#there were three of us scheduled as closing cashiers last night and by some twist of fate i was the only one who actually witnessed this

[gobbluthbutagirl]

there’s a couple of details i unintentionally left out here that in fact make the situation even funnier. one, the part of the back-and-forth i omitted from this post due to not being fully aware of it due to being distracted by taking over the transaction hr guy had been doing before he went to deal with The Situation involved him saying, “you’re not wearing jeans. you’re not wearing a uniform.” and two, it was only at the point that the other customer heard him speak these words that she realized this strangely dressed woman attempting to log into the target register was not actually an employee of the target and went “OHHHH!!”

there was an Incident at work earlier which involved some random girl going behind one of the registers and acting like she worked here. like she was actually trying to ring another customer up and everything. and i was kind of watching this play out from behind the guest services counter like, are my eyes deceiving me? is this shit really happening right here in front of my face for real? and hr guy had stepped onto the register beside me so the moment the customer i was with stepped away i was like, “uh [hr guy], what’s going on at register 2?” which was when he finally noticed what was happening and RAN over there in the middle of the transaction he was doing. and he was like, “what are you doing?” and this girl was like, “i’m working…” and he was like, “you don’t work here.” and she was like, “yes i do.” and there was a whole back-and-forth and hr guy called security and as soon as the security guy appeared this girl just turned around and RAN out the door. she was wearing a hoodie that was not even red. and sweatpants too. hr guy would not stop repeating “i’m dead” and it was the talk of the store for like the next ten minutes until some other thing happened and life continued as usual

[dearophelia]

self indulgent grey’s spy!au

so i’m watching madam secretary again and it’s reminding me of the grey’s spy au i was frantically texting @evil-redhead about last year

(first of all, and i did the research to learn that this isn’t actually possible, but it’s fic so who cares: please imagine with me addison as elizabeth’s surgeon general. thank you and goodnight)

second of all, and this is just copy/pasted from text messages with some very light editing:

-one-

The kill order comes in over encrypted text just after 2:30am Kaliningrad local time. Addison knows the logic: take him out and the whole supply chain through the Baltics collapses. She also knows the reality: taking out gun runners in former Soviet states is like playing whack-a-mole with a baby hammer. Eventually someone in the Company will figure that out and change tactics. In the meantime, she has orders.

She speaks flawless Russian with zero accent, which helps when she steers the arms dealer out of the party and up to his private suite. She pretends she’s from the same village as his grandmother, tells stories about a local borscht variant. He compliments her tits and her legs and everything else he can see. What he doesn’t see is the way she twists around her ring and flicks open a hidden compartment with her thumb while she’s pouring the vodka.

Addison watches as he eagerly takes the shot and then turns an interesting shade of purple. He’s dead within ninety seconds.

She takes a shot of clean vodka, wraps up in her black trenchcoat, and slips out the back entrance into the night.

There’s a pay phone four blocks down. She calls her handler and leaves a message about the museum being closed tomorrow, code for mission complete. She checks out of the hotel and is on the next flight to Helsinki away from here.

-two-

Addison likes Mark Sloan, she does. He’s a good asset and a great fuck and she doesn’t at all mind that their schedules sync up in Helsinki more often than she syncs up with anyone else anywhere else. Helsinki’s a good place to lay low for a few days, even easier when she’s hardly getting out of bed.

But he’s DIA and she doesn’t trust defense guys farther than she can throw them. Goes out of her way to avoid them, usually. But Mark’s good company, great fun, and nothing they do in this hotel room ever happened the moment one of them leave. So she’ll let the DOD thing go as long as it doesn’t interfere with her own work.

He’s making breakfast and trying to tell her a joke he overheard. This never ends well, but she indulges him. It falls apart in the translation – “You’d find this hilarious if you heard it in the original Czech,” he proclaims, setting a plate of eggs in front of her.

Addison eyes him over a forkful. “Since I don’t speak Czech, your odds aren’t looking good, Sloan.”

Mark’s still telling his joke and she smiles as the sun rises over their tiny hotel room.

36 hours and then she’s off to Paris and meeting a DGSE contact she can hardly stand. Then, armed with that information, back to former Soviet listening posts. Maybe this one will be inland.

-three-

Addison takes the right hook like a champ, luring the goon into a false sense of security. She drops down, grabs a broom from the floor, and lets the guy have one last laugh at the pretty girl with the stick before she comes whirling in and knocks him flat on his ass inside five seconds. Another goon runs out of the shadows and she cracks him across the skull so hard he actually skids across the floor.

“Impressive,” her contact says in dripping French. He sips his tea.

“The file?” she holds out her hand. No one does intelligence theatrics like the French. Not even the Russians.

With an irritated sigh, the DGSE agent drops a USB drive into her hand. “It self-destructs after 24 hours. Would not recommend keeping it in your suitcase.”

Addison gives him a tight smile and returns to her hotel room.

Derek, this time.

(Mark is Scandinavia and the former Soviet states. Derek is Western Europe. Alex is usually somewhere in Central Asia and Jake is in the Mediterranean.)

She waves off his concern about the shiner blooming over her eye and slides the drive into her laptop. “Order room service,” she tells him as she pulls her shirt off, changing out of bloodied and ripped clothes while waiting for the drive to load.

It’s not his fault he hovers. He’s an embassy doctor, bouncing around Western Europe for the State Department. Last time he got into a fight was probably high school. Last time he had to do anything classified on his own was probably never.

He orders – including red wine and extra ice, which she’s sure makes the kitchen worker on the other end say a few choice things about Americans – and her laptop chirps ready.

Volgograd this time. Not a weapons dealer. A physicist. A nuclear physicist. “Oh boy,” she says to herself.

She books a hotel in Volgograd and then places a same-day Amazon delivery for post-its, a portable printer, tape, and other supplies. She and Elizabeth call it the conspiracy theory order, though she skips the red string.

While Derek’s setting out dinner (and sets a bag of ice intentionally – and somewhat aggressively – in her direction), she sends a secure text to Alex.

gonna be in vgrad for a minute. you nearby?

Dinner’s over before she gets a response.

yep. even have some intel for you.

Addison puts her phone away and turns to Derek. “I’m fine,” she says, gesturing to the cuts and bruises.

“I know.” Still, he wraps his arms around her in a gentle hug. “I worry.”

She hugs him back. They haven’t been married in a long time. “I know.”

He gently maneuvers her to the couch and opens his bag. Addison went to med school too – though the CIA scooped her up during her residency – and a few of the cuts need butterfly closures for a couple days. She lets him work.

“How are Meredith and the kids?”

-four-

“Lox and two chives,” Addison orders at the counter, as she has the last ten days. “And the bathroom key, please.”

The cashier slips her a key. She pays and disappears down the hallway with the bathrooms, but opens the supply closet instead. Past shelves of paper towels and cups and cocaine (not her problem, not today), she pauses at the second door. The handprint scanner flashes blue then green at her palm. The door unlocks.

Bright lights overhead, several whiteboards shoved up against the walls, photographs and maps taped up everywhere. The single desk in the middle of the room is covered in folders labeled TOP SECRET, most of them open. Alex puts a cup of coffee into her hand. She finishes half of it before she even takes her coat off.

Spy work isn’t all glamorous. It’s mostly sitting in dark dank rooms filled with boxes of moth-eaten paper, trying to connect two dots. Alex is a good partner for it though. The fact that he’s CIA too doesn’t hurt – she doesn’t have to play the alphabet agency paranoia game with him.

Hours pass. Another day, another half step closer. The bagel shop closes and they slip out the back by the dumpsters.

“You want to grab a drink?” she asks as she has every night.

“We could skip drinks,” he suggests.

She looks at him in the flickering parking lot light. Normally he says yes, they get drinks and dinner, talk shop, part ways at her hotel.

A small smile graces her lips. Addison doesn’t need to be a spy to pick up Alex’s meaning.

Volgograd is fucking boring. And she and Mark have an exclusive-when-we’re-in-the-same-city agreement, not exclusive-everywhere.

The smile shifts into a smirk. “Yeah.”

-five-

This is a bad idea. This is a really bad idea. This might be the worst idea she’s ever had. And yet.

Flicking her eyes up to the rearview mirror, she gets a read on the car following her. Scratch that – cars. Plural.

She slams on the accelerator and calls Elizabeth.

“I need a favor,” she says as soon as Elizabeth’s picked up the phone. Addison hears several small children laughing in the background.

“On it,” Elizabeth says, once she’s heard the situation and the favor. “Give me ten minutes.”

Sure. She’ll keep leading a high-speed car chase through Southern Turkey and try not to accidentally make a left into Syria. She can keep this up for ten minutes. Why not.

She has the final piece in a USB drive hidden in her shoe, but this extremely stupid idea only becomes worth it if she – or, she supposes, her shoe – can get back to the agency. Which is where Elizabeth comes in. Addison’s nowhere near Ankara and the embassy, driving into Syria is an even worse idea (and she’d run out of gas long before hitting Damascus anyway), and so she needs an exit. Now.

Seven minutes and Elizabeth calls back about an airfield fifteen miles away. A Blackhawk will be waiting there for her, but she has to clear a couple layers of airfield security first.

Addison looks back up in the mirror. Three cars now and she thinks she sees the silhouette of someone hanging out the window with a gun. She’s going to have to have a discussion with Derek about suitable conversations he has with his current wife about his ex-wife the CIA agent and international spy. It’s not Meredith’s fault; GRU’s been tailing Derek since they were the KGB. Addison makes a mental note to remind State about that, maybe have someone sweep his house for bugs on a more regular basis.

But that’s a later problem. A much later problem. The more imminent problem is that she’s being shot at and still has seven miles before the airfield. “Can I just drive through security?” Addison asks, making an abrupt right down a skinny unlit street.

“Sure,” Elizabeth says. “It’s our airfield, do what you want.”

“Not the first time I’ve destroyed US government property.”

Elizabeth snorts. “Call me if you need anything else.”

The call drops as another round of gunfire shoots past.

“You’re really bad at this,” she mutters at the car behind her. They haven’t even managed to blow out the back window yet, not that she’s complaining.

By the time she hits the airfield, they’ve shattered the back window, blown several holes in the trunk, and they hit one of her back wheels just as she slams through the first security gate.

The second gate guards are a little more prepared and already have the gate lifted. They drop spike strips behind her to trap her pursuers. She jumps out of the car to the sound of many tires being violently punctured and the sound of angry Russians being thrown out of their cars and onto the ground.

The Blackhawk lifts off into the dead of night. Addison runs her fingers through her hair and texts her handler that she’s on her way back to Istanbul. She’ll hand off the intel to people who get paid a whole lot more than she does and move on to a new case.

Maybe South America, this time. Let some heat die down before bringing her back to Europe.

Once it’s all settled and she’s in her state-sponsored room, showered and sitting in a fluffy bathrobe, she checks her messages. One from her brother, about Thanksgiving logistics. One from Elizabeth, making sure she made it out okay.

And one from Mark.

Case is taking me to Venezuela. Gonna be a while, Red.

Addison grins. Her new orders came in just before dinner. Turns out there’s some worrisome news in her area of expertise coming out of the South America desk and the Company’s shipping her off to Caracas.

Maybe not. My flight leaves in a couple days. Buy me a margarita?

[butterflypov]

Hummingbird

Summary: Peter Parker falls for lab partner!reader when he notices her drawing a bird during class and turns to his pal Spider-Man to follow her to a cafe where she loves to draw and he loves to admire her

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Warnings: literally 1 curse word, all of it is just fluff

A/N: i didn’t proofread as usual so sorry if it’s complete shit and i apologize that literally every single one of my stories has ended the exact same i’m an awful writer sjksjsksjsjk btw when will Tom finally show us his new hair he’s making me so nervous uGH

Words: 2347 (srry if it drags on and is super boring)

It was a normal 3rd period in chemistry class as the teacher droned on about the names of certain elements of the periodic table.

Peter’s boredom level had surpassed extreme as his eyelids began to droop closed. He had been losing excessive amounts of sleep having to stay out until the late hours of night saving lives and stopping robberies. He was slowly starting to grow used to his sleep schedule though, sometimes too tired to slip off his Spider-Man suit when he snuck in through his window at three in the morning.

When the clouds in the sky unmasked the blinding sunshine showing through the classroom’s windows Peter’s eyes widened in a desperate attempt to stay awake. As he went to stretch he caught a glimpse at his lab partner, Y/N.

Her hair had fallen loose in her face as her mechanical pencil worked it’s magic on her piece of notebook paper.

Peter kept his gaze on her hands, watching her sketch out the details of a gorgeous bird. His heart seemed to warm up at her drawing, eyes switching to look closer at her face. Her eyes narrowed at her doodle, head resting in the palm of her hand lazily.

A tiny piece of a smile was snug comfortably in the corners of her mouth. She looked at peace, her eyes flicking to the nature outside every once in awhile. Chunks of sun radiated against the left side of her face, wedging themselves in between her eyelashes making her look velvety soft whenever she blinked.

Peter didn't realize that he was staring until the teacher called his name.

“Peter?” Mr. Smith mustered again and Peter’s head twisted in the direction of the teacher.

Everybody’s eyes, including Y/N’s, trailed to his figure, waiting for him to retort.

“Oh, uh, the equation to find the percent yield is laboratory yield over theoretical yield. One hundred is equal to the percent yield.” he replied, hoping his answer wasn't completely different then the question.

Mr. Smith turned his back to the class and began to write Peter’s phrase on the chalkboard. “That is correct.” he mustered, pressing the piece of chalk to the green surface on the wall.

Peter looked at Y/N again and she was back to pressing pencil to paper, peacefully sketching out the lines of her bird. He shook his head, blinking away his obsession with staring.

When the last period of the day ended and Peter was eager to sneak into his Spider-Man suit he decided to search for Y/N, hoping to walk her home or start a conversation about her drawings with her.

His eyes found her walking out of the doors while he was striding down the hall, people bumping in his way as he tried his best to catch up with her.

Stepping outside, looking left and right, his chest heaved out a big sigh at the realization of losing her. He had given up at his journey in finding her, choosing to just go to the alleyway to change instead.

After getting on his tight red and black clothing he went to locate more crimes and more people to teach a lesson, until when he spotted her figure walking down the street.

He shot a web to swing closer to her.

She reached a cafe, pulling the door open and stepping inside. Peter could see through the building with it’s clear windows as she greeted the cashier, telling him a few words before taking out her wallet and handing him a couple of dollars. Y/N picked a perfect seat in a booth where Peter could see her face perfectly but couldn’t exactly recognize the words on her phone screen even if he asked Karen to zoom in for him.

Y/N fished out her sketchbook, earbuds, pencils, and erasers from her backpack, setting them on the table. A waitress set a cup of what looked like coffee in front of Y/N and said a few more words to her before leaving.

Minutes had passed of Peter admiring her smile and draw, occasionally taking a sip of her drink.

“Karen, is it weird that I’m watching Y/N?” Peter asked his computerized companion, embarrassed of himself. Karen kept quiet for a couple of seconds before answering.

“Who is Y/N?” she questioned. Peter briefly chuckled. “Uh, well, she’s this girl who sits next to me in chemistry. She’s really pretty and nice and she can draw really well. We’re sort of friends I guess.” he responded, rubbing the back of his neck with his gloved hand.

“Do you have feelings for her?” Karen asked and Peter went into deep thought.

Did he?

The question never really popped up until now and he really had to think about it.

He liked the way she laughed whenever he told her a stupid science pun while they were supposed to be working on a project together. And he liked watching her concentrate so hard on an equation. For God’s sake the realization of him adoring her as she drew had just seemed to hit his brain.

“I mean,” he muttered. “now that you say something about it. I guess I do.”

A smirk was evident under his mask at his comprehension of his liking for Y/N. He really did like her and it was exciting to him that he could actually speak/had spoken to somebody he liked for once. Actual words and not gibberish.

It had become a daily occurrence for Y/N to go to the cafe everyday after school and work on her drawings. Peter or Spider-Man had seemed to unknowingly tag along with her, sitting on the fire escape of the apartment building across from the coffee shop, watching her doodle along while listening to her music and sipping on the exact same coffee she orders every time she walks in there.

Peter had perceived that Y/N was working on the same drawing whenever she would open her sketchbook and begin to scratch the paper with her pencil. He didn’t exactly know what the subject of her big piece of art was but he imagined it was another bird.

Every boring lecture in chemistry he would slyly look in the corner of his eye and see her drawing a bird in the corner of her worksheet.

Although each scribble was different. Sometimes it would be a bird drinking out of a bird bath or a bird soaring through the clouds.

Peter noticed that on rainy days she liked to draw hummingbirds. He didn’t have a reason for why she did but of course it didn’t really throw his train of thought off of it’s tracks.

The bell for the next class rang and Y/N routinely shoved her worksheet inside of her notebook and put it in her backpack. When she picked her backpack up though her sketchbook fell to the ground with a gentle thud. Peter’s hand landed on it first, picking it up, some of the pages brushing close to falling open. He did sneak a peek at some though, but wasn’t quick enough to recognize what they all were.

“Sorry about that.” she apologized with a giggle. His eyes met hers while her small smile stayed pasted on her face as he gave the book back to her. “It’s no problem.” he blessed.

“Thank you.” she mumbled. Her heart was beating out of her ears at the secret intimacy that they were both feeling for each other at the same time. She dropped it in her backpack, letting her eyes trail to the floor in bashfulness while tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

School ended the equivalent time as always and Peter was thrilled to change back into his alter-ego, anxious to watch Y/N continue to draw again.

Except when he swung to same old fire escape it came to his attention that she wasn’t there this time. She wasn’t waiting for her coffee or scrolling through her music library to find a new song like usual. She was nowhere to be seen.

Peter’s eyebrows turned down in confusion. He looked down the street. Nobody but regular pedestrians.

“Okay, Spider-Boy.” he heard somebody say. He turned to face them and there she was climbing out of the abandoned apartment building’s window onto the rusty metal below her feet.

His eyes widened in surprise. “Uh.” he stuttered nervously.  “Tell me why you’ve been following me for the past week?” she ordered, throwing her backpack to lay beside her legs. He cleared his throat, anxiety burning in his lungs. “What? I h-haven’t been following you?”

She rolled her eyes, a devious grin on her lips and her right eyebrow raised. “I’m not stupid,” she told, crossing her arms. “I know you come here and sit on the edge of this exact same fire escape and keep an eye on me like you’re part of the police.” She noticed a familiarity in his voice but ignored it like she didn’t really care.

Spider-Man sighed and waited awhile to answer her. “I-” he began but paused himself like he was almost scared to tell her the truth. “I like to watch you draw.” he said but faded his sentence out like he didn’t want her to hear it.

But she understood every word he said.

She swallowed the saliva in her mouth and narrowed her eyes at him. “You come here everyday….to watch me draw?” she repeated like it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. “Yeah.” he confirmed.

Her face kind of lit up at her awareness of his cute action. “Seriously?” she asked, a softer facial expression spread on her face now that she had thought it was quite adorable that he was fond of her drawings. “Mhm.” he murmured.

“That’s sweet,” she acknowledged. “how can you see what I’m drawing from all the way over here?”

He cackled. “I actually can’t really see what you’re drawing, you’re more of my attention most of the time.” he admitted, turning embarrassed. She smiled, her cheeks heating up and making sure to look everywhere but at him.

“Well do you at least want to look at some of my sketches?” she offered.

Peter smiled behind his red mask, happy to see this whole situation wasn’t turning into complete shit.

She took her sketchbook out of her backpack and gave it to him. What she didn’t want him to know was that she was practically handing over her whole life to him but for some odd reason she felt like she could trust him.

He flipped it open revealing all kinds of subjects and ideas. The pages were filled with fantastic pencil drawings of people, flowers, birds, and-

Peter ceased his fingers from turning the next page when his eyes settled on the lead marks.

It was a drawing of him.

“You stopped?” she recognized.

“W-who’s this?” he asked, in hopes to get her to drag on about what she knew about him.

She walked over to stand beside him and when she saw who he was talking about a smile spread across her face. “Oh, that’s Peter Parker,” she replied and giggled. “he’s the guy I like.”

Peter was left speechless.

She liked him back. She just admitted to liking him and she didn't even know it was him behind all of the red and black.

“This is an old drawing though,” she said and began to flip several pages until she reached the last page that was filled before the blank pages she hadn't filled yet. “I’ve been working on this for a couple of days.”

It was beautiful. The detail of his face and his hands were absolutely breathtaking and it looked so close to looking like an actual photograph instead of a drawing. He felt so in love with her. “I really love sketching out his eyes and his smile the most. I’m not sure why. I just think those are my favorite features about him I guess?” she explained.

“You know, I’ve actually heard a rumor that you two know each other?”

Spider-Man looked at her and really took in her beauty. The colors of orange and pink that mixed together from the sunset to made her skin glow, her eyes that twinkled when she looked at him, and the light breeze that blew her hair back. It all made her look perfect.

She was quite aware that he was adoring her once silence descended into the air. She didn't mind at all though, she actually liked it. It made her feel treasured.

“C-can I kiss you?” he asked politely, hands closing her book simultaneously.

Peter was definitely not used to being this confident but of course he didn't seem to care at the moment.

Y/N wasn't really taken back because for some reason she had been oddly enough waiting for him to make a move.

“Hm, now that requires revealing your identity Mr. Superhero, would you really want to do that?” she teased. Peter turned his body in her direction.

Peter felt the urge to do it, like he really did trust her, like he knew in his heart she wouldn't dare to tell a soul about his biggest secret.

“Can I trust you?” he asked like he needed confirmation for himself.

She looked away from him for a couple of seconds and then set her gaze back to it’s original spot. “You can trust me.” she promised, biting her bottom lip.

He grabbed the red material from the back of his head and yanked it forward, his hair flopping in his face.

Her eyes widened, but she didn't move at all.

She almost didn't feel surprised, like somehow she had known all along that it was him.

“Peter Parker,” she purred, moving his singular curl that had fallen out of place back to where it was. “I should’ve known.”

He grinned at her reaction, taking her chin between his fingers and leaning in, pressing a warm kiss to her lips.