time Sniper wrapped his arms around Spy and hugged him dearly. He kissed his brow and the Frenchman moaned in thanks. “Oh, sorry, too much?”

“Non, on the contrary, please?”

Sniper kissed Spy on his forehead again and he felt the Frenchman’s legs stretch against his. 

"Someone's happy, eh?”

“Delighted…” Spy purred and buried himself down Sniper’s neck, softly nuzzling there. He whispered words that the Aussie barely heard. 

“Ah, wow… Spook, we’re never gonna sleep…” Sniper heard the soft sound of kisses, he felt the Frenchman gently exploring his skin. “Also, what’re you sayin’? Can’t hear you…”

“I am saying things that you know already, so you don’t need to hear them.” Spy purred. 

“What? Nah, c'mon, tell me, I wanna know…” Sniper chuckled, Spy’s kisses were tickling him.

“I was saying…”

“Yeah?”

“Je t’aime.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I love you, Sniper.”

Sniper’s eyes snapped wide. 

“I uh, me too, Spook. I… I love you.” 

Spy pulled himself out of his hideout and looked down at Sniper, his cheeks red. He bent down until their foreheads touched, he gently brushed his hooked nose against Sniper’s. One of Spy’s hands was on Sniper’s cheek, the other was in his har, massaging his scalp.

“Gosh, Spook…” Sniper’s heartbeat filtered through his breath. 

“May I?”

“May you what?”

“Do something that I have yearned to.” Spy whispered. “Please, I beg of you, Sniper, let me kiss your lips…”

Sniper’s breath hitched. 

“I-yeah, pelase, Spook, I mean, yeah-mmmh…”

Spy did not wait for the end of the sentence and gently pushed his lips against Sniper’s, tightening the grip he had on his hair. Sniper rolled his eyes up in bliss and felt his entire body go limp. Only his heart burnt in his chest, and his lips too.

When Spy withdrew, they both took a deep breath and chuckled. 

“Sorry, I’m…” Sniper looked away. 

“Oh, please, don’t apologise you did nothing wrong.” Spy smiled and rested his forehead against Sniper’s again.

“Gosh, Spook, I can feel you breathin’ against me and… You’re layin’ on me… I love that, I mean, you’re warm and, I don’t know, it’s comfy.”

Spy chuckled. 

“Spook?”

“Oui?”

“Can we do it again, I mean, pelase?”

“As much as you want.” Spy bent down to meet Sniper’s lips and the Aussie rolled on the bed to be on top of the Frenchman. He frowned as he took the lead and decided to kiss him better, not just pushing his lips. He gently grabbed Spy’s upper lip between both of his. Spy moaned low, like a pur, he hooked his arms up around Sniper’s neck and pulled his body down.

The night was spent. Sleepless, but it was spent.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

[eerythingisshaka]

PTA III

[Trevante Rhodes x Reader]

Word Count: 2.2K

Summer had come and gone in the blink of an eye yet felt as long as finals week when you were earning your teaching degree.  School ended last quarter with a clumsy splat seeing as the first wave of virus knocked everything out of order very quick. You stressed out running lessons to the school for kids to pick up and working with families with limited to no internet access pulled your patience to its thinnest layer.

So when all had officially finished, you had to take the time to yourself as best as you could.  In a normal summer, you would plan a getaway to just about anywhere you hadn’t seen before and the more solo the better.  Sipping something alcoholic in a warm climate with the Sun toasting your skin to its peak melanated beauty was all you would need to pack you full of endorphins that could last you into the next year.

But that wasn’t the plan now.  Travel restrictions keep you from going out of town and you can’t even get a decent dinner anymore seeing as most restaurants are dine out only.  The only silver lining you can muster is the mask mandates allowing you to keep from smiling at strangers in awkward politeness when they get in your way.  It is a layer of protection for your sanity and solitude.  

However that wasn’t the only silver lining you have from the summer.  Mr. Rhodes, or Trevante as he has to still remind you, became very generous with his time with you outside of the classroom.  As much as you try to keep things professional for your jobs sake, he won’t let you be for any little thing.  Your email has message after message from him asking about simple math for everyday things that apparently Nemour needed refreshing on, followed by a ‘so how you been doing?’

Email 1

“Dear Ms. (Y/N), I am contacting you in regards to my son, Nemour.  While in the grocery today, we came across a sale for oranges, 3lb. for $5.  But then this other store has 5 lb. for $6.  Now he is itching to know what price would be the better one to go for?”

Your response:

“Dear Mr. Rhodes,  Although my primary concentration is History, you can tell Nemour that he should go for the second deal with 5lb.”

“Perfect, that’s why you’re the teacher!  So...how’ve you been?”

Sometimes you reply, and sometimes you leave him on read, it depends on how conversational you feel.  But as time progressed, you got excited to see his emails asking to remind him what the 3 branches of government are or what amendment means what?  He even got you on video chat to discuss.

“What?!  So slavery isn’t really abolished on that bullshit?”  Trevante exclaims in awe.

You throw your hands up, aghast as if you just learned it yourself.  “That’s the thing about American government.  They will throw a loophole where you least expect it and throw a parade like the shit ain’t bout to pop out.”

“Damn!  That’s like some Trojan horse shit honestly,”  he shakes his head, taking a swig of his beer.

You snap your finger, “Exactly, my man, exactly!  That’s why nobody can agree on anything worth a damn.  There’s gonna be a clause somewhere that adds some shit that makes the whole thing rotten. But you didn’t hear it from me, so don’t let Nemour know I’m saying this kind of stuff.”

He twists his face in confusion.  “Why wouldn’t I?  My son got a right to know about what this country is founded on.  Everyone does.”

“Yeah I know.  Just...when topics like these pop up it’s difficult to keep it all…” your voice trails off as you search your bedroom for the words you are looking for.

“Politically Incorrect?”  he offers.

You nod a little.  “Kinda, yeah.”

He sets down his beer, sitting a little closer to the screen.  “You shouldn’t have to worry about that.  History is literally set in stone.  If we didn’t have it, we wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves now.”

“Do we know what to do now though?”  you ask in a higher pitch, squinting like you stepped in hot coals.

Trevante took a minute looking at you before dipping his head down to chuckle.  You could hear the pounding baritone in his chest from your speakers.

“What?  What’s that about?”  you ask.

He sits up again, stroking his beard, “It’s cute when you make your face like that.  That’s all.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your scarf further down your forehead to make up for slipping.  

Trevante tuts at you.  “I need a bucket or something to catch these compliments you keep throwing away that I toss at you.  You don’t believe me or what?”

You give a very dignified look, “I believe I am beautiful.  I just don’t believe in entertaining a parent, is all.”

Trevante sighs.  “Summer don’t count (y/n).  You’re not his teacher now so what’s the issue?”

You look off to the side and back at him.  The crisp white t shirt he has on is obstructing more of the view of his body then you care for but the tightness at the sleeve around his bicep makes up for what you know is already there.

“Hello?”  he says.

You blink a few times, crossing your arms.  “Hm?”

“You go off into space a lot too.  What’s on your mind when you do that?”

His arms around your waist that tightly bind you to his body as you inhale his sweet cologne that is perfectly distributed from his neck to chest.

You scratch your neck, and tell a half lie.  “Oh, just this new school year.”

“See this is a perk of having a teacher friend.  Fill me in, what’s up?”

“Well, all I have right now is that we are doing hybrid learning, so some classes at the school and some at home.  Now the district just need to provide the materials for the kids to be able to do that.  The internet, the laptop/tablets, and make sure we can all connect and no one is behind on lessons.  And since I am on the front line, I have to get creative with the lesson plans and keep people on task and on time.”

Trevante nods.  “Well me and Nemour are excited to see what you have for us next year, whatever it is.”

You smirk at the encouragement.  “Thank you Tre, but I can’t guarantee we will be together for the next school year.  That’s decided at random.  Plus the grade he is in next year is the last one I teach.”

“Nah, we gonna be in there.  If I have to sign a petition or boycott like these hot breathed whites out here not wearing masks, we will be in your class this fall.”

You bust out laughing at his determination.  “Dang, Tre!  Don’t go starting a ruckus up there cuz of me!  He will still be taught well, whoever he has a teacher.”

He makes a cut it motion across his neck.  “Nah, we only rock with the best and that’s you up there.  I will make all the, what you call it?  Ruckus?  That shit!  So I will be seeing you first day in the fall, ok?”

You feel heat spread over your skin from shyness.  His brash attitude comes out and makes you feel like a superstar.  “Ok, I’ll hold you to it.  How’s Nemour doing anyway?”

Trevante nods, picking up his laptop as he changes rooms.  “He is doing well, being a regular kid.  Playing and doing his chores.”

You nod.  “Great!”

He closes a door behind him as he lays the laptop down, you can tell he is laying across his bed on his stomach as he speaks.

“He has been asking me a lot more questions about police and like, if they stop me or him, what’s gonna happen and what do we do?  Should we run away?  Can we not live by cops, stuff like that.”

You heart breaks hearing this. “Wow, and this is coming from a child?”

He nods, resting his chin on his forearm.  “It’s part my fault.  I’m always looking at the news and if he sitting at the table eating breakfast or whatever, he’s gonna see it.  I cut it off when they show bodycam footage though cuz that is nothing but toxic.”

“I can’t count how many times I had to see them replay that man dying in the street.  And in front of people watching, they don’t care who is watching cuz what can you do?  You can’t interfere or that’s a charge on you but he could’ve lived.”

Trevante looks spaced out for a second hearing this.  “I know, and that’s why it’s hard explaining to Nemour what everything is about.  I give him the basics though:  Do what the officer says, don’t argue, and don’t get into shit that’s gonna get the cops called  on you either.  But it sounds played out to even say.  What did everybody else do that’s dead now?”

“Nothing.  Sleep in their bed, going to the store, jogging.  Not a damn thing that warranted a bullet.”

Trevante gives a small shrug, looking sad like he is staring at his reflection in a pond.  “Yeah, so he been grappling with that and that’s a lot for a kid his age.  That’s why I want him to be your student still too cuz you’re one of the only Black teachers there and I honestly think he is uncomfortable with white people right now.  We went to the store the other day and he calls himself protecting me saying if the man getting bread bothers me, he put on his little Timbs so he can stomp him for me.”

You gasp at the thought, giving a weak smile.  “I mean, that would go viral for some child to curb stomp a big old white dude.”

Tre smiled some too.  “I think Nemour was this close to saying ‘Don’t worry bout it sweetheart.’  I can’t let him look at no internet again.”

You put your foot up and say, “He finna give him that SPLAHH!”

Trevante laughs heartily, wiping his eyes, “You more hip than I thought too.”

“I had some wine earlier, so that might’ve helped.”  You put a finger to your mouth and pull up the glass from the nightstand.  

“Oh shit!  So this is Turnt Teacher!  Go head then, don’t let me stop you”

You wave him off.  “You aren’t stopping anything.  If nothing else, you keeping me going.  All this house shit is working my last nerve, it’s nice to see a familiar face every once in a while.”

“I think so too.  You’ve been a great addition to some weeknights this summer.”

You put a thumbs up as you sip your wine.  “Are we still doing a movie tonight?  I think it’s my turn to pick.”

Trevante curls up a lip.  “Nah, I don’t think so.”

Your heart sank a little, already having queued up a selection to watch.  “That’s ok, it is late.”

“Yeah, but really I wanna see you in person.”

Your body tensed at the invitation.  Thinking over the last few months of chatting, he has warmed up to you as an individual, but you aren’t sure if that feeling can translate outside of a screen.  Behind the camera it’s safe, you can be cute and mysterious but vulnerable and clumsy and it all comes up roses for him.  In person, cute and mysterious can seem pretentious and vulnerable and clumsy could just be a weirdo geek to him.

“Well,” you start, “I would but...you know this...pandemic is just…”

“I know,” he says.

“...awful, right?  So I just don’t think I can comfortably do that...now?”

Trevante thinks for a second.  “We can stay within the parameters of the guidelines though right?  Six feet, masks, no crowded space.  If you want, we can do that.  I just…” he sighs heavily, looking tired as he rubs his eyes, “...I have been getting stir crazy and you are the main one I have been keeping contact with outside of family, yet I only spent time in person on Valentine’s Day that one meeting we had.  And you had a date later!”

You laugh at him, remembering their first meeting that could’ve been an email no doubt.

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

“Do you wanna go out with me?  Be honest!”

“Tre, I told you-”

“See?  You even call me Tre now.  We familiar right?  I don’t usually have to beg like this but ma’am, you almost got me on bended knee!”

“Uh…”  you start to feel bad but your mouth stops working under pressure.

“Six feet,” he reminds you.  If nothing else, that makes you less inclined to want to go because what can you do?  No kissing that’s for sure.

“I don’t want to confuse Nemour,”  you rebuttal.

“He will be watched by a guardian, trust me.  He won’t be cramping out grown folks business.”

You feel a flutter in your stomach that fuels your excitement.  A plan to go out, with a man no less!  This could turn the summer around or be a disaster on the horizon.

“Don’t overthink it.  You’re a smart woman, but I don’t want you to overcalculate this.  You wanna see me, I wanna see you.  We’ll play it safe, and finally see each other in some natural light.”

You nod slowly, a smile creeps across your face as his argument finally sways you.  “Ok, I’m in.  Pick the time and place.”

Tag you!

@chaneajoyyy​

#shakafic #trevante rhodes fic #pta

[blushing-starker]

hiii darling!! saw you were a bit desperate for smth sweet and good so!!💗💗

i’ve sent this prompt to jae before, but i still adore the idea of little peter being in daycare and developing a fever! and daddy tony brings him to daddy stephens practice where he works as a family doctor. and so lil peter gets examined by his own daddy and cries in the cutest and most heart aching way when dada gives him an injection to bring down his fever🥺🌡

but tony comforts him of course!

“dada had to do that so you’ll feel better, baby.”

“i’ll see you later today at home, petey. i’ll bring you something yummy from the store, okay? now, go along with papa and cuddle loads with him till i get back home. that’s doctor dada’s orders.” - raf🐇

here you go! The first part while I crank out the second part. I know you read it already but I wanted to at least post it. Thanks for sending me the ask dear! I really appreciate it! 💓

It starts on Monday in the sandbox during recess. Peter doesn't really hang out in the small park right next to the classroom, prefers the cool temperature of the library where Miss Maria often turns a blind eye to his antics involving a screwdriver and the dismantling of any electronic device he and Ned can get their hands on. MJ, just a year older, is halfway sure the librarian purposely leaves old toys on the lowest shelf, but she isn't a snitch and it's, don't tell anyone though, fun to spend time watching the two boys figure out a way to pry open clocks.

His daddies are overjoyed their boy is like them, enamoured by how things work and how they could improve such things with the minimum of resources. In fact, Tony cried while talking over the phone with his mother, eager to tell Maria how her grandson replaced the wheel of a car the daycare was about to throw out in a few days. Peter, ever vigilant, had run to his daddy, afraid he was hurt or sad. He'd thrust the car into Tony's hand to make him feel better and Stephen's absolutely ridiculous husband sobbed harder while nearly suffocating their child in a hug. Maria sent Tony's old engineering kit from when he was a child and their Kleenex ran out the minute Peter wandered over to poke at it.

Stephen shouldn't tease Tony too much. After all, the doctor spent more time bragging about his little boy's intelligence than he did discussing his patients’ conditions. And maybe, just maybe, he sobbed in the bathroom when Ned came for a sleepover and loudly proclaimed his best friend had comforted another classmate when they fell and hurt their knee. Apparently, Peter had sent Ned to warn Miss Wanda while he calmly explained that all they had to do was elevate the area, clean with soap, wrap a Hello Kitty bandaid on the wound, get ice on it and be attentive to any signs of fever.

The whole thing was exactly, word for word, what Stephen had told Peter when his boy tripped on the sidewalk and roughed up a knee. Tony found him sniffling while cleaning out old anatomy books that suspiciously appeared in Pete's bedroom the next day.

They don't talk about it. But now the whole family has a bet on what the young boy's profession will be.

Yes, his daddies are happy he's shown an interest in their fields of study. Yes, they want him to explore and learn and have fun with different subjects. Thing is, they also know how important it is for a child to go outside and play with others. An intake of vitamin D was very good for a growing boy.

(That's bull, they would have gladly given ten thousand toys to Maria Hill for her to leave around the library so the trio could dismantle them. But then Miss Wanda cornered them in the hall and told them that no, Peter also needs a bit of sun and some interactions with people besides Ned, MJ and Shuri, a girl from another group who also liked the library. They begrudgingly agreed.)

So Monday morning after waffles drenched with too much syrup Stephen chooses to ignore are devoured by two sets of grabby hands, Peter’s daddies gently suggest he spend a few minutes playing outside with the others.

Peter pauses, screwdriver in midair and toy car set down on the table with careful movements. There's a little furrow between his brows, so identical to Stephen's that Tony wants to kiss both his boys for being the cutest people in the world. He refrains from doing so because ‘Peter needs to know when we're being serious, Tony, and that means no kisses during serious conversations’.

“Have,” oh no, their boy is chewing his lip, abort mission, abort, “have I been bad, dadas?”

Tony accidentally rams his elbow into his husband's ribs when pouncing on Peter and Stephen is very close to considering divorce. “No! No, baby, you've been good all month. Promise. Daddy and dada just want you to get a bit of sun, play around with the others for a few minutes and then sneak off into the library.”

“ Tony, that isn't what we agreed, oh Christ. “ This elbow jab was on purpose. Stephen stumbles out his chair, muffles the curse words against the kitchen counter while his horrible partner cradles Pete's face and presses kisses all over the boy desperately trying not to stab his daddy with the screwdriver.

“Don't listen to dada, you can spend five minutes out and then visit Miss Hill.”

“ Who? “ That scrunch is back and Tony loves Peter more than anything in the world. Well. No, he loves kissing Peter more than anything in the world. The boy giggles, reciprocates as much as he can until Tony cheats and tickles soft skin under a cotton sweater.

“Miss Maria, Tony. They call her by her first name instead of the last name. I'm getting some ice. Jesus, do you sharpen that thing?”

------

He can be a good boy. He's a good boy. Five minutes outside. Peter can be outside while Ned’s in the bathroom and MJ heats up her lunch for the day.

(Ned and Pete had the daycare mac and cheese; their bestie preferred homemade pizza.)

It's not that he dislikes the park; it's a cool park! There are slides and hiding spots and swings and trees for shade and the wheel that they're only allowed to be on if the teacher's controlling the speed. But the library is always slightly cold and full of adventure.

Sometimes they read a Star Wars book series laid on the floor in a circle with blankets and pillows Miss Maria brings them. If the trio feels tired, Shuri invites them over to the movie area her friends have set up with Disney films queued up. When their spirits are higher, electronics prepare to be dismantled.

Still. He can be good. And, besides Flash who doesn't really get along with him, all of Peter's classmates are nice and fun. The only problem is where to spend, Loki!

Peter runs to the sandbox, jumps over the bridge to a slightly odd looking Loki that's waving his hands in a general ‘no, don't run at me, slow down’ motion. He's too excited to not tackle the teenager that helps Miss Wanda during recess by entertaining twenty kids with wild tales full of magic and wonder.

Hands that never warm up that much immediately curl around a small body and there's a weakened chuckle buried in Peter's fluffy hair. “Hello, little puppy. Odd seeing you without your two companions. Odd seeing you at all, really, since that cute nose of yours is always buried in a toy or book.”

Pete smashes his face into a soft shirt, loves how safe Loki makes him feel with his hugs and hair ruffling. He likes Thor, too, although he prefers the younger brother a lot more. Which Stephen says is a bit unfair since the only reason Thor can't hang out with him as much as Loki does is because the blonde trains during recess with Sif and the others in the wrestling team.

Loki can change his voice a lot; a gift very few have, Peter's grandma once mentioned, and even fewer people use it well. Miss Wanda tries to take them to all the school plays so they can cheer on the others and break routine, but the first graders are very adamant on which theatre kid they love most. Thor's brother could paint the air and make even the most boring speech exciting to hear. Peter was obsessed, dragged his daddies to every play Loki was in and pleaded for a picture afterward. Not that he had to ask for long; the youngest of three would often take multiple shots with Peter before anyone else could even come close to him.

You could say Pete was Loki's number one fan. Which meant he knew how to distinguish between Loki's voices. After the face smashing ritual, he peeled away to squint at cheeks too pale and eyes too red. Relatively tiny fists curled around black cloth.

“Are you hurt, Loki?”

“Not at all, sweet puppy. I'm just sick. Thor and I went back home on Saturday and we seem to have caught a cold. Which is why it's probably better you don't stand so close, wouldn't want you getting sick. My parents decided we should stay home, but I left one of my books here, the one about Viking stories, remember, last Friday and came to pick it up. “

He remembers the book, a heavy thing with a leather cover and wolves drawn on pale paper every few pages. The story about Thor dressing up and tricking the giants is Peter's favorite. Imagining his Thor wear a bride's veil tends to make him giggle.

“So I can't have a kiss?” He pouts, peers at Loki through dark eyelashes, even wobbles a pink lip when it looks like he won't get what he wants. It works as soon as tears cloud his eyes. Like daddy, like son.

The teen sighs, leans down to plant a single kiss on Peter's forehead when a classmate nearby falls into the pit, sand goes up Loki's nose and the dark haired boy sneezes all over Peter.

-------

It takes an hour for him to start sniffling and complain about cotton in his head. Thirty minutes after that, Ned catches him wiping a runny nose with a sleeve. Said sleeve is completely drenched in less than a class’ duration. Miss Wanda calls Tony in to pick his boy up during a midday meeting he couldn't care less about as soon as the teacher says ‘it looks like a cold and he shows symptoms of a fever’.

He probably breaks ten driving laws in the span of fifteen minutes, but that's insignificant when you're friends with Mayor Rogers and your husband fixes up the arm of one Mr Rogers-Buchanan. Tony crashes into the principal's office, deflates with relief when he sees principal Fury teaching Peter how to unscrew a cabinet infamous for being creaky.

“And now I spray a little oil so it doesn't make the weird noises?”

“ That's right, now we take the can, spray just a tiny bit, like I showed you, that's good. Remember to always have a paper towel nearby in case it drips. Those are some very nice pants you have on and I'd hate to see them stained. “ Peter sticks his tongue out, carefully dabs under the oiled up hinge, motions a fond looking Fury to hand him the screwdriver, and gets to work.

Tony leans against the doorway, shushes his friend and Peter's godmother, Nat, when she comes in with coffee for Fury. They stay there, take it all in and realize Pete's growing up. They also realize they might win the bet.

“Ow! Gosh darn it, pinched my finger while getting the cabinet adjusted.” Fury sucks his finger, is probably running through much darker curse words in his head when Peter gently plucks his finger out and presses it against the cold side of a water bottle Miss Wanda most likely gave him to help the fever.

“Ice helps the inflammation, principal Fury. If it doesn't go down, and I don't think it will cuz this is just cold and doesn't have any ice in it, you should eat a snack and take some medicine. “ Tony swears he's never seen Fury more proud or pleased than in that moment.

“Your daddy tell you that, Peter?’

“ Oh no, sir. Daddy can't really, uh, his mind is too busy thinking about building robot bodies to think about human bodies. Don't tell anyone, but grandma says she saw him put butter on his elbow after he knocked it on the door. “

“Really? How old was he? Maybe he was small and didn't know any better.”

“ That was last week, principal Fury. Dada's the one that taught me all about the human body. Daddy couldn't figure out our medicine cabinet with an instructions manual and a Youtube tutorial. “

Tony clears his throat while Fury’s busy howling against the carpeted floor and Natasha cackles on her way to the infirmary.

“Hey, baby. Daddy's here to take you to dada’s.”

#peter parker #tony stark #stephen strange #ironstrange #starkerstrange #little!peter #daddy!tony #dada!stephen #awesome facial bros #my writing #rafni bunny

[idjitlili]

Don’t stop me now

Spike btvs x reader

Summary:Imagine looking like  Freddie Mercury as a woman like in a 'I want to break free' with a hoover  dancing only for an 100+ vampire to join in, unknowingly.

A/n: what can I say , I've been busy with college , and I'm British so we know spike is gonna know Queen too.

Word count: 3891 Y/c=country(or just a state in America I don't know, the whole world isn't America lol.

It was strange to say the least; working for wolfram & hart, you had came from y/c to here, working for a law firm run by a vampire with a soul.  

Mental if you ask yourself , you had known Wesley when you was younger, actually he had brought you a ticket to Los Angeles , since your parental figure had called him , and let him know about everything really. Well just that you were now y/a , and in need of a job. That was it you were here now.

You weren't sure what your job was really , you definitely was not a social butterfly, Wesley had mentioned you had to crack codes? Now that you think about it , something to do with researching different demon rituals? That's not the correct word , anyways to do that had write summaries for Angel's upcoming meetings with these different species.

You ever had your own office, you could live in there honestly.  

There was a lot going on all the time, frankly it was kinda scary , knowing no one apart from Wesley, who clearly knotted up by the scientist, Fred. Yet you was always invited to the important meetings , you had guessed Wes had put in a word , to help you feel welcome or included. There wasn't really a purpose for you being there.

You were a little nervous that maybe one of them, probably the vampire ,Angel , not knowing that the blond British man was one too, could read your mind. What would he find the that  was terrifying (except you read dirty smut) . You were sat by Wes , at the end of the table closest to the window. Which also meant you were sat next to Angel, with the jelled blond bad boy opposite you.

"Okay, so cannibal vampire cult...what's with that, and why is that a problem?" Angel had began , with the same brooding face as , he had on 24 hours a day.  

Gunn , had cleared his throat briefly, causing everyone to turn their heads towards him. "Well, it's quite simple, they are killing all our clients."  Yeah this was waste of your life, you had already began doodling on the notepad in front of you. Unknowingly forgetting you were in an 'significant'  meeting.  

Not knowing how much time had gone by, felt like hours , freshly finished school and know you were here? Sucky. You were only jolted out of your thoughts when a foot had nudged yours, looking up slowly to the man in front of you , waiting for your reaction.

He was quite handsome you could not deny that, a small blush had raised to your cheeks , as he had caught you in a trance of boredom, you had lifted your eyebrows at him in confusion. With nothing but a smirk in response you had tried to listen again to the meeting.

"So you are saying we need bait? But who would we use? This whole place is monsters, "  Fred's face with disgust at the word 'monsters' as she delivered her thoughts, Wes thought for a moment his hand at his lip, indicting so as he looked at the pine table.  

"No,not necessarily," He had gestured to you , all eyes on you, feeling like a stripper, wow this is attention? Blush upon your face once again,"w-wha" choking on your own words ,before Angel had shook his head "Absolutely not, Wes, that's not fair."

"Yeah! I'm human too."

"And me, hey! So are you Wes."

"Uhhh, Mister Angel, " What else was you supposed to call him? Dad?  He had looked at you from the disagreement, nodding for you to go on.  

"S-say if I was, uh, what's the chances of me dying?"   The pencil in your hands being gripped tightly in your now sweaty palms, but Angel is not given chance to reply. "He wouldn't allow that, love. Would you 'mister' Angel" the blond vampire smirk was evident as he looked at the brooding brunette.

"Hold on a second, why do they want a human, if they are cannibal?" Okay that did make sense, use your ears y/n.

"They can't just drink each other , they need something other than other vampires. That's only when they actually find one of ours." Yeah, you guess that the blond man did make sort of sense, you had just "hm" in response.

You had turned to Wesley, gesturing for him to come closer, so that you could whisper into his ear, the rest watched in confusion. Hold on Angel still didn't answer your question. "Uh, um, did you volunteer me because I'm a virgin? Does that make me more attractive to the vampires?" You had really hoped that no one had super hearing, Wes pondered for a second, your hand still on his shoulder.

"I'm not quite sure, I'm probably not the best person to ask , you should bring that up with Angel." Wow thank you , so much. You moved back into sitting in your chair correctly. Twiddling your thumbs, to pretend like no one was looking at you,felt like hours that you were sat there, before your foot was nudged again, you peeped up to see the same blond man looking at you. Who else is it going to be? Johnny Depp? No.

"Come on ,love." You weren't even sure of his name, and he was calling you love. Instead of speaking you had just stared back blankly. Most awkward meeting. "Would you just ask me then? Surely it's not that bad,no one else has to hear." Only his Spike saw the look Angel was giving him, awww soft boy. He did not seem like he was evil..only if you knew him a couple of years ago.

You had stood up, in hopes spike would do the same,so you wouldn't have to kneel next to him and whisper. He stood up as you made your way to him , moving away from the table, before turning back to the others. "You lot carry on, " With that he led you away out of Angel's office to an empty one. This is so dramatic but you don't really want to be talking about your virginity to these people, well except spike.

"So,love, what's the problem?" He had towered over you, he was quite handsome yes, but you felt intimidated in honesty. "Uh,well, since I'm going to be bait...well ,um,  Are virgins more at risk at being snacked on? If that makes a difference to vampires? Oh I'm sorry, uh I-" he let out a chuckle at you, you moved your gaze to your feet. Why did you have to wear these heels, you didn't see Patrick swayze anywhere.

"Yes, they can smell it as soon as you walk into a room and it tastes different to other humans. ,love."

"W-wait how do you know?"

"I've had my fair share, now come on , love-come on I'm not going to eat you."

"Pfft- I'm not a virgin."

"Sure love,"

And with that you both headed back to the meeting , before you left to be bait Fred had informed you Spike had a soul like Angel after you had questioned him to her and Wesley.

Now you were in the middle of a park at 1 am , which happened to be not even a mile from the vampire base. It was freezing , in a poncho with a tank top, apparently to show off your neck under the street light, you were pretty sure that the vampires didn't give a shit if you were wearing Michael Myers mask.  

Ah yes, first day on the job, risks of death 99.9% , lovely.

What exactly are you supposed to do?  Pretty sure that mister mysterious and mister Stevie Nicks/vanilla ice are hiding in the bushes or something. Oh how you wish that Keanu Reeves would swoop you away from this situation.  

Stood in the open park, kicking the mud with you shoe , well until you are body slammed backwards onto the floor, by obviously an indeed ugly vampire. Where's David from lost boys you wouldn't mind if it was him , but this dude stank. He was not even a second away from biting you- wait sorry his fangs were in your neck.  It hurt like period pains in your neck, well until it was over , when he was yanked off by a blurry figure , as you felt your body being lifted, that was it.

You had woken up the next morning under a blanket on the sofa in your office, a plaster on your neck, water on the table. You were never going to do that , with the huge headache and the low sugar levels. As you looked down realising your movie white tank top was now drenched in blood. Deciding it was best to go talk to someone to go home, you left the office.

Your heels now discarded , your bare feet padding against the carpet floor , all the way to Angels office, Harmony informing you that he was in a meeting with the others. One brief knock on the pine door, was all it took for the similar brooding vampire had opened the door , gesturing you in.

Okay it was a bit naughty to not changed the blood stained tank, since there are two vampires in the room. Soon you were sat exactly where you were 24 hours ago, as were everyone else. "Uh, um ," No one was speaking , just staring at you really. "Y/n, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have forced you into doing that , I didn't mean for you to get hurt." Wesley was undoubtedly guilty, probably thinking about how made your parental figure was going to be more like.

"I just like to say, I could've gotten aids."

"Uh, that's not how that works." Fred was honestly shaken by your words, well not really she just thought well actually you don't know.

"That was just dramatic effect. I'm quite annoyed , I did not want fucking Edward sucking me like I was juice carton. Did you even kill the cult?" Your voice sounded like sandpaper, as you delivered your anger with pop culture references and dramatic gestures.

"Yeah we did, well not me but still." Lorne smiled at you with concern , he had felt sympathy for you , hoping the bite wouldn't scar.

"Well good, um, I was wondering if I could go home now? Please?" You already hate this job, Angel had nodded, queuing you to stand up , doing a small bow in respect , going home to have a bath and sleep.

Wesley had called you not long after you gotten home , to inform you that you had been given an extra few days off. Wow first day then long weekend, mental.

Once you had gotten back on Monday, your neck was not healed still, but you had to come back otherwise you was going to be homeless.

Surprisingly , the work was easy , too easy, but you weren't to complain... there was tv with a DVD player, you were absolutely chuffed. It happened that you had brought cds in your bag accidentally. After storing those cds in that bag when coming to Los Angeles.

So , you did work through your work a little too fast, nothing to do, so since the demon cleaners  suck arse , and didn't clean up the blood from last week, you had went and gotten a Hoover and cleaning supplies. Queen and david bowie, playing on the tv, you know you can use DVD players to play cds, if you didn't know.

Maybe it was a little bad you playing slightly loud music while hoovering, dancing as you went, it was a shitty Hoover so it was taking a while. Your cardigan and heels discarded, your forehead laced with sweat, what could you say who does like Queen. Thus I want to break freebegan to play.

"I want to break free I want to break free I want to break free from your lies," The fact this song was a parody of coronation street. As soon as the beat began , you had also began aggressively Hooving, the long dramatic strides, even the the lip twitches as you lip-synced.

"You're so self satisfied I don't need you I've got to break free God knows, God knows I want to break free," You had stopped to flip the fringe of your hair , before resting your hands on your hips , the self confident head shake, another hair flip out of your face.

"I've fallen in love I've fallen in love for the first time And this time I know it's for real I've fallen in love, yeah God knows, God knows I've fallen in love It's strange but it's true, yeah,"

Obviously you couldn't take your shirt off , like Freddie, but yeah your skirt rising up , blouse too buttons undone was enough. Your hands hands spread out like a star for moments, you didn't know that Spike had heard the music and began to locate the source.

"I can't get over the way you love me like you do But I have to be sure When I walk out that door. Oh, how I want to be free, baby Oh, how I want to be free Oh, how I want to break free"

Looking up to the ceiling, arms lift out to the sides , legs apart. Dramatic spin, clenching of fists to your chest. Spike walking up to the do slowly opening it , seeing you shaking your head 'I want to break free' Now some elves but you can't do that your not Legolas. Or cows you are not sure.

Now not sure how you didn't see Spike .  This was embarrassing, spike wasn't copying really, not much anyways. It wasn't long after that dont stop me now started. Wow this is embarrassing. You had just abandon the Hoover at this point.

"I feel alive and the world I'll turn it inside out, yeah And floating around in ecstasy"

Bringing you hands in front  of you up near your neck , wiggling your fingers, spike did the same.

" So don't " You looked forward, "stop," Looked towards the window , as did spike . "me" Back forward. "now" "don't stop me 'Cause I'm having a good time, having a good time I'm a shooting star, leaping through the sky Like a tiger defying the laws of gravity." Jumping up , scratching like a Tiger standing side on,  moving your arms around you 200 degrees , you were doing a duet , without knowing it.

" I'm a racing car, passing by like Lady Godiva I'm gonna go, go, go" Honestly you don't know how to describe these moves in honesty go watch Paul Rudd do it.

"There's no stopping me I'm burnin' through the sky, yeah." Your arms almost touching spikes as you lift them up as you circle your arse in a small circle, before pointing up.

"Two hundred degrees That's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit"  

Okay you had climb onto the desk , spot Spike oh my god , you couldn't of represented the fear , well until he had threw his jacket on the sofa ripped his shirt off, winking at you, shaking his shoulders.

"I'm traveling at the speed of light I wanna make a supersonic man out of you "

"Don't" you had wiggled yours back, before pointing at the platinum vampire,gesturing him to come to you .

"stop me now, I'm having such a good time I'm having a ball Don't stop me now"  As he reached you , you held out your hands for him , helping him up onto the table.

"If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call" Each of you looking at each other, as you danced ,sorta looking like Rick I'm never going to give you up, a lot of twisting , and hand movements.

"Don't" "stop" " me now ('cause I'm having a good time) Don't stop me now (yes, I'm havin' a good time)" Spike had grabbed your hands twirling you, ending up with you in front of him facing away. Throwing out thumbs up to the side of you as you got closer to the desk top.

"I don't want to stop at all" Before rising your arms up , Spike pulling you up, honestly if you knew him deeply you wouldn't believe that he would do this, he's a vampire.

"Yeah, I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars On a collision course I am a satellite, I'm out of control I am a sex machine, ready to reload. Like an atom bomb about to Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh explode." Throwing your head back then forwards quickly , with your leg up, clicking your finger.

"I'm burnin' through the sky, yeah Two hundred degrees That's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit" Neither of you had noticed the music had gained more attention then you may of realised , Angel ,Wesley, Gunn, Fred and Lorne were hiding behind the sofa.

"Don't stop me, don't stop me Don't stop me, hey, hey, hey"

Spike jumped off of the table turning back to you , five feet away, holding his arms out to catch you.

"Don't stop me, don't stop me Ooh ooh ooh, I like it"

With that you had jumped, (Spike watched dirty dancing? Probably Harmony's fault.) Effortlessly he had caught you you lifting you up, for a few seconds.

"Don't stop me, don't stop me Have a good time, good time"

Lowering you down slowly , your arms around his neck, panting slightly, uh he wasn't sweaty , he's dead but you were covered in sweaty.

Soon enough the song came to an end , you were still in the vampires embrace , his arms around your shoulders securing you.

It hasn't even been an minutes ,clapping begins, someone turns of the Hoover and the music. You both turn around slowly pulling out of the embrace to see , the brooding Angel laughing with everyone.

"Bloody hell, perverts much." Annoyance interweaved in Spikes voice, you could share that embarrassment.

Looking at your feet realising how inappropriate you look , your blouse now see through due to the sweat , the cotton clinging to your body, wrapping your arms around yourself, to cover."uh , Angel , I was only cleaning and that because, um I completed my work, uhh there was still blo-""it's fine, as long as you are feeling better, " you had nodded at him before going back to looking at your feet.

Moments go by with silence from you and Spike as the others are talking away , no doubt about you two. You are soon pulled out of your trance when a heavy weight is placed on your shoulders , looking up to see Spike placing his long leather jacket on you , sending you a small smirk before walking out of your office , still shirtless.

"I haven't seen him like that in a long time, he is fond of you." With that Angel left too. " Aw, I'm glad you are settling in y/n/n , I just never thought you would do so ,by dancing to Queen with a vampire." Wesley had patted your back , leaving with Fred who just smiled , followed by Gunn and Lorne.

Thus you grabbed your stuff , to go home , you had danced to the end of the day. Walking out of the office , hoping Harmony didn't see you and kill you for Spike giving you his jacket.

She had already gone thank god , no death today, the next day , you had brought Spikes jacket with you. In search of him in the morning, you had hidden it in your bag , heading to Harmony's desk.  

"Uh, have you seen Spike today?" Please don't kill me. She had looked up at you with a polite smile. "He's literally just left Angel's office, something about going to taking a car or something? Why?"

"Oh, I just need to pass a message from Wesley to him, thank you." You had lied , but you hoped that Wesley would go with it, if she asked him.  Rushing down to Angel's private car park, in hopes of catching Spike, which you did but he almost hit you with the car.

Your hands placed on the hood, breathing roughly before moving to the drivers side , as he rolled down the window, smirking yet again. The car had had black out windows so you guess that's why he was going out in the day?

"Awe, all out of breathe for me , love?" You had ignored his comment , pulling out his heavy jacket from your bag, passing it to him.  "Cheers,love." You had nodded, turning away to head back up.  That was it until about 2:45 , again all your work was done, just sitting there doing nothing, but twiddling your thumbs.

So you decided , maybe you should go get some air outside, or go home you weren't sure. Swinging the office door open to see , Spike.

"Ah, oh Hi."

"Going somewhere, love?" Well that sounded like a threat , but he was not smirking like I'm going to chop your fucking head off.

"I don't know really , I think I'm going home."

"I'll drive you."

"Really?" He didn't seem to be the type to drop you off home to to your mother , not that she was there, but still, he had nodded , and that was it you walked with him. Until  Harmony stopped you both, she had frowned slightly before smiling again.

"So you got the message from Wesley then, spike?" You looked at Spike who didn't notice you looking , just stood looking at the blonde girl in confusion,until you pretend to resist your bag accidentally knocking him with bag.

"Yeah,"  

"What was it?"

"Mind your own business, wanker." With that he had walked around her with you ,guiding you with his arm around your shoulder.

Once you were both were sat in the car , you had given Spike your address , immediately he had started driving.  "So what was that about?"

"Well, uh, Wesley informed me about everyone ,  said you had something with Harmony, and she's a vampire. So I asked where you were this morning to give back your jacket but didn't want to say that, just in case she tried to eat me." Spike had let out a laugh, "I can see your concern, love , she's a bloody nightmare." You had let out a small laugh of understanding.

"Hey, do you still eat food?."

"Yeah, not a lot , but sometimes I do, why do you ask?"

" y-you've been very nice to me , since I'd been here, and you are driving me home.. uh so I was wondering if you would like to come in and have something. I don't have blood , uh other than my own and uh I lost a lot of that last week. You don't have to , um, I jus-" "I will, love,"

"Oh brilliant, uh I make some nice cookies."

"Great, love. Can't wait."

#buffy the vampire slayer #spikebtvs #spike btvs #btvs #spike x reader #spike imagine #spike x you #spike x y/n #spike btvs x reader #spike btvs imagine #james marsters #angel #angel 1999

[dessarious]

Broken Harmony Pt6

Master List 1   Master List 2    Prologue   Beginning   Previous   Next

Once Marinette gave Bruce her address the car ride was silent. Damian had no idea what was going on in his father’s head but wondered if he might be reconsidering his stance on murder. His Angel was worried. Extremely worried. He wanted to help, say something, do something… but he had no idea what. He settled for taking her hand and gently rubbing circles on the back of it and got a grateful smile in return. That just got him wondering how she could have so many different smiles and how long it would take him to see them all.

When they pulled to a stop he gave his father a confused look. “I think you put the address in wrong.” Marinette just laughed at him.

“Nope, this is home. My parents own and run the bakery and we live above it.” She frowned at the Closed sign on the door and sighed. “And they’re going to lose half a day of business because of this and it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.” Bruce’s calm voice held an edge to it that most people wouldn’t notice. Damian did, and he had a feeling Marinette did as well but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“I should have told them what was going on before it got this bad. So yes it is my fault. I just didn’t want them to worry. I didn’t want to risk them getting Akumatized over something so small.”

“We have very different definitions of the word small.” The comment came from Bruce and Damian was simply staring at her not certain how to take her comment. She was completely serious, that he could tell, but how had this become her thought process? “Besides I’m sure your parents want to be there for you and you’re denying them that by withholding information.”

Marinette just frowned and gave a little hum before opening the door to the car and getting out. The Waynes followed as she walked around to the side door. They entered to steps in front of them and a door to their right. Marinette walked up the steps to another door and took a deep breath before opening it.

“Maman, Papa.” She walked in and stopped a few feet away from the door, uncertain. She gave enough room for Damian and Bruce to file in behind her and he got his first look at her home and parents. His first thought was that her father was huge. His Angel let out a small giggle before controlling it and Damian was starting to wonder if she could actually hear his thoughts. 

Her mother ran to her with tears in her eyes, cupping her cheeks gently and surveying the damage. “What happened?” Her tone was concerned but also angry. He could tell she wanted to tear apart whoever had hurt her daughter. Her father was standing behind the counter gripping a dish towel like he was strangling someone. He didn’t move towards his child but, remembering Marinette’s comment about his hugs, figured it was so that he wouldn’t accidentally hurt her. 

“It’s okay. The doctor said I’ll be fine in a couple weeks.” Damian frowned at her and both her parents caught it but her mother just rolled her eyes. 

“Just looking at you I can tell that’s not true. And you didn’t answer my question. What happened?” Her voice hardened to steel and Damian, for all he was Robin, felt a shiver go down his spine. He really hoped that tone wasn’t ever directed at him. Marinette looked back at Bruce in confusion.

“You didn’t tell them?”

“I thought you would want to explain things. I only told them that you had been injured in an altercation but weren’t too seriously injured and we’d be bringing you home shortly.”

“And who exactly are you?” Her father’s voice seemed to boom in the small space and his glower was enough to make a normal person wet themselves. Luckily for Damian, he wasn’t normal. But it was Marinette who answered.

“This is Bruce Wayne and his son, Damian. Damian is the one who took me to the hospital.” She paused, but continued before her parents could respond. “He’s also my soulmate.” They both looked stunned for a moment before sharing a look he couldn’t decipher.

“You’re sure?” Her father asked in confusion and her mother rolled her eyes.

“Tom! Ignore him, it’s very nice to meet you both.” Damian blinked as her tone had gone from ice to warmth in a split second. “I’m Sabine and this is my Husband, Tom.”

“You both seem surprised by Damian, may I ask why?” Bruce was apparently just as confused as he well. They shared another look and Sabine answered.

“It’s just that with the way Mari described her soulmates song, especially when she was younger, we were honestly expecting there to be an age gap.” Damian frowned in confusion again before it hit him. He always figured his song sounded depressing at best, even when he was very young. Most children wouldn’t sound like that. Sabine was directly in front of him now. When had that happened? He felt like she was looking into him and it was rather disconcerting. 

“I don’t know what you’ve been through and I don’t expect you to tell us. Just know that our home will always be a safe place for you should you need it.” Damian swore he felt his brain melt.

“Maman, you’re scaring the poor boy.” Marinette’s voice held barely repressed laughter but given the joyous song in his head, she may as well have been rolling on the floor with it. Clearing his throat in embarrassment, he tried to salvage his dignity.

“That’s very generous of you Ma’am…”

“Sabine.” He blinked at her, not expecting to be interrupted. “No need to be so formal. I’m Sabine and he’s Tom.” She pointed to he now smiling husband.

“Err… right.” He knew he sounded like an idiot and couldn’t help it. He still felt Marinette laughing in his head and a glance at his father showed he was enjoying this way too much. Sabine decided to take pity on him and focus back on her daughter.

“As creative as that was for a distraction, don’t think I’ve forgotten my original question.” The joy in her harmony came to an abrupt halt causing a jarring dissonance in his mind. He watched as his Angel curled in on herself.

“You have to both promise to stay calm and not let your emotions get out of hand. You should also probably sit down. I could get you some tea.” She was walking towards where her father stood in the kitchen but Sabine stopped her with gentle hands on her shoulders directing her to the table instead.

“We’ll get the tea. You should be resting anyway. Do either of you gentlemen want anything?” 

“Tea would be wonderful.” Bruce said as he nudged Damian to pull him out of his stupor.

“Yeah… uhh, tea would be great Ma’am.” She narrowed her eyes at him and he hastily corrected himself. “I mean Sabine.” Seriously, the woman was tiny how could she be so intimidating? He could feel Marinette’s sympathy through the bond as he went to sit beside her.

Once everyone had tea and was settled, Sabine and Tom were completely focused on their daughter. Damian honestly thought she was going to pass out. She looked at him.

“Show them.” He physically reeled back. She couldn’t be serious.

“Angel are you sure that’s a good idea?” He barely registered their parents fawning over the nickname.

“Yes. That way I can keep an eye out for Akumas without any distractions.” Her parents shared a look when she said that and he marveled at their ability to communicate without words. He needed to remember to ask if they were soulmates. Later. He slowly pulled out his phone and queued up the video hesitating until Marinette nodded at him reassuringly. 

As he handed the phone to her parents he felt as though he’d just lit a fuse and had no way to get clear before the explosion.

Master List 1   Master List 2    Prologue   Beginning   Previous   Next

Tag List - Let me know if I missed anyone or if you want to be added.

@crazylittlemunchkin @iggy-of-fans @captainmac6  @shizukiryuu @origami-dreams @drama-queen-supreme @miraculousbelladonnav@ozmav @yamadochie

#maribat #maridami #damimari #marinette dupen chang #damian wayne

[professor-maka]

#14 pls! :D “I come to the library every day to ‘study’ but really I’m just watching Netflix over your shoulder and I’m really invested in this series and the day we’re supposed to be watching the season finale you’re not there and I??? Feel personally betrayed??”

Ask and you shall receive. ❤️ I hope you like!

Thanks to @sahdah and @macabremermaid for the eyes.

—

“HBO and Chill”

She can’t afford HBO, not making her own way through school, so Maka had never really worried what shows it airs. Why pine for what you can’t afford?

But then, he’d changed all that, the white haired kid who goes to the library to study every Sunday night, like clockwork. Sometimes he comes at 6, and sometimes he rolls in at 8,but he’s always there, just like her. But unlike her, he always takes a break to stream on his laptop.

The first night, Maka had been pissed—sure it isn’t a quiet study floor, but who streams in thelibrary without headphones? She’d been fuming but also curious. Game of Thrones? She’d read the books—had wished she could watch the series—but alas!

Fuming gave way to interest, and instead of confronting him like she thought about during the first 15 minutes, Maka had found herself watching over his shoulder as hequeued up two more episodes that night, and, reading abandoned for the evening, she found herself wondering when the hell she was going to get to watch more.

Maka had been damn near lowering herself to ask her shithead papa for the gift of HBO, sulking in the library as she did her reading and itched for more in the saga of Starks andLannisters, when her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of someone moving in to occupy the table in front of hers, the same table she claims every Sunday. She nearly gasped when she realized it was him again, the white hairedboy from the previous Sunday, the one with HBO, the same one she’d seen around campus and in the back of a few of her classes, silent as as stone.

Maybe he’d watch again, she thought. She hoped. Although, Maka reminded herself, he’d surely be ahead by now and she has always hated skipping episodes. Disappointment hadflooded her as she poked her nose back into her book and there was nothing but yawning quiet, the scratch of her pen, the click of his keys. And then, she heard it. The theme song! And it was… the next episode!

She barely pretended to read that time as he watched three more episodes straight.

That had been months ago, early in the semester, and now, the semester is nearly at an end and so is the series and she can’t wait! Because by some miracle, he clearly only watches at the library on Sunday nights, right when she’s there to see it, and Maka has become invested.

The finale is tonightand she isn’t even pretending to study, she’s so wound. She needs to know what happens. The show has far outpaced the books and waiting is torture,but Maka knows he’ll be here by 9 to livestream like he has been for weeks.Well, maybe she should at least make a stab at studying. Sure she’s got As sofar in her classes, but finals still matter.

Nine o’clock hits and he’s not there. He’s never not there, not all semester, so where is he?

Ten PM hits and she’s inthe first stage of grief, mourning the loss of her livestream. But surely he’llshow and stream, even if it’s a little late. Eleven hits and with it comes the anger. Why now? Why tonight? How dare he string her along through 8 seasons only to deny her the finale!

Fists clenched, Maka makes a decision. Maybe not the most rational decision, but she’s more than a little desperate. Apparently, laptop boy is friends with Blake—she knows because she’d seen them playing one on one together as she passed the courts afew times—so she can find out where he lives or his number or something and—and—

Well, she doesn’t know, but desperate times, desperate, desperate times.

Clicking Blake’s speed dial on her cell, Maka rolls her eyes at his answers of, “Yo, this is your godspeaking, whatcha want?” That being a god brother makes him her actual god ishis personal joke; only he finds it funny.

“I need—a favor.” She sounds more sheepish than she means to, feels silly, almost hangs up, but—

“Sure, shoot, anything for my favorite minion.”

“Uh, so, eh—“ she stammers through his guffaw at her inability to spit it the fuck outalready. But she’s Maka Albarn and if she’s anything, she’s brave, so she pushes on. “That, uh, weird kid with the white hair you play basketball with—“

“Who, Eater? What, you got a thing for him or—“

“Nooo, he just—wait, his name is Eater?”

The guffaw is louder this time. “Nah, not his name name, it’s just what I like to call my newest minion, keep up.”

“And I thought BlackStar was bad,” she mutters, face flaming. Eater. Knowing Blake, she tells herself she doesn’t want to know.  

“Yeah, whatever, anyway, Maks, what do you want with my boy Soul? Never pegged you for being into the emo type but, like, no judgement.”

Well, Soul isn’t so bad a name. She finds she likes it. Much better than Eater, anyway.

“I’m not into anyone.” She manages not to snap even if she’s seething in mortification. “He—uh—forgot something at the library and I wanted to try to get ahold of him to—“

“Yeah, yeah, alright,I’ll text you his contact, gotta go, they set up the beer pong table, laterloser.”

Black Star will be BlackStar. At least he texts her the contact, and of course it’s under Eater. Figures, but whatever, she just needs to find out why the hell he ditched her.

She’s already pressed to call and let it ring several times when she realizes all at once she has absolutely zero business bothering him. Because, sure, he’d strung her along like a kitten with a string, laying out all 8 seasons before her like a buffet of medieval shenanigans, but it’s not like he’d done it on purpose.

The end call button gets pushed so fast it might have been the key to stopping the apocalypse. Really, it sort of is. Maka drops her phone on the table like a hot potato and lets the shame wash over her—how could she let sensationalized, bawdy medieval television get such a grip on her?

Her phone vibrates and she scoops it up, craving a distraction from her own silliness.

uh do i no u —the text reads.

No, he certainly doesn’t. Maka has no idea what to do but she can’t not answer, it would be rude, so she types back:

Not really. Blake gaveme your number.

ummm okay why — he responds after a pause.

Why? She can’t exactly tell the truth but she doesn’t like lying, either.

I was worried when you didn’t show up at the library. You’re always there on Sundays at the table infront of mine. Sorry.

It’s the truth, just not all of it. Because she does feel like they’ve bonded over Game ofThrones watching it together every week, and she’s overheard phone calls with his parents and his brother and she’s gotten to know quite a lot about him. Gods, she feels like a stalker, but— but—! He’d invaded her library time, not the other way around! And he’s the one who breaks rules to talk on his cell—he’s lucky she hasn’t reported him! And—

The vibration startles her out of her spiral.

maka shit im sorry im sick running 104 was gonna go set my alarm but slept thru its the finale im sorry gimme a sec ill b there

What. The hell.

He knows her name? And that she’s been watching? And—he’s sick—and—

Don’t you move! 104 is dangerous where do you live? I’ll be right there.

Even as she thoughtlessly hits send she regrets it because what is she doing? He’s going to block her or ignore her or tell her to fuck off, or what if he’s theone who’s actually a stalker—

Vibration. It’s an address, for an apartment complex next to campus.

Be right there. Her fingers send it out before she can even think—he knows her name, he sent her his address, maybe he’s a stalker serial killer?

But she’d called him. Also like a stalker. So it makes no sense and what even is she doing with her life?

For about half a second, Maka considers blocking his number and going home, never to enter the library on a Sunday night again. But he’s running a 104 fever; he might need help!And—she’s not a coward and she’s fully capable of kicking ass if she must. AND—the Game of Thrones finale is at his beck and call.

That’s the clincher, so she packs her things and makes her way across campus. It’s nearly midnight, so Maka keeps to well lit walks, and it isn’t long before she’s at his door. She knocks and hears coughing and shuffling and then he’s opening the door, looking bedraggled in plaid pajama pants and a ratty band tee, dark smudges under his eyes, his pale hair sticking up every which way. Well, the last part isn’t sofar off from his normal, anyway, but he looks sort of pathetic with his fuzzy blue blanket over his shoulders. Endearingly so.

“Uh, so,” she says, fidgeting with the strap of her bag on her shoulder and looking at his mouth to avoid his eyes.

“You can—uh—come in.” He sounds nervous even past the unusual scratchiness of his voice, but steps back, so she steps in. He closes the door behind her and she notices he’s got a nest of blankets on his big leather couch. She’s pretty sure she can hear an episode of Chopped somewhere in the background.

“Lay down.” Maka finally takes charge, tired of them both standing so awkwardly. “You have tea?”.

He just blinks at her for a minute, shakes his head, then looks between the couch and the kitchen. “Uh, sure, I can make—“

“Nooo!” she cuts himoff. “For you. I’ll make it.”

“Maka, you don’t have to—“ it’s the first time she’s ever heard him say her name and it startles her, especially because she sort of likes it.

“I know, but I want to.Help, I mean. So lay down.” She doesn’t give him the chance to protest, just walks into his kitchen and begins opening cabinets.

“Furthest cabinet on the left,” she hears his voice call out from the living room. “Cups in the dishwasher.”

She finds the tea (loose leaf! She doesn’t expect that!) and cups and sets the electric kettle on the counter below the tea cabinet to boil.

Several minutes later,she’s got two steaming cups of green tea with an herbal blend, and she walks them out to the living room. Soul has neatened the couch and is sitting up, leaving room on the other side. His eyes are closed and he’s snoring softly. Poor boy looks pathetic, flushed and droopy. Maka sets down a tea cup on the coffee table in front of him, sets the second on the other side, and sits across from him on the couch. She means to let him rest but it’s so awkwardsitting with a sleeping not quite stranger that she clears her throat nervously.

Startling awake, he looks at her, blinks, then seems to recall the situation,

“Uh. So. Wanna watch the finale?”

It’s at least half of why she’s here, so she nods, still feeling awkward and out of place, yet absolutely determined.

They end up commenting to each other through the episode and it’s nice. Why haven’t they ever watched it together like this? Not just Maka spying and pretending not to, but actually just—together? She could have asked and sat with him but she’s been silly.

It’s a regret, but as the episode ends, they’re both too full of feelings and ideas for it to last, and they talk about the finale and the series for a good hour before she stifles a yawn and he lets out a huge sneeze and she remembers who he is and where they are.

“So um—thanks for letting me come watch.”  She’s fidgeting again, this time with the hem of her hoodie.

“‘’Course. Thanks for giving a shit and taking care of me.” His smile is wide and genuine and she could maybe melt which is—silly for a lot of reasons, really—but she also remembers—

“How do you know my name?” she blurts.

“Uh.” A nervous hand musses his hair further. “We’ve had like four classes together and you—sort of stand out.”

He’s already pink with fever but his skin goes red and—is he blushing? She blushes back at the thought.

“Oh, yeah, okay, I just—uh—didn’t realize you noticed me or anything, especially at the library.”

Gods this is embarrassing.

“You weren’t exactly subtle,” his voice is gruff as he looks at his hands.

“But—“ she stammers. “Then why didn’t you just ask me to watch with you if you knew?”

“Thought you’d say no.” His eyes are still down though they flick her way for an instant.

Would she have?

Maybe. In the wrong mood. She can be stubborn, she knows. But still.

“Well, since I’m here, you were wrong.”

“Yeah, I caught that. Guess it’s too late now, anyway. Show’s done.”

It is, isn’t it.

The thought of giving up her Sunday study tv night makes her inexplicably sad. Especially since she’s here during summer and knows he is, too, from one of his calls with his brother.

“You have Hulu?” Inspiration strikes.

“Er—Uh—yeah?” He looks confused.

“Because I don’t, and I’ve been dying to watch Hamdmaid’s Tale.”

“Oh! Yeah, that’d be—cool. We could start tonight—I mean—“

“Yeah, sounds good. You clearly shouldn’t be alone with that fever and I don’t have a final until Tuesday!”

“Cool,” he repeats, calling up the Hulu menu on the television.

For her part, Maka can’thelp a slight satisfaction at having made a new friend who can afford to stream.

#ProMa writes #soma fic #soul eater fanfic #soul eater #soul x Maka

[chwesolai]

cafe girl, grocery boy | ch.9

falling for you

[masterlist]

taglist @xumingh0e​ (can’t tag @jaybeenow)

“I don’t get it.” “Get what?” “You.” He laughs, “What are you on about now?” “You make me feel all-” “Soft? Gushy?” “Never say gushy around me again,” he laughs once more, “but yeah. You make me feel something I’ve never felt before.” “Well, I can say the same thing.” She stops dead in her tracks, turning around facing him. The silence was deadly yet the two were locked in place. And then-

CHAPTER SONG: falling for you by SEVENTEEN’s Joshua & Jeonghan

here we go (SUPER FLUFFY) also apologies for the late update :(

-Y/n-

“So, you driving or I’m driving?” Seungcheol asks as we finally make it to the parking lot, as I catch my breath for a second, “Oh! OH! Y/n, I didn’t-”

Lunging over the side of my car, heaving like a dog (i hate out of shape self), “N-n-no! I-I’m fine” I nervously laugh and swallow my breath as I stand up straight, “I’ll drive.” 

“Alright! And still, are you sure you’re ok, didn’t mean to knock the wind out of you,” he sadly smiles, he feels bad dont make him feel bad y/n.

“Choi Seungcheol, I. Am. Fine,” I smile at him, “this just shows I need a personal trainer,” he smiles back at me. “I’ll hold you on that, Ms. y/n,” Seungcheol laughs as we both get into my car, please his laugh is so cute im-

“Show me the way, Mr. Seungcheol.” “Yes, of course, Ms. Y/n.” “You’re a dork,” I laugh as I start my car, “Lets go!”

-Seungcheol-

She’s so pretty, I can’t believe this is happening. “And you’re going to take a right on this next light.”

“You got it!” She nods as she begins to hum along to the song playing off her stereo, a playlist called in the clouds was playing. 

“What song is this?”

“Oh!” She didn’t even realized she was singing, my heart, “life hack by vaundy! I’ve been on this Japanese indie craze for a bit, I blame Chan, he’s always playing it in the shop,” She looks over at me, nodding my head to the music,  “You can cue up a song if you want!” I look over to her phone and she laughs, “you can do it on the screen, Seungcheol.”

Idiot. “Oh! Oh ok!” I reach over to the screen and begin typing as y/n’s car swerves a hard left.

“OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY DOING!” Y/n screams as she continues to turn, causing us to both do a hard lean to the left, leaving me a few inches away from y/n, why is she so pretty, I’m- “Seungcheol! I am so sorry I don’t know- oh! hello,” She gets to a stoplight and turns her head to see me so close to her.

“I-i-i I’m so sorry,” I lean away fast as I feel the blood rush to flood my cheeks, “The car just- and I was picking a song and- yeah”

“You’re so cute Cheol,” I look at her as I hear that nickname come out of her mouth. Her smile slowly starts to fade, no I like the nickname I like when you say it, “Sorry! I didn’t know if it was ok with you to call you that I know Jihoon calls you that and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to call you Co-”

Coups. Never call me that, Y/n. “I like hearing you call me Cheol,” I reassure y/n since she wasn’t looking at the road and at me in panic, “Now, you’re going to miss your turn missy.”

Her smile returns and I resume queuing my song up, One and Only You by GOT7, “Would not have taken you as a kpop fan, Mr Seungcheol,” y/n says in shock as she reads the song title I typed in.

“Ah, yeah. It’s my guilty pleasure.” I just laugh to make it seem less awkward that I just admitted I like kpop to her. “I love this group! I saw GOT7 last summer with my friends,” she laughs, “Glad I know you have taste.” We both laugh as the song begins to play. 

Wow, her singing voice is even pretty, do I show that I can rap these verses? yes, yes I am. 

“OK CHEOL!” She gasps in excitement as I begin to rap along with the song, “THAT WAS SO GOOD WHAT” She glaces over at with the biggest smile ever, “I’m so inviting you to karaoke night now.”

I just laugh in response of her excitement, “the place is on your right, y/n.”

“Hm,” she nods, still smiling like crazy. This night is going so well already.

-Y/n-

That car ride was better than half the dates I’ve been on in the past year. 

I park my car in front of what looks like a fried chicken restaurant, “Ok, the owners are family friends, my parents helped them buy this place. They opened like two weeks ago, so, beware of loud screaming when we go in.” Cheol turns to me before I took off my seat belt, wow his eyes are so- FOCUS Y/N

I smile, “trust me, I know this feeling all too well, imagine trying to go eat barbecue with your best friends and the servers keep calling ‘unnie’ because apparently, your mom is their talent agent.” We both just laugh at this odd similarity we share and continued to talk about all these odd places where, apparently, our parents know the owners and we just have to smile and wave and then our conversation was rudely interrupted by my stomach growling, out. loud.

“I think we should head in,” Cheol just sweetly smiles at me, “prepare for the hyenas.” I shake my head, smiling as we both exit my car. 

Seoul was slowly lighting up for the night, when was the last time I went out on a date, this nice. “I know, this city is beautiful.” My thoughts interrupted by Seungcheol looking at me, smiling, “Moving here was the best decision I think I ever made.”

“I’d have to agree with you,” I look back at him and then go out and extend my hand. Oh god, its too early to this, you’re an idiot y/n why did- OH MY GOD HE’S HOLDING YOUR HAND MY HAND OUR FINGERS ARE INTERLOCKED OH WE”RE WALKING IN NOW OK STOP Y/N BREATHE. Cheol pushes the door open and a little bell chimes and then-

“Hi, welcome to- CHOI SEUNGCHEOL!” A host greets us, loudly, as we enter the doors, “What do I have the honor of having you dine in tonight?”

Cheol just dry-laughs, this guy is so kissing up to him right now, “Hi Hye-jeon, I’m just eating with someone, can we have the upstairs table please?” 

“Of course, for 2?”

Seungcheol nods and we walk up a spiral staircase to see a sea of tables and booths, this place is FULL of just university students, “The end booth please.”

“Of course, your waitress will be right out with you guys.” Hye-jeon places our menus and water pitcher with cups and leaves us to sit down.

“So, he’s something.” I nod my head as he walks away. Cheol just laughs as he pours us both water and then hands me my cup, “thank you.”

“Of course and him. He’s trying to be part of my parents’ business and thinks being my “friend” will help him but honestly, he’s a dumbass.” I choke on my water, laughing. “Kiss-asses should just chill like damn, it must be dark up someone’s ass for that long.”

Now it was Cheol’s turn to choke on his water, “please you’re killing me,” Cheol begins to giggle, causing people to look at us, “Sorry!” Cheol turns around and bows his head at the other people in the area. He’s so dorky, I think I’m-

“So, what should we get?” 

-

The night went by so fast and so did our food and beer. Four empty baskets of chicken. Two beer glasses, mid-way empty. 

“So, you’re telling me your parents stopped you from being an idol because they didn’t want you to live that life yet they run an entire COMPANY of idols.”

“I wish it made sense too.” I giggle while hiccuping. “Ok, missy, I think that’s enough for you.” Cheol takes away my glass from me, “Let me pay and we can walk around the area for a bit to kill the buzz, ok?”

“Hmmm,” I hum as I set my head on the window next to us.

-Seungcheol-

I pick up the check and glace over at y/n and she’s just watching the streets and lights, admiring it. She’s so precious. As I’m pulling my wallet out, y/n grabs my arm, “why is he here.” The two of us glance outside of the window and see an all too familiar looking motorcycle, “now what the fuck is his deal?”

“Hurry we can get out before he sees us,” Y/n looks at me with glossy eyes. I nod as I set cash down, writing ‘keep the change’ on the receipt, “there’s an employee exit I usually go through, come on.” I grab her hand and the two of us begin to rush out. Out of breath, she starts to laugh.

“I don’t get it.” 

“Get what?” 

“You.”

 I just laughs at her, “What are you on about now?” 

“You make me feel all-” 

“Soft? Gushy?” 

“Never say gushy around me again,” I laughs once more, “but yeah. You make me feel something I’ve never felt before.” 

“Well, I can say the same thing.” She stops dead in her tracks, turning around facing me. 

The silence was deadly yet we were locked in place. And then-

why must everything end up like this?

#svt scoups #scoups #s.coups fluff #s.coups imagines #s.coups au #cafe girl grocery boy

[deeisace]

Oh a very odd dream

The staples of time travel and public transport, as usual

So like

Lucius Malfoy? And I guess my parents? Except they were the Potters? Except not, cs it was my actual mum

They that night were going to a fight - like a boxing match, as you do, y'know (I never have), and it was in this big ol' fancy hotel, right, like they have function rooms yeah?

And I had to pick up a coat, right, that had been in that hotel's uhhh cloakroom, for my mum?

So I queued up to the desk, and the queue went through the restaurant, and I happened to be stationed just exactly by the table where my aunt (either my lovely not-really-an-aunt, or my tall actual aunt who I don't actually talk to, or both of them in one person, idk) was having dinner

So we have a conversation, and she's like, what are you doing here, and I'm like, you remember I told you I had to come back in time to heal the rift between my family and the Malfoy family? You remember Lucius Malfoy? His son Draco is my age (he's not, and also in the dream we were both babies, why would she know anything, but she was like, oh yeah alright), well that's happening tonight and I have to get this coat for mum

So she's like, oh no the line is too long, you have to come back in the morning, you'll never get to the fight on time!

So I leave, and I'm walking along in the dark, and it starts raining so I duck into a little alcove with a bunch of other people (the architecture is all like the financial district up by Moorfields, that old train station that's been closed for nigh on a century now - y'know like sandstone or whatever that is, not red brick. Anyway.)

And I try to phone my mum, except my hands are wet so I keep pressing the wrong button, and then I'm chivvied along onto the bus without wanting to, and without a ticket, except it's like one'a those with a conductor cept there ant no conductor? And I'm like, ah it's okay, I'll just sit for a second, it'll take me down to Leece Street and I can walk up better from there to meet mum

But! It didn't! I ended up getting off the bus like literally in the country, near as

A big ol' muddy track down a hill, and at the bottom under a flyover and next to a huge fuck off construction site for a council estate, was a site!

Like a travellers site, of course everyone knows what I'm talking about

So I was like, ah how nice to see somewhere that's like home

Except that it was raining like buggery, and also like I din know no one on this site, obvs, so I was like, oh I have to get out of the rain and also if I meet anyone they'll think I'm straight as fuck (which I am these days) and depending on what sort these are, idk

Should I explain the slang, idk, straight as in like normal, naive, not straight as in un-queer, I'm still queer

Anyway so

I was walking back up the hill, tryna find like there must be a stop with a bus timetable on it somewhere up on the main road

And this woman came over (not old and crazy, but middle aged and a bit odd, as peopled my childhood), and she thinks I've got her jumper?

So I'm like, nah these are my clothes, and I'm soaked through anyway you don't want my jumper - is it in your bag?

So we go under the cover of the road above, and we have to sort out both of our bags, to show I haven't got any of her stuff, and we have a bit of a convo like

I'm asking how often the bus comes, and does she know where the nearest proper stop is, or will I have to flag the bus down here? She's a bit flakey, and also tries to nick my one dry cardi, but apparently the bus is every hour or half an hour and if you go way up the hill there's a stop somewhere

So I'm like, cool, thank you, I'm gonna go and do that, and you best get back in your gaff fore you catch death of cold, but as I'm going to walk up the drag, and the rain ant quite bads fore, a group of like, idk, young men, I spose folks'd call m hoodies? turn up, all cheerful and dangerous

And I'm like, oh no, I'm never gonna get back to town/the hotel in time

And then I woke up, so I'll never know! If I got back in time (ha, back in time) to heal the rift between my family and the Malfoys! (????)

#i have weird fuckin dreams #it's been a while since I've remembered a dream properly enough to write it down

[carry-on-my-pretty-weeper]

Catching Lightning Chapter 5

Author: carry-on-my-pretty-weeper

Character(s): Peter Parker, MJ, Flash, Mr.Delmar, Reader, and Ned

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: cursing, bullying, sleep-deprivation 

Author’s Note: so i got really carried away and wrote a lot! I literally have two more updates queued but i hope you guys like it!

Masterlist for the series!

You finished your last homework assignment at about 11 am. You didn’t really need to go to sleep yet so you checked to make sure your parents were asleep. 

They came back an hour after you started your homework. Apparently your dad wasn’t home because he was picking your mom up for a surprise date. But when they got home they almost immediately went to bed after they said their goodnights and I love yous. Old people am I right?

You tiptoed and listened against their door. All you heard was the fan they kept in their room and soft snores. Grabbing your ‘hero bag’ you went to the roof of your building. It was higher up than the properties around it but you still lifted the hood of your jacket to cover your face. You had started wearing hoodies more frequently to hide the giant burn mark on your arms from the lightning. If your parents knew they would have a cow and take you to the doctors to check it out. But that’s the last place you wanted to go because if they found out about your powers you were a goner.

You placed soda cans on a bench and stood a couple feet away from it. You visualized an arrow of lightning leaving your hand and hitting the can and sure enough it did! You’re basically a young Thor you thought to yourself. Could you become as powerful as Thor? That would be amazing! But first you had to learn to control your powers better. Even though you did hit the can you also knocked over the other four cans. If an attacker was holding a victim you would be useless. Setting up the cans again you tried to focus on hitting just one. You hit two but it’s better than five. 

Thinking of Wonder Woman’s whip you wondered if you could use the energy of the lightning as a rope. To test your hypothesis you envisioned a line of lightning but it didn’t work. So you tried to feel the energy and place it in one string. The more you focused on the energy the more prominent the shape became. When it was as strong as you liked it you whipped it toward the can and grabbed it! You tried to yank it back but you used too much force and ended up hitting yourself in the face with the can. “Fuck!” you said as you rubbed above your eyebrow. It hurt more than you thought it was going to. You were definitely going to get a small bruise later. 

Deciding that this had been enough practice you packed up and stealthily made your way back to your fire escape. Crawling through your window you jumped to your floor quietly and took off your hoodie. You looked in the mirror at your body. It had definitely changed you seemed a bit more muscular. When had that happened? Was this a perk of the lightning? Well it was a great perk not going to lie. Then you examined the burn on your arms. It reached from the palm of your hand and traveled up along your arm until it hit your collar bone where it reflected itself on the other side. Looking at it closer it resembled lightning. God you felt like that’s what your life revolved around now. How did you even survive getting hit by it let alone get powers from it, you thought to yourself as you flung onto your bed. Before going to bed you scrolled through Amazon to buy some stuff so you could get started on your suit. The sooner you finished the sooner you could start helping people. After adding everything to your cart and purchasing it you connected your phone to it’s charger.

You as soon as you closed your eyes you fell asleep. You then woke up to your alarm clock going off. Turning it off you slid off your bed and went to pick out an outfit. You wished that you could wear one of your favorite band tees but that would require you to show your arms. So you went with a black undershirt and sweater from your dad’s college, he’d surely get a kick out of that. After finishing everything you required to be ready for school you went to the kitchen for food. Your kitchen wasn’t empty as your mother was currently standing by the fridge grabbing some yogurt.

“Oh sweetie there you are. I was wondering if you could pick up milk on the way home today?” she asked with a voice as sweet as honey.

“Sure mom, is there anything else we need?” you questioned as she handed you money.

“If you wanted to you could grab some fruit for Eddie,” your mom replied.

“Okie dokie,” you said as she kissed you on the forehead. You grabbed a banana and chips and made your way out the door.

“Have a good day at school,” she yelled after you.

Entering the school you spotted MJ so you ran to catch up with her. She noticed your presence and gave you a tired smile. “Another all nighter?” you questioned. MJ was notorious for not sleeping. She really cared about her grades but you hated seeing her health suffer for it. She nodded which meant that when you guys sat down for lunch later you were her designated pillow. You took the banana out of your backpack that was supposed to be your breakfast and gave it to her. She tried to refuse. “You need energy besides I already ate breakfast,” you lied. She eyed you before taking it. She peeled it open and started to eat it.

“See isn’t that better,” you said in your best mom voice. She mocked you with her mouth full of banana. That caused you to laugh which caught the attention of a certain asshole.

“Didn’t know you were part hynea y/n,” Flash said to you while walking over.

“Yep, definitely, that makes total biological sense. Gosh you are just so smart Flash,” you retorted as sarcastically as possible.

“You better watch your mouth y/n,” Flash warned. He was getting too close to you for your liking. But you didn’t need to say anything as MJ just shot him her famous ‘shut the fuck up’ look.

“Don’t you have a freshmen to go bully?” MJ spoke up. This made Flash roll his eyes and walk away. God what a pain in the ass. 

“Thanks MJ,” you said to her. She just shrugged as you guys went to your first block of the day. 

By the time it was lunch you were starving. You got in line and ordered a ton of food. While you were scoping out a table you heard someone yell “Fatass!” As you turned around you saw the source of the voice was Flash. Of course it was.

“Yet somehow I have more muscles than you,” you shot back. This was getting tiring. You learned that if you didn’t care about what people call you, they got boring. Finding an empty table you set your stuff down and see Ned and Peter enter the cafeteria.

“Peter! Ned! Over here!” you yell over the chatter of the school. They see you and quickly make their way over.

“Where’s MJ?” Ned asked.

“I don’t know but she did pull an all nighter so she could be napping in the library,” you said. As if on cue MJ walks into the cafeteria with the same bored expression as always. Catching her attention with your waving hand she walks over to your group. You move your backpack and scooch over so she can lay down. She slides on the bench and puts her head in your lap. You start playing with her hair to try to put her at ease. She just seemed so exhausted.

“I know that you want to get good grades but you also need sleep,” you say with concern evident in your voice. “How much sleep did you get last night?” you inquired. She kept her eyes close but you could tell she heard you. So you stopped playing with her in an attempt to get her to answer you. 

“Mhhmm,” was all she said which was her way of telling you to continue playing with her hair.

“I won’t even let you sleep on my lap if you don’t tell me,” you challenged.

“Fine, like 5 hours,” she said grumbling, “now hair.” She was bossy when she tired. You continued threading your fingers in her hair.

“Michelle you need to get more sleep than that. Please promise me you’ll get at least 8 hours tonight,” you insisted.

“6,” she countered. Your face scrunched up into a frown. That definitely wasn’t enough sleep for her.

“7,” you said with no room for argument.

“Fine,” she said as she rolled so that her back was facing the outside of a table. Sometimes you felt like a mom with this group. While you and MJ started arguing about sleeping hours Ned and Peter were in a completely different conversation. Ned seemed to get excited while Peter seemed nervous about Ned’s increasingly loud voice. Shushing him caused your attention to turn to him. Trying to think of a not weird reason to be shushing Ned, Peter explains that MJ was sleeping and they shouldn’t be loud which seemed to make you happy.

“Dude you can’t talk so loud. No one not even MJ or Y/n can know I’m Spiderman,” Peter whispered to Ned.

“I know but you’ve been taking down so many bad guys lately and I want to know all about it! After all I’m the guy in the chair,” he whisper yelled at Peter. The bell rang cutting their conversation short.

“Tell me about it after school,” Ned stated before running off to his next class. You and MJ were still packing up your stuff. You desperately needed to go as your class was on the other side of school but you were going to make sure MJ got to her class. Peter realized this and offered to take her. “I’m right here and I can get to my class by myself,” she declared.

“Even if you can I just want to make sure you get there. Remember what happened last semester?” you said trying to get her to accept help. Last semester after two weeks of poor sleeping habits Michelle ended up passing out on the way to class. This completely freaked you out and made you feel bad for not realizing how bad her health had gotten. Now you were firm on this and she wasn’t going to change your mind. With a huff she started her walk with Peter. You waved bye to them both as you took off for your next class.

The end of the day was crawling by. Your leg had been bouncing up and down for the past 15 minutes. You were sure your partner was getting annoyed but class was so close to being over. 3...2...1. With that the bell rang announcing your freedom. You flung your backpack over your shoulder, said a quick thank you to the teacher and ran to the front of the school where your friends were all gathering.

“Hey y/n are you down to hang out today?” Ned asked. Shit, you wanted to work on your suit stuff.

“Sorry I can’t I have uh a lot of homework today and my parents don’t want my grades to slip,” you said hoping he’d believe you.

“Oh okay then maybe next time?” he replied seeming a little sad since you all usually hang out after school. You felt super bad but this was something you had to do.

“For sure, I promise!” you said before taking off. 

On your way home you remembered your mom wanted you to get milk. Making a quick detour you ended up in front of Delmar's Deli-Grocery. Walking into the store you quickly exchange greetings with Mr.Delmar. “In a hurry today are we y/n?” Mr.Delmar asked as you grabbed milk and apples. 

“Yep! Got a lot things to do but so little time. But that’s just a day in a life of a high school student,” you say as he rings you up. You give him a twenty and start to leave before he can give you your change.

“You get money back you know?” he added.

“I know it’s for the next batch of new Kit-Kats so you don’t go out of business giving me freebies,” you say jokingly before starting home.

When you arrive at your apartment you give Eddie an apple and a smile before heading up. Walking up to your door you notice everything you ordered last night was there. They weren’t kidding when they said fast shipping. Unlocking the door you brought everything inside. Opening everything up in your room you put everything in sections. 

You didn’t know how long it would take but you did know one think. It was time to get to work.

What the final product of the sketch was

Tags:

@stevieboyharrington

@fandomlover03

@markusstraya

@speggehi

@thetimidsarcasticcat

@condy-wants-a-cookie

@feline-space

#peter x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #spiderman #spiderman x y/n #spider-man: homecoming #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #marvel comics imagines #marvel comics imagine

[shareyoursunshines]

Love’s a Fragile Little Flame

On Ao3 here

Shoutout to @spookyboybergara for beta-ing

Shane continued to fiddle with the gun on his desk as he pretended to ignore Agent Bergara sauntering towards him. The agent stopped in front of Shane, waiting for the other man to look up at him, fully aware of the eyes of the entirety of Q-branch on his back.

“You do realise, Agent Bergara, that you can merely leave your equipment with another member of my staff? Make this process easier for both us.” Shane drawled, finally looking up into the agent’s face, ensuring he didn’t let his eyes linger too long on the man’s body in a suit.

“Ah, but then I wouldn’t get to see the joy on your face at me finally returning your equipment unscathed.” Ryan grinned as he held out two halves of a gun to the exasperated Quartermaster. “And, as I’ve told you before; call me Ryan”. Shane repressed a grin at the man’s audacity and instead adopted a frown.

“How the fuck did you even break a gun in half?” Ryan had always been bizarrely accident prone with his equipment, but this was beyond even Shane. “You realise this gun was coded specifically to your handprint and was ridiculously expensive to make?”

Ryan had the decency to look a little sheepish before grinning a little. “Well you see, there was a French model, and then a gunfight and then a whip and then –.” Shane cut him off with a laugh and an eye roll.

“Don’t you have a debriefing to get to, Agent Bergara?” Ryan smirked as he backed away from Shane’s desk.

“Only if you’re the one doing it, big guy”, he turned around and threw a wink over his shoulder at Shane as he left the room.

Shane felt a blush creep over his face as his second-in-command Sara approached his desk, two cups of tea in her hands. She handed one to Shane, a laugh playing on her lips.

“Shut up.” Shane muttered, accepting the offered cup and bringing it quickly to his mouth to hide his blush. Sara merely laughed in return, sauntering back to her desk.

********************************************************************************

Shane knew that when he took the job of Quartermaster for the CIA’s research and development department – affectionately nicknamed Q-Branch - that he would have to deal with cocky agents - especially the Double 0 agents, the best the CIA had to offer. M, the head of the CIA, had warned him that most of the agents could be rebellious and uncooperative; he just wasn’t anticipating Agent Ryan Bergara.

Bergara was the agency’s top operative; deadly in the field, he had never once missed his mark. He was also charming and funny and completely and utterly Shane’s type.

Shane knew that not every agent appreciated having a voice in their ear on missions. Agent Bergara was no exception. Everyone that had attempted to act as Bergara’s handler had been unceremoniously dumped at some point during the mission as the agent would invariably ditch his earpiece at some point.

Three months after he got the job, Shane had had enough. He was fed up of constantly making new earpieces for an agent who clearly didn’t appreciate the hard work that went into them--so he got himself assigned as Agent Bergara’s handler on missions. It meant he had to drop some of his side projects, but it was worth it to be able to annoy the man who was costing his department so much money.

The first few missions were no different. Bergara got bored, or got fed up of having a voice in his ear, or got a ridiculous idea into his head. So, he would dump his ear bud. But the fifth mission was different. Bergara was on a simple assassination. An escaped general from eastern Europe who was due to be on trial for vicious war crimes. It had been decided it was simply easier to take the man out to prevent him from revealing vital secrets on the stand. Bergara was stuck for 48 hours staking out the man’s apartment and so Shane was stuck too. It wasn’t until hour 6 when Shane mentioned the movie he had seen that weekend that the pair actually started talking. Shane was surprised to find Agent Bergara had an interest in films. He was surprised to find the man had an interest in anything outside of work. By all accounts, he kept to himself and didn’t usually socialise with the other agents. Everyone knew that Bergara had a bad history with losing people he got close to - his last girlfriend had been a double agent and he’d lost his parents before he was a teenager. Bergara was usually sure to keep his distance, the ultimate professional. Shane wasn’t sure if it was the movie or the length of time they had to be on the phone for that made Ryan start talking to him. Hearing Ryan laugh at his joke about Jaws wasn’t the moment Shane fell in love with him, but it was certainly close.

*************************************************************

The first time that Ryan walked into Q-Branch the day after completing a mission, carrying his latest pile of paperwork, Shane wasn’t quite sure what to do. He watched as Ryan approached the frankly enormous desk Shane had at the front of the room, pausing right in front of it.

“Apparently if I don’t complete my paperwork this time, Helen will be forced to stab me with a stiletto.” Ryan gave Shane a crooked grin, clearly hoping that the other man would pick up on his unasked question. Shane felt a smirk crawl across his face and leaned back in his seat, gesturing at Ryan to continue. Ryan let out a small huff of laughter, shaking his head slightly before continuing.

“I don’t actually have my own office and the double-0 shared space is too quiet. So I figured I would come down and share your ridiculously large desk.” Shane continued to smirk, watching Ryan stand awkwardly in front of him, clutching his paperwork to his chest. As Ryan shifted ever so slightly, his awkwardness shining through, Shane realised that this was Ryan in front of him instead of Agent Bergara. Agent Bergara breezed through life, letting people fall into his wake, charmed by his smile. Ryan was standing in front of him asking to share a desk because he didn’t want to be by himself. If Shane didn’t know Ryan could kill him in 50 ways using a paperclip he would almost call it cute.

“Sure thing, just let me…” Shane shifted things on his desk around, clearing a space for Ryan as one of his underlings brought up a chair for the agent. “Take a seat, little guy.”  

Ryan wheezed out a laugh at the nickname, placing all his things in the space and collapsing into the chair. Shane grinned at him, eyes dragging down Ryan’s arms in his t-shirt before forcing himself to concentrate on his work again.

It seemed that giving Ryan permission once had opened the floodgates. It quickly became known that if Ryan couldn’t be found elsewhere in the base,  he would be in Q-Branch, charming the underlings in Q-Branch and shooting the breeze with Shane. He grew quickly accustomed to the agent crowding his space, sharing his desk and making him laugh.

******************************************************************

It was 1am and Shane was still at work. He had been improving the firewalls across the whole of the CIA since he was hired five months ago and tonight he had been hit was inspiration. He was just finishing up when an alarm started blaring on his phone. Cursing quietly, he blindly fished it out of his pocket, his frown quickly turning to a smirk when he saw what exactly the alert was. The security system in his apartment had picked up an intruder and his cameras were streaming the footage of a very familiar figure skulking around his living room. Still smirking, Shane dialled a familiar number, and while he was waiting for it to connect he pulled up the feed for his apartment’s cameras on his laptop screen. Shane watched as Ryan pulled out his phone, a grin lighting up his face as he saw Shane’s name on the display.

“Stay away from the windows and doors if you want to stay alive, little guy.”  Shane drawled when Ryan picked up the phone.  “My system isn’t designed to stop people getting in, it’s designed to stop them from getting out.”

“Damn, I thought it was weirdly easy to get in here. Guess I should have expected something like this from our resident genius”. Ryan turned and grinned into Shane’s security camera. “Got any good movies I can watch while I wait for you to finish up at work?”

Shane laughed, his mind racing at the thought of Ryan hanging out his place.

“I’ll be home in 20 minutes. Pick something on Netflix. There’s popcorn in the kitchen.” He instructed the agent, quickly hanging up the phone and thumping his head down onto his desk. Sara was never going to let him live this down.

By the time Shane got back to his apartment, Ryan had popcorn sitting on the coffee table and bizarre true crime show queued up on Netflix. Slumping down next to the agent on the couch, Shane wordlessly accepted the proffered beer, feeling himself relax into the couch in Ryan’s company. The two sat wordless watching the show for a while, sharing the popcorn in a comfortable silence that Shane hadn’t expected to experience. Sitting there, Shane could tell the difference between Agent Bergara and Ryan. Agent Bergara was always put together, hair in place, smirk on his face. Whereas Ryan was softer, his body language looser, his hair haphazard. Agent Bergara famously didn’t have friends or loved ones. Ryan had broken into Shane’s apartment to hang out on his couch. Shane wasn’t quite sure what to do with Ryan. But he had a feeling that this instance of home invasion might become a regular occurrence.

It was 3am by the time Ryan decided to leave. He helped Shane move the empty popcorn bowl and empty beer bottles to the kitchen, before the pair walked towards the door.

“You know you can just text next time?” She asked him, a smile gracing his lips. “Rather than risking life and limb just to hang out?”

Ryan laughed in response.

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” He joked as he opened the door. “See you at work, Shane.”

Shane echoed his goodbye as the door shut. He checked his watch as he made his way to the bedroom. Five hours till he had to get to work. He was going to be a zombie tomorrow, all because he just couldn’t say no to Ryan Bergara.

*****************************************************************************

After the ninth time that Ryan broke into his apartment, Shane caved and wrote him into the security system. Ryan seemed to take that as an invitation to come over whenever he liked. Which, if Sara was to be believed, it basically was. Slowly but surely, Ryan started to invade Shane’s space. His DVDs filled Shane’s shelves, mission reports were strewn about the coffee table, his favourite beer was in the fridge. Shane had started to notice a difference in him. On missions he was still Agent Bergara, but on his down time, Ryan spent most of his time in Q-branch, completing his mission debriefs and helping test new equipment.  Shane’s crush blossomed so quickly that he was ridiculously far gone before he even realised what was going on.

The pair were in the middle of a debate on the existence of Bigfoot when Shane realised how in love with Ryan he was. Ryan was busy spluttering with laughter at Shane’s insistence that Bigfoot was based in reality, and all Shane could think about was how much he wanted to kiss him. His breath caught in his throat and he couldn’t breathe for a second.

“Dude.” Ryan’s voice broke him out of his daze. “You okay? You completely zoned out on me

there?”

Shane forced a smile on his face as he tried to create a cover story that would satisfy a man who practically read people for a living.

“Yeah. Yeah. I was just thinking.” Shane paused, his eyes roaming over his desk for inspiration. “How would you feel about an exploding pen?” He grabbed some half completed plans from his desk, thrusting them at Ryan, who took them with a slight laugh.

“I thought you said an exploding pen was a ‘waste of resources’?” He raised his eyebrows at Shane, excitement clear on his face.

“Yeah, well.” Shane paused, watching Ryan’s face as he studied the plans. “Sometimes things change.”

********************************************************************

Shane watched the way Ryan threw back his head in laughter, the warm lights of the bar casting shadow down his neck. For now, it was just the two of them in the bar booth, their coworkers having dispersed to get drinks or dance or hustle unsuspecting civilians at pool. The pair were sitting close together to hear each other over the bar’s music and Shane was hyper-aware that he and Ryan were pressed together from hip to knee. Shane’s arm was stretched along the back of the booth, fingers periodically brushing Ryan’s shoulder when the other man leaned back.

“You are so full of shit, Madej.” Ryan grinned at Shane, and Shane couldn’t help but grin back. Ryan’s grin turned soft and a little unsure and Shane’s breath caught in his throat. He could swear Ryan’s eyes just darted to his lips. He could feel a tension rising between them, could feel Ryan tense up slightly from the way they were pressed together. Shane opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say, but knowing he had to say something, couldn’t let this moment pass him by.

“Shane! Tell Sara that she’s completely and utterly wrong and E.T. is definitely evil.” Jen, one of the other agents, threw herself onto the bench in the booth, dragging Sara in beside her. Ryan jumped away from Shane, his gaze dropping to the table. Shane turned to look at Sara and Jen, ignoring the look on Sara’s face as he answered Jen’s question. She knew him well enough to know that something had happened. When Jen turned her focus to Ryan, drawing him into the debate, Shane took the opportunity to give Sara a small shake of his head. She tilted her head in response, silently trying to figure out what was going on. Shane gave a half shrug in response.

“Jen, he loved them!” Ryan’s outburst interrupted their silent conversation and Shane barked out a surprised laugh at the determination in the younger man’s voice. He turned his gaze back to Ryan and Jen, slipping into the conversation, mind still reeling for whatever had almost happened.

***************************************************************************

Shane’s jaw clenched as Ryan’s laugh filtered through the speakers on his computer. The sound was clear, despite Ryan being halfway around the world, (Shane’s equipment was top-notch thank you very much) and it contrasted with the slightly grainy image from the security cameras in the hotel ballroom Ryan was scoping out.

Dressed in a tuxedo, he effortlessly blended in to the crowd at the charity gala, pretending to network in order to get close to their target. Glancing at the screen, Shane could see Ryan flirting with a blonde woman and he swallowed, directing his attention back to the plans in front of him - he was convinced he could make exploding coins a thing.

Sara approached his desk, rolling her eyes at the diagrams that littered it, reaching over to mute the microphone on his desk, ensuring Ryan couldn’t hear the conversation.

“Are we just going to keep pretending that there isn’t something going on with you two?” Sara raised her eyebrows at him, watching a blush rush across his face.

“Yup.” Shane avoided Sara’s gaze, eyes locked on his work.

Sara gave him a soft look, lowering her voice to make sure that no one else in the office could hear her.

“You could just ask him out you know? I know it’s scary but-” Ryan’s voice from the speakers cut Sara off.

Shane internally gave a sigh of relief at the interruption.

“Duty calls, Sara. We’ll talk later. Or not.” Sara rolled her eyes as she walked back to her own desk, leaving Shane to answer Ryan’s call.

********************************************************************************* Shane laughed into his mic, as Ryan complained about the lack of guards in the corridor he was sneaking down.

“One fight Shane. That’s all I ask. It doesn’t even have to be that good.” Ryan whined, the smile evident in his voice.

“Sorry all your missions can’t be fights on top of trains and wooing beautiful women” Shane joked. “Sometimes sneaky infiltration is what we need in the spy game.”

“Shut up Shane.” Ryan laughed. “God, I can’t believe I-.” A loud explosion dominated the feed, cutting off the rest of his sentence. Static sprung up where there had previously been quiet laughter.

“Bergara, come in.” Shane commanded, all trace of laughter gone. Q-branch went still at their leader’s tone, clear to everyone something at gone wrong. “Agent, answer me.” Shane’s hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles white with the tension. He quickly barked at his team to pull up CCTV images of Ryan’s last location before turning back to his mic.

“Ryan, please.” He begged, ears straining, desperate to hear something that would indicate survival.

“Shane.” Sara quietly approached his desk. “Images show there was an explosion. The whole building is practically rubble. They aren’t expecting any survivors.” She reached out towards him, unsure if he would accept comfort in his fragile state. “I called M. She’s on her way down.”

Shane ignored her, pulling up CCTV from the streets surrounding Ryan’s last known location. He had to have escaped. One of the cameras would have caught him leaving the building. He had to have made it out.

Shane didn’t look up when M entered Q-branch. He didn’t look up when M attempted to talk to him. He focused all his energy on searching the CCTV, desperate to find a glimpse of Ryan somewhere. He hacked hospital records, hunted though clinic records and, finally, desperately, searched through morgue records. There was no record of Ryan anywhere. When Shane finally dragged his attention away from the screen, it had been almost 24 hours since Ryan had gone missing. He dropped his attention to the file that had been placed beside him at some point, and his heart dropped.  

It was the mission report. All it needed was his signature, and Agent Ryan Bergara was officially dead, the mission officially classed as a failure. Shane swallowed, his hand hovering over the pen on his desk, unable to pick it up, unable to admit he had lost Ryan before he had ever really had him. He took one shuddering breath, struggling to keep down the grief that struggled to overwhelm him. Quickly, before he could really process it, Shane grabbed the pen, ripped open the file and scribbled his name on the line at the bottom. He threw the pen back on his desk, grabbed his jacket and practically ran out of the building, desperate to get home.

Home wasn’t much better than the office. Everywhere Shane turned, he could see Ryan. He stood paused in the doorway, eyes drifting from Ryan’s jacket on the couch, empty bottles of his beer on the counter, his favourite DVD in front of the tv. Suddenly, Shane couldn’t take it anymore. He staggered to his bedroom, collapsing onto his bed as the tears overtook him.

*****************************************************************

It was three months before people at work stopped tiptoeing around Shane. Losing an agent was never easy, and everyone knew how close Ryan and Shane had been. Sometimes, Shane forgot. Not for long. But for just long enough that he would lift his head to catch Ryan’s attention and he would be hit with the grief all over again. It was exhausting.

It was 3am before Shane managed to persuade himself to leave work, dreading leaving the buzz of the office for the silence of his apartment. His hands were curled in his pockets as he trudged back to his flat, his thoughts muddled, too heartbroken for his brain to fixate on any one idea.

The second he opened his door, Shane knew something was wrong. He could see a light spilling into his hallway from the kitchen, a light that he knew he had switched off before he left for work. Shane grabbed the golf umbrella he kept by his front door, easing down the hall, ready to confront whoever was hiding in his kitchen. He stepped into the room, holding the umbrella like a baseball bat, ready to swing, dropping it instead when he saw the man leaning against his counter.

“Hi”. Ryan grinned at him, the gaunt lines of his face betraying the hardships his attitude was attempting to cover.

Shane was moving before he realised he was doing it. He crossed the kitchen in three strides, taking Ryan’s face in his hands and kissing him. Ryan kissed back, equally enthusiastic, hands gripping Shane’s hips, pulling the taller man into him, desperate for contact. Shane pulled away enough to breathe, his eyes raking over the smaller man’s face, drinking in the sight of him .

“Guess you missed me, huh, big guy?” Ryan joked, a soft smile playing on his lips as he stared up at him.

“You should see the amount of work I managed with no one bothering me”. Shane joked back, mirroring the agent’s smile.

Ryan’s laugh was the best thing Shane had ever heard.

#my fic #shyan #shyan fic #rpf #bfu rpf

[redvelvetreel]

Red Velvet Reel 4.6: A Crabapple A Day

                                          [Fic Directory]

Pairing: [Married] Spicyhoney (Underfell Papyrus x Underswap Papyrus)

Summary: Pancake finally gets their checkup through the Mini MeDi, a non-intrusive magic and soul scanner, and they're doing well. Undyne gives advice and then embarrasses herself.

Characters: Edge (Underfell Papyrus) & Stretch (Underswap Papyrus) & Red (Underfell Sans) & Blue (Underswap Sans) & Undyne (Underswap Undyne)

Contains: Mpreg/Skelepreg! Awkward & Anxious Swapdyne!  Iatrophobia (fear of doctors)!�� Informational discussions of monster pregnancies including length & development phases, Non-intrusive prenatal diagnostic equipment and examination using videogame logistics, a lot of pseudo-magic-science fudging game aspects, a lot of headcanons.

Rating: Teen and up! (I guess?)

Note:  Hello! This is still a queued post! I’ll try to edit the links as soon as possible, but since I only have mobile access right now, it’s a little tough… But I’ll get to it eventually! Thank you for your support! <3

Undyne passed the screen over for Edge to hold. He took it gingerly, looking at the interface with renewed uncertainty.

“This is the Magical-Medical Diagnostic Display, the MMDD, better known as mini MeDi! I designed it, and Allie built it!” Her gills flared and she sounded proud, excitedly leaning over to point at several icons. It seemed fairly standard, with icon demonstrating monster stats like HP, DEF, ATK, MGC, etc.

“It’s somewhat based off of a BATTLE interface, combining the CHECK command with soul and magic type readings. That’s why it’s all black! If I were to use it on you, your body would show up like a white silhouette and your soul would look black. Like so.” She moved his hands to hold the machine up, pointing it at herself. Edge supposed it did look like the magical barrier that occurred during a BATTLE that drained color of everything but magical attacks.

“The HUD...” Undyne crushed a hand to her mouth, gnawing at her knuckles for a moment, “Wait, let me back this up...”

“So, monster pregnancies are measured in percentages, so little Pancake is literally going to have a load bar showing how far along they are. For simplicity, we divide these load points into quarters- the first quarter is roughly 25%, second quarter is about 50%, third quarter is close to 75%, and the last quarter is 98% or so!”

Edge frowned, “Why 98%? That completely disrupts the pattern...”

Undyne blinked, surprised, “Um, yeah...” She looked at the floor, twiddling her thumbs, “Well, at 100% they’re- they’re done. Um, they’re born and we’d just... check them directly... I thought it was clever, but, um, you’re right in that it’s not even...”

Edge never had the same kind of patience Red had with Alphys, or Stretch had with this easily discouraged Undyne apparently, but he was getting tired of her insecurity. Maybe if he just yelled something positive at her, she would become inspired and stop being so gloomy?

Stretch gave his hand a squeeze as though he could hear his thoughts, and spoke before Edge had a chance to say anything, “I think it’s cool and I like it. So, Pancake’s probably closest to the 25% benchmark, yeah? What does that mean?”

Undyne perked up at the subtle encouragement, continuing emphatically, “Well, 1st quarter is the souling stabilizing itself and becoming their own monster. Although from the beginning the Souling has always been there, it’s not until 25% when they establish a soul signature that’s completely independent of its parent. So, when I use this machine on you, Mr- erm, Col- uh, Gen- uh, Sir! Pancake won’t appear as a separate soul signature quite yet. They’ll just be this…  amorphous magic that’ll come up as an unidentified object with a little loading bar.”

That all seemed reasonable enough, but Edge still tensed when she made a move to take the machine. Stretch, ever sensitive to the shifting atmosphere (and the claws digging into the back of his hand,) cleared his throat, “How about a test run first, huh?”

“I’ll volunteer-“ Stretch started to stand up, but Edge reached out to grab the back of his shirt, grip tight to keep him from getting up.

Stretch didn’t miss a beat, “To operate it! Dyn-Dyn, I just point this thing at you and tap your body outline, right?”

“Uh,” Undyne clearly hadn’t been expecting that, but turned to face him anyway, “Yes, exactly!”

“Okie dokie.” Stretch held the machine up, pointing it at Undyne, glancing at Edge. His husband, almost reluctantly, tapped the heart quickly, jerking backwards as though he expected to be electrocuted. The screen readout changed, with Undyne’s silhouette becoming black and a variety of stats coming up.

“Oh, wow,” Stretch murmured to himself, “That’s really cool, I had no idea your soul signature was 20% Integrity, but that makes sense.”

“Yes!” Undyne looked pleased, “Soul signatures and magic are an imprecise science, but you’ll usually find at least trace amounts of all 7 major soul types. That’s why Monster souls appear white! It’s a fascinating area of study, and the actual makeup of your soul changes given your emotional state! Since I was just-“

Edge never thought he’d ever be bored in a doctor’s office, and yet... He focused on the little machine in front of him, poking Undyne’s soul directly a variety of times to no effect. If she wasn’t reacting at all, still talking about soul types, then maybe it really was just a diagnostic tool.

He looked up just as Undyne finished explaining something about green magic, turning the screen around so it faced her instead. It was with great effort that Edge convinced himself to finally let go, dropping it onto her lap in a way that had her scrambling to keep it from tumbling onto the floor.

Taking deep, steadying breath, Edge released his death grip on his husband’s fingers and the examination table, “You may proceed, Doctor.”

Stretch remained where he was, discreetly massaging his hand and flashing Edge a reassuring smile. Undyne held the machine up, clearing her throat as he finger hovered over the screen, “I’m going to hit this button so the machine will start scanning you, ok? Most monsters don’t really feel anything, but some monster’s report it feels like a prolonged CHECK. I promise it won’t be painful for you or Pancake. In 3… 2… 1… Moon time!”

“Moontime? Seriously?”

“I-! It’s-! YOU WOULDN’T UNDERSTAND!”

“I wouldn’t understand?! Who sat through that whole concert…”

Edge couldn’t help cringing, but true to her word, it didn’t hurt. It was deeply unsettling and uncomfortable, like someone was trying to peel back all the layers of magic, coding, and intent that made up his entire being- but it didn’t hurt.

“Agggh!” Undyne sounded annoyed, turning to the screen in front of her with a huff, “Stop distracting me! You’re making me look incredibly rude and unprofessional in front of Edge! It’s-”

“Oh!” She looked surprised, before immediately schooling her expression into something more professional. “That’s! Unexpected!”

“What is?” Edge’s voice was calm, but he bodily shoved Stretch off the examination table and towards the screen, keeping uncomfortably still for the machine, “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, no- nothing bad! It all looks really good!” Undyne relinquished hold of the machine to Stretch as she scribbled something down on the clipboard, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Stretch grinned, trying to resist running his finger along the display, “Pancake’s officially at 12.5%! They don’t have much in the way of stats yet, predictably, but they’re ‘In Progress’ and also PBST_NORMAL!”

Edge wasn’t sure what that meant, but normal was encouraging, and no special indicators meant nothing was wrong, right? He returned Stretch’s smile with a small, tentative one of his own.

“Exactly! You’re just a lot further a long that I was anticipating!” Undyne tapped her pen against her teeth, “How, um, long has it been?”

“3 weeks and 4 days,” Edge forced himself not to shift uneasily, even as Undyne continued taking furious notes, “I have it marked on my calendar, if you need a precise calendar date.”

“3 weeks? Hm... And 12.5% is half a quarter...” Undyne gnawed on her pen, “So your quarters are 6?”

She looked to Stretch, who was trying to hold the screen and take a picture with his phone at the same time, “Hm? Oh, 6.5 would be a closer estimate, no?”

“Then, with 4 quarters, that’s 46. Roughly 184 days.”

“184,” Stretch confirmed with a nod, before his face fell almost comically, “184 days?! That’s! So soon?! Edge!” He turned to his husband, “That’s like no time at all?!”

Edge made an educated guess, “Until Pancake’s at 100%?”

“Exactly!” Undyne took the screen back, typing something onto it as she glanced down at the paper several times, “I’m just calibrating the machine to these parameters, and if my math and your estimates are correct-“

“They are.” 

“Then the full length of this monster pregnancy should be 184 days, about 6 months. But, magic is unpredictable, so it could be earlier or later depending on a couple of different factors.”

“Like what?” Stretch asked, looking a little nervous as he played with the strings of his hoodie, “Like LV and EXP?”

“No,” Undyne answered quickly, trying to smile reassuringly, but it came off as forced, “Queen Toriel was also concerned, but in the few observed cases, LV has not significantly affected the Souling. There haven’t been any cases or studies on the impact of a raise of EXP or LV on a Souling, but I wouldn’t, um, recommend it...”

“Is that all for today, Doctor?” Edge crossed his arms impatiently, the feeling of a prolonged CHECK starting to grate at his nerves.

“Yes-“ Undyne quickly turned the machine off, clearing her throat, “Overall your stats are excellent- but your DEF is unusually low, so that’ll definitely be something to keep an eye on-“

“Is there anything I should do to address that?” Edge cut in.

“Nothing in particular...” Undyne tapped at her cheek in thought, “There are consumable items that can raise DEF temporarily, but they won’t have a long term impact. Not unless you increase your consumption to a daily basis. You might want to consider equipping armor that has a higher DEF, at least +3, to neutralize it.”

Edge looked troubled, worrying at the ratty, frayed bandana around his throat.

“It’ll probably be fine without it though!” Undyne backpedaled immediately, glancing at Stretch in dismay, “It’s just a precaution- Soulings in their first quarter are still feeling out their magic, so they’ll initially mimic your stats. They end up balancing themselves out in the third quarter usually- well, there’s a slight chance they won’t- but they’re more sensitive to that in the second quarter anyway- but then again-“

Edge unequipped his bandana without another word, tucking it into his inventory. His face was inscrutable as he turned back to Undyne, “I will address that. Anything else?”

“Uh-Pancake’s development is coming along well, so I won’t need to see you until the end of this quarter-“ She said in a rush, unnerved by Stretch’s surprised expression, “Just, um, keep doing what you’re doing and it should be fine. Make sure to get as much sleep as possible.”

She took a deep breath, positively jumping as Edge stood up with a nod, “Thank you, Doctor. We’ll keep in touch.”

Undyne sat ramrod straight, clutching her clipboard to her chest, “Yes, ok, thank you, love you, bye.”

Edge smiled to himself as Undyne let out a mortified sound, half-collapsing onto the floor. He shared a glance with Stretch as he let the door close, careful to never once give either of them his back.

“Ohmygod-!” Undyne wheezed, latching onto Stretch and shaking his shoulders roughly, “Your husband is the scariest, most intense, sexiestmonster I’ve ever met?! It felt like he was going to eat me- but that I should thank him for the privilege?  I’m 100% a lesbian in a loving and committed relationship, but damn!“

“Yeah, uh,” Stretch laughed, gently patting her hands, “He’s got that effect on people, heh. He’ll be flattered-”

“OH MY GOD NO!” Undyne’s grip got tighter as her face went pale, “You can’t say a thing! I’m going to have to face him in a few weeks! How can I when I know he knows I think he actually kind lives up to your hype?! WHAT IF ALLIE HEARS?! No, no one must ever know!”

“Ok, ok, Doc. Thanks for today, by the way- you’re my hero, the Undying Doctor.”

She blushed, pulling her hair over her face bashfully, “You didn’t know naming conventions between doctors and wrestlers were different back then either!”

Stretch winked, before becoming uncharacteristically serious, “But I had a few more questions. Specifically, what symptoms are coming up? And talk to me a little bit more about that DEF thing too... “

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6 - Here!] [Part 7]

#spicyhoney #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underswap sans #underfell sans #underswap undyne #redvelvetreel #fanfic #skelepreg

[fandomflail]

title: Recognition (6/8)

rating: M

summary: Soulmate trope AU. Set in a world where humans and elves coexist.

a/n: *screams at Tumblr* I queued this for Friday 10 pm but the queue at my post! Sorry for the delay, you guys. 

Past Chapters: (1)  (2)  (3)  (4)  (5) or AO3

RECOGNITION CHAPTER 6

Killian Aearinön had lived a life of strife, despite being Noble born. Of course, his older and wiser brother, William Beriothien, would often comment that said strife was a result of his own actions and self-recrimination. Liam, as Killian called him, wasn’t wrong.

“What was the instruction?” his brother asked, brow furrowed with worry.

Liam worried too much. Between his bride, Elsa Arendelle, and Liam’s own tendency for anxiety and worry, it was a wonder the two functioned at all. Unlike the humans, who suffered more from physical maladies than psychological ones, elves were far, far more susceptible to injuries of the brain.

If they weren’t dying of childbirth, Killian mused, they were running Nightlock into their blood for a quick death.

“Killian!”

Giving his brother his focus, Killian said, “For her own safety, I delivered the instruction as The Sukrasa said. Remain human to those who know her as human, reveal her as an elf to society, with the story that she was simply living in secret. No mention of halves.”

Liam strode closer, blue-grey eyes delivering a piercing gaze. “And she can be trusted?”

Killian felt his temper rise. “Of course she can!”

“You don’t actually know her, brother. A consummation does not a soulmate make,” he said, pacing the length of the mahogany table that stood as the centerpiece.

“I know enough to know she can be trusted. As can the other three.”

“You have no idea what sort of danger you’ll unleash if word gets out, I mean it, Killian. This is serious. For once, please take this seriously.”

“I know that! I’m not a youngling, Liam. Stop treating me like one.”

“Perhaps if you —“ his brother cut himself off, swallowing whatever insulting thing he had been about to say, and said instead, “I am glad you’re back to high society. Things have changed, and they have not. You’ve lived with humans for a total of what? 150 years now? You’ve adopted some of their…mannerisms, and not in a flattering way.”

“Yes, like when people annoy them, they tell them to bugger off.”

“Now that’s just rude.”

Killian flipped him an obscene human hand motion.

“You’ve been tight-lipped about this Emma. If she’s a lost child, her parents are sure to be looking for her.”

He nodded, drumming his fingers on the table. “I checked; there was no missing report of an elven girl matching her age or appearance.”

“Hmm. Come to think of it, that makes sense. If she’s a hybrid, they’d have wanted it kept hush. Plus, she’s Nysnian; it’s not like those elves have ever trusted us.”

“I don’t know if she even wants to find them. This whole thing has been overwhelming for her; she’s been using the ignore-it-until-it-goes-away strategy. With her heritage, with me.”

Killian was unsuccessful in keeping the bitterness out of his voice. He dropped his gaze to the little decorative windmill on the table, spinning its blades to distract himself.

“Well, she’s still coming later, isn’t she? That’s a start.”

“Only to the Embassy. I don’t want her meeting the serpent. Who knows what she’d say to her. Wait does she even know that I Recognized…”

“Stop calling her that. Of course she does. It’s just within the family, you’re safe.”

“That’s a relief, though who knows who she’s hissssssssed to.”

“Oh shut up. Just so you know, I’ll be there.”

“What???”

“Oh yes, you really think I’d miss meeting your soulmate? My little brother’s Recognized half?” Liam’s smirk was unbearable, his posture so casual he could only be faking it.

“You’re the worst elf in the history of elves, I hope you know.”

“Stop being dramatic. I invited Belle, to make Emma and her son feel comfortable. Belle is the human equivalent of a library, and she is Head of the B.E.A.S.T. I can truly think of no one else as perfect to fill in the blanks about our culture.”

“This was supposed to be a quiet tea,” Killian huffed.

Liam shook his head, no doubt judging Killian as a child, despite the fact that their age gap was a mere 10 years. A single petal difference in a forest bloom, but to hear Liam tell it, one would think Killian was an infant human, and Liam a wise old sage. It was maddening.

“Do you think this could work?” Liam asked after pouring himself a cup of fresh honey tea.

His perpetually concerned face was soft, curly blonde hair kept in place by the ice-inspired circlet he often wore to honor Elsa. Maddening though he may be, Liam was the best brother an elf could ask for. The look on his face mirrored the look he had when Killian had fallen out of a tree, breaking his bones in three places; as if this whole endeavor was the same sort of dangerous recklessness he’d exhibited as a youngling.

“I believe so. I chose to live as a human for Milah. I loved her. I always will. But Emma, Emma is different. This is different.”

“Killian…I’m sorry to suggest this but… do you suppose this thing with Emma is simply a matter of chemistry, rather than a matter of heart?”

There was an almost visceral need to defend his feelings, an anger so swift he could’ve wrung his hands around his brother’s neck. He fought the impulse, forcing himself to truly consider his brother’s question. After all, he had, in those early hours, had the same questions.

It felt like a betrayal to confess his heart, especially about the first few hours following his introduction with soulmate, but this was Liam. Who could he truly trust, if not him?

“I hated it, at first. She ran, twice that day. She made it clear that her actions were the effect of the Recognition, and not for any real desire to know me. She didn’t seem as affected as I did. I thought…I thought maybe I hallucinated it.”

“You checked with The Sukrasa,” Liam reminded him.

“I know. But a half-elf? That’s a myth and propaganda people like Her Highness, Snake Queen Consort, tell to fear-monger elves about the Bad Things That Happen When We Mix With Humans.”

“Killian,” Liam warned, tone infused with a world of warning. He ignored the rebuke about their step-mother.

“You know that’s what she thinks, even if she isn’t forthright about it. Anyway, it was highly possible that they had mixed her blood and Henry’s. Full or half elf, I thought I was going crazy, except it’s impossible to ignore that feeling.”

“What was it like?”

“I told you, remember, when you said we should just put the Trace on her and be done with it.”

“Actually, what you told me was, and I quote, I’m dying Liam, I’m dying. Hardly descriptive.”

Killian rolled his eyes, moving to swipe his brother’s mug for a sip.

“It’s a burning sensation, like the skin under your skin is on fire. You can’t scratch it. Your throat feels like you’ve been screaming for years, but no amount of water quenches it.”

Liam watched him with wide eyes. For the first time, Killian felt like he was being taken seriously. Figured.

“There’s a ringing in your ears, like you’ve stood next to a gong after it’s gone off. And the worst thing is… well, you can relieve yourself as much as you want, but it hurts. The humans have a term for it, though I’m not sure why they use the color blue to describe it. Nor do I think they understand what exactly, it means for one to have ‘Blue Balls’”.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“Yes, well.”

“So you can be happy with her? And her human child?”

“It would be too easy to fall in love with Emma Swan, Liam. Just wait till you meet her.”

“Sure, can’t wait.”

Killian ignored the slight sarcasm. His brother was a damn worrier.

* * *

Emma eyed the silver pears, Asiménia, a delicacy of the Nobles. While she usually, genuinely, enjoyed elvish food, this was awful. She did her best to school her expression, but she knew she was kidding no one.

Henry, through sheer teenage obstinacy, was scarfing down his food as though he liked the taste. No doubt, she thought wryly, because Gracie seemed to be genuinely enjoying it.

Across from her, Killian’s ears twitched in effort to choke down his laughter.

“So Emma,” Prince Liam said, lips tilted upwards in a smug smile, “how do you like the food?”

“It’s…” she said, grappling for the right word and coming up short, “interesting. Different from the ones served during the ball.”

“Oh yes,” Prince Liam said, while Killian glared at his brother, “this is a family delicacy. We’ve never had a Nysnian elf who has ever taken to it.”

“Oh, oh my, are you Nysnian, Emma?” Belle pipped up excitedly from her seat next to Henry.

Henry and Belle seemed to get on like a house on fire, going through hundreds of years of world history in the span of the few hours they had talked.

“Yes?” she replied, unsure why this was an issue. Her gaze landed on Killian, suddenly feeling like maybe this was a thing about herself she should know.

“Oh. I see it now, you have that dent in your chin and everything,” Belle said, craning her head to study Emma.

She squirmed under everyone’s attention, bringing another spoonful of Asiménia to her mouth, only to instantly regret it.

Elsa, the quiet blonde next to Liam, laughed. She had barely spoken to any of them, so Emma was a little surprised to find such open emotion from the elf.

“Truth be told, Asiménia is truly an acquired taste, don’t feel bad, Emma,” Elsa said.

“And it apparently tastes like this berry in Nysno, Marjaga, which is poisonous. Maybe that’s just your genetics that makes you dislike it,” Belle said, the petite human a seemingly endless sprout of knowledge.

“Belle,” Gracie cut in, seated primly across Henry and in-between Killian and her father, “will you tutor me in history?”

Jefferson’s head snapped up to his daughter, who was ignoring him in favor of staring down Belle.

Belle lit up like a Yule lantern, eyes rounding wide as Henry interjected “Me too!” and then remembering his manners, added on softly, “Please.”

“Of course. Oh, it would be such an honor. I would love the opportunity to hear you recite poetry as you did earlier. And sing. You have such a gift for it.”

“Thank you,” Gracie said with a smile, preening under the praise.

* * *

It was decided that they would stay for dinner, so the party adjourned to the study to continue their discussions.

Killian looked to be completely taken by Gracie.

His eyes kept darting to Emma, and she wondered if he was musing the same thing as her. Had it taken? She was in no ways prepared to be a mother, not like this, but watching Killian interact with the blonde haired, green-eyed elf child made picturing a future too easy.

She wasn’t even sure if she wanted it. Having to deal with a situation like that would drive her into a panic. But until then, she figured she could allow herself to indulge in a little daydream.

Killian was seated on the lush carpet on the floor resting lightly by her knees, while Emma sat on the couch. She was tempted to run her fingers through his hair, but managed to stay the impulse. Next to him, Belle, Henry and Gracie made up the rest of the circle on the floor, while the other adults had left for something or other.

Despite her initial anxiety, and Prince Liam’s somewhat cool response to her, the day had been nice. In fact, seated where she was, Emma was feeling particularly content.

While Belle and Killian took turns to regale the children with tales of history and famous adventurous elves and humans, Emma found herself only half-listening.

The content wasn’t boring. On the contrary, she was learning a great deal about elves, but her full stomach and calm proximity to Killian made her rather sleepy.  They had her full attention, however, when Henry asked why elves who were hundreds of years old looked like humans of 30 years.

“We develop slowly, lad,” Killian said, gesturing with his hand for Belle to interject with the prolix answer they all knew she had.

“You see, elvish biochemistry is very different from ours. Hormones are created slowly, the mechanisms more complex, the telomeres longer, much longer than ours.”

It was clear she was losing Henry, who hadn’t quite reached that chapter in school, but Belle continued, “They age pretty fast as younglings, which is why Gracie and you seem to be growing up at the same rate, but once she hits about 30, everything slows down. It’s also why parent-child relationships don’t have the same dynamic as human ones.”

“Aye,” Killian said, rubbing his jaw, “that’s true. You see, you could technically have a child at 30, but because both you and your child have an average lifespan of 800 years, you’re pretty much peers. But say, you have a child when you’re 350, and well, that’s a more similar human parent-child dynamic.”

“What if you Recognize when one person is 300 and the other is 30?” Henry asked.

Emma felt her face flame. Adopted though he may be, he was just as blunt and sly as she was.

Both Belle and Killian flushed, clearly under no pretense as to why the question was asked. `

“I’ll leave this one to you,” Belle said, looking at Killian, while Gracie giggled.

“Uh… um… well. Recognition is different. It’s two souls meeting as one. You will learn from each other of course, but as long as you respect each other, like any other healthy relationship, there should be no problem.”

“Good answer,” Henry praised, making Killian blush red.

“Henry!” Emma hissed.

Suddenly, she was struck with a thought of what he’d just said.

“Oh my god,” Emma gasped, as the realization hit her.

All of them turned as one to look at her.

“What is it, Emma?”

Heart beating rapidly in horror, she asked, “How long do elves have periods for? Because I’m not going to lie, I was looking forward to menopause. Now you’re saying I have to go through this torture for hundreds of years?”

“Oh ewww, mum, come on!”

“It’s part of life, Henry, I told you that,” she told her son distractedly as her gaze remained on Killian.

“Yeah, but that’s for when I’m like older. I don’t need to know that now.”

“Don’t even talk to me about you getting old,” she warned. Henry shut his mouth abruptly, no doubt remembering her breakdown about her outliving him still fresh in his mind from the week before.

Killian looked flustered, so it was Gracie who answered.

“We’ve evolved not to need that, actually.”

“ELVES DON’T HAVE PERIODS?!” Emma shrieked indignantly.

“I mean, we do,” Gracie corrected, brow furrowing, “it’s just, it’s not the same. You bleed once every 3 to 5 years, until you hit about 250. Then the body sets itself into what is called Henig Amatúlië. It’s basic epigenetics. And Recognition can trigger it later on. Like an on and off switch.”

“What she said,” Killian mumbled.

With an eyebrow arched, Gracie asked, “How do you not know this, Your Highness?”

“Just Killian, lass. And I do. I mean, not in as much detail as you do, of course.”

“Okay, can we change the topic now, please?” Henry begged.

Emma met Gracie’s gaze, the young elf rolling her eyes as if to say, men, no matter the species, all the same. Belle laughed, clearly entertained, as she diverted the conversation into some random fact.

* * *

Emma excused herself to freshen up a little while before dinner, only to be followed by Killian just as she reached the day room for guests.

“You’ve made it hard for me to get you alone,” he said, closing the door with a soft click.

“I was doing no such thing.”

“You’re simultaneously an enigma and an open book, my love,” he said.

Killian had a habit of dropping saccharine endearments into their conversations, and she didn’t know how seriously to take him. While it was hard to stop the warmth that stirred in her belly every time he used one on her, she told herself that perhaps, it was simply how he spoke, and did it to everyone. So she ignored it.

“How so?” she challenged.

“Our messages have gotten a little brazen, wouldn’t you say? Yet here you stand before me, skittish as a doe. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re only brave to admit to your desire when you have a distance.”

“Wow, that’s reaching, don’t you think?”

“Hardly, Swan,” he scoffed, “I think it’s right on the mark. You’re scared of me, scared I’ll let you down.”

“Just what the hell have you been speaking about with my son?”

“I didn’t have to ask Henry any of this to know it, Emma. Give me some credit. I didn’t pry.”

“You think you know me so well then? What about you?”

“What about me?”

She paused, considering him. Somewhere during their conversation, they had moved closer. It was like a disease, a constant pull towards him whenever they occupied the same space. She wanted, when he was nearby.

And while he seemed to read her easily, she couldn’t quite figure him out. That in itself, was scary. He was unpredictable, an unknown entity that already had too much hold on her heart. An elf who understood her and had ingrained himself in her family. He was too much.

“I’d say you’re scared too. I just don’t know what about.”

He shrugged, slowly bringing his hands to grasp hers.

“Well, if we’re going to be scared anyway, doesn’t make sense to do it alone, yes?”

“Killian…”

“Why are you making this so hard, Emma?”

She bit her lip, eyes roving across his face as she considered how truthful to be. He was beautiful, that was easy to see, but throughout the weeks, he had proven to be everything she had ever looked for in a man. Elf. Man. Same thing.

Sure, there were inklings of a temper and jealousy that she could see there, and perhaps he was more reserved and secretive than she was, but he had shown himself to be kind, considerate, funny and above all, had taken a genuine interest in her life and Henry’s.

He had gotten lunch delivered to her when she had complained about having to work over her break hour due to Ashley’s mess up; had tutored Henry on math via hologram the day before an exam; made her smile by sharing articles and pictures of cute animals with silly captions throughout the day; in short, he had stuck around, with no pressure for more, as promised.

He kept promises. She hoped that was true. She wanted to believe that.

“How would this even work?”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re an elf prince. You live in a royal place in Irska.”

“Actually,” he cut in, “I live in Alamané. In a penthouse overlooking the river. I write music and paint, and I sometimes sell those paintings.”

“Your brother hates me.”

“What? No. Liam is wary of you, but he is wary of everything.”

“No, pretty sure he doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”

“Emma,” Killian said, looking at her in concern, “I’m not sure what the idiot did to give such an impression, but I promise you that is not it. Liam’s issues are with my choices, not you. If he hated you, he wouldn’t have launched an inquiry about your parents.”

She pulled her hands away from his.

“He did what?!”

Killian looked like he deeply regretted revealing that. Emma glared at him.

“The Sukrasa are… they are the guardians of the elves. Everyone has a file. Since that first night, they’ve been building yours. Liam looked at it. I didn’t. Told him he was overstepping.”

“Fucking right that’s overstepping,” she growled, crossing her arms.

“Yes, well, he’s got a different idea on what constitutes as help. Liam is big on family. It’s why he tolerates the mad witch.”

“The mad witch?”

“Father’s consort, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed sardonically.

“Liam may know a fact or two, but he doesn’t know the stories. Besides, I have a feeling you’ll get on with Elsa.”

“She seems rather frosty.”

“She’s the nicest. Too nice for my idiot brother, honestly. She just takes a little time to warm up.”

“Did they Recognize too?” she asked, uncrossing her arms.

“No. They chose each other.”

“What happens if they Recognize with someone else?”

“They still have the choice to keep choosing each other. Besides, elves aren’t nearly as prudish as humans. We’re a polyamorous species, which makes sense when you think about how long we live.”

“I don’t share,” Emma said, the words rushing out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Good,” he said, taking the passion behind her words as an invitation to step into her space, “because neither do I.”

Emma gulped, suddenly feeling short of breath. Killian kissed her forehead, lips lingering between her brows as he breathed her in.

“Are we doing this, then?” he whispered, arms coming around her to caress her sides.

“I…I just… I’ve got to do something first.”

He sighed, pulling back. “Fine, but don’t tell me you’re not avoiding this, us, me.”

He looked as if he was fighting his frustration, biting his lip and shifting his foot.

It shouldn’t have been, but was, terribly endearing. Running on instinct, Emma leaned in, going for a kiss.

Killian’s reaction was instantaneous; his lips parted, deepening the kiss, derailing the chaste peck she had been aiming for. She indulged in it for a moment, breathing him in, before pulling back.

“Be patient, Killian.”

“Sure, what’s another 300 years?” he muttered. His cheeks were a ruddy red.

“Killian?”

“Yes?”

“Liam’s enquiry…did…”

“No. Not yet. If there is, I’ll let you know.”

She placed another quick, tender kiss on his cheek and then turned and walked to the water-closet, shutting the door firmly behind her.

She heard a faint murmuring, not being able to catch his words, as she washed her face and took in her own flushed complexion.

You’ve played yourself, Swan.

* * *

In hindsight, staying for dinner had been them, overstaying their welcome. They’d barely finished the hors d’oeuvres when the Sukrasa announced Her Highness, Queen Consort Coraline was to be joining them.

The easy flow of the room vanished instantaneously, as Liam, Elsa and Killian sat up straight as if a tree branch had been inserted down their spines. Jefferson, who generally stayed away from elvish politics, looked discomforted by the prospect of the queen joining the table.

Gracie and Henry, clearly neither oblivious nor stupid, picked up on the change of demeanor of the adults and quietened down. Emma could think of no good reason why the queen would join them for a simple occasion of tea and dinner.

Beside her, Killian gripped her wrist. Emma had given up resisting him while she was in his presence, the need to connect and touch too strong to ignore for the sake of pride. They’d been discreetly hand-holding under the table for a while now, though neither had said a word about it.

The doors opened, and everyone stood. Killian dropped his hands from hers abruptly, as an elf in a blood red ballgown with dark hair in an up-do practically glided into the room.

Aside from the fact that she was over-dressed for the occasion, there was a sense of superiority about her that set Emma’s teeth on edge.

“Really, Killian, I must find out from the help that you’re hosting a dinner with someone who could potentially be joining the family?”

Her voice was clear and sharp, and despite the concern in her tone, Emma could tell it was more a reprimand than a desire to be included. She didn’t care about his response as her eyes zeroed in on Emma, who despite wearing an elvish-style dress, felt like she had been judged and came up lacking.

“Well, she’s pretty, at least. Small mercies. What is your name?” the queen demanded.

“Emma,” she answered, matching the no-nonsense tone.

The queen made a tsk. “I hear you’ve lived as a human your whole life, what a pity. But that’s no excuse for lack of propriety, my dear. I suppose we’ll have to see to your lessons about elvish court.”

She heard Liam cough, and saw Killian’s ears flush red.

“I think you’re putting the cart before the horse, Your Highness,” she said, looking the woman in the eye. “We’re here to honor Gracie, after all.”

“Yes, there’s really no need to be inundating the Lady Swan, is there, Queen-Consort?”

Clearly irritated by the title, her eyes flashed to Killian. She moved to the head of the table, sitting down and beckoning them to do the same.

“I told you, son,” she replied, tone saccharine sweet, “no need for such titles when you could call me mother.”

“Not a damn chance, thanks, Your Highness,” Killian answered with a smile.

God, this was exhausting. Killian, with teeth still bared at his step-mother, turned to Gracie.

“Gracie love, I present to you Her Highness, Queen Consort Cora. You should tell her all about your assignment about human-elf integration, I’m sure she would love to hear it. You and Henry make a great research team.”

Emma wondered who she ought to kill first - the Queen, if she made a disparaging remark about her son, or Killian, for bringing attention to him. It was sure to be a fun dinner.

* * *

It wasn’t a fun dinner.

As soon as it was polite, Jefferson excused himself and Gracie, with a look to Emma. Needing no impetus, she also excused herself, receiving no resistance from Henry, who had been asked twice what sort of history they studied in human schools.

The queen seemed to adore Gracie, constantly comparing her knowledge to that of Henry, making sure to note the differences in standards. Emma was two seconds away from throwing a fork through her eyes, but Gracie seemed to diffuse tension with the kind of grace befitting her name.

“Of course, it’s late. I would like a word alone with Miss Swan” the queen said, eyes glinting.

“Your Highness,” Liam interjected smoothly, “I’m afraid Miss Swan isn’t quite privy to all the protocols of court. Perhaps when we’ve—“

“I’m well aware, William. Now, my request stands. Please leave us.”

Jefferson, Henry and Gracie stood. Emma waved them off.

“Go on, Henry. I’ll be right there.”

“I’m staying,” Killian said, tipping his chair in an insouciant move. Emma ignored him. This power play was a family issue, and she did not want to be anyone’s pawn.

“Am man theled?” Queen Cora said to him in Elvish, leaving Emma clueless as Elsa and Liam rose.

“I am staying,” Killian repeated, clearly having no wish to explain his reasons.

Liam looked like he was about to say something, but Killian flashed him a look, posture screaming for this fight to be his. Liam said nothing, giving the queen a hard look before walking out and slamming the door.

“So hot headed, your brother. Just as you are,” she said, switching back to the common tongue. She shook her head at him disappointedly.

Having had more than she could bear, Emma snapped. “Fine, Your Highness,” she said, the title dripping like ooze, “I’m here. What did you want to say?”

“Very well, straight to business. You’re to remain discreet, Miss Swan. The less anyone sees and knows you, the better. You’re not to talk about your suspected parentage to anyone. And…” she pulled out a bottle from her pocket, “if you happen to find yourself with a…problem in your belly, this tea will solve it.”

Killian had grown progressively more irate as the woman had spoken. At her last words however, he growled, standing so abruptly the chair crashed to the floor.

“How dare you—“ he sputtered, stalking to her.

“Killian,” Emma called out sharply, never taking her eyes of the queen who seemed to be enjoying the bonus of watching her stepson rage, “this is my conversation.”

“As you pointed out, I’m uncultured in your bullshit rules of court. So let me tell you right now, that I don’t give a flying snapdragon about what you think of me. I sat down here and played nice while you barely tolerated my son, and now you’re asking me to abort a child I might have? I see why they call you a serpent, but it seems like a damn insult to the snakes.”

“How dare you speak to me that way, you insolent brat! You have truly no idea who you’re speaking to. No idea how I’m helping you. This is your one and only show of mercy, Miss Swan. Test me again, and you will deeply, deeply, regret it.”

Nostrils flaring, the queen strode away, the anger radiating from her an ancient thing. Perhaps if she had been anyone else, Emma might have been cowed, but she felt nothing but anger.

Just as she reached the door, she turned, eyes finding Killian.

“Ask your brother, he knows why I only meant to help,” she said, and then walked out through the antechamber. The door was shut heavily behind her.

“Amarth faeg! That fucking, no good, lousy viper! Pe-channas!” he snarled, picking a bowl and flinging it across the room. It shattered into dust, the fine glass completely disintegrated from the force.

“I should slit her throat where she sleeps.”

“Okay, whoah, calm down, Killian. I’m pissed too, but calm down with the murder.”

“Slitting her throat would be too merciful for someone like her,” he said darkly.

“What did she mean about ask your brother?” Emma asked, moving to pick up the vial she’d left behind.

Killian was shaking, his face red. He looked two seconds from throwing another bowl.

“Who knows? Probably something said to sow seeds of distrust.”

She held the vial of clear liquid up to her eye, swirling it this way and that. “No, she wasn’t lying. I could tell.”

“What are you doing with that?” he asked her instead, ignoring her remark.

“I don’t know.”

“Throw that away. Perhaps you should throw it there,” he said, indicating to where a dust of white lay to their right, “where it belongs.”

“Does it do what she said?”

His mouth dropped open, the look in his eyes one of betrayal. “You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t think I would. But I should have a choice!” She tossed the vial in the air and caught it.

“You do have a choice, but what am I? Does my opinion count for nothing?”

“Not if it’s my life on the line!” She growled at him.

“That’s fair, Emma, look I’ll respect your choice. But at least let us talk about it if it comes to that. And for the love of the universe, not by her methods. Who knows what poison is actually in that.”

Without a word, Emma swung her arm back, releasing the vial against the wall. It shattered, the liquid running down the sides of the wall.

“That felt good,” she said, grinning. “I pictured hitting the back of her head.”

Killian blinked at her, an unreadable look on his face, before he surged, crossing the distance and grabbing her by the waist. He kissed her soundly, pulling greedy kisses from her lips. She responded enthusiastically, channeling all her irritation and emotion into passion.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing deeply.

“You’re a marvel, Emma Swan.”

“And you have some serious anger issues, but it’s also very, very sexy.”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“That’s sweet, Killian, but I can fight my own battles.”

He smiled against her lips, kissing it briefly before pressing his nose to hers. “I don’t doubt it, but you don’t have to do it alone. That’s what I keep telling you.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

She pulled back far enough to look him in the eye.

“Henry told me an old saying. We’re only as strong as we are united.”

“Smart lad.”

“Yeah. I missed you. I could feel that…emptiness. I thought it was an after-effect of all that Recognition stuff…maybe it is, but I guess… I mean you asked why make this harder than it needs to be, and well, maybe you’re right.”

“I know exactly what you mean, my love. I’d rather not live like that, considering I now know what its like to have you in my arms. My heart no longer needs be empty. I know it won’t be easy, but we don’t have to get involved in any of the snake’s politics, we can just… be. Away from here. Work on this, us, together. Would you like that?”

“I suppose it’s good as any plan.”

He laughed, tweaking her nose. “That’s hardly a plan, but we’ll work on one. Henry is probably getting really impatient outside this door.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised he hasn’t barged in yet. Gracie is really good for his manners.”

Killian kissed her softly, a gentle peck of the lips, before reaching to grasp her fingers with his hand.

“And you’re really good for me. Come.”

please track tag ‘cs ff recognition’ for future updates:

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Shoutout to @mysecondmountain and @galadriel26 for all the comments and reblogs and for reading past fics and commenting on that too. You guys are rockstars ILU

#cs ff #cs fic #cs ff recognition #cs soulmate au #cs au #cs recognition

[thatcookingfat]

Dizzy, the Early Years

Born as the war was coming to a close, Dizzy is the middle of 3 daughters. Grandad, a proud Lancashire Lad, was away in The Signals, doing his part for the war effort & Nan, Motherwell Matriarch, was a stay at home mum. We joke that if the war had continued there would have been a much bigger family; Grandad returned from leave 3 times, leaving Nan with a ‘Bun in the Oven!’  

Like many veterans, he was reticent to talk about his experience; only choosing to tell us his job was to lay down the communication system before troops moved into an area. Nan didn’t have time to work! When she wasn’t cooking one in the oven and running a house single handed, she was next door, at my great grandparents, helping her parents! Both he and Nan came from large families. I had over 40 great-aunts and uncles, counting their spouses. I may not remember them all, but I do remember the feeling of family closeness and laughter, lots of laughter! On Nan’s side, it was like ‘Mrs Brown’s Boys' on turbo settings and on Granddad’s side, it was less raucous, but an amazing talent of being able to ‘spin a good yarn' with such a dry sense of humour!

Mum talks about her childhood with such warmth and affection, apart from resenting she always got the hand me downs, whilst her 2 sister's got everything new, “Middle Child Syndrome”! Sadly, mum grew up being told, by her teachers, that she was stupid and illiterate! Dyslexia didn’t exist back then! It made her disruptive in school and totally switched off to learning. Her favourite word, apparently, was, “Why?” Back in an era where children were seen and not heard, she and Granddad would regularly be at loggerheads. Mum always the loser, sometimes with a fat lip for her efforts! So it was hardly surprising when she married as soon as she could, in an effort to escape her strict upbringing.

Sadly, mum swapped her authoritative dad for a manipulative wife beater! Not to begin with of course, that controlling side took a short time to develop. In an age where wives stayed at home, mum would be out working full-time to pay his gambling debts. As an added bonus, she would be punished because there wasn’t a hot meal waiting for him, when he got in from work! They also had problems conceiving, another reason for a ‘quick slap'! But sadly, both their bodies were working against them. Mum’s bits produced too many chemicals that would destroy his little swimmers and he couldn’t produce enough little swimmers, and those he did produce needed a sat nav to find their destination! So, although I call him my ‘Sperm Donor’ he wasn’t! I will never know who was! I was conceived in a petri dish in Harley Street, London, at the cost of £2000 in 1970s prices. A secretive procedure back then, Artificial Insemination by a Donor, I am the result of a quick one of the wrist! All I do know is, as a controversial procedure, donors weren’t exactly queuing up, so it tended to be other medical professionals that donated their services. (Shame I didn’t inherit the clever gene!)  

As I’ve said, it was a secretive procedure and frowned upon as it was creating Frankenstein babies ... now I know why I’m so twisted!! They had to swear, on a bible, that my parentage would never be revealed, although by law I had to be registered with the ‘father unknown' label on my birth certificate ! Erm, hello ... do you not think that might raise suspicion?? And, as my exes would probably agree with, technically I was a Bastard, not a term discussed in polite society back then! So Mum was now baking her own bun and received 9 months of peace from his fists, not his verbal abuse though. He never let her forget it was HER failings that made them do what they did. That man, and I use that term in the biological sense only, was a master of manipulation.  Mum genuinely believed it was all her fault, she was stupid, she was inferior!  

Anyway, this has gotten far too serious, so let’s resume normal service! Mum couldn’t wait for her bump to show. Sadly, we think I’m made of plain, not self-raising flour; as mum was almost 8 months pregnant before it was evident! After almost a decade of trying to conceive, even her mummy tummy was letting her down! Her eldest sister, cooking baby number 7, and younger sister on baby number 2, were the size of buses ... so was mum, only hers was Corgi toy size! Finally, after many hours of labour (the number varies) I came into the world. I’m not saying I was ugly, but they had to slap the midwife! Simply put, I was over baked. I had layers of dead skin caked onto me! But mum thought I was beautiful, thank goodness at least someone did! Her friends would come to visit her in the hospital, sneak a peek and recoil, trying to hide their horror! Eventually, the dead skin came away, and I resembled human form! A thoughtful baby, apparently I always waited until Mum was pulling up the covers to sleep before opening my foghorn lungs! Unable to breast feed, mum would be sitting there bottle feeding me, being told what a failure she was, she couldn’t even feed her down child properly and that maybe it would be better if he just took me away to a better family! It’s a miracle she ever bonded with me!

Looking back through my rose tinted child glasses, they have much thinner lenses than the ones worn today, life seemed idyllic. It seemed to consist of school, where I was labelled a swot, playing out with my friends and Enid Blyton! Despite her fear of the written word, mum instilled a love of books into me. Apparently, when I was a baby I had cloth books for the pram and water proof books for the bath. She was determined I wasn’t going to grow up with her phobia. Unaware at the time, mum had rote learned a ladybird book, “Telling the Time” and would read it to me at bed time. She confidently sat there holding the book and turning the pages at all the right times, “At 7 o’clock we all rise, to stretch, and rub our sleepy eyes.” ...

... ... ... ...

Sorry, had to stop for a minute there, my eyes have started leaking! Wow! Didn’t realise that was such a powerful memory, anyone know a good plumber?  

She was so clever, if I had a different book, she would ask me to read it to her, and I would mimic what I had learned from her. I was totally oblivious to her fear, but more importantly her sheer strength and determination. Not to be outdone, he drummed the times tables into me. He thought because I knew what 12 x 12 was at the age of 4, that he was the victor. But he wasn’t, I LOVED books, and 12 x 12 was just like a poem that you recite over and over again. It had no meaning, whereas I could pick up a newspaper and tell him that Star Trek WAS on, even though he’d said it wasn’t, to get me to bed early! He said I was lying, until I read the blurb in the TV listings! It’s probably the only time I remember getting a ‘good hiding’ from him. Looking back with adult eyes, to him, it was probably the equivalent of mum telling him HE was in the wrong, and I had to be put in my place!

I’m not saying I thought mum was perfect back then, far from it! Mum was strict, NO meant NO and please & thank you came as standard, not an optional extra! We had a 1, 2, 3 rule ... if I didn’t do as I was told by the time she got to 3, my arse knew about it! And I’m not saying I wasn’t defiant either, I soon learned that I could get away with waiting until she got to, “Thhhhhhh,” so long as she didn’t get to the, “Reeeeeeee” part I was ok! And I also learned that if mum said no, a few tears to him, got me what I wanted. I didn’t know that by telling tales like that, mum was given a good hiding, once I was in bed! What a selfish, spoiled brat I was!

At the age of 7, the year of Grease, Olivia Neutron Bomb and John Travolting, we moved to Blackpool! I dreamt of sun, sand and an endless supply of rock! Who knew there were schools and even bad weather? Trust me, beaches soon get boring, you can sicken yourself on rock and Blackpool in the closed season is like the Antarctic! We went into partnership with Mum’s childhood friend and her husband. We ran a 9 bedroomed guest house, 109 Albert Road, aka Durham House. Life was far from the idyllic dream I had imagined!  The men worked a window cleaning round and Mum and her best friend seemed to be constantly in the kitchen cooking, or making beds! A far cry from the luxury bedrooms our guests had, we slept in the cellar! The only natural light came from the glass tiles in the roof, that was often punctuated with the feet of people walking by above, at street level.  

That’s also where I learned that kids could be so cruel. Poor mum saw this only child, spoiled brat being a prize bitch, she didn’t see the slaps, pinches and name calling that can be so devastating to a child’s confidence! The bullying was always at its peak during meal times, as all the grown-ups were busy looking after the guests. I developed, what today would be called a psychosomatic illness, basically I smelt the food cooking and I would throw up! Bring rushed off her feet, mum would make me sit on the back doorstep, throwing up into the outside drain. It sounds gross, but it was my haven, until bedtime! Obviously, being a kid, I saw mum as a graceful swan, cooking a million meals effortlessly, I didn’t see the frantic paddling her feet were doing below the water. The so called best friends were scamming the business and eventually it all went tits up! So he moved back to Coventry first, with the premise of getting a job and finding us a place to live. Mum and I moved in with a friend, so I could see the school year out in Blackpool. Bratty me could only see that I'd ‘lost' the nice parent and had to live in this hellhole with the strict one!  

I was totally unaware that, instead of getting everything ready for our return, he was living with Nan and Granddad, visiting prostitutes and gambling away the little money that was salvaged from the business. So my dream of returning to our privately owned 3 bed semi turned into the nightmare of a 4th floor council flat, no garden, no friends, yeah I was a selfish brat! That flat continued my awakening to how cruel life can be. That’s where I witnessed my mum slide down a wall after a swift punch, it's where I saw my mum finally snap and almost break his shoulder blade with a steak tenderiser and it's where I discovered I was a Bastard!  

Fearful of anything legal or official, mum had stuck to oath she had sworn 9 years ago. She had been mortified when instead of the, ‘Father Unknown’ that should have been on my birth certificate, he had registered my birth alone and naming himself as my legal father. I can still hear her pleas as she begged him ‘not to’ as he uttered the words, ‘I'm not your dad.’ He had an impeccable sense of timing too, it was the same night I discovered my dear great aunt had died! He failed to tell me the full facts, leaving me to assume mum had been unfaithful. I was at the age where sex had something to do with boys having pencils and girls had pencil sharpeners, so simply I thought mum had sharpened someone else’s pencil! Bless her, I bet she never thought she would be having ‘that’ conversation, whilst explaining the science behind it, whilst nursing a dislocated jaw!  

Expecting me to take his side, with his half truth, he was floored at my reaction! I remember feeling so angrily empowered and grown up, telling him, at the age of 8, that he couldn’t tell ME what to do, he wasn’t my Dad! I was then floored, literally at his response, my cheek stung for an age! Oh and by the way, this was Christmas Eve! I suppose my under reaction to Christmas today, has a lot to do with that time! I don’t remember much about that Christmas Day, other than a deathly silence and an atmosphere thicker than the Cabinet Room at No10, after the last election! I do remember Boxing Day though! Mum wasn't there when I woke up, and me and him went to visit my cousin! I thought nothing of it, when he and my cousins went to the pub. I thought it was exciting because Tina, my cousins wife, was teaching me to knit! Kids are so fickle! I was unaware that instead of the pub, they had in fact been at the flat, changing the locks! We returned home later to an empty flat and Mum STILL wasn't home the next day either! He told me she had phoned to say she wasn’t coming back! Like a prat, I believed him!  

I dreaded going back to school, because the first thing we would have to do was write our ‘news'. I remember staring at the blank page, trying to make up some magical story to compete with the other kids! I didn’t want my real news shared! I’m not sure what happened next, but I do remember a tear spreading out on my blank page and being quietly lead away to the Head Mistresses’ office. Waiting patiently in there was MUM!!!! In between my sobs, she explained how she had gone out Boxing Day morning to ask a friend, if mum and I could move in with her, until something better could be organised and on her return, the locks had been changed. Long  story short, the school would not let me leave before home time. I had to then ‘chose’ if I would cross the road to my aunts house and wait for him, or leave through the office and out to Mum, waiting in Grandad’s car! How thoughtful of the school to put such an immense responsibility on an 8 year old child! That day was a blur! I couldn’t wait to leave with mum! We were off on an adventure! Blow you Famous Five, The Terrific Two had their own stories to discover.  

[snarksicleblog-blog]

Grimsby

Grimsby

By Danaë Brandt

Click.

A pale naked man looked up at the worn-out contraption.

Digital Board: 3 001 768 288 Served.

This naked man’s name is Carl if you must know. That however, is unimportant. He was but one, of countless “hopeful” (and just as naked) applicants, queuing up the narrow hallway to Mr. Grimsby’s door. He breathed a sigh of relief. I’m next. Bout’ fuckin time. He took a step forward toward the red tape on the floor, and stopped. He watched Frat Boy, the guy he had been standing behind, lower his head, clench his butt cheeks, and make his way towards the office door. He stopped just as he was close enough to smell the nauseating green lead paint. The only object around that was new enough to gleam. His left thumb went from tan, to red, to purple as the right pressed into it, suffocating the life out of his manicure.

Where the hell is the guard? Carl thought. He had gone on coffee break a while ago. He would have shoved this idiot in there already. He turned his head to glance over his shoulder, keeping his eyes levelled as to not catch anything below the belt. He could not see where the line ended anymore. The flickering lights were dying along the mile-long corridor, plunging the unfortunates at the end of line into complete darkness. One could be excused for thinking they were trying to gain entrance to the most in vogue underground club in the U.S. instead of a meeting with the terribly trivial Mr. Grimsby. One could also wonder why this place was so under-staffed, or why one man would be in charge of all the applicants in North America. After all, they were in the most notorious of places. Seems positively, unequivocally, really truly… Anticlimactic.

The people in line started sneering at the apparent cowardice of the Head of Gamma-Something-or-Other house.

“Gutless moron,” someone whispered at first.

“Yeah asshole? What happened to that smart-ass attitude?” asked a woman in a nasal voice.

“Not so tough without your polo shirt, huh?” said far way voice. Not the best heckler in the bunch.

“Where your bros at?” added another. Many applicants in line started joining in. The deluge of taunts made its eventual way to the folks so far back, they had never seen the front crowd. Soon enough, they were also mocking the pathetic guy at the door. Then, in a steady and decisive voice, Carl, the man right behind him, let out the last one Frat Boy wanted to hear.

“Pussy.”

The young boy turned around raising both his arms, like a priest during Acclamation… Or a frat boy after a keg stand.

“Oh yeah? Fuck you!”

He turned back swiftly and, in a hyperventilating fit, reminiscent of a child about to dive into glacial water, Frat Boy twisted the silver doorknob and stepped in. The line erupted in cheers. They were glad to be rid of the aggravating boy. Their long wait had been made even more unbearable by Gamma-Douche’s loud and incessant whining. From what Carl had gathered, Frat Boy had driven his Camaro into a minivan, killing a family of five. His parents had managed to bail him out. Clean record and all. Five months later, plastered Frat Boy got himself into yet another accident. Needless to say, a meeting with Mr. Grimsby was unavoidable. Mr. Grimsby could not be bought by daddy dearest. Or by Carl for that matter…

Click. Digital Board: 3 001 768 289 Served.

Carl’s head snapped back to the front. Already? The Digital Board had been so slow, Carl had found himself counting his eyelashes to cope with the painful wait. This time however, it had not been a minute before it was the next person’s turn. His turn. He slowly walked up to the office door and turned the heavy plain knob, inhaling longer than he would, hoping it would slow his frantic heartbeat. With a forceful exhale, he pushed the door.

Mr. Grimsby’s office reflected a life of bureaucratic exactitude. There was one desk in the centre of the room, opposing chairs, the white walls were bare, and the file cabinets neatly locked with the endless contracts he has drawn over the years.

“Take a seat,” said the little man, his attention fixated on the form in front of him. He scribbled with frantic movements of the wrist, his skeletal elbow anchored, steadying his writing arm with the precision of a printer. His green visor blocking his sure to be weasely face, framed his glossy bald head. Once he finished, he tossed the pen into the bin by his bare legs. Carl heard it hit the metal brim, then the floor. He got down to pick it up and toss it himself. He didn’t want to take any chances with the clerk, even if he looked like weakling. Surely he couldn’t be. The bin was already half filled with dried up ballpoints. Mr. Grimsby’s crossed his legs, giving Carl a front row seat to his— THUD.

“Ow! Mother-f—“ Carl cursed after slamming his head on the edge of the table.

“Shall we we proceed sir?” Mr. Grimsby suggested with an impassive expression. His spidery fingers twisted the form to face Carl. His beady eyes unwavering behind his Mat Steel Windsor eyeglasses, “You will need to sign these papers to be permitted passage. Sign on the first dotted line at the bottom of the first and last pages, and write your initials on the the others as you read.

“There must be thousands of pages,” Carl complained.

“Indeed. Isn’t convenient we have all the time in the World? Once you finish reading, and I do suggest you read every page carefully, we can then discuss your options.”

“My options?”

“As to how you shall be spending your time here.”

“I have a choice?”

“We all make choices don’t we? It is what has landed you here in the first place, sir,” his neatly filed fingernail tapped the dotted line. Mr. Grimsby reached for another ballpoint in his drawer, and started scribbling on another form. Carl looked down to the papers:

Nether World District - Perdition Application Admission (NB - 1318)

Permanent Resident (North American Damned)

Carl read through the numerous Hell Residency Situations. It all looked pretty standard. With escalating gravity, the road to purgatory would be lengthier and more torturous. To be expected. Carl identified with situation 329: You have lived a life of sin by committing fraud in the 2010 Synthetic CDO case, trading insider secrets with your competitors at Citigroup, causing your investors to lose their material possessions, emotional stability and in some cases, caused them to take their own lives. You have spent more time pursuing selfish pursuits, causing you to miss eight of your son’s baseball games, two of your other son’s dance recitals and all of your twelve anniversaries—

“I always sent Beth flowers!” Carl muttered.

“I’m sure she appreciated being sent flowers from your secretary. The one you were having an affair with.”

“So? She was a pill-popping washed-up socialite. I was done with her. She wasn’t a better parent anyway.”

“Very astute of you sir. She is scheduled to arrive here six years and two months from now. She still has quite a few wild oats to sow. Your children’s future is still to be decided.”

“Hmmph,” Carl rolled his eyes and signed before finishing the ten page long situation, “Nice first name… Barney,” he mocked as he signed he last page, noticing the small engraved name plate on the desk, “I have to say, I didn’t expect Hell to be so… civilized.”

“How so sir?” Mr. Grimsby asked going over the application and making sure he wouldn’t be cheated by a con-man. He had also worked as a clerk in law firm way back in the day. He had been the type dot all the “i”s, cross all his “t”s, measure the dots above both “i”s and “j”s, making sure they were always perfectly aligned. He also doubled-barred all his zeroes, because God forbid his unfaltering compulsion for order, could be perverted by simpletons. It’s that obsession for the penny-ante that had landed him there in the first place.

“Well look at us? You’d think we’re at the DMV.”

“I’m afraid the Department of Motor Vehicles was established after my time.”

“Where’s the fire? Where are the hook wielding demons? Where’s the big dog guarding the Gates of Hell? This is all I was supposed to be “afraid” of? A scrawny immigration officer in a shitty poker cap?”

“Shall we proceed to the options of residency available to you?”

“I was at least expecting some fucking second-rate James Earl Jones declaring “I am the Gate Keeper” or some shit,” Carl continued. He sat back comfortably in his chair. He had eaten bigger steaks than the pathetic paper pusher sitting opposite him.

“This is not about living up to your expectations of Hades sir. It’s about tailoring your punishment to your worst nightmare… You are now insignificant, and, for all intents and purposes, I am the Gate Keeper.”

“Sure thing sir. Whatever you say “boss”.”

“As you qualify for an extensive list of punishments, you must purge your soul through a minimum of 300 years process—“

“Say Barnster, what landed your sorry ass down here?” Carl interrupted.

“It is of no importance,” he answered, his face as stoic as ever. He had not lived a selfless life. His nit-picky attention to the insignificant, had poisoned his promising accounting career, his family life, and finally his soul. His death had been dramatic in its own pitiful way. His employer had found a mistake in the books. One Mr. Grimsby refused to admit. It had been a mere difference of a few dollars. Nothing worth offering a challenge for. Mr. Grimsby had often likened himself to the misunderstood Third Vice President, Aaron Burr. This would be a farfetched comparison, praising Mr. Grimsby all too much. One could argue for delusions of grandeur perhaps, but most would note an unmistakeable inferiority complex. His employer, his own Alexander Hamilton, had been a skilled marksman, and petty Mr. Grimsby well… He had been vain… And legally blind.

“So you are just some poor sap who died before confession. That explains it. I want to see your manager.” Now that was a new one.

“My manager? Sir?”

“Oh don’t play innocent Barnacle, I want to meet the the Top Dog.”

“I am not familiar with that title.”

“The Big Cheese.”

“Sir we need to sign—“ Mr. Grimsby started before flinching when the other man slammed his fist on the desk.

“Listen here Barnicus—“ Carl stood up fast, his large frame casting a shadow on the Gate Keeper.

“Was that meant to be an insult?”

“I want to meet Satan.”

“Satan?”

“Yes Satan! The Devil, Lucifer, the Morningstar, God’s whiny eternally grounded teenage son. He’s the one that runs this place right? I’m the man to run this dump back to its former glory.”

“Unless you know one of the original demons, you have no connection to Mr. Morningstar. No common damned soul meets with the Head of State here,” Mr. Grimsby explained. His expression static.

“And have you met him?”

“I have a key position in his administration now don’t I?”

“So who’s a guy gotta blow for a job down here? I saw some of the mandatory punishments I got to go through. I’m sure as hell not going through phase two. Phase seven and eight, I can manage. I draw the line at becoming anybody’s money shot.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t how it works, sir,” Mr. Grimsby spoke, with his straight lips starting to twitch at the corners. He was amused.

“Oh come on man, is there anything I can be of use to the Big Guy? I have a array of skills that should be more than useful down here. You need to slice up some bitches? I took anatomy in first year of College. You need to get people to talk? I’m a master extortioner. Just ask Chris Christie. That fat old blockhead stood like a whimpering idiot behind the T Man, all because I got him drunk enough to take pictures with a half naked Ru Paul. You need to teach a slut a lesson? I’ll—“ Mr. Grimsby held up his right hand, and rubbed his temples with the left.

“Please sir. You’re making this process needlessly long. I am behind with the line-up, and I would hate to underperform after turning in my best numbers to date.”

“Please Barney…”

“Mr. Grimsby, sir,” he said, grinning at the large man, cowering at the idea of losing his manhood. Idiot, he already had.

“Mr. Grimsby,” Carl repeated.

“Fine, I’ll show you the way to his office. Forgive me if I don’t follow you. I have no time.”

“Of course, of course. Thank you Mr. Grimsby.”

“Very well,” Mr. Grimsby snapped his fingers. A golden door, carved itself into the bare wall behind the desk. The carvings drew a modern man’s body, in a fitted suit, tossing a coin into the air. His head was that of a large bull. “Send my regards to Mr. Morningstar.”

“Is there anything I should know?”

“If I was welcomed in his administration, I’m sure a strong man like you would have no problem doing the same. Have at it.”

Carl entered the dark corridor, and closed the door at snail-like pace. As soon as it closed, the door disappeared, manifesting a new, and decidedly less ostentatious door in its stead. A horned red skinned demon wearing a security cap entered, holding a steaming white coffee mug with a powder blue logo saying “Jesus is my Bitch!” He looked back the the door, with a puzzled look.

“Did you open The Door?” the demon enquired.

“Indeed.”

“Who went in?”

“A new resident.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“He tried to show you up didn’t he?” the demon ventured, and Mr. Grimsby shrugged, “You’re a sick bastard you know that Grimsby?” he remarked in a matter-of-fact tone.

“After over a Century down here… I am loathed to finally admit. I am petty. Send in the next one.” Carl follows the long narrow corridor, plunged into blackness. He made his way slowly, weary of what would be at the end. His eyes adjusted slightly, spotting flickering lights somewhere ahead…

Silence. Digit Board: 3 001 768 289 Served

#fantasy #short story #hell #fiction #prose fiction