#Also just had to emergency buy a new pair of shoes right before travelling as mine just. Fully broke on me last night after 7 years of use- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kiruuuuu · 5 years ago

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Bandit/Jäger oneshot in which they’re on holiday, and maybe, just maybe, Bandit is up to something. Includes Sledge/Maestro, Smoke/Mute, Blitz/Rook and my recruits!! (Rating T/M, chaos, shenanigans + fluff, ~9.3k words) - written for @grasshopper643! This was an absolute blast, thank you so so much for commissioning me, and also for including the recruits 💖💖

Bandit awakens to birdsong, crickets chirping up a storm, bright sunlight falling into the comfy room smelling of old wood, and another body draped over his. Mind blissfully blank, he takes advantage of the marvellous situation he finds himself in: a deep breath fills his lungs with warm, fragrant summer air, and when he tilts his head to feel the soothing rays on his cheeks, he just happens to snuggle closer to the man atop him. Hands wander over exposed skin, travel down the dip of the lower waist, climb the gentle rise a bit further down, fingertips digging into inviting flesh.

Jäger stirs, not much, just enough so Bandit knows he’s awake, and wraps even tighter around him with a contented sigh. Normally, an embrace this snug would feel suffocating, and normally, the start of a new day would be met with unwilling groans and mutual shoving, but they’re on holiday. Bandit’s mind is at peace here, aided by the floral scent of all the flowers thriving not only outside the small house but scattered inside, too, inhabiting vases everywhere and mixing with the building’s own organic smell. Jäger’s personal one is merely the cherry on top.

Lazily, Bandit mouths at his lover’s shoulder while continuing the really quite lovely groping, massaging plump cheeks in preparation of early morning sex, something for which they rarely have the time. But they’re on holiday. They can do what they want. If he was any more awake, he might endeavour to take Jäger apart with his tongue until his moans turn into these hoarse pleas which never fail to drive Bandit insane, yet he’s afraid they’ll have to make do with languid humping amid deep kisses – travelling to their destination yesterday was surprisingly exhausting and they needed the sleep.

Nibbling at Jäger’s nape of the neck earns him his first moan for the day, so he uses more teeth, continues down that vein and grins to himself when Jäger stretches into his ministrations, sees a shadow move by the window and looks up, over Jäger’s shoulder, to -

- to be faced with five pairs of eyes. Very wide, and very curious.

His gaze must’ve turned murderous as all five idiots drop out of view immediately and, from the quiet sounds of it, scramble to get away. Vague regret befalls Bandit not for the first time: this half-baked plan might come to bite him in the arse eventually.

Oblivious to this distraction, Jäger curls into him and captures his lips in a sloppy kiss, and just for a moment, Bandit considers not getting up at all. Give ‘em a show, who cares – part of him wants to show off his boyfriend with his long limbs, the adorable little smiles, confident movements so unusual for him. And Jesus fucking Christ, not even twenty-four hours in Italy, and he’s already let its sappy atmosphere seep into his thoughts.

“Off”, he orders and slaps Jäger’s backside hard enough to leave a bright red mark. With a dissatisfied grumble, Jäger obliges and rolls off him, but not without reaching between Bandit’s legs and hell, he really doesn’t make anything easy, does he? There’s a brief scuffle accompanied by sleepy giggling on Jäger’s part and vanishing resistance on Bandit’s, and when he ends up pinning the other man down by the wrists, he still hasn’t won. Because Jäger beams up at him so unguardedly that it feels like a stab to the heart. He’s just, he’s just so -

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots movement once more and that’s it.

“I’ll be right back”, he promises and, despite being incredibly pissed, briefly sucks on Jäger’s neck for good measure just so his smile doesn’t fade before untangling their limbs and getting up. On the way out, he pulls on a t-shirt and underwear since he doesn’t feel like digging through their luggage for his sweatpants, takes one set of keys and leaves the house to face his delegation of idiots.

The five recruits have piled up outside the door, the majority visibly uncomfortable.

“Sorry for interrupting, chief”, the Irish lad, Shay, brightly addresses him and gets shushed by the others immediately before continuing much more quietly: “We just wanted to report back.”

“Did anything happen?”, Bandit asks and looks to the only competent one of the bunch, the Russian lurking in the back, always seeming uninterested yet no doubt watching like a hawk out of the corner of his eyes. Bandit probably likes Ivan Ivanovic the most as he has him largely figured out – he’s familiar with the cool façade of nonchalance hiding a sharp mind, while he never has any clue what’s going on in Shay’s, Jojo’s or Gian’s heads. Nor is he particularly curious. And Valenti reminds him too much of Blitz sometimes: an overachiever, someone who fancies himself a leader.

“They had romantic breakfast, so Gian called cops on them”, Ivan Ivanovic replies levelly.

Bandit waits a second to see if they’re joking, but Shay merely nods encouragingly and since he can’t lie for shit, they must be serious. He massages his temples and, to buy time in order to process this revelation, barks at Valenti and Jojo: “If either of you glances at my cock one more time, I’m going to shove it up your ass.”

Both gazes snap up in instant terror and both faces flush a satisfying crimson. Well. He could’ve phrased this better.

“To be quite frank, we were in a state of non-negligible panic”, Gian points out calmly. “An interruption seemed the necessary course of action, yet revealing our presence unwise, so I acted swiftly.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal anyway”, Jojo cuts in, sensing Bandit’s disbelief, “they turned out to know some of Maestro’s relatives, we think, so they had a pleasant chat and left and were none the wiser.”

“So let me get this straight – you made a false emergency call and are patting yourselves on the back now?”

Valenti opens his mouth to protest yet realises much too late that this is exactly what happened. His sheepish expression soothes some of Bandit’s anger, though it does nothing to improve the situation. “You did say we could use whatever means necessary”, Shay chimes in good-naturedly and Bandit belatedly understands how in the world these five usually land in these kinds of situations.

“Not only did you fucking violate the law, but you also ogled my boyfriend in order to tell me that ultimately nothing happened?”

They exchange uncertain glances until Valenti of all people attempts to appease him: “Well, we figured -”

“Fuck off. Don’t talk to me again unless it’s urgent, and if you miss me so much that you can’t bear living without me yelling at you, text me. Got it?” His razor sharp tone has them all nod and flee into different directions, leaving him to consider just aborting the entire mission.

But no. He has to get revenge.

The infuriating incompetence at least does have a positive side effect – he’s not only awake but also riled up enough to tongue punch Jäger into never-never land, and when he returns to a long body prettily stretched out on the bed, one hand wrapped around a very interested member, he only needs to grit out a turn around to spark a smile full of anticipation.

He still closes the curtains for good measure.

When it comes down to it, it’s Jäger’s fault. He fed Bandit genuine laughs, secretive grins and all the attention he could ever ask for whenever he let the other German in on a joke, and over time Bandit got used to it: shenanigans mean admiration, a few stolen kisses here and there, a re-telling both excited and exaggerated, and even pride. Jäger used to be proud of his innovations, all the creative ways in which he terrorised those around him. Therefore, when Bandit changes all of Blitz’ personalised ring tones to – as he finds – fitting alternatives and merely garners a crushing, accusing look together with a devastating sigh, his world view crumbles.

Admittedly, it did take Blitz an entire weekend to set up the system Bandit single-handed destroyed during two afternoons. Admittedly, most of the song choices were in poor taste and some of them genuinely offensive, but that doesn’t make them any less funny, does it? And admittedly, maybe, just maybe choosing Weird Al’s ‘Fat’ for Rook when the Frenchie only recently voiced wanting to lose a few pounds was a tad misguided. Especially when Blitz hadn’t noticed Bandit’s stunt and asked Rook to call him to locate his misplaced phone.

Well. Alright. Maybe he did deserve the tired look Jäger gave him.

But after that? No matter how hard he tried to impress him, how much of a menace he was, he never managed to regain Jäger’s favour. Instead, he got a talk.

Please stop, was the baseline. Don’t play pranks anymore. Focus on other, more constructive activities. Stop wasting all these resources on messing with people.

And so Bandit stopped. Not because Jäger told him, obviously, but without his partner in crime it just wasn’t fun anymore. It took most of his self-discipline not to tamper with Rook’s new shoes – heelies, of all things, it would’ve been child’s play to make him eat shit – and leave Mute’s new jammer prototype alone, despite him forgetting to lock it away one day. God, it could’ve been glorious. Bandit could’ve strapped it onto Diana and declare her a denial of service dog.

But no, he didn’t even want to mess around anymore anyway, and if he stretched towards Jäger’s resulting affection like a sunflower, it merely was a pleasant side effect. If only the others didn’t notice.

Smoke was the first. Out of boredom, he taped the kitchen door shut and texted Bandit about Monika having baked fresh brownies, then recorded him enthusiastically giving himself a black eye, and Bandit couldn’t retaliate. Because that night was going to be the fourth night in a row on which Jäger would pet his hair until he’s asleep which he’d never really done before, and Bandit wasn’t going to let anything get in the way.

Then Mute hacked his phone and literally every link led to fucking Rick Astley and every time Bandit typed ‘I’, his keyboard replaced it with the entire lyrics to the song, and Bandit still couldn’t take revenge because Jäger was in the middle of watching a series together with Bandit despite not being super into it, and he didn’t want to finish it alone.

And when a handful of others got wind of being immune to his wrath, it turned into hell. People openly approached him to criticise the way he led his team during a training exercise, and sure, he did a shite job due to acute laziness, but who does that? Others let him know they appreciated all the extra care he put in during their most recent mission and fucking Christ, if they don’t even stop shy of compliments, he might as well quit because what’s even left of him in that case? Horrifying.

Obviously, he keeps track of every misdeed. Just in case Jäger gets deployed for a few weeks, allowing him to punish all the wrongdoers. Even if he has the feeling he’d be too distracted to really make it count in that case.

But Sledge puts the cherry on top. One day, he pulls Bandit aside and says a few things which are inexcusable. Unforgivable. And thus, Bandit hatches a plan.

They have breakfast in a small café together with Smoke and Mute, both of whom immediately expressed the wish to tag along when Bandit mentioned his plans to go on a short holiday to the beautiful Western coast of Italy and who is he to turn down their company (especially when they potentially distract Jäger, allowing him some breathing room)? The Brits share the vacation house next to theirs and Bandit just hopes they didn’t notice the early morning commotion, but then again it seems as if Mute ensured they haven’t noticed much since their arrival.

“I’m going to eat fucking ten of these overpriced cardboard pastries”, he announces mid-chew and chases down the second half of Smoke’s cornetto with a sip of Jäger’s coffee before anyone can stop him.

“Babe”, Smoke tries to gently reason with him and earns a wild glare.

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, not my fault they fold up the footpaths at night, I’m starving.” He gestures to the vaguely horrified-looking waiter to bring more sustenance and finishes Jäger’s latte in one go.

“If I’d stayed up all bloody night high on energy drinks I’d be starving too”, Smoke mutters with a helpless shake of the head which alright, that explains both Mute’s manic restlessness as well as the bags under Smoke’s eyes.

“Are you sure you should be getting more caffeine?”, Bandit wants to know dubiously and realises too late that the young lad’s gaze is worryingly unfocused.

“Huh?”, he makes and it’s obvious he hasn’t been following anyone’s conversation but his own so far. “Bloody hell, if this horrifically sweet stuff is all they eat for breakfast it’s no wonder Seamus is getting fat. I’ll ask whether they have bacon. They must have bacon. Right? Everyone has bacon. Or sausages at least. Fucking cold cuts, anything. Maybe there’s a salt shortage going on in Italy, though the people definitely had more than enough. Bacon.”

The other three stare after him as he makes a beeline towards the poor guy stuck serving them. “I would be salty, too, if some asshole insisted on New York style pizza being better than the original”, Smoke points out drily.

“Is he gonna be alright?” So far, Bandit has witnessed Mute on caffeine overdose (result: the attention span of a squirrel), sleep deprivation (result: endless ideas better suited for a mad scientist, particularly terrifying coming from someone who can actually implement most of them), and excessive hunger (result: an exceedingly sharp tongue plus an infinite supply of irritation), yet never all three together. He has to admit, it’s a sight to behold.

Smoke shrugs. “The crash is gonna be hilarious, no lie. He did tell me he hates energy drinks but didn’t specify why. Had I known, I would’ve put up more of a fight.”

Just as Mute returns triumphantly with an entire plate of fried eggs probably meant for all of them despite him making no move to share, Bandit notices that Jäger has been unusually quiet ever since they’ve left the house – and it’s even odder that he’s just watching Bandit with a small smile. Does he… does he know about his plan? Is he suspecting something? “What?”, Bandit asks defensively.

The smile widens. Uh oh. “Nothing. I’m just happy we’re here.”

Abort mission, abort mission. “Yeah, me too, and isn’t it a shame Elias and Julien have to rot at base without -”

“I was really surprised when you made the suggestion to come here, I would never have expected anything like this from you.”

“Well, we’re here now and we should make a list of everything that’s bad so we can annoy Maestro when we’re -”

“But it’s wonderful. The house is pretty, the beach is gorgeous and the town picturesque. It’s really romantic and I like it here. A lot.”

Bandit just laughs nervously. His face is on fire and he has to get out of this as soon as possible. Maybe he should split up the dumb recruits and have two of them watch him so he can give them a secret signal whenever a situation like this happens because holy shit, this is -

“Even so, you could’ve chosen any place and it would’ve been great, just because you’d be there. Thank you, Dom.”

He’s scarlet. Across the table, Mute is still stuck in the motion of salting his eggs while gaping at the two of them, unaware he’s created a veritable heap crowning one of the yolks by now. Jäger continues to smile at him and there’s no way he can bear another second of this. “I have to take a piss”, he declares loudly before fleeing to the men’s where he sits down on the lid, trying to will away the blood from his cheeks. Maybe coming here was a mistake after all.

To distract himself from the odd sensation in his stomach, he checks his phone and finds a message from Valenti: two lovebirds heading to the water, unsure how to interfere.

Alright. At least he can do something on this front. Once he’s cooled off a little, he returns to Mute nearly dunking half an egg into Smoke’s glass and Jäger observing them with a shit eating grin. “We should go to the beach afterwards”, he suggests and tries his best not to react to the hand straying to his thigh as soon as he’s sat down.

It wasn’t pickpocketing per se. Not really, because the odd object was half sticking out of Sledge’s trousers anyway, screaming to be taken. A rectangular box, while not too bulky, definitely not made for being carried around in front pockets for an entire day, and so Bandit merely… relieved the Scotsman of this burden. After all, he might’ve lost it otherwise and who knows how valuable it is. Better keep it safe for him than fill him with panic when he can’t find it and has to retrace his steps.

Bandit can’t deny it came at a pretty fucking opportune time seeing as he’d been obsessing about vengeance for Sledge’s uncalled-for insults, and so he nicked the velvety item without thinking and, as he hopes, without anyone noticing. For once, having to sit next to Sledge during meetings paid off. He’s patient for the rest of the day, carries his prize around without taking a proper look in case anyone catches him, yet when he opens it at home, he blanches.

Oh the possibilities.

For a few seconds, his mind is filled with delicious scenarios, one better than the other: replace the ring with one from a bubblegum dispenser. Replace it with bees. Add a noisemaker which produces a fart sound whenever the box is opened. Superglue it so it can’t be taken out. The more he thinks, the more absurd his ideas become: have it reduced in size. Engrave it with a random name. Coat it in a substance which dyes skin for weeks.

It’s a really tasteful ring. If he’s honest, it’s gorgeous. At the same time, he knows Maestro will flip the fuck out no matter what it looks like because it’s the act that counts, the intention.

Not only that, but Sledge is certain to inspect the entire box with extreme prejudice once he gets it back, and if he identifies any tampering, Bandit is dead meat.

“You dropped this yesterday”, he says the day after and hands the box back.

Sledge, as expected, examines it thoroughly before nodding – he doesn’t even hide it and alright, that’s fair. Given Bandit’s history of messing with him, he wouldn’t even bat an eye at Sledge sending it in to some lab. “Thanks”, he replies, and Bandit isn’t even offended at the astonishment in his voice. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

Relationships really do turn most people into utter fools if Sledge deems it a fruitful idea to ask Bandit for his opinion. Fortunately, he’s very different. He’d never change himself just because of Jäger or fall into the trap of hopeless, helpless infatuation. He’s always in control. “It’d be way too small for me”, he shoots back, unimpressed, “but hey, you measured it, so I’m sure Maestro will love his new cock ring.”

The genuine laugh he gets in return tells him that Sledge really has it bad. “I’m planning to propose to him on our trip to Italy next month”, he foolishly divulges and Bandit’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh?”, he prompts politely. “Tell me more.”

If looks could kill, Bandit would’ve dropped dead the instant Sledge catches sight of him. He would’ve spontaneously combusted and his ashes been blown away by the wind, because the Scotsman must know instantly that he’s up to something, judging by how the sun itself darkens along with his mood. He’s stretched out on a towel on the beautiful fine-grained white sand, shielded from the harsh sunlight by a large parasol and ready to wring Bandit’s neck.

“What? How?”, Mute is still going on, not having recovered from this remarkable coincidence. “It’s impossible that we end up in the same vacation spot by pure chance!”

“Yes”, Sledge grits out. “Impossible.”

“Adriano recommended this place to us”, Smoke jumps in and Bandit owes him so many drinks, “and I thought you were gonna visit his family?” Some of Sledge’s suspicion fades, even if Jäger throws Bandit a curious glance. He still needs to be careful, so he keeps quiet.

“This… isn’t a set-up? You’re not up to anything?”, Sledge wants to know accusingly and Bandit just snorts.

“Of course not, as if I didn’t have anything better to do in my free time. Are you getting paranoid?”

Sledge looks like he has a few choice words to say, but when Maestro joins them, his attention snaps to him like metal to a magnet – not like Bandit could blame him, not with the Italian’s tan skin glistening all over and his dangerously short swimming trunks clinging to his body. Bandit takes note of this: should he ever need to divert the Scot’s attention, he merely needs to dump some water over his boyfriend.

“Amici miei! What a wonderful surprise, how great to see you!”, Maestro greets them warmly and smooches their cheeks, in the process getting all of them wet, and then turns to where Mute is chasing seagulls while screeching along with them. “What, uh, what happened with my cucciolo?”

“He’ll tire himself out”, Smoke assures him with a sigh.

“How do you like it here? I will show you everything! Isn’t it such a fortunate coincidence, cioccolatino?”

“Marvellous”, says Sledge.

“We can spend all our time together and I will teach you the most important phrases!”

And while the Scotsman looks like he bit into a lemon, Mute rushes over to detail all the sand castles he’ll build.

No more than five minutes later, the youngest Brit is already conked out and snoring softly on the very towel Sledge had occupied previously, and when he seems to be wholly unperturbed by the others talking around him, they set up their own beach equipment and share their experiences and impressions of Maestro’s home country. He seems genuinely delighted over their presence, unlike Sledge, and generously shares anecdotes about this particular holiday favourite. Normally, Bandit would rather chew off his own leg than allow the Italian to chew off his ear, but Jäger’s holding his hand and so he really has no other choice. Besides, his lover seems stoked over the opportunity to ask about everything local and his enthusiasm is contagious. At least a little bit.

Eventually, the group breaks up a little, with Sledge announcing his intention to go for a walk along the beach with Maestro, and Jäger urging Bandit to go swimming as well. He shoots Ivan Ivanovic a message about keeping an eye on the unlikely couple and interrupting them should the atmosphere become a little too amorous, and notices a text from Rook: the Frenchman seems to be making the most out of being stuck in Hereford and challenges the holidaymakers in a group chat to snap the best ‘out of context’ selfie they can. Attached is a peace-signing Rook in the foreground, with a half-naked Buck getting his chest hair shaved behind him, looking not at all amused with a doubled-over Valkyrie.

Half a minute later, Blitz contributes by sending a photo of him giving a cheery thumbs-up, while Rook in the background is apparently getting yelled at by a half-shaven Buck. Days since the last superglue accident: 0, Blitz adds.

Bandit, despite being highly entertained, silently vows to upstage him, upstage all of them really, even if he hasn’t figured out how yet.

“At least he’s prepared if he wants to compete with Meghan in the pool again”, Jäger comments good-naturedly, following the chat on his own phone. He turns around to photograph himself grinning while also capturing Smoke drawing a dick on his boyfriend’s unconscious body with sun cream. “You guys are cute”, he adds inexplicably.

Smoke takes one look at the drooling man haphazardly flung onto the fabric, shirt riding up enough to expose a canvas for him to abuse, and nods. “I’ve never loved another human being more”, he responds gravely and adds a few cum spurts shooting from the tip.

“Give the balls some hair too”, Jäger suggests sweetly before dragging Bandit off towards the splashing waves.

The hot sand burns their soles, so they awkwardly skip towards the sea, tackling each other once they’re largely submerged and nearly lose the beach ball they brought. Bandit supposes it’s a bad time to mention how he never really liked going on holiday, figures it’s usually more effort than it’s worth, and hanging around at the beach all day not having anything to do seems like a massive waste of time – but since his presence here has purpose and the cogs in his head never stop turning, it’s actually not that bad. He keeps one eye on the couple strolling along the beautiful shore, almost far enough away that he can’t see them anymore, and focuses the rest of his attention on Jäger.

Because dear God.

He belatedly understands Sledge’s distraction upon seeing his boyfriend emerge from the sea, cheeks rosy, rivulets running down exposed skin, playful smile plastered on his face and -

- and there’s an entire pack of dogs swarming Sledge and Maestro in the distance.

Bandit stares because what else is there to do? It looks as if all stray dogs from the region had assembled to circle the two, jump up and apparently try to slobber all over them, and while his brain is still trying to process the view, he gets thwacked in the head full force by the beach ball, losing his footing in the process.

He’s still coughing up salt water as Jäger drags him towards the sand, unsuccessfully trying to stifle his laughter and apologising simultaneously. He should be more upset, seeing as not only did the recruits choose one of the flashiest ways of bothering Sledge again, but also he’s got a headache now and his lungs are burning, he will probably end up with a nasty sunburn on his scalp as he refuses to wear any kind of hat, keeps stepping on sharp seashells, hates the way sun lotion feels on his skin and despises the taste of tangy water – but when they trip and fall, and his field of vision is filled with nothing but Jäger, and his lover smiles and quietly asks whether he needs CPR, and when there’s warm lips on his own cool ones, none of it really seems that dramatic.

Mute is awake and has aged by ten years as they return, but at least he seems to have mellowed out considerably – even though he doesn’t look at all amused with the jellyfish Smoke keeps lining up next to their shadowy spot. “Can someone tell him that sleeping for sixteen hours is a worthwhile activity?”, Mute sighs, massaging his temples.

“If I hadn’t sent you out to get some food, you wouldn’t have let me sleep last night either, babe. Stay up till evening and reset your sleep schedule.”

“I’ll reset your fucking schedule if you don’t stop with these stupid gelatine blobs. We’re not taking one home and that’s final.”

“Glad to see everyone else also enjoying their holiday!”, Jäger pipes up cheerfully while towelling himself dry. “But what happened to you two?”

Sledge, sipping what looks suspiciously like coffee instead of his usual tea, glances down at his scratched up legs, at Maestro’s paw print covered loafers as well as the general dirt smeared over them, and replies flatly: “We’ve gone to the dogs.”

“This has been a really odd trip so far”, Maestro adds, “the first evening we couldn’t turn off any of the lights in our house though they switched off by themselves some time during the night. Just this morning, we were approached by policemen about allegedly causing a disturbance even though I’m fairly sure we had the curtains closed the entire time -”

“He’s referring to the fact that he likes to sleep naked”, Sledge hastens to explain due to several pairs of eyebrows shooting up at this comment.

“Then someone threw a few Playboy magazines through the letter slot, and just now we became an irresistible attraction for the local wildlife.”

“It’s almost as if someone was up to something.”

And while the others continue discussing these odd and unfortunate turns of events, Bandit pretends he missed Sledge’s meaningful comment.

“I think I’ve got sunburn on my hands”, Smoke mutters to himself as Jäger and Maestro encourage each other to come up with the most complicated conspiracy theory which would explain all that’s happened to the happy couple, with Sledge merely shaking his head. “They’re pretty red.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your collection”, Mute prompts tiredly and indicates the shrivelling, dead creatures by Smoke’s feet.

“You see, most of them are just see-through slime, but this one is real pretty. Looks like an omelette almost, don’t you think, babe?”

Mute blinks slowly. “Go and buy some vinegar with Adriano, will you? Doesn’t matter what kind, and don’t ask.”

The suggestion makes most of them spring into action as Jäger was considering heading out for lunch anyway, yet he lingers when everyone but Mute and Bandit trail after a happily bubbling Maestro. “Don’t you think it’s weird that all these things happen to the two of them?”, he asks and it takes all of Bandit’s willpower and focus not to smirk. “You’re not up to anything, are you?”

“Of course not”, he promises as sincerely as decades of professional lying allow it, and sends his boyfriend off with a kiss to his nose.

Once he’s out of earshot, Mute mumbles: “You’re absolutely up to something, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am”, he scoffs and blames it on the energy drinks that it took Mute this long to realise.

“It’s a fucking fried egg jellyfish”, Mute explains without being prompted. “Nothing serious, but the bloody idiot is probably gonna feel it for a few days.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“And have him start early with asking me to piss on his hands? No thank you.”

~*~

“To be fair”, Valenti, the little fucker, tries to justify himself, “you didn’t say not to use perfume bombs.”

The effects of just 24 hours of Italian air are noticeable on the five recruits: Valenti has gotten even cockier than usual and revels in the warm weather, Shay has turned a lovely shade of lobster red, Jojo has bought a new wardrobe and, remarkably, looks just as fashionable as Maestro, Gian is distracted by everything and anything around him, visibly enjoying himself and writing novellas into his notebook, and even Ivan Ivanovic is smiling. If only Bandit himself felt the soothing touch of the country, he probably wouldn’t be this close to shaking some sense into the confident tiny Frenchman.

“You’re extremely lucky Seamus isn’t into crossdressing or any of that shite, because his soon-to-be fiancé smelling of several whorehouses at once caters pretty well to these fantasies and would’ve set him off, and then you’d have to keep two randy lovebirds apart and not just two sappy ones.”

“How do you know that’d happen?”, Jojo chimes up curiously.

The five of them are eating ice cream while sitting on the stone balustrade separating the promenade from the beach below and Bandit develops the sudden urge to toss the other German off it. “Look”, he starts and immediately gets interrupted by Shay smushing his face into his chocolate ice and Gian starting to giggle uncontrollably.

“The hell are you doing?”, Valenti wants to know, aghast, and rolls his eyes at Ivan’s reply: “I told him milk good for sunburn. Takes off heat.”

“I do feel much better already!”

Jojo grabs the cone out of the Irishman’s hand and sticks it against Shay’s forehead. “Shame you’re not called Shaun because now you’d be a uni-shaun.” Without any hesitation, he leans in and starts licking the ice cream off of Shay’s cheek, causing him to squeal and wield his damaged cone like a weapon and mere seconds later, they’re having a lightsaber fight in the middle of the fortunately empty street, with Valenti acting as referee.

Bandit’s earlier headache is starting to come back, and this time he’s sure it’s not related to heat stroke.

“Like children”, Ivan comments. He’s still got that smile on his face.

“Regardless of how we might achieve the goal you set for us”, Gian addresses Bandit, “our reward remains unclaimed. You’re confident you can procure it?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you what you want, provided you guys keep your end of the -” And then he’s cut off by a screaming Shay colliding with him full force, sending him stumbling and dangerously close to the low banister but not yet over – though when he tries to turn and yell, Jojo joins the dogpile and sends them flying.

Jäger looks fucking gorgeous when Bandit returns to their cottage, shorts and boots really hitting the spot and if he complains about having forgotten lighter shoes one more time, Bandit is going to show him just what he thinks of his outfit by having him keep it on as he blows both him and his mind. Thoughts like this one have become second nature and he’s still not entirely sure how.

“Don’t touch me, I need a shower”, he warns his lover before he can wrap around Bandit the way he usually does, no matter how long he’s been gone, “I’ve got sand everywhere, even up my arse crack.”

“What did you do?”

“Slipped and fell on the beach. And other people might’ve also slipped and fallen on me.”

“Odd. Seamus had ice cream tossed at him from inside a bush.”

“Huh. Did he find out by whom?”

“It was a thorn bush, so he stayed away from it.” Yikes. Bandit feels like his conscience shouldn’t be as clear as it is, but on the other hand he’s largely paying for their trip. So if he gets free entertainment out of it, he’s not going to complain. “Look, Elias and Julien sent another selfie.”

On screen, the happy couple is smooching in front of Echo sleeping on one of the workshop tables, with a variety of objects stacked on top of him in an impressive display of balancing skills. Next to him, Dokkaebi is showcasing a veritably demonic grin, much to Hibana’s concern. “Cute”, Bandit comments sarcastically yet it seems Jäger takes him at face value.

“Right? I still don’t understand why you kept gagging next to them when they were freshly together. They’re so good for each other.”

And he’s never understood how Jäger can support kitsch on four legs this openly. “This might come as a shock to you, but I’m not really the romantic type.”

The knowing smirk following his statement is what drives him away, ears burning, and it’s still adorning soft lips when Jäger joins him in the shower a few minutes later.

~*~

“Mutiny”, Bandit repeats after a grave-looking Jojo. “Are you taking the fucking piss?”

“We’ve spent almost three days of constant surveillance, spontaneous action, consistent communication as well as doing a remarkably good job, if I may say so”, Valenti jumps in, eager to support his mate, “and you’ve not met your end of the deal.”

They’re huddled behind the very stone balustrade which has painted Bandit’s back a hideous shade of yellowish-green due to an acute case of getting bodychecked over it, and he’s beginning to feel like a repeat performance is preferable over dealing with these numbskulls. “My end of the deal?”, he parrots in disbelief. “I’ve paid for your fucking vacation, you ungrateful little shits, and all you’ve done is ruin their holiday.”

“I wouldn’t go that far -”

“Well I fucking would. You nearly gave Seamus food poisoning, caused him to fall into the sea, harassed him with prank calls which weren’t even remotely funny -”

“Billy’s roadkill diner – you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em”, Shay interjects cheerily, earning a snort and an addition from Jojo: “You frag ‘em, we bag ‘em!”

“- and you even egged Maestro’s favourite shirt.”

“That was little funny”, Ivan Ivanovic butts in, and alright, the string of expletives exploding out of the hot-blooded Italian was admittedly hilarious, especially when even Sledge seemed genuinely scandalised over some of them.

Still, he’s understood by now that engaging any of the clowns leads to madness, so he simply keeps talking. “Besides, what the fuck do you want me to do about a Scot who flat out refuses to take off his shirt at the beach? I can hardly go and undress him, can I?”

“You could show creativity, like we have. Aren’t you supposed to be resourceful?”

If this had come from anyone but the Russian, Bandit might’ve slapped some sense into them, yet this gives him pause. “I mean – I tried, but he wouldn’t budge. Why is this so fucking important to you anyway, are you that bloody horny?”

Jojo looks ready to hold an entire speech as to why it’s crucial for mankind’s survival that they witness the buff Scotsman shed his shirt, but fortunately it’s Gian who speaks up instead: “I cannot help but feel your heart is not in this endeavour.” How fucking dare he. “You informed us of your wish to exert revenge, yet your glee has been muted, your undertakings half-hearted and your satisfaction with our actions astonishingly low.”

Bullshit. Bandit enjoyed watching the one guy suffer who usually throws wrenches into his plans, who reprimands him constantly and sabotages his pranks – it was extremely satisfying, he enjoyed it so much that he’d say it was the best part of his holiday so far.

…he would say that, wouldn’t he? And simultaneously know he’d be wrong.

Because his focus really wasn’t on Sledge, and with passed time it’s gotten harder and harder for Bandit to remind himself of why Sledge’s words stung so much. Why what he said sent Bandit into a white hot fit of rage.

Five pairs of eyes are staring at him expectantly. They might’ve gone about it arseways, but they did indeed accomplish what he asked of them, to the best of their capabilities. They even managed not to get caught, and while there’s no doubt someone is up to something, no one has been able to prove it was Bandit, even if Sledge, Smoke and Mute continuously side-eye him.

Maybe he should call the whole thing off after all and enjoy what’s left of his holiday.

“Give me a minute”, he asks and thankfully, all of them nod. When it comes down to it, they’ve proven reliable in the way a thunderstorm is – no way of telling when the next lightning strikes, but thunder always follows. Besides, now that they’ve overcome their terror of speaking with him, their natural banter reminds him of the familial atmosphere of his own team. Fuck. He’s starting not to mind them, even if they look like vaguely reverent meerkats staring up at him for any kind of signal as he paces back and forth next to them.

This is when he spots Sledge and Maestro, a short distance away from where Jäger, Smoke and Mute are building a proper sand fort: they’re holding hands, facing each other and seem to be deeply moved and fucking shite, it’s the perfect atmosphere with the gentle sea retreating in low tide behind them, the sun sliding lower and lower and flooding the beach in a warm, orange light. Sledge is gonna go down on one knee any second now and Bandit has no way of stopping them.

Shay must’ve noticed the horror in his expression as he peeks over the banister and immediately rips open Valenti’s backpack. “Code red”, he announces more professionally than he’s ever sounded in his entire career, stands up and -

And lobs a water balloon at the two lovebirds. A water balloon which bursts upon impact with Sledge’s broad chest, no doubt interrupting their little moment. A water balloon filled with neon yellow paint.

There’s a second of perfect silence.

Then Shay throws a second one.

In an impressive demonstration of his skills, Sledge catches it without it detonating in his hands and hurls it back full force, a detail the other four recruits quite obviously missed as they rise to get a better look, and when the second paint bomb explodes on the balustrade in front of them, literally all five end up coated in hot pink, with Bandit only suffering a light dose.

Well. That could’ve gone better. For another brief moment, the spattered recruits, Bandit, and the eye-wateringly yellow couple stare at each other.

“You fuckers”, Maestro then screams, and Sledge yells: “Dom, you little prick!” And the recruits and Bandit exchange a single glance before individually coming to the conclusion that an escape is in order. Especially when the two star-crossed lovers start running.

Shay shrieks like a little girl, Ivan takes a brief moment to wipe some of the paint off Valenti’s eyes with the inside of his shirt, and Jojo is already halfway down the street. Bandit is in great company. Gian nearly gets run over by a scooter and apologises in fluid Italian, Bandit slides over the hood of an expensive-looking car and leaves behind frankly hideous pink streaks, and Ivan seems to consider scaling the nearest building while Valenti is still coughing up paint. Shay trips and gets dragged along by Gian, and together the six of them scramble their way through the picturesque seaside town, garnering more than a few odd looks from the locals.

“Whose fucking idea was this?!”, Bandit wants to know and struggles to make it up the steep stairs to another busy road, though he does appreciate Ivan lending him a hand eventually.

“I didn’t think he’d catch it”, Valenti admits between breaths.

“He played fucking rugby, you moron!”

“May I suggest postponing this argument and instead focusing on the task at hand?”

“This colour actually suits you, Jojo, did you know?”

“Let us make left here, come on.”

“Jesus fucking Christ”, Bandit mumbles to himself though he can’t curse away the rush of endorphins in his system – he’s started to become complacent, and though Jäger will no doubt be disappointed in him, he’s missed this, the chaos, the knowledge of doing something forbidden, the guilty laughter bursting out of them now and then as they weave their way through alleys and between cars. He wastes no thought on what’s going to happen once they’ve successfully evaded their pursuers, right now he’s preoccupied with feeling the wind in his hair, jumping obstacles, running with the pack, rushing around corners and -

And apparently colliding with what feels like a brick wall. Something that doesn’t look like one though. Because it’s neon yellow.

“I will fucking castrate you and shove your own balls so far up your ass you’ll be able to taste them”, Maestro growls while Sledge causes another pile-up next to him by letting the recruits bounce off him easily.

It seems like this is it.

“How on earth are you so fast?”, Shay wants to know with wide eyes as the five of them take turns shoving each other to the front to face the Scotsman glaring daggers.

“Shouldn’t have let the one guy among you with no sense of direction lead”, Sledge explains. All eyes slide over to Jojo whose face starts matching the paint he’s covered in.

“Who’s the ringleader here?”, Maestro demands to know. All eyes slide back over to Bandit.

“It was a group effort?”, he tries.

“Will you let us live if we tell you?” Hell, he really should’ve gotten rid of this French gremlin sooner. A single nod from Sledge, and now five fingers are pointing at Bandit.

“Look”, he begins and gets interrupted by being slammed into the wall next to him, and it’ll be a miracle if the furious Italian lets him get away with mere bruises, though fortunately a hand on Maestro’s arm stops him.

“Adrianito. Let him go.” Sledge’s intervention is welcome yet Bandit’s relief short-lived when the two of them part to reveal the rest of their group: Mute and Smoke who are only missing popcorn, judging by the unadulterated amusement in their expressions – and Jäger.

A very unimpressed-looking Jäger. This is worse than a few bruises. He pushes to the front, brow raised and demeanour so calm it instils paralysing fear. For the first time ever since they came here, there’s not even a hint of a smile on his lips and it does unpleasant things to Bandit’s insides. He wasn’t meant to prank anyone, let alone follow Sledge and Maestro like this just to terrorise them. Whatever will come out of his lover’s mouth next is sure to be devastating.

“What were you doing?”, Jäger asks quietly. So far, so good. Around them, everyone seems to be holding their breath.

It’s the perfect opportunity. Seeing as Bandit won’t be able to interfere anymore after this, he could mention his plan off-handedly, complete his revenge by spoiling the surprise waiting in Sledge’s pocket. He can see it in Sledge’s eyes that he knows it too: a few words, and he’d be forced to show the ring, do it all on Bandit’s terms. He holds power over the Scot he never thought possible, and even if he doesn’t ruin his proposal right now, he could use it as an excellent source of blackmail later. The idea of Sledge having to do whatever he wants is more than enticing. “Annoying the hell out of him”, he replies, buying himself time. Sledge’s hazel eyes are boring into his.

Jäger just shakes his head a little. “And, what, were you planning on following them to his parent’s place too?”

Maestro senses his hesitation and though he hasn’t overcome his animosity, he doesn’t leave Bandit in the dark: “My mamma invited us for a family reunion. We’re leaving tomorrow morning and spending the rest of the week with my family.”

Oh. He didn’t know this, their plans must’ve changed since he talked to Sledge about their vacation. It’d be lovely. He pictures it, Sledge kneeling down, surrounded by Maestro’s relatives, all of them freaking out and cooing over them. It sounds heart-warming. And he could destroy it with a single sentence. If he doesn’t do it now, the two will be gone tomorrow and he’ll have missed his chance.

“Well”, he says. Jäger looks ready to cross his arms. “I hope you two have a great time.”

And Sledge gets it. His smile speaks volumes, he relaxes and even graces Bandit with a slight nod. Despite how much they clash the rest of the time, Bandit doesn’t want to do this to him, not like this. There are other methods he can employ without messing with Sledge’s love life and potentially ruin what could’ve been a wonderful memory.

Even so, he’s not out of the shite yet, there are still five recruits looking like they’re going to be gutted any second now, a seething Italian just waiting for his signal to rip them apart, and Jäger. So far, he’s not done one of his sighs. There is hope.

“Why did you do all this?”, he wants to know and Bandit realises something belatedly: namely just how truly fucked he is. Conveniently forgetting about this little detail, he pushed it to the back of his mind, merely holding on to his rage about Sledge’s words yet ignoring their content. His gaze snaps to Sledge and oh boy, how the tables have turned.

You’ve been behaving well recently, Sledge said to him that fateful day Bandit swore revenge at all costs. It’s Marius’ influence, isn’t it?

Bandit grumbled a little, waved him off, tried to change the topic but Sledge wasn’t having any of it: Have you told him you love him?

And fucking Christ, how presumptuous could any one person be? Not only wasn’t it his business, but also was he plain wrong. One fact Bandit had accepted long ago was that he cared about no one but himself. His life was littered with selfish decisions, no matter how much he tried to care, tried to hold on. Ultimately, the only one he ever protected was himself. He said something along those lines, unusually earnest with his nemesis, and felt more than just irritation rise in him when he received the response: Stop running from him and ask him to move in with you.

Preposterous. Frankly insulting. And Bandit silently vowed to have Sledge’s head for this.

“Oh well, who cares, just yell at me and let’s move on, alright?”, he hastens to change the topic and doesn’t miss Sledge’s grin amid everyone’s bewilderment.

Jäger doesn’t seem happy with this answer. “What do you mean? You can’t tell me there was no reason for you to pull this shite.”

“He pissed me off, I wanted revenge, here we are, now let’s stop dwelling on the past and -”

“What did you do?”, his boyfriend turns to the Scotsman in question, fuelling Bandit’s panic.

“Don’t ask him, he probably doesn’t even -”

“Be quiet. If you won’t give me an answer, Dom, let him.”

This is bad. Bandit’s and Sledge’s eyes meet and he’s well aware to be completely at his mercy – and he doesn’t harbour much hope, not after the past three days of constant torment, not after he very nearly spoiled their holiday. The recruits are holding their breath, neither of them fully aware of what’s going on but Bandit knows they treat the members of Rainbow like celebrities, so it must be exciting for them to witness drama like this up close. Smoke and Mute are following the conversation silently, gazes darting back and forth like in a tennis match, and Bandit wouldn’t be surprised if they’d placed bets on the outcome. Maestro has postponed his fury, though he’s clearly waiting for his time to lay into pretty much anyone involved.

Sledge seems to have made a decision and there’s no way in hell he’s not disclosing Bandit’s innermost thoughts to the world. He simply has to take this opportunity to humiliate him, uncover the secret he carries in his heart, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it. He fixes Bandit with a level stare and says: “I insulted his bike.”

A beat.

Oh, thinks Bandit.

“You did what?!” And suddenly, Jäger’s composure has vanished. “How dare you! It’s a piece of art!”

Like a real trooper, Sledge keeps it up. “I called it a death trap waiting to happen and the decals juvenile.”

“Luce dei miei occhi, you can’t be serious!” Unbelievably, even Maestro looks offended. “It has fire, spirit, passion – that motorcycle has a soul, who are you to call it names!”

“I bet you’ve never even ridden it, it sounds like a large cat purring”, Smoke chimes in as well now, and all of a sudden, nearly everyone is directing their ire at Sledge who admittedly takes it like a champ. It’s a miracle. And Bandit instantly forgives him everything he’s ever done, from uncovering his candy related Ponzi scheme which not only involved Rainbow’s recruits but even spread to the SAS ones, to winning against him in hand to hand literally every time. He can’t believe it, merely gapes at the outrage directed at Sledge of all people and vows to try and never cross the Scot again.

Even so, there’s something he still has to do. “We need to talk”, he quietly informs the very upset Jäger and gently drags him a few steps away from the loudly arguing group, ignoring Mute’s encouraging about time! and Smoke’s meaningful wink. For some reason it seems that pretty much all people present know more about Bandit’s emotions than he does, and though he should find this fact concerning, his mind is currently trying to wrap around what he’s about to say. It’s been a while since this particular phrase has left his mouth, indubitably much too long. He doesn’t use it nearly enough and is painfully aware, so now’s his chance.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Jäger simply blinks at him. “What for?”

Now it’s Bandit’s turn to be gobsmacked. “Wha – for doing all this behind your back. For not listening to you. For almost ruining this holiday.”

His lover softens and shakes his head with a smile. “Dom. I knew you were up to something. I may be horribly in love, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind.” Bandit almost chokes on nothing. He what. “It was never about the stupid pranks, it was about them getting so elaborate that we spent less and less time together. I’m fine with you doing whatever as long as you pay enough attention to me. Which you have in the past days. I’m really happy with this vacation – and besides, you’re adorable when you’re shifty.”

Closing his mouth seems impossible at this point. “You – I’m -”

“We’re staying here for the rest of the week, right? So let’s make the most of it.”

The friendly, unguarded smile is killing him. Killing him. How can Jäger say – how can he stand there and just – it’s impossible, and his face is on fire yet again, and maybe, just maybe Sledge was spot on with what he said. He should stop running. For now, he merely nods, disarmed, and avoids Jäger’s much too intense gaze. There’s so much he still has to tell him, but it can wait. He doesn’t think there’ll be a shortage of romantic moments any time soon.

Looking towards the others, there’s at least one battle he can win. Maestro has switched to yelling at the poor recruits and doesn’t seem to notice anything else, so Bandit calls: “Seamus! Could you take your shirt off for me?”

The selfie Bandit posts in the group a minute later has him and Jäger in the foreground, lips touching and both ears crimson, but the background is pandemonium. A neon yellow Maestro is giving the splattered recruits a well-deserved bollocking, though neither of the five seems to be listening – instead, they’re staring over Maestro’s shoulder, eyes wide and transfixed on a shirtless Sledge who seems ready to humour anyone (probably courtesy of the fact that Bandit will leave him alone from now on) and is flexing for their benefit as well as showing off suspicious scratch marks and bruises all over his chiselled torso. Next to him, Mute has donned Sledge’s paint-soaked shirt and dragged his fingers through the viscous liquid to write TWAT on the bandages around Smoke’s hands, both of them beaming into the camera while making obscene gestures.

Blitz’ reply summarises the scene quite aptly: wtf, he writes and adds a row of appropriately dumbstruck emoji. Are those our recruits??

You guys are cute, is Rook’s contribution and for once, Bandit wholeheartedly agrees. And while he holds on to Jäger’s slim form, ignoring the chaos next to them and grinning at his lover’s suggestion of involving him in future plans so they can kill two birds with one stone, he decides to let the recruits enjoy the rest of their holiday unbothered.

After all, everyone deserves a bit of peace and quiet now and then. And it just so happens that he’s currently embracing his own.

#rainbow six siege #bandit #jäger #bandit/jäger #sledge/maestro #smoke/mute #blitz/rook #recruitverse #fanfic #oneshot #commissions #boy it wasn't easy fitting all of them in here #sledge and bandit make the best frenemies #next to everyone is a disaster in this #thank you again!!!! I really enjoyed myself :)

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hqwkeyes · 5 years ago

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Happy Birthday

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Word Count: 1,698

Warning(s): mentions of alcohol

Summary: Tony throws a birthday party for himself at the tower.

A/N: I am so sorry that this took so long. I meant to have it up on Tony’s actual birthday but I got very busy and then I was gone for a week. It’s not my favorite thing I’ve written, but I think it’s cute. I also didn’t proofread this because I’m incredibly tired right now. I hope you all enjoy it nevertheless!

It’s an annual tradition at this point. Every year on May 29th, Tony holds the biggest blowout at the tower in honor of... well, himself.

You hear someone call you by your last name and look up.

“I said ‘are you ready for my big birthday bash tonight?’” Tony asks. He holds back a giddy smile, but his eyes give away his excitement.

“Yeah, Stark. I’m ready to party. I have my dress picked out and everything,” It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know. You have enough time to pick out something to wear and get ready anyway. “I’ll be heading up to Wanda’s room in a few to get ready with her and Nat.”

“Great, see you tonight then! And don’t forget my gift.” You know his final comment is a joke even before he shoots you a wink, his grin blossoming on his lips. You nod with a small smile and spin on your heel before making your way to the elevator, deciding to make a pit stop at your room before heading to Wanda’s.

Tony always tells everyone not to bother with getting him gifts—he knows that he’s hard to shop for. Some people on the team still buy him things, like the travel mug that Natasha had custom made for him or the Iron Man bobblehead action figure that Rhodey gifted him last year. None of the other guests bring anything, aside from the occasional bottle of expensive liquor. What do you buy for a man who has everything, anyway?

The answer is that you don’t buy anything—you make it.

After an accident during a mission about a year or so ago, you had a lot of free time while recovering and decided to take up knitting. For your mother’s last birthday, you decided to test out the new technique you learned: hand knitting. You had been showing Steve the gift before shipping it to your mom when Tony came in. He was surprisingly interested in it, talking about how comfortable it looked and how he would steal it if it weren’t a gift. Granted, he was mildly hungover, but you appreciated his interest in it nevertheless. Which is why you decided to hand knit him a blanket of his own. You’ve learned another new technique or two since knitting your mother’s blanket, allowing you to add patterns into the mix. You would give it to him after the party if he wasn’t intoxicated by then.

You swiftly make your way down the hall and into your room to put the finishing touches on his gift, which is already set in a cute little box. All that is left to do is wrap the box in the ‘happy birthday’ wrapping paper you bought the other day and put the red-and-gold ribbon on it. You work quickly, snipping away at the paper in an even line, folding the edges against the box, and taping down the corners before wrapping the satin ribbon around the center and finishing it off with a neat bow on top. Tucking the present safely beneath your bed, you sigh contentedly before nearly sprinting to Wanda’s bedroom.

The girls are in there already with all of their outfits, makeup, and hair products set out on the bed. Wanda is sitting at her vanity, perfecting her eyeliner as Natasha tries on a dress in the bathroom.

“Sorry I’m late. I had to finish off Tony’s gift real quick on the way here,’ you explain, but Wanda just waves a hand toward the bed.

“Pick out an outfit while you tell me what you bought him.”

“I made him a blanket,” you say with a shrug as you brush your fingers over the silky material of a deep red dress, deciding to try it on.

“You made it?” Natasha asks as she emerges from the bathroom in a black dress that falls a few inches above her knees. You already know she’ll be wearing that dress tonight, even if she tries on eight other dresses beforehand. Black is definitely her color.

You take the red dress in your hands and make your way into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked so you can still make easy conversation without shouting.

“Yeah, I made it. You know how I picked up knitting after that injury a while back? Figured I’d put it to good use.” You say as you swiftly strip out of your clothes and slip the smooth material of the dress over your skin. One failed attempt at tugging the zipper up and you’re waltzing back into the bedroom for some assistance.

“That’s sweet of you. How long did it take?” Wanda asks as she zips up the dress for you, having finished with her makeup, which accents the velvet, green jumpsuit she had chosen before you arrived.

“I took a few hours out each day over the past two weeks to make it. It was actually a lot of fun to do.”

“I’m sure he’ll love it then,” says Nat as she hands you a pair of shoes to go with the dress before checking herself out in the mirror.

“I hope he does,” you say, catching your lower lip between your teeth—it’s a nervous habit of yours.

An hour or so later, Natasha has ultimately chosen the black dress and you stuck with the red one. Loose curls fall below her neck, and she applies a bold red lipstick to complete the look. Wanda’s hair is pin-straight, coming down to the middle of her back, and her nude lip gloss accents her outfit perfectly. You all look stunning—dressed to kill, although you hope you won’t have to fight anyone tonight.

The three of you make your way down to the party, which has only just started but is already teeming with music, guests, and booze. You are greeted by wealthy guests as you pass by, trying to find your fellow Avengers among the crowd. Finally, you spot Sam and Bucky standing near the bar in the back.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Sam says in the flirty tone he typically has with you.

“Hey, Wilson. You look great!”

“Why thank you.”

“You look great too, Buck—as always,” you comment as you hug the super soldier.

“Thanks. You look beautiful—you all do,” he says with a little laugh and a nod toward Natasha and Wanda, earning a chorus of thank you’s.

The five of you chat for a little while before Natasha snatches Steve away from his conversation with Thor, and Vision whisks Wanda off for a dance.

“So where’s the man of the hour?” you ask the remaining two.

“I actually have no idea. He already did his big entrance before you guys showed up, but I haven’t seen him since,” Bucky informs you, and you politely excuse yourself to go find him, grabbing a drink on your way.

After about twenty minutes of searching and scanning the party, while also making casual small talk with those who briefly stopped you, you decide to go up to the roof for a breath of fresh air. Much to your surprise, it is there that you find the man you’ve been looking for.

“Hey, Iron Man,” you joke as you come up from behind him. He startles slightly, stepping back from the railing. “What are you doing up here when there’s a whole party for you going on downstairs?”

“It was a bit much. I went a little overboard with it all,” he confesses.

“Tony Stark going overboard with something? Are you feeling okay?”

“I just needed a break. Maybe a small party with just the gang would’ve been a better idea.”

“Not much for the big parties anymore?”

“No, I still love a party. I just think that maybe now wasn’t the best time in my life for one.”

“That’s understandable,” you say with a nod, and then there’s a brief moment of silence.

You are suddenly reminded that you have a gift for him.

“Oh, stay right here! I’ll be back in two minutes, don’t move,” you tell him before dashing toward the stairs and heading for your room. You return quickly, box in hand, which makes him chuckle.

“I told you not to buy me anything,” he says, a small smile upon his lips.

“I didn’t buy it. Just open in,” you tell him as you hand the box over.

He carefully unties the bow and pulls the wrapping paper off gently—much to your surprise, as he usually just rips it apart—before opening the box to reveal the blanket you made for him. He takes the blanket from the box and unfolds it to find that the design in the center is his Iron Man helmet, and a gasp escapes his lips.

“You made this?” he asks, shock clear in his tone.

“Yes, Stark. Contrary to popular belief, I actually have some talent.”

“Hey, don’t be like that. It’s beautiful. I love it! And you are talented.” He wraps the blanket around his shoulders and pulls you into a hug, kissing the top of your head.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” he mumbles against your hair.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask into his chest.

He ignores the question, although it was slightly rhetorical anyway. “You’re so good to me.”

You pull your head back from his chest to look up at him, smiling in his embrace. He’s grinning down at you, shaking his head a little bit as a light laugh escapes his lips. You’re about to ask what’s so funny when his head dips down to capture your lips in a kiss. You’re in shock for a moment, but compose yourself quickly. Soon enough, you find yourself lost in his kiss, and when he finally parts for air, he rests his forehead against your own.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispers and wraps the blanket around both of you. “Thank you for this.”

You nod your head slightly before pecking his lips once more. “Happy birthday, Tony.”

The two of you stand there at the railing, wrapped up in his birthday blanket as you both stare at the city skyline, no plans to head back down to the party anytime soon.

#hqwkeyes #tony stark #tony stark x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #marvel #marvel fic #Marvel AU #marvel fanfiction #Tony Stark fanfiction #happy birthday tony stark #marvel drabble #marvel drabbles #tony stark drabble #drabble

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honeypiehotchner · 5 years ago

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Deception -- part two

Hello lovelies! Here’s another part xx. (Also, I promise she meets John in the next chapter!)

As Mycroft said, Sherlock is waiting for us on the plane at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. But not as Mycroft said, Sherlock has no idea I’m who Mycroft was picking up.

It’s evident on his face that he wasn’t expecting me, which only leaves me fuming. Mycroft Holmes and his stupid web of lies to bend people to his will. Sometimes, it can be most annoying.

Once we’re in the air, the arguing begins.

“Why is she here?” Sherlock practically yells, then looks back at me. “No offence.”

“None taken,” I shrug.

“She’s here because I asked her to be,” Mycroft explains. “And because we have something to talk about.”

“What now?” Sherlock groans. “I was supposed to be in Iraq yesterday.”

“Yes, I know,” Mycroft sighs. “But this is about Dr. Watson.”

“John? John’s fine.”

“John is not fine, Sherlock, and you know it,” Mycroft snaps. “You want so desperately for me to keep him safe while you are gone—”

“Because when I return, things are going to go back to normal. I’ll need my doctor.”

“Yes, well, your doctor hasn’t left Baker Street in an entire week since your funeral and he has an appointment with a therapist tomorrow.”

“So?” Sherlock shrugs. “He’s seen therapists before.”

“Dr. Stewart is going to be John’s therapist,” Mycroft announces, or shall I say, throws me completely under the bus.

“What? Why?”

“Because Dr. Watson is not safe,” Mycroft hisses. “And if I am to keep a close watch on him while you are gone, I need a different way.”

“So you brought an agent out of retirement to be— Oh.”

“You’re getting slow, brother mine,” Mycroft smiles sweetly. “Yes, I brought Dr. Stewart here out of retirement to be John’s therapist and to keep a close eye on him.”

“An undercover mission,” Sherlock shakes his head.

“Twins,” I mutter quietly, trying and failing to add some humor into this awful situation.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Because I knew you’d object.”

“And my opinion means nothing to you, is that it?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” Mycroft replies coldly. “You wanted to disappear completely, well, that comes with consequences. Consequences that we cannot ignore if you want to eventually return to England.”

I give Mycroft a strange look.

“What?”

“I hate that you have a point,” I breathe. “I hate to say it, Sherlock, but he’s right.”

“So what if he’s right? It’s boring.”

“And now you’re throwing a tantrum,” I roll my eyes. “Seriously, Sherlock, you went out into the world and made friends. A good friend. And you got him swept up in this mess, and you expect him to be fine when you die?”

“Oh, please, I’m not actually dead.”

“He doesn’t know that!” I cry. “When are you going to get it through your head that people care?”

“When I can find data to back it up,” he counters.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the endlessly ignorant, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh, don’t start that again!”

“I’m going to start that again,” I laugh. “You know why? Because you’re acting like an asshole, Sherlock. You want to disappear? Fine. Go. Disappear. But if you think for one second that your disappearance won’t affect anyone, you’re wrong. Do you want to know how it felt when Mycroft told me you’d died? Cold. Frozen. I didn’t know what to think. And I hadn’t spoken to you in a long time. Imagine how much more amplified that feeling must be for John.”

“If I worried about how everyone feels, then I’d never get anything done.”

“I’m not asking you to worry about everyone, Sherlock, I’m just asking you to care about your friends. Because that’s what you do when you make friends. You care about them.”

I’ve had enough of his bullshit for the time being, so I excuse myself to the back of the jet to lie down and gain some of my senses back. We’ve got roughly eight hours on this plane together and if I don’t sleep for some of it, I think I’ll explode.

~~~

I wake sometime later to Sherlock knocking on the wall, letting me know he’s ventured back here. I lift my head and sit up, motioning for him to sit next to me.

“You know, I almost didn’t agree to do this. Because I don’t like it.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t like lying to innocent people, Sherlock.”

“An undercover agent with a guilty conscience,” he smirks. “Quite the pair.”

“It is an unconventional life I lead,” I chuckle. I can tell this is troubling him, too, though, so I say. “Is there anything you want me to know about John? That, I don’t know, might help him.”

“You want to help him?”

“Of course I do,” I shrug. “So. Is there anything?”

“He told when he was standing at my grave that I was the best man and the most human human being he knew.” Sherlock pauses. “So, I guess you should know that he is the man who brought that out of me.”

“Okay,” I nod, smiling. “Thank you for sharing that.”

“You can go back to sleep now,” Sherlock murmurs. “We’ve still got another six hours.”

“Fun,” I chuckle. “But I’m a bit hungry, so I think I’ll order some food.”

“Alright,” he nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walks ahead of me back out into the main area of the plane.

~~~

“This is your ID,” Mycroft hands me the plastic card. “Your passport, your birth certificate, etcetera.”

I nod as he hands me the rest of the documents to put into my briefcase. Everything has Dr. Jane Stewart on it. I haven’t decided yet if I would’ve preferred going by a completely different name, but I suppose there’s no time to change that now.

“There’s a change of clothes in the rest room for you to change into and some makeup for you to use, if you see fit—”

“Mycroft,” I cut him off with a laugh. “I know. I’ve been here before, remember?”

“Yes, well, it has been a while. I just wanted to be sure you remembered everything.”

“How could I forget,” I scoff, closing the briefcase. “I’ll be off to get changed.”

“Your new phone and laptop should be here when you are finished.”

“Alright,” I breathe, yanking the door to his rest room open. There on the counter sits my new change of clothes, completely different from the summer outfit I traveled here in.

It’s a navy-blue dress which I despise – dresses, not the color – but if I’m going to be someone different then I am to wear something different, something I would never wear. It’s standard protocol, so I tug on the dress without another thought.

The shoes – heels, rather, are quite nice, though I know my feet are going to protest soon. I slip my feet inside all the same, straightening the dress over my shoulders as I glance at myself in the mirror.

I take my hair down, letting it flow over my shoulders. I suppose a haircut won’t be in order because I already wear it so many different ways. Still, I pin some of it back and leave some strands loose. I imagine this person, this Jane Stewart is professional even when she is not practicing. Always elegant and eloquent, even when she doesn’t need to be. She’s a strong woman, and therefore dresses that way and holds herself that way. I square my shoulders, tilting my chin up in the slightest. She’s sure of herself and sure of this world. She walks her own path and doesn’t think twice about the next step she takes.

Oh, what fun it will be to pretend.

I use some of the makeup provided, like the foundation to cover some trouble spots and the mascara to add something to my eyes without doing a lot. There’s no lipstick here, but I might buy some sometime soon. It’s been a while since I’ve worn it, and Jane seems like someone who would.

I zip the makeup bag up and grab my old clothes, walking back into Mycroft’s office with a smile. I hand the old clothes off to someone to burn – or at least, that’s what I’m assuming they’ll do with them. That’s normally what happens, but who knows.

“Do you have a watch?” I blurt, setting the makeup bag down on a chair. “It just seems odd that there wasn’t one.”

Mycroft nods to his desk. There, sitting on top of the documents in my briefcase is a watch. The straps are brown, but the face is a simple black and white design. It’s perfect to what I had in mind.

“Thank you,” I take the watch and strap it on my left wrist without looking. I’m too focused on what Mycroft is looking at. “What is that?”

“Terror cells that my brother is trying to infiltrate,” Mycroft replies easily. “If he doesn’t get himself killed, it’ll be a miracle.”

I frown. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

“It’s not,” Mycroft leans back in his chair. “But when Sherlock makes up his mind, the decision is final. Anyway,” he shoves the file away, sliding over a laptop. “This is yours to use. And here is your new phone. I have my number under a code name—”

“What is it?”

“What?”

“Your code name.”

He practically glares at me. “Mikey.”

“Mikey!” I laugh. “Are you joking?” I pick up the phone and go to the contacts. “Oh, that’s golden.” It’s my nickname for him and has been for years. Only to annoy him, though, as I see it still does.

“Yes, I knew you’d find it amusing,” he smiles tightly. “Now, I probably will not call you often. I’d prefer if our meetings are handed through email or in person – in person is most preferred, if you can bear it. If I do call you, it will most likely be in the event of an emergency.”

“Gotcha.”

“I don’t see there being an instance when someone other than yourself would have ahold of your phone, but in the event that they do, my name is ‘Mikey’ and not Mycroft.”

“Do regular people really know your name?”

“The right and wrong people do, yes. And John Watson knows it well,” he sighs. “Now a car is waiting outside to take you to your home. I can have a car delivered for you later today if you want to drive yourself around, if not, that’s fine as well.”

“I think I’ll want a car,” I reply, thinking of how Jane is. “So, yes, send one. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” he leans over to make a note on some pad by his phone. “Here is a file on Dr. Watson. It’s all background information and some key pages from his blog, though I suppose if you wanted to read his blog, you could read it online.”

“Thank you,” I pack away the laptop, phone, and file into my brief case, shutting it and flicking the locks. “Is that all?”

“I believe so.”

“Well,” I smile. “It was nice meeting with you, Mr. Holmes.”

I can already feel everything shifting. It’s the one thing I did not miss about going undercover.

You have to become someone else. You have to adapt a completely different identity, personality, demeanor, everything. You can lose yourself doing this. And I almost did a couple of times.

Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing now, having my middle and last name intact, as well as my profession. I do have a degree in psychology, just never used. Being an agent somehow swept me along before I could use my degree elsewhere in social services.

Well. I suppose there is a right time for everything. And I suppose the right time for me to be a therapist is now.

~~~

The house I am dropped off at is in the suburbs, which I expected. Therapists normally do sessions out of their homes, especially private therapy, which I’m assuming is John’s preferred method seeing as his last therapist did the same.

He’s a private person. I’ve gathered that much from skimming his file on the ride here. He’s very reserved, even when he’s all in the papers because of Sherlock.

The house is nice, though. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. It has a large living area with two chairs set up by the big windows toward the back. I assume that’s where John and I will be sitting tomorrow for our session. The kitchen is sized fairly well. I’m not that great of a cook, though, so regardless that doesn’t do me much good. My bedroom is nice, larger than what I’m used to, with a bathroom connected. The guest room – which I don’t know why I have, other than the fact that this is all for show – is nice as well. A bit smaller, but not suffocating.

It’s decorated nicely. Modern. Not my usual taste, but then again, I’m not the one living here. Dr. Jane Stewart is.

I throw myself down on the couch, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep and wake up – as myself – back in America. Where I’m not a spy. Where I’m not Dr. Jane Stewart. Where I’m not Agent N. J. Stewart. Where I’m just Nicole. And that’s it.

#Deception #john watson #dr john watson #dr watson #sherlock #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock fanfiction #john watson fanfiction #mycroft holmes #sherlock holmes #THE REICHENBACH FALL #angst #john watson x original main character

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bitchesofostwick · 5 years ago

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According to Plan

okay i have an awful tendency to write birthday-related fics as people’s birthday gifts but i can’t help it, i fucking love birthdays and i’ve been thinking about this one for a long time!!! this one goes out to one of the funniest, most genuine, supportive, and incredible people i have met since joining the fandom: @dickeybbqpit. madie, i love you so much and i am honored to call you my friend. here’s a little something celebrating both kaaras and josie’s love and kaaras and cullen’s bromance (lol).

***

“Val Royeaux,” Cullen grumbles.

It’s not the first time, either. In fact, Kaaras has just about lost count of the times Cullen has muttered something or other about his distaste for the Orlesian city, and they’d only arrived twenty minutes earlier. Admittedly, they make an out-of-place pair, both dressed in riding leathers, fur cloaks still slung over their shoulders from their travels through the snow-covered lands west of the Frostbacks. He swears Cullen even purposely emphasizes his Fereldan accent in the city and on another day, he might bust him up for it, but not today.

Today is Josephine’s birthday.

And after a lot of nagging, a bit of convincing, and a promise that he’d talk Sera out of continuing to leave wasp nests in the landing above Cullen’s tower roof, Kaaras got him to come along and assist with the preparations, remembering that it had been far less difficult to ask Leliana to attend to her part of the plan—coaxing Josephine into the city by proposing a shoe-shopping trip and therefore having her be present in time for the surprise.

After making their way into the square—not without a few more choice mumbles from Cullen—Kaaras crosses his arms, looks expectantly toward his friend.

“Let’s go over the plan again,” he says, and Cullen frowns.

“We get the gift for Josephine,” he sighs, counting each step on his gloved fingers as he revisits their action items. “We make reservations at the cafe. We get the flowers last because Maker forbid they dry out at all before you’re to meet with her—”

“That’s a valid concern, Cullen.”

“—and then I’m finally free to leave, because you’ll be meeting her at the clothing emporium under the guise of finding a new set of robes, at which point you will shout ‘surprise, something something’ and then take her out for dinner.”

Kaaras grins. “Perfect.”

“Well the sooner we find her a gift, the sooner we can get out of here,” Cullen declares, pulling his fingers over the stubble on his chin before scratching the back of his head. “Now, if I recall correctly, there’s a shop around here that sells very nice quill pens, so I think we should begin—”

“I’m not buying Josephine a pen for her birthday,” Kaaras says incredulously, and Cullen wrinkles his nose.

“I don’t see why not. They’re quite practical, and—”

“Then why don’t you get her a pen?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not the one who’s working against time to find a present for my beloved, so—”

“Oh, come on,” Kaaras sighs. Leaving Cullen behind—or at least, a couple of steps behind, because Cullen would probably rather die than be left alone in the busy square of Val Royeaux—Kaaras makes his way down the cobblestone street and into an elegant jewelery shop tucked away in the signature blue-painted city buildings. “This stuff,” he says, gesturing around the shop once the door shuts behind the two of them. “This is the stuff she likes.”

“This is also the stuff that costs the Inquisition—”

“That one.”

They’re hardly inside the shop before Kaaras’ eyes land on an amethyst pendant—tear shaped, hardly the size of his thumbnail and on a silver chain far more delicate than the golden chain she wears while working, but it’s perfect. Delicate like she is.

So despite Cullen’s continued grumbling, the purchase is quick, and the jeweler even boxes the necklace with a matching purple bow.

“Making a reservation next,” Kaaras muses, mentally checking off gift from his list. The pair travel back the way they came and across the plaza, where the little cafe still gets enough warmth from the later afternoon sun. It’s quiet now—between meals—and Kaaras surveys the seating arrangements carefully, walking from table to table. His stops at a a quiet corner spot near the casks of wine in the back—one that would be perfect for chatting together, alone.

Perfect.

“Cullen,” he calls across the room to where his friend still stands uncomfortably by the front. “I’m just going to go look for the—”

“Commander Cullen?”

Oh no.

“Is that you, Cullen?”

It’s her.

With a look of panic on his face that must certainly rival his own, Cullen shakes his head wildly toward Kaaras, gesturing, red faced, as though he’s trying to push a very large object out of the way with his bare hands.

He gets the hint.

Diving quickly behind a table, he only just misses Josephine’s entrance. “It is you!” she says excitedly. From where he crouches, he can only barely see Leliana with her, grimacing—no doubt for the flaw in their surprise. “You are just about the last person I might expect to see in the city today! What brings you here?”

“I—” Cullen stutters. “I, um, was hungry.”

“And...you came all the way to Val Royeaux for a meal?” Josephine asks slowly.

“Um...Maker, no, I mean—”

“Since we are all here, why don’t we go and catch up?” Leliana coaxes, and at her words, the conversation begins to drift further away.

It’s his chance.

With haste, he emerges from his hiding sport. Back to the plan. It takes him little time to locate the owner of the cafe, and less time to reserve his table as planned. Really, it only takes a quick name drop—today is Josephine Montilyet’s birthday you know—and suddenly the man’s promised him the entire restaurant to themselves should he want it.

Gift, check, he thinks as he leaves the restaurant. Reservation, check. Only the flowers left.

By the time he reaches the outdoor market by the docks, the waters surrounding the city are glittering with the oranges and pinks of the sunset. Not much more time. After browsing the stalls quickly, he selects a bouquet of periwinkle peonies—tied again with a matching bow—and begins to head back to the restaurant.

With any luck, Leliana and Cullen will have gotten her back in time.

And indeed, as he approaches the cafe under the outdoor lanterns among the impending dusk, the trio sit together, chatting among the topiaries outside. Leliana notices him first, a smug smile growing on her lips when she does, and then Cullen, who unsurprisingly begins to gather himself immediately and rise from his seat.

“Is something wrong?” Josephine asks him. “First, you come to Val Royeaux with little reason, and suddenly you have to leave? Well, I—”

“Josephine,” Kaaras says softly, and in an instant, she turns around, clapping a hand over her mouth in surprise. “Happy birthday.”

“You—” she says, at a rare loss for words. “You—but you—” She looks wildly from Cullen to Leliana. “This was all planned, was it not? You both knew!”

“Perhaps,” says Leliana with a smile, and Cullen nods.

“Oh, but...Kaaras.”

He beams, holding out the bouquet to her.

“I think we should take our leave, then,” Cullen says quietly, but Kaaras hardly notices when he and Leliana slip away. Right now, it’s just Josephine.

“These are beautiful, Kaaras,” she says breathlessly, bringing them to her nose and taking in their sweet scent.

“If you like those, then just wait,” he laughs, slipping a hand around her back and ushering them both into the cafe.

“It’s not until their seated that he lets himself really admire her. While he and Cullen had dressed for travel, she looked as lovely as ever, if not more so. Gone is her usual dress with her gold chain. Instead she wears one longer, lighter, deep blue skirts of light material falling from her waist. And her smile.

Somehow, they really did pull the surprise off.

“There’s only one last thing,” he says happily, pulling the little box from his pack and handing it to her across the table.

“Oh,” she says softly, eyes widening at the packaging as she accepts it with delicate fingers, pulls the purple ribbon just so until it falls to either side of the box. She pulls the lid of like she does everything else—with care—and her lips form a little O when she looks inside.

“Oh,” she says, a second time, and he feels his heart flutter at her happiness. “Oh, Kaaras. It matches your eyes, my love.”

When he reaches out, she leans in, letting him clip the necklace around the back of her neck, and he grins. “I suppose so,” he agrees, “although that wasn’t my plan when I saw it.”

She beams. “But it makes it all the better, you know.”

Still, he smiles, shrugging sheepishly. “I’m glad you like it.”

#kaaras adaar #josephine montilyet #cullen rutherford #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #mutuals #josie #cullen #my writing

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some-fool-fp · 5 years ago

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HexSaga 2A - Forecast: Precipitation

Rain: “Wow, it took a dumb amount of time to get to the second one of these stories started, considering they’re finished in like an hour and a half or so.”

Callah: “Hm?”

Rain: “Oh, it’s nothing. Come in, come in!”

Although slightly confused at both her cousin, who has a cloud surrounding her head where her hair should be, and said cousin’s statement, Callah decided to just ask questions later. She had to focus on moving in and adapting to this new temporary lifestyle. Although, once she walked in, she quickly realized that doing so would be a bit harder than she anticipated.

Callah: “Your house looks… well... lovely! Are you a big fan of pipes or…?”

Rain: “Ah, don’t worry about those. They’re just part of a special drain system I’ve had installed. There’s one in every room, since the house tends to flood a bit.” Callah: “Uh huh.”

Rain: “Let me show you around. You may want to change into those flip flops.”

Rain pointed at some flip flops near the door. Callah noted bright yellow rainboots next to them. They looked nice, if a bit overused. Callah left her shoes at the door and put on a pair of flip flops.

Rain: “This is the living room, and back there's the kitchen. You can reach the patio and the laundry room from there. No dining room, but I usually use this counter. And, for emergencies, that room over there is the bathroom.”

Callah took mental notes about the rooms. Apart from the general locations, she also noted their unconventional design. These rooms all sloped either inwards or to a side, which presumably lead excess water to the mentioned drain system. Other than the pipes, each room was pretty barren, having little in the way of decor, apart from a cute retro TV in the living room, hooked up to a game console that was pretty nicely waterproofed. The tables and stands looked quite standard, all things considered, but kitchen appliances and seats were all covered with plastic wrap-like sheets. She also saw that quite a few kitchen appliances, most notably a toaster, were missing. She figured it was because of Rain’s... “flooding problem”.

Rain: “Let me show you to your room! By the way, be REALLY careful with the stairs. You might slip.”

Rain and Callah climbed up the staircase, with very careful steps. True to her warning, the steps that Rain passed got really slippery, so they marched up with tense caution.

Rain: “Your room’s that one over to the left. I’ve already set it up for you and had a pal drain out all of the water, so it should be dry and cozy! You also have your own bathroom in there.”

Callah: “Thank you, Am- uh, Rain.”

Rain: “So, any questions?”

Callah: “Well, uhm, actually… I’ve been wondering… what’s with… no that wouldn’t be right… what happened to… hrmm…”

Rain: “Hehe, are you curious about my hair?”

Callah: “What? No, I uh… ugh… well, yes. All of this is so confusing.”

Rain: “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to explain anything you may need to know about my gimmick.”

Callah: “...Gimmick?”

Rain: “Yeah, that’s what we call things like my hair around here. Gimmicks. Or call ‘em quirks, abilities, unique traits… whatever works. So, want me to tell you about it?”

Callah: “Sure. I mean, of course, if you don’t mind...”

Rain gave a quick explanation about how her hair is instead made of clouds, how she has some control over her own downpour and how she lives with this. Basically, what we all already know about her gimmick that we really don’t need to go over.

Rain: “...and that’s about it.”

Callah: “Huh… that’s pretty cool.”

Rain: “Yup.”

A short burst of awkward silence followed.

Rain: “I’ll be downstairs if you need me. I need to go buy some stuff in a couple of minutes.”

Callah: “Ok, I’ll be here. Unpacking.”

Rain went back downstairs. Callah entered her room and opened her suitcase, quickly checking that everything was in order. She was a little bit of a neat freak, so the little bit of dirt that got mixed with water made her a bit uncomfortable, but everything was there. She took a quick shower and changed from her travel hoodie to something more appropriate for the weather. It was pretty warm, after all.

She was still slightly jet lagged and had to rest a bit. But first, Callah decided to go downstairs to talk to Rain, as she felt that her first impression was awkward. Unfortunately, she came to find out that she had already left to run whatever errands she had to do.

Callah: *sigh*

She sat down on the couch, and took in her surroundings. With all the minor noticeable fixes and certain odd arrangements, she could tell Rain was having some troubles dealing with her gimmick problem, but she was trying her best. It was better to not address this any further. Apart from having to explain how she fundamentally works, Callah would rather not inconvenience her further by asking more obvious questions. Perhaps a bit of TV would calm her down.

Callah: “Hmm… I wonder where she would keep the remote…”

???: “Don’t worry about that!”

Callah: “hHUH?!? Who’s there?”

Callah, surprised, saw the television turn on by itself...

Tabby: “Heya! The name’s Tabby.”

Callah: “What th-”

Tabby: “I bet you have several questions right now, but let me explain. I’m a girl who is actually a television.”

Callah: “Is this some sort of prank?!”

Quickly turning the TV off, she checked if there was some sort of disc player or something, to no avail. The TV turned back on as she did this.

Tabby: “Well, that was kinda rude. I’m not some kind of recording, if you’re thinking that.”

Callah stepped back, as Tabby followed her moves with her eyes.

Callah: “This just keeps getting weirder and weirder.”

Tabby: “...sorry for just turning on like that. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Callah: “No, no. I’m sorry for, uh, turning you off.”

Tabby: “Heh. Talking to a television must feel pretty crazy.”

Callah: “I… uhh… yeah, I guess it is. Rain never mentioned she already had a, well, tenant? Or roommate maybe?”

Tabby: “I’m more of a freeloader actually. Her parents allowed me to stay here for a while, but I don’t think she knows I’m her television. Pretty much everyone else knows.”

Callah: “Oh.”

Tabby looked at Callah, who was looking a bit disturbed and thoughtful.

Tabby: “Hey, is something wrong?” Callah: “Huh? No, no, everything’s fine.”

Tabby: “Was it that awkward conversation with Rain?”

Callah: “Nnnnnnmaybe?”

Tabby: “Ah, I wouldn’t worry about it at all. She’s pretty keen on explaining her gimmicks.”

Callah: “I hope so.”

Tabby: “I think you’ll do just fine. And hey, if you can handle meeting me without fainting, you’ll have no problems with the more human-y girls!”

Callah: “Oh… oh.”

Tabby: “Yeah, there are many gimmicky girls. And yes we’re all girls. You’re bound to meet a lot during your time here.”

Callah: “Ah, so that’s what that girl at the airplane meant.”

Tabby already knew it was Miragia. Miragia pulled this off with most people with empty seats beside them that she didn’t recognize.

Tabby: “It takes a bit of getting used to, but you’ll be fine in no time at all. So anyways, I can just change my channels for you. Do you have anything you want to watch in mind?”

Callah: “I don’t really know… what stuff would you watch?”

Tabby: “Me? ...Oh boy!”

Callah woke up, the moon shining from a window outside, accompanied by the pitter-patter of some actual rain. How long had she been out? She remembered spending the entire afternoon talking with Tabby about her favorite channels and watching a movie together. Or, at least, half a movie before she fell asleep from exhaustion. She looked and Tabby, who was turned off. Presumably she had done this shortly after her movie ended. That’s when a delicious aroma hit her. She turned around towards the kitchen counter, to find Rain, already in a deep sleep. Her hair was getting the counter and the floor all wet, it was a huge mess. There was a somewhat warm dish beside her.

A simple chicken fillet with some fries. Just looking at it stirred memories of her home country. Those nights back when she, with her mom and dad would go out to the backyard at night and have a picnic. Those times were long gone, yet she would continue eating these with her dad long after.

Callah found a note next to the dish, addressed to her. She opened it.

Hi, sorry I was out for so long. I met up with a good friend at the grocery store and we ended up going for some donuts. And then I got distracted with a bunch of other stuff, but that’s a series of stories for another time. I hope you had lunch.

Anyways, I know you’re going through some tough times, with all the moving in and how differently things tend to work around here. Despite only being here for a little while, you surely must be homesick already.

Your father told me that this was one of your favorite meals (although I added a few spices from here that I think you may like). I cooked it up while you were sleeping, in case you woke up hungry. I’m honestly a bit tired myself so I may be asleep as well and won’t be able to accompany you. Sorry about that.

I sincerely hope that you have a wonderful time in Raihan.

- Rain

She took a bite of the fillet as her mind flashed memories of her home, the nostalgic warmth filling her empty stomach. Her tongue felt the bold new flavors of unfamiliar spices, delicious and exciting. Kind of like her cousin beside her, Callah produced a few drops of water which travelled down her face, though not from her hair. She turned to look at Rain, still asleep on the counter with no signs of her waking up whatsoever. Silently, after swallowing a bite, she leaned over to her and put her hand on her back.

Callah: “Thank you.”

#HexSaga

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 years ago

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#1yrago Touring, complete: what gear survived four months of hard-wearing book-tour?

I had the last official stop of my book tour for my novel Walkaway on Saturday, when I gave a talk and signing at Defcon in Las Vegas. It was the conclusion of four months of near-continuous touring, starting with three weeks of pre-release events; then six weeks of one-city-per-day travel through the US, Canada and the UK, then two months of weekly or twice-weekly events at book fairs, festivals and conferences around the USA.

Now I'm touring complete. There's one more event on Aug 10 -- a kind of victory lap presentation at my local library here in Burbank -- and then a trickle of events over the next six months, but that's more like my normal baseline of public appearances, a very different experience to the kind of thing I did from April until last weekend.

It's been nine years since my first book tour -- the Little Brother tour -- and as always, there were new facts on the ground to adapt to, as well as hard-won wisdom that saw me through.

Here's some new stuff: indie bookstores are doing better than they have in years, and they're expanding into lots of live events, which are better-planned and better organized than ever. In many cities, there is one thriving indie and three or four suburban Barnes & Nobles, and these have changed, too: seeing as they are the only game in town, these B&Ns attract some stellar booksellers who intimately understand marketing and also really, really care about books. Also: all the indie bookstores have devoted substantial floorspace to embroidered socks. I'm calling it: we are at peak funny-sock.

Here's some stuff that's still the same: "Never pass up a chance to take water or make water." That is hard-won, important touring advice, passed from serious traveler to serious traveler as gospel. Airports are worse than they've ever been...and it's easier to buy your way out of the hardship, between TSA Precheck and Clear, which require that you give up a ton of personal information (which I'd already given up when I applied for my Green Card, so I went ahead, and it was so, so worth it -- so much so that I presume that anyone who has the wherewithal will buy their way into these programs and cease to do anything to mitigate the traveling woes of the general public -- watch for travel to get waaaay worse for normals who only fly a couple times per year).

I've been changing out my travel gear for years, trying to find the optimal combination of flexibility and comfort. I check a bag, and my suitcase was not lost once on this tour (it's happened before, though, and had to catch up with me a city or two down the road). The suitcase was severely damaged, and more than once (more on that below).

Here's the gear that survived this trip, stuff that will stay with me on upcoming trips.

Coffee

This goes first. Life it too short for shitty coffee.

I use an Aeropress (but you knew that). I've stopped carrying around a hand-grinder. I have only so many duty-cycles left in my wrist tendons and then I will cease to be a writer. I'm not wasting them on a hand-grinder. Now I grind my coffee before I leave and put the coffee in a Ziploc Easy Open Tab quart-sized freezer bag (I keep a stash of these in my suitcase and resupply at coffee shops when I run out, having them grind for me; this means I can't buy Blue Bottle coffee since they, alone among coffee shops, will not grind their retail beans, boo) (I also bring along a handful of gallon-sized bags for various purposes). I've tried a lot of sealing bags, and Ziploc's easy opens are the only ones I can reliably seal well.

I heat water in the remarkably great Useful UH-TP147 Electric Collapsible Travel Kettle, a silicone collapsing kettle that has a thermostat that keeps water at near-boil so long as it's plugged in and on. It's multi-voltage and worked great in the UK, and it collapses down really small. The only downside: it looks weird enough on an X-ray that it is a very reliable predictor of having your bags searched by the TSA after you check them.

I am utterly dependent on the Orikaso folding cup to use with my Aeropress on the road. The majority of hotels supply paper cups, or glasses that are too narrow for the Aeropress. Carrying a rigid cup that decomposes into a thin sheet of plastic the size of a sheet of printer-paper spares me the awkwardness of holding the body of the Aeropress with one hand while pushing down on the plunger with the other to keep from squashing the paper cup.

For emergencies, I carried a stash of GO CUBES Energy Chews, a "neutraceutical" whose manufacturer makes a lot of extravagant claims for them. I think those claims are silly, but these are basically gummy-chews made from cold brew coffee (and stuff) and they work very fast and well, but did give me jitters (which were preferable to caffeine withdrawal).

Toiletries

I carried my favorite shampoo, conditioner, soap and a supply of generic woolite in a set of four Innerneed silicone tubes (which I kept in a ziploc). I've used a lot of different silicone tubes and these are my current favorites -- they have a locking mechanism that keeps the hard plastic lid more firmly in place on the silicone body of the tube, even when it's lubricated with slippery soaps, preventing the kinds of catastrophic breaches you get when the whole lid assembly just pops off the tube and everything comes pouring out.

I swapped out my old generic pharmacy rotary electric toothbrush for the Violife Slim Sonic Toothbrush, which is a AAA-battery-powered equivalent to one of those unwieldy, induction-charged Braun ultrasonic toothbrushes that my dentist wants me to use. It performs just as well as the Braun on my sink at home.

I suffer from really terrible, untreatable chronic pain and can't sleep or sit for any length of time without serious pain. I am absolutely reliant on my hot water bottle, with a knit sleeve. For my money, these are the best comfort items you can travel with -- I get them filled with boiling water by the flight attendants before take off and refill them hourly. At bedtime, I fill them from my collapsible kettle. The only downside: it's really easy to leave these behind in the bedclothes when you depart at 4AM.

I carried all my toiletries in Eagle Creek's Pack-It Wallaby Toiletry Organizer. It came highly recommended and after hard use, I see why: it has the best zippers I've ever had on a toilet bag, stores an incredible amount of stuff and still rolls up tight, and did a great job of containing one tube-of-goo breach that could have wrecked everything else.

Clothes

Before the tour, I did a bunch of reading on the best travel underwear and decided to try Uniqlo's Airism Low Rise Boxer Briefs -- they were so comfortable and so easy to wash out in the sink (and so quick drying!) that I threw away all my other underwear when I got home and ordered a half-dozen more pairs. I traveled with three pairs of these, which crumpled small enough that I could fit them all in a pants pocket (should I have a need to do so?) and I rinsed the day's underwear in the sink every night and hung them to dry, chucking them in the bag in the morning, dry and clean.

You might already know that I love the look of Volante's jackets and coats, so it won't surprise you to learn that I lived in an Augment hoodie for the first half of the tour (when the weather was cool), switching to a lighter-weight Peregrine for the second half, when things warmed up.

I started the tour with three different pairs of pants in my suitcase, but left two behind on a resupply stop at home, because I was only ever wearing my Betabrand Off-the-Grid pants, which have enough stretchiness in them to do some basic yoga in, have huge pockets that somehow don't bulge much even when overfilled, and a neat little discreet mid-thigh side pocket good for keeping boarding passes in. My complaint: these were not colorfast at all: they were basically gray by the time I got home, even though I only ever hand-washed them in hotel sinks with generic woolite.

I always travel with pajamas: when you're on long flights, you can change into them for comfort; they give you a way to interact with hotel staff from your room early in the morning or late at night without having to get dressed or put a towel around your waist. I've been buying deadstock vintage men's pajamas from Etsy all year, because they look awesome and are more comfortable than anything you'll get in stores today.

I've been using REI's Sea to Summit compression sacks as laundry bags for ages: there's no problem with wrinkling your dirty laundry, right? Compression sacks are sorcerous reminders of just how much space there is between molecules.

I lived in Native Jeffersons: basically a kid's croc shoe, but molded to look like a low-rise Converse All-Star. Super comfortable, and I could rinse them in the hotel sink every night and leave them upside-down against the wall and slip into them in the morning.

Comfort items

I traveled with a Stanley Adventure Flask that I filled with Jefferson's Reserve Pritchard Hill Cabernet Cask Finished, 15-year-old bourbon that's finished with a couple years of rest in old cabernet casks. Yum.

I always keep a couple dozen catering-sized sachets of Tabasco in my suitcase and handful in my carry-on. They don't seem to show up as liquids on TSA X-rays so you can keep them in your bag, and I've never had one burst in a bag. They make everything super-delicious (or at least bearable) and they are way more space-efficient than those cute, tiny, single-use Tabasco bottles.

Swimming

Swimming is the only way I can stay sane on tour. It keeps my chronic pain under control and burns some of the empty airplane-peanut and minibar calories.

I swim with an underwater MP3 player. After trying a lot of models, I settled on the Exeze players, which are only available for sale in the UK. However, I've since discovered that virtually the same players are sold under other brand names in the USA: one model I've tried and liked is the Aerb.

The reason I swim with an MP3 player is so that I can listen to audiobooks. I get through a couple novels per month this way. Audible's proprietary DRM format isn't compatible with MP3 players, so forget about getting your swimming audiobooks that way. Instead, try Downpour and Libro.fm, both of whom sell thousands of DRM-free audiobooks. Audiobooks and swimming are a magic combination. I couldn't make it through the tour without them.

Gadgets

I got my Calyx hotspot just over a year ago. It offers anonymous, unfiltered, unshaped, unlimited 4G/LTE wifi through Sprint's network, and supports the nonprofit good works of Calyx, who provide anonymity and privacy services to whistleblowers, journalists and many others. They are the good guys and this is a great product at a stellar price: $100 for the hotspot and $400/year for unlimited mobile broadband.

I continue to use X-series Thinkpads. I'm currently on the X270 and it runs Ubuntu very well. I didn't need any service on this tour, but I have on other tours, and I'm serene in the knowledge that the extended on-site next-day hardware replacement warranty (about $75/year!) guarantees that no matter what, I won't be without my computer for more than a day. My X270 took a lot of hard knocks on this tour and survived unscathed. My sole complaint: they screwed up the keyboards with the X230 (or so) and still haven't made a new chiclet keyboard that's half as good as the original Thinkpad keyboard. Please, Lenovo, bring my beloved keyboard back!

I use a Google Pixel phone and it's...not terrible. Everything about it works fine, but it has unbelievably shitty battery life. That is a killer on tour. The Alclap case solved that problem...for two weeks, and then it stopped working. I ordered two more, both of which were duds out of the box. The Scosche Magic Mount was more awkward to use, but also longer-lasting (it died last weekend, thanks to fraying in the wire that connected it to the phone).

Luggage

You know all those suitcases that come with ten-year warranties? They're all designed to have a ten-year duty-cycle...assuming that you travel once or twice a year. In decades of hard travel, I've yet to buy a suitcase that can live up to the punishment of daily flying.

So now I buy suitcases based on how easy they are to get warranty service on. I had heard great things about Rimowa, and I loved the look of their cases, so I bit the bullet and sprang for one (they're extremely pricey). I quickly discovered that their much-vaunted service was terrible -- in London, anyway. My options were mailing the case to Germany, or taking it to a service center on Euston Road where they were rude, deceptive, and all-around awful. I was ready to swap the case for another manufacturer when I moved from London to LA two years ago.

But in LA, the whole story is different. Rimowa's service here is handled by a place out in Beverley Hills called Coco's Leather and they're pretty good at fixing stuff (there's sometimes a week turnaround, but I've found that if I call them after messengering the busted case out to them, they can often turn it around in a day).

I needed it. My Rimowa case was seriously damaged three times on tour: twice it had wheels ripped off (the whole wheel assembly, including the riveted-on bracket, torn right out of the aluminum!) by Southwest's baggage handlers in San Diego. Another time, AA baggage handlers destroyed the latches.

I'm sticking with Riwoma for now. Every luggage expert I've spoken to says that there's just not anything that will survive the kind of punishment I put my bags through, so I'm buying based on warranties, and between Coco's Leather and Rimowa's long-lasting warranties, I can live with this situation.

I've gone through a lot of luggage tags over the years and have yet to have one last more than a few flights before it's torn off in the hold, caught in some grinding system. Now I use the TUFFTAAG Travel ID Bag Tag, made of hard-wearing aluminum with braided steel cables. Dozens of flights later, the tags are bent and battered, but still intact and still attached to my case -- that's a first.

https://boingboing.net/2017/08/02/hard-won-wisdom.html

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cute1dfacts · 6 years ago

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Ruble slump hits Russians' wallets, not their support for Putin

New Post has been published on https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/ruble-slump-hits-russians-wallets-not-their-support-for-putin

Ruble slump hits Russians' wallets, not their support for Putin

By Andrew Osborn

MOSCOW (Reuters) – Alexei Nikolayev, one of more than 56 million Russians who re-elected President Vladimir Putin in March, is already counting the likely cost of a weaker ruble: less spending power abroad, higher prices at home, and another round of belt tightening.

But Nikolayev, a 56-year old graphic designer who enjoys foreign travel and imported wine, blames the West, not Putin, for the pain and has no regrets about voting for a politician he sees as the right man to guide Russia through troubled times.

“It’s painful and it’s unpleasant, but it won’t change my politics,” Nikolayev said of the ruble shedding 10 percent of its value against the dollar since the end of July, driven down largely by new U.S. sanctions on Russia.

“In fact, as strange as it may sound, it will only strengthen my convictions. They (the West) are trying to break Russia.”

Nikolayev’s view that Putin is not to blame is held widely among Russians, according to Stepan Goncharov, a sociologist at the Levada Center pollster.

“People don’t really understand the dynamics behind it and the president, traditionally, is safe from criticism,” Goncharov told Reuters.

The narrative in Russia that the ruble’s slide is the result of a Western plot has direct echoes with Turkey, Russia’s ally whose lira currency slid to a record low on Monday. Turkish President Tayyip Erdogan has said his country is the target of an economic war and has said Turkey will boycott some U.S. imports in retaliation.

In Russia, the falling ruble causes pain for some. The price of imported goods is likely to rise. Foreign vacations have also become more expensive.

Irina Turina, a spokeswoman for the Russian Travel Industry Union, said travel agents had seen demand for package holidays fall by 10-15 percent last week because of the ruble’s volatility.

“People who have not yet paid in full for their holidays are rushing to pay off the rest even if they have no obligation to do so,” Turina told Reuters, saying people were worried that the outstanding balance would be recalculated according to a higher, less favorable exchange rate.

“People who have not yet bought package holidays are also pausing for thought,” she said. “It’s not just about paying for your holiday, you need spending money once you get there and people take dollars.”

SANGUINE MOOD

Nevertheless, early and anecdotal signs suggest many Russians, long inured to a volatile national currency, are stoical, even defiant, in the face of a falling ruble.

Russian Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Maria Zakharova said last week that the sanctions on Russia had nothing to do with Moscow’s behavior in places like Ukraine or Syria but were motivated by a U.S. need to keep economic rivals down.

That view finds favor with many Russians who have listened via state TV and taken in the Kremlin’s anti-Western rhetoric for years.

Other Russians were simply sanguine about a ruble drop that has taken few by surprise because they have seen worse before.

“Nothing is forever, things will change somehow,” said Moscow resident Gennady Tsurkan. “Everything will always change for the better. I think that these days are not far off, I believe that.”

The fall in the ruble is much less severe than the currency crisis after 2014, when an economic slump coincided with the fallout from Russia’s annexation of Ukraine’s Crimea.

Russia’s exposure to ruble fluctuations is significantly less that it was four years ago.

Since that time, Russian companies have reduced their foreign borrowing, the state has cut the amount it needs to raise on Western debt markets, and the country imports fewer goods that it needs to pay for in dollars.

Putin’s still-high approval rating has slipped in the past few months, but pollsters put that down to an unpopular proposed pension reform, not the weakness of the ruble.

Pollsters say while the ruble’s weakness may fuel an emerging sense of discontent among some Russians sparked by the pension reform, it is unclear if it will catalyze protests or influence a political landscape which Putin has bestrode for over 18 years.

“If it does have an effect, it will be an indirect one, magnifying discontent over falling living conditions,” said Levada Center’s Goncharov.

Nikolayev, the Putin-supporting graphic designer, was philosophical.

“It’s like sunshine or snow. I can’t influence it. Maybe I’ll have to drink a different kind of wine. Or maybe I’ll have to buy one instead of two pairs of shoes. It’s painful but not that painful.”

Read More https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/ruble-slump-hits-russians-wallets-not-their-support-for-putin

#hits #Putin #ruble #Russians039 #slump #support #Wallets

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taylordmorris · 6 years ago

Text

Ruble slump hits Russians' wallets, not their support for Putin

New Post has been published on https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/ruble-slump-hits-russians-wallets-not-their-support-for-putin

Ruble slump hits Russians' wallets, not their support for Putin