#in this au he picks a fake name like she does. later i think demo starts calling him norman and some of the others do as well as goofs

[thetriggeredhappy]

recently rediscovered your blog and read the fic from your dad spy au where scout starts out as the "guard" and then becomes scout from there and lemme tell you that shit put me on some s-tier brainrot. like a cranial decay type beat.

i had a concept in my head that instead of being hired as a guard, he could have been hired as a right hand man to the administrator like pauling, because i think hed be awesome in that position. like imagine having a personal merc who can get in fast and out even faster. but maybe he would stay in the base like the rest of them, sort of like a secret on call intel gatherer, who also maybe sometimes has to dig a couple graves. and also like, nobody on the team expects anything from him at first because its this 20 year old newbie kid. hes dressed in his formal clothes and he talks like somebody from relatively around boston but not quite. i can just imagine one day he comes back during a team dinner with his shirt half untucked and stained with blood, hair disheveled as he asks soldier if he can borrow his shovel, or him debriefing them for a mission when miss pauling is busy. same vibe as the fic i mentioned before but scout gets to have a job as cool as miss paulings. honestly id write it myself if i didnt have the attention span of a fly

anyways your scout content gives me life thank you

scout teamfortress but 20% more competent standing next to miss pauling teamfortress while she's doing her job and doing like silly quips and otherwise contributing nothing like it's a buddy cop film is literally my fucking ideal

(warnings for some canon-typical violence)

-

“Oh, Pauling, it’s good to see you again,” greeted the chairman, smiling in an imitation of a grandfather and clasping her hands perhaps too-kindly considering she barely knew him. “Young as ever, and still so stylish, I see. And who’s the new fellow?”

“He’s just here to help with transport, Mr. Montgomery, nothing unusual,” Miss Pauling replied, returning his smile and adjusting her glasses. “Heavy cases, you know how it is.”

“Of course, I remember you almost toppling clean over last time we made a trade!” Montgomery agreed, frowning at the memory. “You’ll pull a muscle that way, better to be careful. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man. And your name?”

“Mr. Normandy, sir,” the new kid replied easily enough despite his slight East Coast accent, giving the man a firm handshake, expression neutral and stony, the picture of professionalism. Internally, Pauling breathed a sigh of relief.

“Firm grip there, young man,” Montgomery praised, nodding approvingly. “Tennis player, perhaps? Or golf?”

“Baseball, sir,” he replied, still evenly. “First baseman.”

“Ah! Of course! Were you any good?” Montgomery joked.

“At everything but playing in front of the crowds, otherwise I’d be in the major leagues,” he replied, tilting his head just slightly to imply that he was joking, his sunglasses glinting at the movement, and Montgomery barked a laugh.

“I like this one, Miss Pauling!” Montgomery said, and Pauling just barely caught herself from physically relaxing at it.

“We do too, Mr. Montgomery,” she agreed. “I was under the impression that you’re very busy today, so we won’t keep you for too long, we just wanted to sort out the final details surrounding the manufacturing rights for the—“

“—Pacific Northwest branch, up into British Columbia and Alberta, of course,” Montgomery agreed, nodding faintly. “Of course, of course.” He turned to regard his own man in a dark suit, the one standing to the right, who appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to stare down Normandy, who was completely ignoring him. “My briefcase, please.”

The man handed over the briefcase, and Montgomery put it on his desk, opening it and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “All our requests are submitted and approved, at this point we just had a few dustbins to take care of regarding initial percentages and making sure everything is wired to the correct accounts, which names are undisclosed, things like that,” Pauling explained as he glanced through the papers.

“Right, right, everything looks good here,” the man murmured, nodding to himself, sending his long-white hair just ever-so-slightly out of place. “I’m assuming these more sensitive documents should be sent some way besides through the mail?”

“If you finish them today I can take them with me, otherwise either me or Mr. Normandy can return to pick them up at your convenience,” she replied, to which Normandy gave a singular nod.

“Oh, it would only take me a short while,” Montgomery said, waving a hand. “We have a lovely lounge just down the hall from here if you’d prefer to wait there, it should only take me ten, fifteen minutes at most. In the meantime, I do believe there’s also the manner of payment for services rendered.”

Miss Pauling tilted her head just slightly to one side, confused.

“I arranged with Helen already,” Montgomery explained, not looking up from where he was initialing a few things. “The payment, rather than being wired, she asked to be made in material investment. A venture of mine from years ago that she’s willing to sit on. Rather than gold or bonds, she agreed to take some old currency of mine that my family collected, from early 18th century New Zealand and Australia. Monetarily it’s worth around the same, and I’m quite a bit attached to it to be entirely frank, but it was at her request to buy the whole collection from me, and after years of the work we’ve been doing together, well, I’d never trust it with anyone else.”

He gestured to the other man, the one on his left, who stepped forward to hand him a manila envelope, which he passed to Pauling.

“Inside is both keys, the door alarm codes, and all other security information for the building where the collection is being stored. They’ll ask for a few codes and confirmation of identity, only because several other art collections and artifacts are being stored there by other affluent individuals such as myself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling said, taking the envelope gratefully.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. Helen talked me into it all her own,” he said easily enough. “Now, gentlemen, if you would let Miss Pauling and Mr. Normandy into our lounge? I should have these wrapped up before any of us can even think about lunch, eh?”

One of the suits showed the two of them through the doors and down the hallway, through two doors bracketed by similar suits who simply nodded politely at Pauling and ticked their chins at Normandy as they passed them.

Normandy posted up beside the door for all of three seconds before they shut and Pauling pulled her glasses up, rubbing at the bridge of her nose and making a vaguely distressed noise. He then promptly relaxed, instead leaning his hip against an armchair probably worth the same amount as a small car. “So, uh, we’re glad that he’s giving us a bunch of commemorative coins from when dinosaurs still walked the earth?” he asked just below normal speaking volume, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. Very glad. Because unlike about six people total on the planet, he hasn’t figured out yet how valuable those are.”

“What, is a picture of a kangaroo on some copper really gonna make up for a couple hundred thousand American dollars?” Normandy asked, sounding doubtful.

“Not copper. Something else,” she replied. “I can’t tell you much more about it other than that, but these coins are made of something priceless to us. And to the Administrator.”

“…Love? Memories? The magic of family?” he joked, cracking a smile, and she rolled her eyes, moving to open the envelope and start reading the papers inside. “Hey, uh, not to question whether my job should exist, but what the hell am I doing here, exactly? Besides carrying a briefcase. Like, chivalry isn’t dead but I really don’t think you need me carrying your bags and holding the door for you.”

“You’re helping with security, basically,” she replied, adjusting her glasses to squint at tiny handwriting about the collection. “Mr. Montgomery is trustworthy, but he mostly hires out to… well, people like us. His security detail is mostly people we’d rather have screened, freelancers, stuff like that. A lot of people we contract out to are like that. Most of them have heard about me and know better than to try and pull something, since I can hold my own pretty well, but if they haven’t, seeing a second person might persuade them to think it over again.”

“Oh, so I’m like, uh, when it says ‘tow zone’ next to the no parking signs even though nobody checks, or when they’ve got a camera in the corner of the store that isn’t even plugged into anything,” he said, and the looked up at him, confused. “Like, uh, what’s the word… I’m a casual deterrent.”

“Sure,” she said, because it sounded like he knew what he was talking about, shuffling the papers back away and closing the envelope again, making a note to ask the Administrator if she should change their current containment procedures to be closer to Mr. Montgomery’s. “Just… if there’s a fight, you deal with it, otherwise you just stand there and look like you’re paying attention.”

“That’s what the sunglasses are for,” he agreed. “I was blinking morse code at the guy across from me literally the whole time.”

“You know morse code?” Pauling asked, surprised.

“Just the alphabet, ‘S.O.S.’, and ‘ass’.”

She rolled her eyes again, and that’s when the door opened.

She expected Mr. Montgomery, not one of the men in suits. “Excuse me, both of you, if you don’t mind,”the man said, accent having the slightest English tilt to it, a Londoner if Pauling had to guess. “You’re Miss Pauling, the Mann Co. affiliate, yes?”

“That’s me,” she agreed, hesitant, and glanced at Normandy.

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. Mr. Montgomery have you the wrong envelope on accident,” the man said apologetically, extending a hand forward. “We apologize for this unfortunate mix-up, it’s really quite embarrassing, but those documents are sensitive and we’ll be needing to see them back now.”

Pauling looked at him, and within a moment, shifted her expression. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she agreed, nodding. “No, right, of course. These aren’t the papers for the currency collection?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Brit agreed, head tilting just slightly, hand still extended, moving a fraction further forward.

“Well, thank goodness we figured out now and not with us halfway back,” she joked, and moved to hold the folder closer to her body. “I’ll take this right back to Mr. Montgomery, then.”

“He’s sent me to correct the error,” the man explained simply.

“Right,” she said, and saw in her periphery that Normandy had already started sneaking a hand in towards his primary, clearly having pieced together something she was only suspecting. “We can bring this to his office, then, right down the hall.”

“You misunderstand,” the man said, taking a step forward again. “I’ll be taking it to his office myself.”

“That’s funny,” Pauling said. “I didn’t realize you had clearance to be in there. Or to be carrying a semi-automatic instead of a standard handgun.”

The Brit reached for the semi-automatic, and before he could even get it out properly, Normandy hit one clean shot to the side of his head and another to his thigh, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Pauling had only as far as pulling her own handgun free, thumb on the safety, and breathed a sigh of relief, glancing over at Normandy, shifting to more comfortably hold her gun. “Quick reflexes,” she noted.

“Just noticed a lot sooner, maybe,” he shrugged, stepping forward to glance over the body, tucking his gun back away.

“What was your hint?”

“He’s here to give us the right folder, yeah? Well, why were his hands empty, then?”

She was just starting to nod and realize that as well when a second man shouldered through the door, holding a gun at the ready. Normandy scrambled to draw his own, but Pauling fired a shot into his knee, shoulder, and neck to send him dropping before he was even close. “There’s quick on the draw, and then there’s prepared,” she said pointedly. “Gotta think of if there’s more than one, new guy.”

He nodded, and drew his gun again, bending to hit the guy on the ground at the temple hard enough to knock him out if he wasn’t unconscious already. He then glanced up at the sound of a shout from the other side of the door, two men shouldering through, guns drawn but lowered. It was only the firm eye contact they made with both her and Normandy that made her pause the millisecond it took to realize these ones weren’t trying to kill them.

“Pauling, what on earth is going on here?!” Montgomery demanded, entering the room and staring with wide eyes at the bodies on the ground. “What could’ve possessed you to—“

“He was trying to run off with these documents,” she explained quickly, gesturing with the envelope. “He knew whatever was in here was valuable.”

“He drew his gun, sir,” Normandy added, tipping his head down towards the body, and Pauling glanced down as well and found herself a little surprised. He’d rearranged the man just slightly, apparently, adjusting the arm to be holding the gun a bit further outward. “Other one was aiming to kill.”

“My, my,” Montgomery tsk’d, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. “What a mess. My apologies, Miss Pauling, Mr. Normandy.”

“It’s alright, but you need to start doing more thorough checks on your staff, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling stressed.

“He’s only been here two weeks, sir, he was one of the men we hired in a hurry after the incident last month,” one of the bodyguards said, and Montgomery shook his head.

“Thank goodness nobody was hurt,” he sighed. “Mutiny, and besides that, they’re bleeding on my carpet. Here are those papers, Miss Pauling—what a day, eh?”

“It’s really alright, we handled it,” Pauling assured him, giving her bravest smile, a little exasperated now.

“Right, right, you and the first baseman,” he agreed, and Normandy fought back an actual smile.

“If you’d like, we can take care of those for you,” Pauling said, gesturing at the bodies. “To pay you back for the carpet and the scare.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Montgomery agreed, clearly relieved.

-

“My dad’s gonna be pissed, by the way,” Normandy was so helpful as to say on the way back up the path to the base. “And you’re fielding that.”

“About the suit, or the fight?” she asked, glancing at his clothes where he was somewhat covered in a fine dusting of mud and grime from the gravedigging, shovel still in his free hand.

“Both. Mostly the fight. Your fault for saying it’d be an easy one to start with,” he said.

“If it was going to be that much of a problem, you wouldn’t have gotten this job. I’d just have made you go do dishes all day or something,” Pauling replied.

“Point taken,” he said, walking ahead to get the door, holding it open for her. “Wait, we’re allowed to mention what we do, right? Just not names?”

“Or locations, even with travel distance. Round up to the hour if it comes up,” she replied.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed, trailing a step behind her as she led the way through the base.

In the common area, there was a bit of a ruckus happening. Soldier, Heavy, and Demo appeared to be having some kind of arm wrestling competition on a rapidly-toppling table, the Engineer was on a stepstool trying to fix the ceiling fan, and Sniper appeared to be half-watching the beginnings of an argument between Pyro and the Spy regarding use of the oven as Medic patched up a burn on his arm.

“Hullo,” Sniper greeted the two of them, sounding a little bored, Medic giving them a brief, polite nod. Normandy’s eyebrows were raised pretty far as he surveyed the room.

“Hi, Sniper,” she greeted in return, then cleared her throat, raised her voice. “Team meeting in five minutes! New mission for next week!”

Groans from the room at large, the eight mercenaries starting to finish up what they were doing and filing out. Spy moved over, glancing over Normandy and starting to talk to him in rapid-fire French, picking smaller bits of gravel off of his suit as they walked.

“Alright,” she addressed the room, Normandy peeling off from getting mother hen’d by Spy to stand next to the blackboard with her. “Monday, you’re all going on a transport mission. Getting the truck from point A to point B with everything in the boxes intact. Already we’ve had to put up with some people trying to get ahold of these things, so bring your guns.”

“Oh, our guns, you said? Lads, this is a serious one, keep your heads on a feckin' swivel, she’s sayin’ we might even need guns, can you believe it?” Demo faux-gasped, and chuckled when Spy bopped him on the arm, rolling his eyes at the Scot's theatrics.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved off, flipping through the papers a bit. “So Engie, I’ll need the keys to the truck, me and Normandy are going to be loading those tomorrow, all of you need to be at this drop point bright and early.”

“How early?” Heavy rumbled.

“Six. Hour and a half of drive from here.”

Some complaints from the room that she sighed at.

“Hey, hey, calm the hell down,” Normandy cut in, and she glanced over at him where he had his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. “You chuckleheads get to have all eight of you to unload the damn thing, me and Miss P gotta do all the rest of this on our own and probably kill twenty guys on the way there and back. She had to be up at 6 AM, workin’ since 7 AM, lunch break at noon and nothin’ else, and we just got back now at, what, fuckin’, 10, 11 PM? Any of you work her shift and then see if you even got the energy to complain about wakin’ up early, how about that?”

The room went utterly devoid of complaint or backsass. “Thank you, Normandy,” she said politely, and he just nodded once, glancing off to the side. “Anyways, anything new on this end? Spy, how are you adjusting?”

“Very well,” he said simply. “I have nothing pressing to say. Once I’ve been updated from the stock weaponry provided here to my requested preferred weaponry, I believe I should do just fine.”

“I see you already have Herr Normandy digging graves,” Medic chimed in. “Straight into the hard labor, ja?”

“Eh, hey, y’know, it’s why they keep us young people around,” he shrugged, grinning, and there was a brief uproar to drown out Medic’s entirely offended scoffing and Spy’s snort-laughing.

“Get ‘im, lad!” Demo cheered, and Normandy indeed looked fairly proud of himself.

“Monday, transport mission,” Pauling noted over the noise, writing it up on the chalkboard to hide her own smile from the room. “Normandy, you and me are doing the boxes tomorrow. Everyone on the same page? Good. Dismissed. Oh, and Pyro—stop taking the fire alarms down when they beep. They’re beeping because you light things on fire in the base. Do that outside.”

“Oh, hey, uh, helmet guy, All-American Beef,” Normandy called, and Soldier straightened up. “Here’s your shovel back. Gettin’ my own tomorrow.”


Soldier walked directly over to him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a high honor, Cadet,” he said, tone grave. “Do not take this responsibility lightly.”

“I, uh, I won’t?” he said hesitantly, and blinked a few times as the shovel was carefully taken from him before it was promptly marched from the room in double-time. Only then did Normandy look over at her. “So he’s always like that?”

“You’ll get used to it,” she assured, dusting chalk from her hands. “You should get to sleep soon, we have to be up early.”

“Sure thing, Miss P.”

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #my fanfiction #dad!spy #father-son bonding au #shut up me #que? #in this au he picks a fake name like she does. later i think demo starts calling him norman and some of the others do as well as goofs #also apologies for montgomery i couldnt quite get away with not naming random rich guy. just barely scraped by with guards one through four #everybody talks

[make-some-manna]

Cielo Vainilla: Open your eyes

2nd fic by KoRnfan13

Inspired by @surroundedbyperverts headcanons and @black-jackal-on-blog svtfoe school days AU.

(Editor’s Note: I have let spellcheck correct some of the detected spelling errors but otherwise left everything intact. 1500 words, 8 minutes)

Some background info:

•In this AU Marco didn’t met Star ‘till college, so he had self esteem problems while growing up.

•Marco never hooked up with Jackie, so he was very lonely for most of his high school years.

•Janna became his best friend, she had deeper feelings for him but Marco didn’t felt the same, however, they became “friends with benefits” at age 20, out of self hate and loneliness, from Marco’s part, and out of true love and hopes that Marco could change from Janna’s part.

•Marco became “more” confident in college, this was only a facade to hide his own insecurities, he “hooked up” with many girls just to pretend he had high self esteem and in the hopes he could find someone who could love him for who he really was.

•Marco became a successful writer and got money out of the royalties from all the series/movies that were made out of his works.

•Janna didn’t go to college, but she has a career as a musician, she formed an alternative band called “Manna”, she’s still in touch with Marco.

•Tom is an independent director who became friends with Marco during the first adaption of his novel.

•Star hooked up with Tom Again years later.

•Marco sometimes “steals” Tom’s girls out of feeling superior to him.

The story takes place after a party Marco threw out of the success of his latest work, all his friends come in, except Janna, he didn’t told her, because he didn’t want her to ruin his chances to hook up with someone for the night.

His friend Tom brings a new girl with him “Star Butterfly” from Mewni, Marco quickly tries to make the moves on her, she doesn’t fall for it, but instead, does something that Marco hasn’t done in a long time… they talk. Moved by this new feelings, Marco realizes his mistakes, and that maybe he just needed someone who reminded him that he matters.

The party ends and a drunk Star tries to make the moves on Marco, but he rejects her, instead, he offers her to stay on his room for the night, he promises that he will protect her, and he does, he locks the door from the inside and sleep outside the door, making sure no one bothers her. The next day, Marco wakes up with a blanket over him, and a letter, thanking Marco for not taking advantage of her while she was drunk. Marco is touched by her words and he decides he needs to get his act together, so he goes outside his apartment and goes to his car, but then, a familiar voice calls his name.

Janna: Marco Ubaldo Díaz! (Marco leans on his car, turns and shakes his head)

Marco: Janna Ordonia… (with a smile)

Janna: Hey handsome

Marco: You’re following me.

Janna: just a little bit (giggles a little). I wanted to finish what we were talking about. 

Marco: and…?

Janna: How’d it go with the “Butterfly” Girl? Did she turn into a “moth” for you?

Marco: Yes she did.

Janna: Yeah?

Marco: she did (tries to laugh it out)

Janna: I can tell by the way you were walking that you didn’t sleep with her (laughs, then Marco turns) Let me guess. You haven’t slept with her because… it’s more fun when you can draw it out. Sex just isn’t as good if the woman hasn’t told all her friends she’d never sleep with you.

Marco: (pauses for a moment, smiles for a bit) You’re right on the money, Janna.

Janna: So she’s sweet, she’s got a magic wand… She must be exhausted from trying to be witty for you all night long.

Marco: Hey, Janna.

Janna: Sorry. 

Marco: It’s ok (takes his keys)

Janna: It just seems like you’re just never there for your friends until they’ve already given up on you.

Marco: (trying to get into his own car, reconsiders what Janna told him)I’m not blowing you off! I just… I just want to be alone for a little bit (looks at his feet a bit saddened). Trust me… I have a lot of things I gotta take care of. And if we’re friends, which we are, then you’ll understand.

Janna: (simple, honest) I’m sorry I got weird. I missed an audition and (in a sad tone)It made me feel bad you didn’t invite me to your party. (Marco turns, considers her)D-do you want to make it up to me? I won’t tell a soul (winks, slowly, Marco is drawn to her. His old self rallies one last time, he gets in Janna’s car.)

[The streets are empty. She plays a CD of music in the spirit of Radiohead and Paramore made by her]

Janna: Would you do a story about me if I made a CD?

Marco: Sure I would…

Janna: (gives Marco her demo, he grabs it as he clearly enjoys the music)Do you like my music?

Marco: (Happy and confident) It’s vivid!

Janna: If I weren’t me, I would buy a CD by me. (smiles)

Marco: Well, you know, if you can reach one person ha ha…(Marco smiles, but Janna is a little hurt by his response, she hides it well with a fake smile)

Janna: What’s happiness to you, Marco?

Marco: (looking at Janna) what’s happiness to me? …(turns to the window, thinking) what is happiness…

Janna: Because for me (looks at Marco with sparkly eyes), this is happiness… (smiles, Marco turns to her) Is being with you (Janna smiles to Marco, and he smiles back as he puts his hand on her hand)

Janna: (In a cold tone) There’s one thing that bothers me. (she takes her hand away from Marco’s) Why did you tell Tom that I was your… (clearly hurt and angry) fuck-buddy?

Marco: (His smiles fades away and is replaced for a surprised look) I didn’t tell him that. I didn’t say that (tries to assure her didn’t said that with a playful laugh)

Janna: *sigh* And when did you stop caring Marco? (trying not to break in tears)

Marco: (watching the road turns to Janna) Caring about what…?

Janna: (annoyed) About the consequences of the promises that you’ve made.

Marco: (incredulous)Promises…? 

Janna: (in an angry more firm tone) yeah, the promises Marco: (thinking Janna is messing with him again, tries to laugh it out)I thought (smiles and then laughs, clearly not taking Janna seriously)come on, what are you talking about?        

Janna: Do you understand how hard it is to pretend to be your “buddy?“ 

Marco: (his playful expression changes to one of concern)…

Janna: Marco I-love you, 

Marco: (he thinks about his last interactions with Janna) I-I..

Janna: I love you so much… (Marco turns to Janna as she screams) I FUCKING LOVE YOU!!! (Almost crashes with another car) Fuck! 

Marco: Hey whoa! (tries to get the car back to the road) don’t do this, (trying to calm her down, with a playful smile he says)don’t do this

Janna: (almost in tears, Marco tries to charm her out with a smile) We made love 4 times the other night Marco. 

Marco: Janna (with a smile) eyes on the road

Janna: You’ve been inside me…I-I’ve swallowed your cum. That means something.

Marco: Janna… (worried)Slow down

Janna: 4 times, It means something Marco. 4 times.

(He grabs at the wheel. She won’t let go, and speeds up.)

Marco: stop the car!

Janna: (She picks at things on the dashboard, as she talks with a manic energy.) 24 hours a day I live with the aching possibility that you might call me to do something!       

Marco: (caring, almost. pleading) Take me to your house. We’ll talk this out. I want to see where you live. I want you to stop the car (they almost crash with another car, he screams), JANNA I WANT YOU TO STOP THE CAR!

Janna: Don’t you know, that when you sleep with someone… your body makes a promise whether you do or not? (turns to Marco)

Marco: (turns slowly to face her. All he sees are haunted

brown eyes. He knows at the very least, there will be a

crash. She guns the accelerator. He is paralyzed, unable to change his fate.)

Janna: Tell me something, Marco. I mean, do you believe in God?

Marco: (fearing for his life) W-what are you doing? (desperate, almost begging) ok I love you! I LOVE YOU! (Janna smiles but she goes full speed into a bridge, Marco tries to take the wheel but is pointless, they crash, the car sails into an embankment of a road below)

During their funeral Star comes out of nowhere, she breaks in tears, this girl who met Marco for a couple of hours, somehow, felt like she knew him from all her life, and she was saddened of his lost, she felt empty for some reason, even if she knew him for a brief time.

#submission #star vs the forces of evil #svtfoe #fanfic #janna ordonia #marco diaz