#I insist upon sitting upon an orange print armchair

[oeuvrinarydurian]

“My somber darks do all they can to mitigate the acid-trip overly-caffeinated print of this armchair as I stare wistfully at this invisible kitten.”

Announcing the all new Saturday caption competition…

Do your worst best tumblr

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

🕯Anon said : Can I request headcanons with a Modern Au Teacher!Erwin and his s/o is a slightly famous artist like a painter that’s always in the basement. Maybe have a moment where the art teacher begs him to bring them to the school when they find out who Erwin is with. ? 🕯

Teacher!Erwin brings you, a famous painter, to work.

{ Erwin x Reader | tw:none | fluff, suggestive kiss | modern }

{ "Leisurely Sunday in the Villa Comunale in Naples" 1993 by Francesco Tammaro Born in 1939 }

Grassy fields surrounded the old big building as the trees undressing of their leaves onto the sidewalks, currently being swept away by the janitor.

Students were filling the halls, the sound of chatter and laughter following after. Outside in the yard, the whistle of the gym teacher could be heard following by heavy footsteps as the football team started their morning practice. Not long after the bell rang, the halls were empty again only for some crumbled papers and snack covers left behind.

"Pigs, all of them. There's a trashcan right there." Levi scrunched his nose at the smell of axe spray and deodorant near the trophy cases. "Tell Miche to spray his running monkeys with soap every once in a while."

"Now now, what got you so grumpy this early in the morning?" Adjusting the lab coat on their suit, Hange replied. "Oh cut the kids some slack, their big game is coming soon or something."

"And he's been implenting a more strick hygiene policy." Said Erwin, holding a plastic binder with a stack of exam papers, mostly marked red. "He's trying to convince the principal to ban deodorant during practice because it's making his nose burn."

Huffing in response, Levi crossed his arms. "Yeah because the principle will definitely listen to him after that whole sniffing people scandal- Hey! Brats, don't you have classes"

As Levi went to scold the two students currently hanging a handmade poster for the upcoming game on the wall, a couple of students came up to Hange, looking in a hurry as they explained the Science lab was locked and they're getting tired of sitting on their backpacks outside.

Soon after, Erwin too made his way to class.

Upon entering the room, the talking quieted down as the squeaking sound of people going back to their own desks followed. Walking upfront, Erwin dropped the binder on his desk beside the empty mug, a couple of groans filled the room as the students realised what it was.

"Mr.Smith, didn't we just take the test yesterday? Shouldn't you like...I don't know double check or something? Maybe you rushed grading them?" One student called from the back as some chuckles and agreement followed from the rest.

Taking the stacks of papers out, Erwin made his way between the students, giving each on their graded paper. "I don't know Connie, maybe you should've double checked your answers instead?"

The playful atmosphere of the classroom was cut short as the door slammed open, making everyone freeze in their seats, none other than the art teacher walked in.

Nile Dawk, current art teacher who fails at least a quarter of his class each year. Who has oh just the most swell relationship with Erwin and anyone can tell you that.

You see, Erwin adored art, both the classic and the modern. Nile admired history and knew just how each art era had its link to a historical event.

And the pair couldn't stand each other.

Crossing his arms, Nile said "Erwin, you have explaining to do." Before dropping a newly printed magazine onto his desk, 

Its cover, showing a brand new art museum that just finished construction and is hosting a lot of different paintings from unrecognised underground talents. 

"Nile, I think you misunderstand. I teach history, I'm not an architect." He said raising an eyebrow, before tilting his head as if he's deep in thought, "or do you want me to explain what a museum is?"

Sneering at his remark, Nile flipped through the pages till he reached a certain one. It depicted a one of the paintings that will be displayed in the museum, a portrait of a blond man with broad shoulders and sharp blue eyes seemingly distracted from reality by the book in his hand.

The soft glow of the fireplace next to the red armchair he sat in, adding a certain orange hue to his light complexion. His long fingers holding the leather book as a glass-stained maroon vase sat on the small table behind him, containing a single red rose.

It's clear from the details poured into his eyes and the shading for each strand of his hair that whoever made this painting, held a great affection for the man.

"Now Mr.history teacher, care to explain why your face is on this painting? By one of the few promising artists of this useless generation?."

Hushed murmurs filled the classroom as students took out their phones googling the name y/n, showing each other the said painting while staring with wide eyes at Erwin.

Rubbing his temple with his fingers, Erwin frowned at the scene the other was causing. Knowing very well it won't take long for this fire to spread, he decided to add more fuel to the flames.

He took a long breath, before telling the class to quiet down with a stern expression. 

"Mr.Dawk, are you really asking me why y/n, my love, the person I'm married to, paint me?" He said facing the other, looking directly into his eyes. "Maybe you should ask y/n instead if you're so insisting on forcing yourself in my private life."

Narrowing his eyes, Nile snorted. "You know what Erwin? Maybe I should.

And that's the story Erwin told you while having dinner that day.

He looks at you with pleading eyes as if to silently apologise for dragging you into this mess, his plate still half full and drink untouched.

Please reassure him that it's alright, you don't mind taking a day off to visit his work

He'll reach out to gently squeeze your hand in his, whispering a small thank you as his thumb rubs against your skin.

He also says he'll do the dishes that day, you can go rest and he will join you in bed after a while, a relieved smile on his face.

The next day, as he wakes up early like usual. He makes sure to wake you up with a kiss, stroking your face before murmuring "good morning" against your lips. 

He knows because of your work you don't wake up early, so he's really patient and understanding if you happen to get grumpy for a while.

Handing you a warm drink to help wake you up, he'll make sure you eat something before changing and heading out.

You're not surprised to find him already done and dressed himself.

Hair as perfect as usual.

On the drive to school, you'll feel the cool morning air against your skin while your head leans back into the seat, eyes fluttering shut.

You can have your mini nap, Erwin will make sure to wake you up when you arrive.

When arriving, he made sure to open the car door for you. The fresh air and green scenery surrounded you both.

When arriving at the teacher's lounge, you're almost surprised to see two people already there from how early it was.

The first was sitting on the old black couch near the window, his dirty blond bangs covering his eyes. The second you could see making tea on the other side of the room Where the kitchenware was.

Both of them glanced up when Erwin called their name, staring at the way he had an arm wrapped around your waist while introducing you.

It was Miche who came first, standing from the couch you noticed just how tall he was. Offering your hand for him to shake, only for him to pull you into a tight hug instead.

He pulled away, tapping his nose before a smile slowly formed on his face, nodding in approval

The second was Levi, who ignored your offered hand only to sip on his teacup, assessing you up and down.

Not too long after, a person with a messy ponytail and a colorful lab coat arrived.

They took one glance at you, then the matching wedding rings on yours and Erwins fingers before taking an immediate interest in you.

Hange asked questions faster than you can answer them, with sparkling eyes and a wide smile.

At the first sign of you being uncomfortable, it was Levi who stepped in to tell Hange to tone it down before apologizing to you.

And it was Miche who got you some snacks from the teacher's secret stash after.

You've heard stories and one sided phone calls about them from Erwin, yet it still didn't prepare you for actually meeting them.

While overwhelming at first, the more time you spent talking as Erwin reassuringly sat beside you, you noticed how genuinely interested they were.

Levi, while seemingly cold, was actually the most considerate and paid the most attention to you. He'd step in whenever things got too much and would be really polite despite having a colourful language. By the end of it he even made you some tea, something that seemed to surprise Erwin and the rest.

"It's just...he never trusted someone this quickly before."

Hange was genuinely interested in you, having researched you and your art beforehand. They really were eager to hear even the most boring details and were capable of understanding your way of thinking. They even gave you a small rubber frog they carried around in their pocket to hand out. It would've been cute wasn't for the fact immediately after they mentioned the real human skeleton they have pinned to the lab door.

"His name is bean! I've been actually investing into getting him a human heart for Valentine's day, but all the ones I've found so far were in jars."

The most quiet of them was actually Miche, although he'd smile at you whenever you looked his way. Despite his intimidating size you learned how harmless and easy going he is, the most chill out of the three. He did mention knowing Erwin for the longest time out of them, having been childhood friends even. He promised to tell you all the embarrassing secrets Erwin tried to erase from existence as he added his number on your phone.

"He ain't as proper as he looks, I got the dirt on him."

You saw Erwin's jaw tightening before he changed the subject quickly, giving the side eye to Miche who only smiled back.

The rest of the day went by smoothly, Erwin didn't leave your side for one minute and made sure to check on you constantly. 

He introduced you to the rest of the teachers and seemed only amused at any teasing he got from students passing by.

By the end of the day, as the sun began to set and the students already done with their clubs, you and Erwin had one final place to go.

The art classroom.

"Just one more thing before that" he told you, guiding you into an empty classroom.

You saw his desk, the mug you gifted him on father's day as a joke sat on his desk, several paper sketches you made were framed next to it.

It was his classroom, with only you and him, the door open.

He closed it.

You stood against his desk as he moved closer, arms circling you, not breaking eye contact.

"May I?" He whispered, licking his own lips.

As he got your permission, he pressed his lips against yours, arm stroking your back before pulling away after some seconds.

He rubbed your swollen bottom lip with his thumb, a small smile on his face before pulling away.

Your heart was still fluttering against your chest as you left the classroom, while Erwin seemed to be smiling at nothing with a slight curl to his lips, steps more lighter than before.

Right after that he took you to the art classroom. The smell of oil paint and sound of brushes scratching against paper filling the air.

Stepping inside, the scratching sound stopped as a certain black haired man stared at you, eyes wide and lips parted.

Disbelief clear in his face, Nile was quick to mask his emotions as he noticed the smugness Erwin was in.

"Nile, I'd like to introduce you to my lovely darling, y/n." There was a chipper to Erwin's voice as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. 

[lu-undy]

New Sniper/Spy work!

This time I’m going back to the “fluffy request” format. You may send a few lines for an idea, or a bit of dialogue between Sniper and Spy and I will turn it into a short story.

Here is the first one: "Sniper catches Spy reading a book, the title of which is "Solitude, But Two". More curiously, the Frenchman stares and blushes..."

As always, I recommend reading it from AO3, following the underlined link, the formatting is better there. :)

The team's effort had earned them victory upon victory that day, and as it was the end of the week, the mercenaries all gathered in the common room. Some were playing cards, some were watching the television, while others were chatting with a beer in their hands. 

On one of the chairs lay Sniper, his hat on his face and his hands crossed on his stomach, making sure the bottle of beer there wouldn't slide down and fall. His absurdly long legs were flowing straight in front of him, with his feet almost touching the sofa facing him. The noise of Demoman's hearty laughter woke him up from his nap and the Aussie winced as he removed the hat from his face. 

Flash, too bright. He grumbled and blinked repeatedly for his eyes to adjust to the light. When his brow relaxed, his eyes fell on his colleague on the sofa opposite him. His varnished, black Italian shoe was tracing slow circles in the air. Sniper followed the pinstripe pattern of his trousers up to the Frenchman's lap. The man in the mask was sitting with one leg on top of the other, reading a book.

As Sniper's eyes rose lazily from the book, he realised that Spy's cheeks were pink, and his eyes were on the Aussie himself. The second their eyes met, Spy's eyes flashed back to the book and he frowned harder.

Sniper's eyebrows jumped in surprised. He saw his colleague exhale the smoke of his cigarette through his nostrils. Ha, what kind of emotion was the snake trying to convey, huh? 

"Hey, Snipes has woken up, guys. Yo, wanna join up? We're gonna play darts."

"If ye wanna lose again…" The Aussie answered as he adjusted his posture on the seat. "How high's the bet? Wouldn't wanna rob you of your pocket money."

"Right, fine, go back to your nap… Jeez…" Scout turned his back and joined his group of colleagues to play darts. 

Sniper's head turned back to Spy and to his greatest surprise, he found the Frenchman staring at him, with pink cheeks at that!

"What?" Sniper asked. "Got somethin' on my face?" 

Spy's eyes darted back to his book and his brow furrowed. 

"Non. My apologies." 

Sniper frowned for a second, but didn't think much of it. He looked at his bottle and realised it was empty. So he stood up to go and grab another one. As he came back, he tried to read the title of the book. He winced as he managed to catch only the first two words.

Solitude, but…

There was another word but it was hidden by Spy's gloved fingers. Bah… 

Sniper resumed his seat and lazily enjoyed his beer, while listening to the conversations here and there, his ears jumping from one voice to the other. He stretched his arms and legs. "Oh, sorry." He had kicked Spy's foot. The Frenchman buried his head deeper in the book. 

Sniper ignored it and lay back on the chair. When his eyes went around all of his colleagues, they came back to see what was in front of him and again fell on the Frenchman. To say he was absorbed by his reading was the understatement of the century. The Aussie knew that Spy enjoyed reading. It wasn't the first time that his participation in the Friday evening activities consisted solely in sitting on the sofa or the armchair and reading, surrounded by the ambient chatter of his colleagues. And if he wasn’t mistaken, it looked like it had been the same book for the past few weeks at least.

Sniper’s eyebrows jumped in surprise when he realised that Spy had raised his eyes to him. Their gazes hang up in the air for a moment, Sniper’s cheeks turned pink while Spy’s already were. 

Their eyes snapped away from each other and Spy cleared his throat. The end of his cigarette lit up in bright orange before the smoke exited his nostrils in a long laminar sigh.

Often, Sniper didn't even know when Spy would leave. One moment he was there and the next, he was gone. He probably left because of the noise getting to him, or something being a tiny inconvenience for a normal person, but a huge annoyance for the aristocratically mannered Frenchman. 

Sniper's eyes stayed on Spy for a while. He wondered what he looked like under the mask, like everyone else. All he knew was that he had light blue, almost grey eyes, with black and long eyelashes. His nose was slightly hooked and his lips very thin. They always held a cigarette, to the point where Sniper wondered if his colleague slept or showered with them too…

Spy's eyes were scanning the printing lines at a constant rate, and sometimes, his eyes would stop, he would squint and come back a few lines ago to read a paragraph again. Sniper noticed with amusement that whatever Spy was feeling, it would leak through the subtle movement of his eyebrows. Lightly frowning or relaxing them was more than Sniper usually saw him show.

Curious and mysterious man he was that Spy. But a good teammate and undoubtedly redoubtable in his trade. An assassin as loud as a shadow, but his seconds would be counted upon being found out, a bit like Sniper himself. And similarly to him too, he wasn't one to be very talkative. He would say what was required of him to say, and not more. Small talk wasn't something the Aussie was well versed in but no doubt Spy was different. With the successes he was said to have with women, surely he was very good at it but just chose not to partake in it with his colleagues. 

He respected them as far as work was concerned, but beyond that, Sniper didn't think that Spy would call his colleagues "friends". Ah, actually, did he even know what a friend was? Had he ever sat in a pub and enjoyed a few beers with friends? 

Spy’s mind wasn’t in the common room at all. He was in the setting described by that story. Australia, the bushy and red desert. Wide and wild empty spaces, where the only noises would be those of the exotic birds. Ah, the descriptions really made his mind travel. He had never been to Australia, despite being fairly well travelled. His work had never taken him that far from home. Ha, home… If anyone asked him, he would answer that France was his home country, but it wasn’t his home per se. He didn’t feel more at home in France or right there, in the base. Such was the problem with travelling that much, nowhere is really home anymore.

Spy’s train of thought was interrupted when a bottle of beer appeared between him and the book.

“Here.”

Spy realised that Sniper was standing behind the sofa and handing him the bottle over his shoulder.

“Merci.” He accepted the beer and took it in his hand. 

[Thank you.]

Sniper smiled.

"What’cha readin'?"

"Not over my shoulder." Spy shut the book.

"C'mon, you've been stopping every other minute and looking up to me. Just wanna know why, is all."

"I was not looking at you. I was just taking a break in my reading to process what I just read. Not everything has to do with you, Sniper."

"You've had that there novel in your coat for weeks, and you never let it leave your side; must be a damn good one, Spook."

"I enjoy some kind of literature. It takes my mind off of the fact that I live with lunatics."

"Well, I certainly understand the feeling." Sniper pointedly glared at Scout, who was in the process of unwedging his baseball from the rafters. "Mind sharing that little corner of sanity with me?"

"Non." Spy turned to Sniper. "Now, do you mind? I was in the middle of a chapter."

Sniper resumed his seat further away. He put his hat over his eyes and pretended to sleep. He let his breathing stabilise and knew Spy was watching him to make sure that he was asleep and no longer a disturbance for his reading. But Sniper also knew he was certainly more patient than the Frenchman.

Spy resumed his reading, raising his eyes from time to time in another direction. When he was convinced that Sniper was asleep, he raised his eyes and stared.

He stared…

Sniper could fall asleep anywhere at anytime in any situation, a great quality for a spy, when sometimes situations called for gathering strength in the least comfortable positions.

Sniper suddenly moved the hat away and stared back and Spy got startled, almost jumping on his seat.

"Gotcha starin' again, Spook...."

Spy frowned and left the room to go to his private one. He was obviously furious and fuming but Sniper noticed the blush on his cheeks, the embarrassment. God knew that man hated being embarrassed more than anything else.

Sniper decided to wait for a few minutes before he followed and knocked on his door.

"Who is this?"

"It's me."

"Non merci, see you tomorrow on the battlefield."

[No thanks]

"Spook..." Sniper insisted still behind the door.

"Would you understand it better in French?" Spy asked, irritated.

"C'mon, Spook, just a minute.... Or maybe you'd prefer me to say everythin' I want out in the open, in the corridor...?"

Spy rolled his eyes and shut the book. He pushed himself to stand up and stood off of his armchair to open the door.

"Come in and make it quick."

"Right, right... Can I sit down or do I have to pay extra?"

Spy gestured to the sofa, next to his armchair.

"What is it you seek?"

"You were starin'. Just wanna know why. I checked my face, I don't have anythin' on it, so what is it?"

Spy frowned and put a hand on the bridge of his nose.

"Is that about that book you've been reading?"

The Frenchman looked away, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Seems to take you places, that book. What is it about...?" 

Spy reached for it on the coffee table but Sniper had the same idea. Both withdrew their hands.

"Hey... I just wanna understand cause uh... those looks you give me when you stare at me. Even Engie noticed the blush on yer face."

Spy put a hand on his face.

"Oh, merde...." Spy sighed.

[Oh, shit...]

"I just wanna understand, is all. If it was a magazine, I'd thought it was one of those that Scout's gettin' delivered, eh...."

"Bushman!"

"I know, I know, not your style. So I'm just wonderin'. What the hell gets your cheeks red?"

"I hardly blush. And you cannot see it with the mask."

"Maybe, but I can still see it up there...."

Sniper raised his finger closer to Spy's face, on his upper cheeks. Spy’s eyes followed the finger until they got too close to his personal space and slapped the hand away.

"What do you think you are doing?!"

Sniper took advantage of the Frenchman being destabilised for a fraction of a second to snatch the book away and run out of Spy’s quarters.

"BUSHMAN!"

Spy ran after him, racing the man with taller legs than him, until the Aussie locked himself up in the back of his van.

"BUSHMAN, GIVE ME BACK MY BOOK!"

"Hold on! Need to read the back page, what's this about....?"

Spy banged the door repeatedly with a furious fist.

"BUSHMAN!"

Sniper read, loud enough for Spy to hear from the other side of the thin door.

"After a decade out of his job, the retired Frenchman is called again by no less than the Minister of Defense himself. There is a case to solve, that only the ex-spy can deal with. So he puts on his suit and tie again and flies to Australia where his target is.

He does a good job on his own, until a certain wild kangaroo barges into his mission, and his life."

Spy had stopped knocking on the door and gulped down his constricted throat, sweat breaking on his brow.

"Sounds like something you could be in, eh?"

"Bushman, give me my book NOW!"

"Or what? You gonna disguise yourself as a sheet of paper and slide under the door?"

Sniper couldn’t really hear or understand what the Frenchman mumbled under his breath, and just chuckled at how ridiculously Spy had reacted, chasing him down the base and outside, all the way to his van. But now that he had the book, let’s just open that thing and read bits…

“Oh… Oh hold on…” Sniper frowned, his smile vanishing more as he read line after line.

From the other side of the thin door, Spy got his cigarette case out, opened it to retrieve the pins he concealed there, and started to pick the lock.

"Oh bugger... I get it.... I.... Wow.... That's why you were starin' at me and blushin' like a sheila...? Wait, hold on, if you're looking at me like that and all, does that mean you-Woof?!"

The lock yielded and Spy barged in the room full force, tackling Sniper to the floor.

"Give me back my book!" Spy roared.

"Hold on…" Sniper looked at Spy with wide astounded eyes.

The man in the suit took the opportunity of Sniper being distracted to snatch the book back and stand up. He dusted off his suit.

"Spook...?"

"Good night." Spy turned and headed away.

"Hold on!" Sniper jumped to his feet and held him back from his shoulder.

"What now?! Can't I be left in peace?!" Spy was infuriated.

"Hey…"

Sniper’s voice was much softer than Spy’s raging one. Their eyes met.

"How far were you in the book?"

"What?" Spy squinted.

"How far were you in? Beginnin'? Middle?"

“Why do you care?”

“Just answer! Closer to the beginnin’ or the end?”

Spy sighed and his shoulders sank. 

"Closer to the beginning than the end, why?"

"Wanna... Read it together?" Sniper gestured to inside his van. "I don't have a couch or anythin', but there's a bench, or the bed if it's too uncomfy for you…"

"Wh-...?" Spy was at a loss.

"I only read bits. Don't leave me hangin', eh?" Sniper smiled. The Frenchman stared in disbelief.  "C'mon, I wanna know what happens to the French Spook in Australia."

"If you ever speak of this…" Spy raised a threatening finger to his colleague.

“I know, I know, tiny knife between my shoulder blades, yada yada yada.... Now come in and let's shut the door before someone sees us."

“I would do so much more than just backstab you, believe me.” Spy threatened but nonetheless entered the van fully.

Sniper stared in astonishment as Spy removed his jacket and loosened the tie on his neck before removing his shoes and climbing the ladder to the bed.

"Oh alright…"

"Do you have any water in this ridiculous dwelling of yours?"

"Yeah, I'll get you a glass. I'd tell you to get comfy but you already did...."

"Come on, I don't have all day...."

"A minute! Jesus, you're supposed to be patient and all, aren't you?"

Sniper climbed up and joined Spy on the bed before switching on his night lamp. The light was yellow and not too bright.

"How can you take so much space with yer skinny arse?"

"I am not! You are the one pushing me! Also, I could do without any remarks on my behind, thank you very much Bushman!"

"I’m not pushin’ you... Anyway, here, yer bloody water, now... You can pick up where you left off, don't need to start at the beginnin', eh."

"Merci. I was not going to anyway. Now...."

"And I read slow, so don't go and turn the pages too fast, yeah?"

"May I start already?" Spy rolled his eyes up, part of him still wildly surprised. 

"Yeah, yeah, alright, go ahead…"

Spy took a sip of water and started reading out loud.

"Hold on, what are you doin'?!"

"I am reading, wasn’t that what you wanted now, Bushman?"

"Out loud? I know how to read, eh!"

"A pleasant surprise.” Spy answered. “Now, you wanted the story, yes or no?"

"Yeah?"

"So keep quiet."

Spy took a deep breath and resumed the reading. Time passed, pages were turned, Spy only stopped to drink a bit of water from time to time. Sniper enjoyed himself. Spy knew how to read well. His tone, his voice and the way he played the characters in the dialogues were very pleasant to the Aussie’s ear.

Sniper leaned his head on Spy's shoulder, following the text on the page with his eyes. Spy was taken aback for a split second, but carried on, choosing to ignore it rather than making it more awkward. After all, he was in Sniper’s bed reading him a story...

Holy dooley…

Sniper wasn’t expecting that. Spy was now reading a moment of… romance between the French spy and the Aussie in the story. The Frenchman kept his composure, force of professional habit, but Sniper started to get uncomfortable, a bit like when he was watching the TV with his parents and a hot scene came on. What made it all so much real was Spy’s voice acting of the characters. For the French spook, he wasn’t changing his voice at all but for the Aussie hunter, he sounded strikingly like the enemy Sniper. And the flirting written in the story, the banter, it all sounded so real.

"Bushman?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you shaking?"

"I-I'm not. Keep goin'."

"Sniper…"

Spy looked down on his shoulder. Sniper avoided eye contact, his eyes remained glued to the book as if his life depended on it.

"You lie very poorly."

"Well... good thing I'm not paid for it then I guess...."

"Indeed. Now, what is the problem?"

"Nothin'. C'mon, continue, or I'll read it...!"

"You are trembling, you can barely speak and you try to make me believe that you will read this out loud? Go ahead then, humour me." 

A smirk crept across Spy's thin lips.

"Uh... Right... Where were we... Uh... I-I can't find the line anymore!"

"I have my finger on it, Sniper.”

"Yeah, well…"

"Now, what is it? Have you never read un roman à l'eau de rose before?"

"A what now?"

"Literally, a 'novel with rose water', it is an expression we use to describe a romance novel. Have you never read one of those before?"

"N-not really.... They're books for sheilas…"

"Do I look like one?" Spy asked.

"No…"

"Then, it is not."

"It's not what?"

"'A book for sheilas'. Now, shall we resume?"

"Spook...?"

"What?"

"I'm just... It's an Aussie hunter and a French Spy in the story, right?"

"Oui."

"Is that why... I mean..."

"You are trembling for the same reason that I was blushing." Spy answered. “Now, may I?”

"'s bloody ridiculous, I'm sorry."

"It is fine." Spy leaned his head on top of Sniper's.

"Shall we resume now?"

"Uh, hold on... Ahem... I-I'm sorry.... I-it's worse now...."

"Mon Dieu.... Wait, can you hold the book for an instant?"

"I-I can try...."

Sniper held the book open with shaking hands and watched as Spy removed one glove, then the next.

"I can hold it now, merci."

The Aussie gave him back the book, Spy held it with one hand, as he slithered the other to Sniper's.

"Now, where were we? Ah," Spy cleared his throat and resumed reading as if he wasn’t holding Sniper’s hand. The Aussie's heart backflipped in his chest the moment Spy's slender fingers reached his. 

"Can you turn the page, please?"

"Uh, sure… Spook?"

"What now?" Spy sighed.

"Thanks, eh."

"Hm."

Spy’s fingers slid between Sniper’s and he felt the trembling fingers struggle but reciprocate. The Aussie shifted on the bed slightly to adjust his head against Spy's shoulder. Spy lifted his head, and then leaned it again once Sniper was comfortable again.

"Shall we resume now?"

"Yeah, I think I'm uh... I'm better."

Spy started reading again.

"Spook?"

Another, longer sigh.

"What is it, now?"

"Will ya… remove your mask too?"

"Non."

"Oh, okay…"

"It is too cold in your van."

"Hold on…"

Sniper hopped out of bed, turning on the heater. 

"Are you serious?" Spy asked.

"It's just to see if you look like the bloke from the book, is all."

Mundy quickly covered them both with the blanket.

"Alright, carry on, sorry…"

"Now it is too hot." Spy complained, thinking that Sniper would snap at him and ask him to leave.

"Will you remove your mask, then?"

Spy’s eyebrows jumped. He didn’t expect that. 

"Non."

"Oh... So you just said that like that....? Alright...."

Spy resumed his reading but his mind wasn’t on the story. His whole attention was on the hand he was holding, on the fingers that now slithered back between his. He stopped reading sharp. Sniper waited, expecting Spy to take a sip of water but the Frenchman didn’t move.

“What?” Sniper asked. “You didn’t finish the page so I’m not gonna turn it.”

"Would you like to remove it for me?"

“Remove the page?” Sniper was confused.

“Non, my mask.”

The Aussie's eyes snapped wide, his jaw lowering as if it had a mind of its own.

"Wait…" He looked up at Spy. "You serious?"

“Am I ever in the habit of joking?”

“I don’t know, you’re so hard to follow.”

"Do you want to see if I look like Lucien from the book or not?"

"Yeah! I mean…” Sniper calmed down. “If that's ok with you...?"

"Then, go ahead." Spy closed the book and turned to face Sniper, who sat up and turned to the Frenchman.

“You sure?”

“The more you ask and wait, the higher the probability of me changing my mind.” Spy answered seemingly annoyed.

“Right, right…” Sniper raised his hands up and his fingers approached the Frenchman’s neck. He pinched the fabric and looked up at Spy’s face. The man was staring at him with his arctic blue eyes that seemed even more light under the yellow night lamp. Sniper took a deep breath and rolled the fabric up before gently pulling it up.

"Jesus Christ..." Sniper took an instant to discover all the features unknown until then. 

Spy carded his hair back with a nonchalant hand.

"So, does the description fit me?" He smirked, amused by Sniper’s astonishment.

"Ah... I mean... Uh... I... Uhm... Hold on...."

"Come on, just be honest. That should be easy for you, you lie terribly."

"You're gorgeous." The sentence escaped Sniper’s lips and his control. It was one thread of air that slid out of him. Spy’s eyebrows jumped, not that he wasn’t used to hearing it, but as the years passed, he heard it less and less. Besides, it wasn’t anyone who was saying it, but the Aussie hunter.

"Well, thank you. You don't look all that bad yourself. Now, shall we resume?"

"Y-yeah…"

Sniper sat back next to Spy and looked back up at him.

"Sniper…"

"Hm?"

"You do realise that you are staring at my face?"

"Oh, bugger, sorry...." Sniper’s eyes moved away to fall on the book again, but he didn’t see the pages, the ink on the paper, the bed, the van. All that his brain projected on his eyes was Spy’s naked face...

"Sniper?"

"Yeah?"

"I never asked you to stop."

Sniper’s head swooshed to Spy’s with wide open eyes. The Frenchman smiled, sweetly. 

“I uh… What are you doin’? You playin’ with my nerves or somethin’?”

“You were the one to invite me in your bed.” Spy smirked as he knew very well that his comment would make Sniper blush and it didn’t miss. The Aussie exhaled long and hard, before wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers. “Come on, will you play the shy card now?”

“What’re you playin’ at?”

“Your invitation and the fact that I am still here speaks at length for what you think about me. But it is curious that you worked up the courage to ask me to remove my mask, but not to just phrase what you feel.”

“Get out of my head, Spook.”

“My apologies.” Spy chuckled. 

“Although I s’ppose if you are in my head, you don’t need me to tell you anythin’. You’ve read it already.”

“I am afraid so.”

“You’re afraid so?” Sniper repeated.

“Oui, I started reading and could not really stop.” Spy answered. “More seriously, you have not kicked me out yet, so I suppose you don’t find my company to be too much of a burden.”

“Yeah, I guess this tells me that you're ok with me too.” Sniper raised his hand, which fingers were still intertwined with Spy’s.

“You guess correctly.”

Their eyes met again and both smiled.

“What do you think of the story so far?” Spy asked.

“It’s nice. Although I don’t think I’m that shy with you.”

“Indeed. But you should read the rest, you become braver.”

“I thought you hadn’t read more of it?”

“Oh, please. I have read it again and again.”

“You liar.”

“When I need to, oui.”

“So you’ve been readin’ this book on loop, eh?”

“Oui, it was a curious find. There is this bookshop I like in town and I was having a look around when the shopkeeper recommended it to me. I read the summary at the back and it caught my attention. Since then, the book hasn’t left my side. And I am delighted to have shared a part that I enjoy with you. But this book, it is the only company I have besides that of that awfully clingy mistress.”

Sniper raised a curious eyebrow. 

“You have a sheila?” He removed his hand from Spy’s and the Frenchman chuckled, oddly enough.

“I think you and I share her.”

“What?! No! I don’t have any sheila! I’m-I’m with no one!”

“Sniper?”

“What?”

“Do you want to drive her away with me?” Spy asked, looking deep in the lagoon blue irises of the Aussie.

“Oi, not gonna stand between you and your sheila!”

“Sniper, I am not talking about a woman. I mean the Solitude that fills my days as much as it does yours.” Spy finally explained and Sniper saw his light irises half hide behind a delicate curtain of long, black eyelashes.

“I… Uh… Spy…”

The Frenchman smiled. It was egotistical and narcissistic of him, but he loved seeing it, seeing the moment the person he had in his mind fall for him, and with Sniper, it was just then and there. Spy slid his fingers through Sniper’s again and leaned his head on his shoulder.

“Please?” Spy asked in a whisper, a thin thread of air that punched Sniper’s guts out of his body. That voice, that damned voice, that accent… “Spend some time with me.”

“Gosh…” Sniper felt the soft waves of air against his neck and his heartbeat accelerated. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on Spy’s hand. “Y-you serious?” He whispered back, for no one else to hear, in the secrecy of the dimly lit van.

“What do you think?” Sniper could hear the smirk through Spy’s whisper. “Here I am, in your bed, with you, without my mask. Do you think that it is all staged, all a joke, a prank?”

“I-I don’t know… It’s just… It’s just too good to be true.” Sniper’s breath was hard and fast. He screwed his eyes shut harder and leaned his head on the wall behind him, raising it and feeling Spy’s breath periodically blow on his neck, constantly reminding him that he was there, the gorgeous devil in a suit and tie. Oh Sniper wanted to remember it, he wanted to bottle up those whispers, those intense and secret words, those feelings, bottle them up somewhere and reopen the bottle when he felt too lonely. He wanted to believe Spy’s words.

“Too good to be true? Hm…” Spy smirked and raised a finger. Sniper felt it grazing his skin on his jaw.

“S-Spy…”

The Frenchman turned and slid a leg between the Aussie.

“Let us sleep. You are tense and could do with a bit of rest.” Spy pulled him down to lie and threw away his own tie before opening a couple of buttons on his shirt. He snuggled up against Sniper and used his shoulder as a pillow.

“Spy?”

Sniper raised his head to look down at Spy. The Frenchman looked up at him.

“Oui?”

“You serious?”

Spy graced Sniper with one of those smiles that made the Aussie’s insides burn.

“Oui…” The Frenchman went to his ear. “You can call me Lucien, Mundy.” Sniper’s eyes snapped wide. He turned to look at Spy and his body reacted before his mind could hold it back.

Coffee and nicotine were all he could taste on the thin lips of the man he was holding between his hands, in his bed.

[sin-like-me]

Equal Measure

Pairing: John Seed x (tried for a Gender Neutral Deputy)

Word Count: 4,223

Warnings: I swear, I enjoy it, and I am unapologetic. Heads up.

Summary: Associations can be dangerous, determination concerning, and a small bit of plastic incredibly weighty. 

Quick Note: This is the first time I have ever shared something I have written. Be advised there is no beta reader. The idea sprang from owning the very quilt mentioned... Also, I deeply appreciate Ubisoft and their writers for creating this entire universe. I seek only to borrow the Seeds from time to time to do with them as I will.

<~~~~~~~~>~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~>~~~~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~~> 

‘What in the hell am I doing?!’

This is the thought that has been echoing in your head for the last twenty minutes; its insistence so loud it nearly drowns out the surrounding cacophony of frogs. Incredulity seeps from every pore as your heavily booted feet unerringly find purchase on the forest floor. It is your sure and steady tread through the darkness that impedes the wake-up call you so desperately need. You marvel with a slightly disconnected humor as your body takes over, blazing a trail to your possible destruction. Apparently, common sense was thrown violently from a window in lieu of a surety of heart.

‘I’m going to get myself killed over a damned ill conceived notion. Sorry Resistance members, your “hero” has perished due to their own asininity. Why, you good folk thought that if the Deputy ever fell it would be at the hands of a Peggie? Maybe a Judge? More the fool you.’

A fallen tree lies across the trail and without a second thought you nimbly vault over, landing with a surprisingly mute thump. These past weeks have improved your physical prowess and given you a new appreciation for stealth. Hell, once upon a time that little feat would have taken several tries before it was landed successfully. Who knew that fighting for survival would carry such excellent side benefits? Well, ya know, other than staying alive to see another day.

‘I am a damned fool, or maybe just damned.’

Above, a sliver of moon barely illuminates the neatly tied package hooked to your belt. The item in question was a bit bulky, though light weight and useful; loot you happened upon while clearing shelter for the night. That something so simple, ridiculous even, could quite possibly bring about your death was mind boggling. Logically you knew that what you carried would not only be welcomed but deeply appreciated by the Rye family. Alas, the moment you realized what you had chanced upon HIS face swam into view; vaguely alarming you with just how quickly you drew the association. Hell, if you had an ounce of self preservation you would turn on your heel and head towards Nick’s place.

‘It’s juvenile for fucks sake!’

Trying to push aside the feeling of panic clawing its way up your sides, you mentally recall every single detail leading you to this point.

‘Maybe I’m blissed out of my mind. I HAVE to be. Were there any of those damned Bliss flowers around?’

A few hours earlier you caught sight of the small white home, its silence deafening on the edge of the surrounding chaos. Blood was smeared across the front walk, the windows shattered and no vehicles, nor Bliss bouquets, present. It appeared abandoned, a potential place of rest. Crouching you held your gun at ready, muscles tensed as you methodically peeked through windows, watching, waiting, aware and patient.

Moving silently and swiftly you covered the entire perimeter neither observing nor hearing the slightest of sounds or movements from inside. Tossing a rock into several of the windows from behind cover of the truck, you held your breath half hoping for a confrontation and half dreading one. A minute become five. Nothing. It had to be clear. The Peggies weren’t known to be particularly patient. You stood, stretched your back. The weight from your survival pack taking a small toll after a solid 8 hour hike. Only a few more feet… deep, steadying breath and you leveled your shotgun at the door. Haste made your steps a bit louder than you would have liked, but as you threw open the door and swept the room, you had to smirk. Out of the corner of your eye you managed a glimpse of your face plastered on a wanted poster.

‘Wanted? Yeah, well, good luck you fanatics. I will not go gentle into that good night.’

Lowering your weapon once you established an all clear, you viciously ripped down their pitiful attempt at intimidation. Scoffing you made damn sure to leave a heavy boot print on its face, unrepentant sinner that you were and all. Inside boxes were stacked high enough to obscure any view outside, but they also enabled some cover. A short walk-through and you mentally noted all entry and exit points, only stopping to complain once.

“Shit.”

The back door had been completely removed.

Thinking on your feet, you pushed and stacked boxes in front of the opening. It wouldn’t stop much of anything, but it would serve as a noisy warning. Truthfully, it gave you what you were craving: the illusion of safety. As satisfied as you were going to be with the makeshift barrier, you returned to the living room. The now cleared couch seemed inviting but a sudden breeze through the window frames invoked an involuntary shiver. Maybe you could find a blanket in one of the many boxes? Hell, it was worth a shot. Heading over to a solitary box sitting atop an old armchair you pulled your treasured Ka-Bar knife from the top of your boot.  Making quick work of the tape, a surprised laugh escaped your lips when you immediately hit pay dirt. Luck seemed to shadow your every move… or perhaps divine intervention?

A quick thought was spared for the Seeds as you pulled a stack of cloth out of the box. Saviors of the modern world, yet death stalked their every move. Did they not see the blatant hypocrisy? Killing or force converting the masses in order to save them from “the Great Collapse”?! It was either utter bullshit or at the very least counterintuitive.

Ahha! Your hand skims smooth, thin blue cotton. While sheets were nice, something heavier would be better...annnnddddd BINGO! A quilt. You pulled it free and shook it out, letting the ends drop to the floor. The orange glow from the dying sun gave the back of the cream colored quilt an odd glow. Eyes scanning the windows, you made your way to the couch and sat down, sheets and quilt clutched in a fist.

Rule one of survival?  Rest before resistance. Maybe the Resistance should make their own posters and hang ‘em right next to those ever so cheery YES! signs.

The light of the day dipped beyond the horizon. Night began to settle in, snuffing out the remnants of illumination and cradling you in its embrace of anonymity and obscurity. In the dark you seem safe and hidden.

The perfect silence is interrupted by a low growl from your stomach. Ah, well perhaps you need more than rest. You debate eating the cans of tuna spotted on the kitchen counter, but forgo it in favor of a protein bar from your pack. Quite frankly jimmying the can open with your knife was a little more effort than you wanted to expend at that moment. Besides the chalky texture wasn’t too terrible if you ate it quickly.

Hunger abated you set your pack and shotgun on the floor beside the couch within easy reach, and pulled the sidearm from your hip. No one was comfortable trying to sleep with a gun digging into their side. Hmmm, maybe a bit more light for the moment while you arranged yourself on the couch. Leaning up from your semi-prone position and grabbing a glow stick from the side of your hiking pack, you snap it in half, shake and are engulfed in a faint, eerie, green glow. Ah, to sleep in combat boots or not was the question. Sleeping without shoes was a luxury you had not indulged in recent memory. You had to always be ready, prepared to defend, run, or kill at a moments notice. You learned quickly that having your fight or flight response consistently heightened was not sustainable. There were moments of breaking, of utter mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion so acute you didn’t give a damn about anything at all.

This was one of those times.

Fuck the shoes.

You sat up again to unlace the well worn, well loved boots when you froze in place. Horrified amusement broke your arms out in goosebumps as its chill trickled down your spine. Oh, but God had a sense of humor. Draped across your lap the quilt you had quickly dismissed as non-descript was anything but. Large squares repeated a pattern in red, blue and cream and you couldn’t help where you mind raced. Vivid flashes assaulted your senses:  blue eyes boring into yours, his cold, barely controlled fury lapping at your soul in ravenous waves.  

You hated that you read their file before leaving the station on that fated night. For weeks you did not let yourself stop to think and consider. To empathize. You knew their documented history, knew the hell the Seed brothers had endured throughout what should have been a normal childhood. Fingers reflexively clutching the fabric in your fist, your eyes lost focus, thoughts turning further inward.

Each Seed brother had been and were being shaped by their experiences, each twisted in a different way, all needing balance.. And maybe even kindness. You offered them no excuses, could not forget nor understand their actions, but suddenly you knew you could empathize with their pasts. You could glean some form of perspective, and that scared you. Were the lines not black and white in this struggle? Were there actual shades of grey?

‘Damn it!’

You shook your head trying to physically dislodged these uncomfortable realizations. We are all a constantly evolving product of our experiences, the Seeds included. Maybe.. Maybe it was not too late?

Following that hope was a dash of reality. Too late for what? To save everyone? To be the hero to all? For peace? That is for children’s fairy tales. This was real life.. And real life was messy.

You focus on the quilt in our hand, a wild idea solidifying into a determined decision.

It is said that hope can be a dangerous thing, well, apparently you are now on a mission to prove it.  

Before you could rethink your plan, you folded the quilt into a neat square, grabbed some of the brown packing paper forgotten on the kitchen floor, and deftly wrapped the package. No luck finding any tape, so improvise and adapt. You had some gauze strips and with a little ripping it would tie it closed in a pinch. Properly secured, you examined the finished product.. It was missing a calling card, something to let him know you had delivered it, knew where he was and that you could have easy access if you so chose… but what? Then it hit you. A slow smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you leaned back into the couch, hand going for your jeans pocket. You didn’t know why you hadn’t sewn it back on yet, probably saving it as a perverse reminder of your escape. It would be the perfect nod to and  perhaps even a small dig at the man who considered himself just that “fresh” as Sharky would say.

Without a second thought you snaked a piece of gauze thread through the holes and neatly secure the small, innocuous object front and center.

Presently that tiny piece of blue plastic glinted up at you in the moonlight reminding you that yes, you were in fact enroute to one of the Seed’s compounds. Even knowing the danger you kept your pace, ducking under low hanging branches and freezing into a crouch as a twig snapped less than a klick to the west. Soundlessly your silenced P226 Amendment 2 was drawn and aimed towards the sound when you spotted a small pack of wolves stalking the vicinity. As long as lady luck kept your scent downwind you would be elusive, time to pick up the pace.

Keeping the river to your left you knew that the ranch was about an hour hike from your shelter, but that was assuming one could just waltz down the long drive and right up to the front door. You had no such luxury, so you kept to the riverbank and trees, skirting along the property line under the cover of night. You made decent time all things considered and when you found the dock you knew you had to scale the cliffs behind his home. Hmph. Good thing you took the time to wolf down that protein bar. Grappling on an empty stomach was difficult at the best of times, and grappling at night while surrounded by Peggies in various states of alert was NOT the best of times.

The cliff edge was approximately 30 feet from a side door leading into some portion of the vast building which John Seed called home. Cult members were stationed at lookout points along the four corners of the property with a small group at the front and to the sides. Right now the back was clear of patrols so you narrowed in on your destination: a patch of tall flowering plants. Pulling yourself up and over the final ridge with a soft grunt, you quickly crouched behind a nearby tree, scoping the surroundings before dashing into the midst of cover. The door was so damned close.. You unclipped the package from your waist and hefted its weight in your palm. You could throw it, but where was the personal touch in that? No, you did not come all this way pushing past exhaustion to just throw it and run. Sure the area was well lit, sure this was the home of one of the Heralds of the Collapse, but in this very moment you were foolishly unafraid. Unafraid or perhaps in some form of delirium from exhaustion.

Your suspicions spike when nary a soul comes to patrol the back door. It made no sense. The Seeds were many things, but unprepared and stupid were not one of them. Then a  certainty flitted through your subconscious:

John knows I am here.

Alright, let’s say he does. So, what do you do? Do you sit here and debate the reason why, do you leave, or do you oblige the curiosities of a man who for reasons unknown obviously has no immediate intention of capturing you? Why Sharky’s voice rang in your thoughts at that moment were unclear but damn he was right.

“Ride or Die.” you whisper.

Standing tall, equal parts foolhardy and confident, you make your way to the backdoor, eyes always forward in defiance of any possible threats. With a studied casualness you ascend the two steps to the cedar stoop, package in hand. Well, so far, so good. Glancing up you spot a red light. Mhm, of course John liked to watch.

‘Well Mr. John Seed, enjoy the show.’

Dropping to one knee, you make sure to mockingly exaggerate every movement.

“An offering to the god Maximon.” you mutter sarcastically staring at the camera stationed in the corner of the overhang. “Google it John.”

You wink, a delicious trill of excitement tugging your lips into a smirk.  Standing then, you flip him the nationwide symbol for get fucked, and waltz right back to the cliffs. Your shoulders feeling lighter, your burden moved. You would not be hunted this night.

He knew….and the ball was in his court.

As Fate would have it, John just happened to be on the ranch that night. He saw the Deputy the  moment a delicate hand grasped the cliff's edge. Little known fact, the first thing he had done when he bought this ranch was to make sure security cameras were installed to cover every single angle of his ranch. At the time it was expensive, but he knew he would not regret it and as he sat back in his chair, the black leather creaking slightly with his shifting weight, he basked in his foresight. On the screen the slender fingers flexed as a head of dark hair came into view. John did not consciously acknowledge how his breath hitched in anticipation nor did he stop to consider how he recognized Rook from something as small as that hand.

Cerulean eyes narrowed under dark brows absorbing every single muscle flex, every minute facial tick.

“Oh what do we have here Dep-ut-yyyy.. Tsk, tsk.. You can do so much better than this pitiful attempt at assassination.”  He leaned forward slowly, tapping the figure on the screen with a long, well manicured finger. “Frankly my dear, I am offended.”

Rook was crouching now, and John watched in amusement as the quick progression to the edge of the trees came to an abrupt halt. Time to debate that next move.

“Well, you certainly have my attention and curiosity…” eyes never leaving the screen, his hand closes around his radio. Switching to his personal security channel, his next order was very deliberate, “Call off all patrols for the next hour.”

A brief crackle of static, “Yes sir John sir.”

He smirked, they knew better than to question him and damned if they would defy him. He may lack Jacob’s military training, but he could command a flock through fear and charm.

“What are you up to my sinful Wrath?”

It was then he spotted a thick, square package being untied from the black leather belt slung snugly across the deputy’s hips.

“Explosives? How utterly mundane.” disappointment dripped from his words.

He watched as there was a sudden shift in the Deputy’s posture. From a crouching and tensely coiled machine arose a self-confident silhouette. No longer were the steps hurried, quiet, and cautious. In place was an arrogant stride, each step measured and calculated, and the demeanor focused on the goal ahead. Never once did eyes dart to look to the sides or behind. It was then he knew…

His... no, no, no…  THE Deputy knew he was watching.

A shiver danced up the base of his spine, eyes narrowing. A devilish smile curved his lips bringing a sudden softness to his usually intense face.

“My, my aren’t we the brave one? All alone with no sign of Nick or Sharky? An unapproved outing perhaps? Ahhh, secrets upon lies upon secrets. Your sins seem to know no bounds.”

Rook had reached the door after a quick climb up the two back steps. John braced his forearm along the desk and leaned in so close that the screen almost grazed his nose. He should have been focusing on the package, but his eyes would not leave Rook’s face.

“Show me your sin… show  me your wrath,” he whispers, almost begging.

In a surprising move, the Deputy falls to one knee and looks directly at the camera, eyes amused even through the technological barrier. Lips are pursed in a small smile, mocking and almost taunting him. The mic kicked on and he heard every single word that pretty little throat uttered.

“An offering to the god Maximon.” a soft intake of breath and … was that a fucking laugh?! “Google it John.”

The use of his name scattered any logical thought processes he may have had. Never before had Rook uttered it, not when tied to his chair, not when baptised.. The sound of it from those lips and in that voice was alarming. Equal parts dreadful and pleasing.

The package, which he had forgotten in his astonishment, was placed gently upon the deck and with a small pause, the Deputy looked back up at the camera and winked. His internal confusion mounted until, standing, he got the one finger salute. John barely caught the guffaw that was trying to escape his throat so what ended up coming out was a strained grunt.

“Ahhhh, and there it is mixed with a bit of arrogance.”

Did the Deputy think him a complete simpleton? He was an educated man. He damn well knew the legend behind the Mayan God Maximon. Obviously Rook was trying to draw some rather dramatic comparisons. John chuckled. Oh dear… Was it the sunglasses? My, how he enjoyed that little reference.

Watching the retreating form closely, John sat on the edge of his chair  until the deputy’s head disappeared down the cliff. Once gone from the screen and his property, John finally stood to his full height of 5’10”. Running an unsteady hand through his hair, he made a quick grab for the radio before turning to descend to the back door.

Who was he to shun any offerings left by his admirers?

Cracking the door he peeked down at the package. Nothing was blinking or ticking.. He reached to his side, grabbed a conveniently placed broom and poked it. Surprisingly the package gave way with the brown paper ripping slightly.

Cloth?!

“What do you have up your sleeve?”

Pushing the broom back behind him, John stepped out onto the stoop and picked up the parcel. From what he could see inside the hole it looked like some clothing perhaps? Was the Deputy affronted by his fashion sense? Pft. He was damn meticulous about his choice of clothes, he was the face of Eden’s Gate after all. This look went over well for the most part.

He began to pluck at the gauze tying the parcel closed when a small blue button caught his eye. It was securely fastened to the middle of the package demanding to be noticed and there was absolutely no need for an explanation. John immediately knew what it was. Memories of the moment that he had Rook tied to his chair, the room encased in harsh red light.... He had leaned down, his mouth saying how he wished he had more to say yes to...ripping open that blue button down shirt… buttons scattered, flesh visible to his feasting eyes, sponge cleaning the fevered skin, his eyes demanding of those before him, commanding obedience yet hoping for rebellion.. Oh he knew this little button well.

His fingers closed into a fist around the small bit of plastic, tightening his grip until its form bit into the soft flesh of his palm. He shook his head to bring him back to the present before pocketing the button. Ripping the remaining paper away, John flicked out the cloth within and studied it briefly before throwing his head back and laughing.

It was a quilt… a quilt with blue planes and clouds in squares around the outskirts, and a red and blue plane circling each other in the center. It was obviously made with a child in mind, but John was oddly pleased. Sure the quilt was juvenile, but it told him quite a lot. The Deputy had somehow noted his admiration for planes in the only way possible: by the pattern on the coat he had only worn once when they first laid eyes on one another. It seemed a lifetime ago, that moment where it all began. The fact that those observant eyes had paid special attention to him, that Rook felt the need to gift this to him… spoke of something more than wrath.

He smirked, picking up the trash and tossing the quilt over his forearm to carry inside. This quilt was sure to be an interesting piece, and hell he might even display it in a mocking way amongst his Eden’s Gate symbols and books. For the moment he tossed the quilt over the dining room table, ignoring the blinking message light on his answering machine.

Was the Deputy coming around? Doubtful, but possible.

He made a quick detour through his kitchen and into his garage where there was a toolbox with exactly what he needed. On autopilot he rummaged through the necessary drawers, pushing aside bits of metal until he located the needle nose pliers and jump rings.

Striding back into the dining room John pulled a chair out in a quick gesture. Sitting thoughtfully, eyes glazed in contemplation, he was unaware as his hand toyed with the leather thong around his neck. A quick blink and he pulled up, ducking absently as it slipped from around his neck. What he was doing, he would not fully comprehend in the moment, but it was something he desperately needed. That tiny piece of plastic burned his thigh where it rested, heavy with meaning. Tugging it from where it lay hidden, deft fingers attached the weighty piece of blue behind his bunker key.

This was.. His? John brought the leather up to his neck, and after a brief debate slipped it back over his head. The weight from the key caused the leather to fall silently back into place, its familiar shape coming to a rest against his bare chest. Where there should have been the cool bite of metal, instead burned the heat of a secret contained in the form of a small blue button. Yes, this was his. His to carry or expose as he saw fit.

The Deputy… HIS deputy, was a weight he would shoulder, a sin he would either condone, commit, or eventually excise and cleanse. The path was not clear to him yet, but he would save Wrath even if it meant dragging them bodily into salvation: bloody, kicking, and screaming.

John chuckled as his hand closed over the handheld, the soft crackle of open airwaves loud in the silence of revelation, “Patrols will resume in an hour.”

Immediately he received his enthusiastic response: “Yes sir!”

Tonight? Well, tonight he would grant reprieve.