#dualrainbow

[tauruscookie]

Thank you to the mods working behind the scene at @dualrainbow for allowing me to participate once again! I give you a comfort/angst story where Vigil finally confess on Valentine’s Day 🥹🥰, what a coincidence right? (Thanks to my beta reader Jason for helping me with this. I’m not sure what there @ is on tumblr but thanks a bunch dude! 🥺)

[kiruuuuu]

Kiru's Advent Calendar, Day 24🎄

Everyone my beloved, I'm sorry there won't be a fic from me today! The 24th is when we Germans mainly celebrate Christmas and spend time with our families, and that's exactly what I did for the day 😊 As a peace offering, I present you my two dogs posing because they expect a treat.

I hope you all had/will have a wonderful day regardless of festivities and I wish you all the best 💕

[tacticalhimbo]

Howdy hey! Today is my day, so I bring to the table a transfem!IQ & Osa ficlet for @dualrainbow 's Suns Out Guns Out (SOGO) event!

I have a few trans* headcanons for the R6 operators (being transmasc myself), and thought it would be fun to kind of explore one of those headcanons with a canonically trans* operator as well. As such, this ficlet is inspired by the fresher, Nighthaven arc (post 2022 Six Invitational).

Left this vaguely open in terms of whether it's ship or not, but I like to imagine this as a sort of "first step" for the two 💕

This is also loosely inspired by a few coming out experiences of my own, as well as similar conversations in general about gender. Because let's be real, that shit can be awkward sometimes-

Translations are at the bottom of the ficlet, but please forgive if these aren't 1:1 or perfect uses! I researched them but you can only find so much on forum sites and Reddit. German was easier for me to verify as I'd studied it, but there weren't a lot of resources on Croatian that I could find so I do apologize.

I've jokingly dubbed this "Transfems in STEM", but there isn't an official title or anything. Purely vibes!

Rambling aside, I hope y'all enjoy! Here's a brief summary:

WORDS: 1.2k FANDOM(S): Rainbow Six Siege WARNINGS: Brief (though non-graphic) mentions of transphobia, both external and internalized.

Fic below the cut!

They had met here and there through their service with Rainbow. Mostly through the guidance of others—and most notably when paired together under the command of Kali—but their natural interests in technology had meant one would always seek the other out when hearing of interesting new news. Of course, and perhaps humorously, the other person in the pair had already heard the news as well… But it was still nice to chat back and forth about their thoughts. It was refreshing.

It was something that became a routine habit between the two, and that led to them breaking out of their shells with one another.

Monika was hardly a social type, even within her own team. She cared deeply for them, and genuinely did see them as her friends. Stated time and time again that they were, even if her actions weren't always indicative of such. There was still this lingering distance. A subtle discomfort that stemmed from somewhere deeper within. A lingering insecurity that she may say too much, or that she wouldn't 'meet the mark' and humiliate herself in doing such.

Likewise, Anja was cordial with most (if a bit colder). Quicker; to the point. Her care for others, more often than not, showed through her work. Hours spent tinkering away in research and development labs to present a personalized gadget. Ngũgĩ's Mag-Net, Håvard's Aqua Breacher, and specialized prosthetics for Apha. Yet even then, there was a less-than-subtle difference. One that she deliberately placed there; talking with her, especially on a personal level, was a professional courtesy. Something the may help the team, but that took away from her work. Placed her in a spotlight that—depending on the day—she'd rather avoid.

Yet there was this magnetic pull between the two.

An odd chemistry that led to after-hours chats amongst the strewn about circuitry of the labs. Dimmed lights shone over the dark epoxy resin surfaces and the two women sat upon stools, idly picking away at whatever takeout they'd managed to get sneak back into the base through the clever use of the German's hoodie. Equally idle chatter filled the still air, conversations waxing and waning through topics and padded by light laughter as they'd recalled whatever wild stories that came to mind. Those from their former teams, from their lives before involvement with Rainbow…

"You know," Anja began, "You seem like the sci-fi type. Have you ever seen Empress of the Plutomatons?"

Monika's eyes lit up, hand briefly sitting over her mouth as she'd forced herself to finish the mouthful of food she'd just taken in. All the while, she nodded excitedly.

"Have I ever—Of course I have!" Another fit of laughter from the two at the enthusiastic outburst. "You know, I always wanted to base my whole look off of the Empress. The long, wavy hair. The fierce make-up. Weißte? Everything about her was just so…"

"Perfect?"

A dreamy sigh. "Sehr perfekt."

"What stopped you?" A genuine curiosity lingered in the Croatian's tone, eyes studying the other as she mulled the thought over. "You would pull it off well."

A warmth began to spread over the apples of Monika's cheeks. A subtle skip in her pulse that, while undetectable to the other occupant in the room, felt deafening. Then a subtle chill down her spine. What had stopped her was fear. The idea of being a caricature, that is more so than people around her life at the time had believed her to be. She stood out enough as she grew into her femininity. Hated every scrutinizing second that'd pass while she simply existed within the public eye. Glossed lips parted to release a soft sigh.

"It's… a long story."

"And not one you feel like sharing?" Anja piqued a brow, tilting her head slightly as she sipped at her drink.

The slow shake of the head. A nauseating bubble as her mind wandered to potential reactions to the explanation. A lingering wanting that brought Monika's mouth to move before her mind could stop it.

"Well. It's just—it felt… wrong. Like it wouldn't have really been who I am. That doesn't make sense, I know—"

"It does. Trust me." Anja smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. She was thankful the reflections on the glasses hid it. "I am sure you've probably heard all about me from the others. You know, even under Kali's command, not many of them wanted to work with 'someone like me' at first. I was used to it, it was no different in Zagreb—the same old discussions that you learn to tune out for something better."

Monika's interest was piqued. What did she mean by that? She had heard gossip of her direct approach to things. Her passions for the job. How she was had her soft spots, as much as she denied them. But…

"Heard about what?"

There was a long pause upon hearing the question. A near-uncomfortable silence that filled the room. Then boisterous laughter as the operator keeled over at the table.

"Molim—You can't be serious. Everyone finally shuts up about it, and I'm the last to find out?" She wiped at her eyes, briefly lifting her glasses from her features before settling back into her resting position. "I'm transgender, Monika."

Another long pause, though much less uncomfortable than the first. Rather, it was like someone had popped a bubble encasing the room and released all the tension built up within it. Unconsciously wound muscles found themselves relaxing at the statement, and lips curled upward in a comfortable smile.

"That makes two of us, then." Another sigh from Monika, though now it stemmed from a place of relief. Even with the intrigued look that crossed the other's expression.

"Really? I would have never guessed. Not because of your appearance, but—" That wasn't quite what she'd wanted to say, nor how. Shit. Her excitement got the better of her. "It was never mentioned by anybody."

Thankfully, Monika didn't seem to take offense to any potential—and notably accidental—insinuations. In fact, she laughed softly.

"Not many people know; I prefer it that way, personally. Of course, my old team knew. Medical staff. I think besides them, the only person I ever felt comfortable to tell was Doctor Pandey." A pause. "Until now, of course."

"That is… a lot of trust to put in a person." There was a shift in the operator's tone. A genuine surprise that broke through that cold, confident demeanor. Anja didn't think they were that close.

"I know. I trust you, that is why."

But she wasn't complaining. In fact, quite the opposite: She reveled in the fact. It meant that while Monika had broken through her walls, that she had also broken through Monika's. She still succeeded. They both did. And that brought a smile to her face. One that mirrored the one on her counterpart's.

"Is that so?" A genuine inquiry; an attempt to dissect how far that trust ran.

And Monika leaned into the attempt. Sat forward to sit her elbows on the table between them and rest her chin atop her palm as a blanket of comfort draped over her shoulders; caused her muscles to unwind and her posture to slump. All the while, that smile lingered on her lips.

"It is."

[ Translations ] Weißte? = You know? (German) Sehr perfekt. = So perfect. (German) Molim = Varying uses; Contextually used as "Please" in a "You can't be serious" kind of way (Croatian)

[melodygatesauthor]

Maybe I Will See You Tomorrow?

Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda X f!Reader

Written for the Siege the Valentines 2023 Event. Thank you @dualrainbow for allowing me to be part of this! I had a lot of fun!

Summary: You are an employee at the Rainbow Six training facility. It is your job, alongside your coworkers, to clean up and reset the building replicas after their skirmishes. It seemed odd to you that the always careful Kapkan started forgetting things in the arena following Rainbow Six training sessions. As Valentine's Day approaches, the hunter is getting more and more bold when approaching you, waiting for the right time to make his move.

Tags/Warnings: SFW, Valentine's Day Date, cute, just fluff, no smut, first date, romance, one-shot, flirting, surprise date, just really super fluffy and cute

Word Count: 3.6k

“God, they’re always making such a fucking mess.” Your coworker Julia said, using a broom to sweep away a small pile of debris. “I mean look at this.”

She picked up a piece of glass the size of her forearm, turning it around for you to see.

“They can’t control what happens when they throw their grenades around.” You chuckled.

She dropped the shard on the ground and you watched it shatter. Julia was always complaining about this job. Of course every job had its ups and downs, but she never stopped. You sighed and kept brushing away the dirt stirred up by the Rainbow Six Operators during the day’s training session.

You wondered if you were going to see him that day or not. He had seemed to make a habit of leaving things behind since you started cleaning up after his training sessions. You would watch the skirmishes sometimes in the lounge, and you’d seen the always careful hunter fighting. He was observant, and anything but forgetful.

So far, nothing seemed out of place though, except for the usual broken chunks of wood and tattered curtains that needed replacing. You wondered if he’d finally started being more careful about leaving things behind, and if you’d made a mistake in assuming he may have been leaving his items behind on purpose.

“I’m going to get started in the bathroom, can you finish up in here?” You asked, looking over at Julia.

“Yeah yeah, take the easy room!” She chuckled, waving you off.

You rolled your eyes and started for the bathroom door. You were about to walk through when you heard a man shout.

“Wait!”

You jumped, gasped, and stepped back from the door. A tall and broad shouldered man came down the hall toward you. You recognized the dark haired Russian anywhere, Maxim “Kapkan” Basuda. He was still in his cargo pants, and his long sleeved telnyashka rolled up to his elbows. You noticed he was carrying a drill with him. You smiled and sighed, pressing a hand to your chest. So he did forget something.

“What did you forget this time?” You asked him.

“Trap on the door.” He pointed to the bathroom door.

Okay, that was just plain negligent, and dangerous.

“Y-you left what?”

“It is no big deal.” He pressed the trigger of the drill in his tattooed hand.

You watched, mouth still slightly agape, as he walked over to the device on the doorframe and removed it with ease. You gulped and stared at it wide-eyed. He just gave you a smirk and raised his dark brows. The fact that he was being so calm about leaving a deadly explosive on the doorframe that you nearly walked into by mistake was unnerving to say the least.

“What do you mean it’s no big deal? I could’ve triggered it and…and…what do you mean no big deal?” You felt your body quivering with the realization that if hadn’t come along when he did, you would be the one getting cleaned up off the floor.

“Relax.” He tossed the gadget in the air and caught it again. “It was not activated. I made a mistake when I deployed it.”

“Ok well you could’ve started with that.” You let out a heavy sigh of relief. “You nearly gave me a heart attack…wait, if it wasn’t activated then why did you yell at me to stop?”

Kapkan didn’t smile often, but there he was, lips curled up on the sides in amusement.

“You are cute when you’re scared.” He turned to leave. “Maybe I will see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah…maybe.”

He walked away and out of sight. Heat rushed to your cheeks. Did…did he just say I’m cute? You felt your heart pounding in your chest. Your lips turned up into a smile and you felt your brain liquify. Kapkan was always so brash and mysterious. He’d never seemed to show interest in anyone. In fact, you were certain you must’ve misheard him. That’s it. There’s no way he said what you thought he said. It was absurd. You threw the thought from your mind when Julia came into the room.

“What are you doing?” She pressed, clearly seeing you just standing there staring into space like a complete idiot.

You shook your head and let out a breath. “I, erm, nothing. Kapkan forgot a trap on the door so he came in to grab it.”

She scoffed, “you know when I first started here, that man was meticulous about keeping his shit, never forgot a damn thing. He’s losing it, all the explosions around must’ve messed with his head or something.”

“Yeah…” you said, still thinking about how the handsome Russian called you cute.

The next day, you were in the replica they had of a suburban house for the Operators to use for training. You found yourself nonchalantly peering in every room and on each shelf in an attempt to see if Kapkan had left anything behind that time. Nothing stood out to you, and for a moment you felt a little disappointed.

You decided to give up and do your job. You were in the room with the pool table, arranging the balls back where they were supposed to sit before each session the following day. Some of the fake metal books had fallen on the floor by the bookshelf so you picked them up and put them back where they belonged too. Most of them had either bullet holes or dents in them at this point. You wondered when they would be replaced, or if they’d ever be replaced.

That was when you found the small and clearly carved wooden heart on the floor. It was underneath a fake copy of The Lord of the Flies. You held the carving in your hand, it fit inside of your palm. It was smooth, you could tell it hadn’t been made on a whim with the crudeness of a blade. Someone, and you were sure you knew who, had made this and spent time working on it. A smile crept across your face. You knew somehow that this heart was meant for you, it had been left behind with the hope that you would find it.

“Looks like I forgot something again.” You gasped, turning around quickly and meeting eyes with Kapkan.

You’d been so involved with the wooden heart that you hadn’t heard him come into the house. He always seemed to move silently, despite his massive stature. He leaned against the archway into the pool room. His arms were crossed over his broad chest.

“S-sorry.” He made you so nervous, not only after calling you cute the other day, but he had such an intimidating demeanor.

You went to return the heart, but he held up a hand.

“No, that was left behind on purpose.” He stood up straight, and walked over to you, his height made you feel small. “What I forgot, was to ask you what you had planned for Valentine’s Day.”

Blank.

Your brain emptied so that not a single thought ran through it. You sucked in a breath and gulped. He was so close you could smell the scent of his cologne, an earthy musk. You looked down at your feet, feeling the anxiousness pool in your abdomen. His finger touched your chin and pointed you up to look in his eyes.

“You do not need to be nervous. It was a simple question, krasivaya.” His voice was low and smooth.

Krasivaya, he called me…beautiful, you thought, feeling yourself beginning to tremble.

“I…um…I don’t have anything going on tonight.” You chuckled nervously.

“Good, then I can pick you up at seven?” He raised a brow as he let go of your chin and stepped back.

“Yeah…yeah you can come pick me up.” You nodded slowly.

He pulled out his phone, “I will need to text you.”

“Oh! Yeah,” you said, still trying to come out of your daze. You pulled your phone from your pocket as well and you gave him your number.

His text came through right away, “ok, I’ve got it.” You said, putting your phone back in your pocket. “What should I wear? Where are we going?”

“I want you to wear something you are comfortable in. Whatever that is.” He shrugged. “I will see you at seven.” He winked at you before exiting out the front door.

You just stood there again, speechless as you’d been yesterday. He really had been leaving all those things behind on purpose. You’d never been romanced like that before. You’d never had someone go out of their way to make cute gestures like that before. It quite nearly took your breath away, and you stood there holding a broom in one hand, and holding the wooden heart to your chest.

“Alright he’s gonna have to stop doin’ shit like that if he’s gonna keep coming in here and freezin’ you up. Come on girl, we got work to do.” Julia said, snapping you out of it once again.

You nodded vigorously, knowing that now you had to crunch to get your work done so you could make it to your date on time. The entire rest of your shift was spent thinking about Maxim and how stupid romantic the whole thing felt. This wasn’t a feeling you were accustomed to, being courted and treated like someone special. It felt nice, and exciting, but you weren’t sure you were ready for it.

It’s just a date, you’re going, you thought, before you could try and talk yourself out of it.

At 6:45pm, you found yourself standing in front of your vanity mirror, turning side to side in order to decide if you liked your outfit. He’d said to wear something you felt most comfortable in. He didn’t specify physical or mental comfort though. Wearing pajamas would be the most physically comfortable, but a ten year old My Chemical Romance tee shirt with armpit stains and a pair of gray sweatpants with a hole in the crotch probably wasn’t the best thing to wear on a first date, even if it was extremely cozy.

On the other hand, a nice dress, pretty shoes and some complementary jewelry would make you feel more mentally confident. You wanted him to say, wow, when he saw you. He had only ever seen you when you were an hour or two into your work shift and covered in dirt and sweat.

In the end you settled for a pair of nice jeans, a somewhat low cut, and not too dressy shirt, and a nice jacket to bring it all together. A honk outside broke you from your thoughts. When you looked out of your bedroom window, you saw a black pickup truck in front of your house.

“Shit.” You said out loud to yourself.

He was five minutes early, which normally wouldn’t be a problem, but you’d planned to spend that extra five minutes panicking and possibly backing out at the last second. You grabbed your phone. When looking at the text he’d sent earlier, you knew there was no way you would’ve been able to back out.

You: My address is…

Maxim: Ok <3

He’d sent you a heart emoji. This man, this hardened soldier who hardly cracked a smile, who had never shown any sort of interest in anyone, or so you’d heard, was making you wooden hearts and sending you heart emojis through text. How could you back out of a date with someone who was, quite clearly, going out of their own comfort zone to get your attention?

You ran downstairs and stood in front of your door, sucking in a deep breath. When you opened it he was already standing by the passenger’s side door of the truck. You froze, he was so handsome. His dark hair was lightly styled, facial hair trimmed, and he was wearing civilian clothing, which you’d never seen him in before. After seeing him in a comfortable but clean sweatshirt with a white shirt underneath, and a pair of gray cargo pants, you were glad that you didn’t go with the dress.

“Wow.” He said, looking at you affectionately. “You look nice.”

You felt the heat rise to your face. “You do too.”

He opened the truck door and helped you step up into the large vehicle. You were buckled by the time he got to his side and started the truck up. You still felt nervous as he drove away.

“So…this was really spontaneous.” You were having a hard time deciding how you wanted to say what you wanted to say.

It’s obvious now that you were leaving all that stuff behind leading up to asking me out on Valentine’s Day. What made you decide that you liked me? But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it, it was too bold, and apparently boldness was his thing, not yours. You were still surprised that you said yes to the date.

“Da. You are not a big fan of surprises?” He asked.

You thought about it for a moment.

“I don’t mind them, surprises like this are nice. I just mean…I didn’t even really know you liked me until, well, yesterday to be honest.”

He chuckled, “you are not very observant, are you?”

“I guess not. I just thought you were really forgetful.” You were starting to feel yourself relax the longer he drove.

You had been a little suspicious as to his reasoning for forgetting things consistently, but you didn’t want to tell him you were on to him now. The gesture was so sweet, you thought it best to let him think you didn’t suspect a thing the whole time.

“The first time, I really did forget my drill.” When he stopped at the stop light he looked over at you. “But then I thought…maybe if I keep on forgetting things, then I will have to keep going back to get them. And maybe if I keep going back to get them, I will run into the pretty cleaning girl again.”

He turned his attention back to the road, and you held your fingers to your burning cheeks. He was throwing one sweet line at you after another and you could hardly handle it. You cracked the window down a tad to get some fresh air, you felt like you were suffocating in the best way imaginable.

He took you down a dirt road, and out to an open field in the truck. He backed it into the field before he finally stopped. If this were a normal man, not someone you knew you could trust due to the nature of the jobs you both had at Rainbow, you would think that being out there alone with him was a bad idea. Instead you found yourself feeling thrilled by the idea. Your stomach fluttered at the prospect of what he had planned.

He came around and helped you down. You didn’t really need his help, but you liked holding his hand, and the truck really was quite tall. It was a little chilly, so you were glad that you wore your jacket.

“Ok, I need a moment. You stand right where you are and face that way.” He pointed to the treeline.

“Oh, alright.” You felt yourself smirking like a fool while you turned to face the trees on the other side of the clearing.

You heard him opening and closing doors on the vehicle from behind you. There were even a couple of times you thought you heard him climbing into the bed of it. After a few more Russian slurs and frustrated grunts later, he told you to turn around.

You didn’t know what you did to have made this man so smitten with you, but you must’ve done something. He had spent the time that you were faced away turning the bed of the truck into a magical paradise. There were a couple of poles on the back of the tailgate that held string lights, creating a dim and mystical glow around the blankets and pillows that had been laid out on the truck bed. It looked so cozy and warm.

“I don’t get it.” You chuckled.

“You do not like it?” He asked, looking genuinely bothered by your words.

“No! No, it’s…it’s beautiful! It’s just so…unexpected.” You watched him relax his worried brows.

“It is once in a lifetime that we meet someone that we really connect with, and I have connected with you.” He stepped closer to you, you felt your chest tighten. “I want this to be special.”

“It’s just that I’ve been on the cleaning crew for Rainbow for over a year now and I’ve seen you work. You’re not like…this.” You held your hand up in reference to the pickup truck.

It was true. You’d started working there a year ago, but you were in a different department. About a month ago you switched departments and ended up running into Kapkan shortly after. Sometimes you caught glimpses of their training sessions and he always seemed so dark and brooding. You’d never pegged him as the romantic type.

“You have not seen me outside of work, and I have not had good reason to do something like this until now.” He took another step closer, if he stepped one more time he would be on your toes.

“Ok, but-“

His finger over your lips silenced you. His expression was soft. A breath escaped you, he was so handsome just standing there, looking at you.

“Come.” He trailed his fingertips down your arm and took your hand in his.

You followed over to the tailgate where he helped you climb up. You plopped yourself down on a soft blanket by the pillows and held your knees to your chest. You still felt rather cold, despite having your jacket. The February night was chilly, which is why Kapkan wasted no time climbing into the back with you and pulling another blanket up to wrap around you both.

Not a word was spoken for a moment. You had your eyes trained on the sky, taking in the beauty of the stars overhead. Your heart was full, and your mind was racing about all the ways you thought this night would go. When you’d woken up this morning, you were certain you were going to be spending Valentine’s Day alone.

“Do you remember the first thing you said to me?” Maxim said, breaking your line of thought.

You looked down from the stars and over at him. The way the soft and warm light lit his face made your heart skip a beat.

“Um…” You thought back to the first day you ever actually met him. “Yeah.” You chuckled.

Maxim had come back into the building replica while Julia was training you. She had stepped away and you were cleaning up some debris in the basement and came across a drill. It didn’t have a sticker on it indicating that it belonged in the training arena, so you knew it probably belonged to one of the operators. When Kapkan came in, you recalled how surprised you were to see him in person. In fact, you were so surprised that you dropped the drill.

Fuck, you’d said, I’m sorry, you’re scary.

Then you’d frozen, that wasn’t what you meant to say. You had meant to tell him that he scared you, and apologize for dropping the drill. Instead you’d just possibly broken his expensive tool, and insulted him all in one go.

I am scary? He asked, and he smirked at you.

I meant to say that you scared me. Sorry. You picked the drill up and handed it over to him. Here.

He took it and let his fingertips brush over yours when he did.

I am Maxim, what is your name?

Who would’ve thought that a month later you would be stargazing with that same man? Certainly not you.

“I will not say love at first sight, but it was that moment when I felt a connection to you. I liked you.” His face looked soft when he looked at you.

“Yeah, I guess when I think about it…I felt it too.” Your body felt like it was vibrating all over when his face started to get closer to yours.

You inched closer, a subtle way of telling him that you were ready for what might happen next. His hand reached over and touched your waist timidly, as though he were waiting for you to reject it. You didn’t though, instead you reached your hand up and touched his cheek, darting your eyes between his rapidly. You sucked in a deep breath.

For someone so rough around the edges, it was surprising how soft the first kiss you shared with him was. His lips melted into yours with an unexpected tenderness. His hand on your waist pulled you even closer, and your hand behind his head did the same, deepening the kiss. Everything about him intoxicated you, his taste on your tongue, the way he smelled, and the way his other hand reached up to cup your cheek. It wasn’t until you were nearly out of breath that you both leaned back and looked at each other.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” You said, breathing heavily.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, krasivaya.”

AO3 LINK

[r6shippingdelivery]

Ho, ho, ho, this is Siegemas day 5! Thank you to @dualrainbow for everything 💜 My prompt was “Did you just glue a picture of me on the star and put it on the top of the tree, oh my-”

Ash/Mira, rated T, fluff, 2.4K

Please make sure to check all the other Siegemas fics if you can, I'm sure you'll find something that will catch your interest, they're all great!

[1queasycrow]

Here it is, thanks to @dualrainbow for letting me in this year, some quick notes; this may get edited for formatting/punctuation/clarity, I am definitely not posting this on the train to work don’t look into it and, you may wish to read a premise of Far Cry 6 to have a better understanding of the beginning. Thanks again y’all!

[dagoth-menthol]

Der Weg zurück

Notes:

Vielen Dank an @dualrainbow , dass ihr wieder das Siege The Day Event veranstaltet! :D 

Und auch vielen Dank an meinen Korrekturleser! :3

Dominic stieg aus dem Flugzeug am Flughafen BER, seine Beine waren vom engen Fußraum ganz verkrampft und er musste sich bemühen, wie ein anständiger Mensch zu laufen. Auf sein Gepäck musste er nicht so lange warten und als er endlich aus dem Gebäude heraustrat, schlug ihm die Hitze des Tages förmlich entgegen. Die Luft war trocken und stickig, die vielen Fahrzeuge, die mit angelassenem Motor auf weitere Insassen warteten, trugen ihren Teil dazu bei, dem Berliner einen stinkenden Willkommensgruß an seine Nase zu schicken. Früher hätte er diesen Geruch gar nicht wahrgenommen, war er doch schließlich ein Großstadtkind, das viel in anderen Städten gelebt hatte. Jetzt jedoch, als er von der isolierten Basis in Griechenland kam, die in einem idyllischen Einöd lag, musste er die Nase rümpfen. 

Dennoch gab es keinen Grund, sein Gemüt zu trüben, ganz im Gegenteil: Das war seine Heimat. Jetzt war er zuhause. Hereford war nicht mehr der Ort, an dem er sich am wohlsten fühlte, und obwohl sie schon seit einer Weile in Griechenland lebten, hatte er noch immer nicht die Verbindung, wie sie es damals in Hereford fast sofort gegeben hatte. Auf dem Weg zum Bahnhof Schöneberg konnte er sich wenigstens die Beine vertreten. Zwar hat es einen Zwischenstopp in München gegeben, unglücklicherweise hatte er es nicht geschafft, viel zu gehen zu können. 

Just in dem Moment, als er das Gleis betrat, fuhr auch schon sein Zug vor seiner Nase weg. Entnervt setzte er sich auf die nächstgelegene Bank und legte seinen Rucksack neben sich. Viel hatte Dominic nicht gepackt, schließlich war er nur auf einen kurzen Besuch eingeladen. Und bei der jetzigen Spannung in Griechenland, missbilligte er es für eine längere Zeit nicht vor Ort zu sein. Nichtsdestotrotz freute er sich auf seine Neffen und natürlich darauf, seinen Bruder und dessen Frau wiederzusehen. Auf seine Eltern zu treffen, versetzte ihn nur in eine gewagte neutrale Gemütsstimmung.

Mit einer Verspätung von nur wenigen Minuten gab er sich zufrieden und erreichte die Berliner Innenstadt, um schließlich in einer völlig überfüllten U-Bahn zu seinem Bruder zu fahren, bei dem er auch herzlich eingeladen war zu übernachten. Als Gastgeschenke hatte er Olivenöl, Wein und ein paar handgemachte und bunt verzierte Tonuntersetzer dabei. Das größte Geschenk war natürlich seine Anwesenheit, die in den Jahren seiner Undercoverarbeit selten geworden war und danach umso mehr geschätzt wurde.

Mit einem lauten “Dominiiiiic!” wurde er von den Kindern schon im Treppenhaus begrüßt und musste sich prompt am Geländer festhalten, als diese ihn förmlich ansprangen und umarmten. Keuchend wuchtete er sich die Stufen hoch, als die beiden Kinder ihn in sämtliche Richtungen zogen und ihn mehrmals mit dem schweren Rucksack aus dem Gleichgewicht brachten. Als er endlich durch die Wohnungstür trat, wurde er von dem Geruch eines frisch gekochten Chili con Carne begrüßt. Aber ohne sich richtig umsehen zu können, schoben ihn die Kleinen die Kinder auch schon in das winzige Gästezimmer, das nur ein Bett, Kleiderschrank und Nachtschränkchen beinhaltete. Dort legte er auch seinen Rucksack ab, um endlich seinen Bruder und dessen Ehefrau zu begrüßen.

~*~

“Ach, leckt mich doch echt am Arsch”, entfuhr es Dominic. Der Stuhl quietschte über den Boden, als er plötzlich aufstand.

“Wisst ihr, ich habe es langsam echt satt mit euch! Ich komme hierher, um in Frieden den Geburtstag meines Neffen zu feiern und ihr besitzt die Dreistigkeit, mit eurem Drecksgezeter anzufangen! Ich habe da einfach keinen Bock mehr drauf. Ich geh’ jetzt.”

"Ja, dann verpiss dich doch ins scheiß Ausland und zieh deinen Schwanz vor deinen Pflichten ein!”, rief ihm sein Vater hinterher, bevor ihn irgendwer aufhalten konnte.

Dominic hatte  seinen Rucksack bereits gepackt, in der leisen Ahnung, dass womöglich eben dieses Szenario eintraf. Zum Glück war der Tag schon fast vorbei und somit konnte sein Neffe doch den Hauptteil genießen. 

Gerade so, hatte er es noch geschafft in den Flieger zu steigen, welcher auch schon alsbald aufbrach, um schließlich um kurz nach 1 Uhr nachts in Athen anzukommen. Etwas verloren stand er an der Gepäckabholung. Alles kam langsam in ihm zu Tage. Er war ratlos. Hals über Kopf war er in Berlin aufgebrochen und erst jetzt kam ihm der Gedanke, dass er ein bisschen zu spontan gewesen war in seiner Entscheidung. Wie sollte er denn um diese Uhrzeit zurück zur Basis kommen? Er begann an der Haut an seinen Fingernägeln nervös zu zupfen. Es ärgerte ihn, dass er so unüberlegt gehandelt hatte, er hat nicht einmal einem seiner Freunde in Griechenland erzählt, dass er wieder zurück war.

Verstimmt trat er aus dem Gebäude und die kühle Nachtluft strich ihm in einer sanften Brise entgegen. Ein bisschen weiter weg waren die typischen Geräusche einer Großstadt zu vernehmen. Hier und dort hörte man einen Autoposer mit seinem Auto lautstark durch die Stadt preschen, in der Ferne die Sirene eines Krankenwagens, die Geräusche eines noch immer aktiven Straßenverkehrs und vereinzelte Stimmen. Leute, die sich in die Arme fielen, oder auch nur gediegen über den Flug redeten.

Langsam trat er an die Straße und schaute, ob noch irgendwo ein Taxi bereit stand. Es würde verdammt teuer werden, aber er hatte schlicht weg keine Geduld noch Ewigkeiten nach einer Herberge in Athen zu suchen, oder irgendwo an einem Bahnhof herumlungern zu müssen, bis endlich ein Zug, oder Bus, ankam.

Zähneknirschend lief er die Straße weiter ab und fand ein paar vereinzelte Taxen. Er winkte und hoffte, dass einer der Fahrer ihn sieht und das Auto startet. Er wollte einfach nur weg von hier.

In einer Mischung von Englisch und Griechisch – ein paar Fetzen hatte er sich beigebracht – versuchte er dem Fahrer zu erklären, dass es eine etwas weitere Fahrt werden würde und ob dieser bereit wäre, ihn zu fahren. Mit einer hereinwinkenden Geste bat er ihn ins Auto.

Ein leichter Hauch von Glück machte sich in ihm breit und er schrieb in einem noch immer leicht gereizten Ton in der Freundesgruppe, dass er jetzt schon auf dem – und da musste er  kurz innehalten – Heimweg sei. Er sendete die Nachricht, doch eben jenes kleine Wort brachte ihm einen ganz neuen Ausbruch an Gefühlen, die er erst einmal ordnen musste. Unterdessen kam ein “hab ich dir doch gleich gesagt, hättest dir besser ein Hotelzimmer buchen solln" von Marius. Es war wenig hilfreich. Oder vielleicht doch? Noch mehr Grübeleien.

Da hatte Marius natürlich recht und es verwunderte ihn, dass er nicht selbst auf diese Idee gekommen war. Aber zu groß war der Drang, aus der Stadt zu fliehen. Er hätte überall hingehen können und doch hatte er sich für Griechenland entschieden. Ein Seufzer entfuhr ihm und plötzlich fühlte er sich ein wenig leichter und weniger unwohl in seiner Haut. Trotz allem hatte er seiner Meinung nach die richtige Entscheidung getroffen. Sie war die teurere, aber dennoch die, die ihn am glücklichsten machte. Schließlich hätte er, wenn er früher daran gedacht hätte, noch in Deutschland ein Hotel suchen können. Entspannt sah er aus dem Fenster und ab und zu unterhielt er sich mit dem Fahrer über Gott und die Welt. Schlafen konnte er ohnehin nicht.

Als sie allmählich am Ende der Fahrt angelangt waren, wurde der Himmel dunkel, der Mond und ein Großteil der Sterne verschwanden und wichen dem zarten Morgengrauen, das die bergige Landschaft in eine dunkle Silhouette verwandelte, die sich langsam vom erhellenden Himmel absetzte. 

In dem Moment, als sie den letzten Hügel überquerten, machte sich ein wohlig warmes Gefühl in ihm breit, das ihn in Vorfreude versetzte. Jetzt, da er die bekannte Anreihung der kleinen Straßenlichter des benachbarten Dorfes sah, das sich am Fuße des Hügels befand, konnte er es kaum erwarten anzukommen. Er beugte sich vor, um besser durch die Windschutzscheibe einen Blick auf die Beleuchtung der Baracken in der Ferne zu erhaschen.

Der Taxifahrer spürte seine Unruhe und begann ein bisschen zu witzeln. 

Anschließend stand er endlich an der Wegkreuzung, sein Portemonnaie um einiges schmaler, aber das war in Ordnung. Dem Fahrer hatte er einiges an Trinkgeld gegeben. Der Fahrzeugführer hatte ihn hier rauslassen müssen, weil es vor den Toren zur Basis keine Wendemöglichkeit gab, so musste er also die letzten knapp 500 Meter zu Fuß zurücklegen.

Das war ihm recht. Jetzt, da die Luft frisch vom Meer hergetragen wurde und sich die Landschaft im Morgenrot langsam erhellte, konnte er sich keinen besseren Ort vorstellen, an dem er in diesem Moment sein konnte.

Jetzt verstand er. Getrübt von der Sehnsucht nach Hereford, hatte er es zunächst nicht bemerkt, aber der Ort war ihm doch ans Herz gewachsen.

Hier fühlte er sich wohl. Hier sind Erinnerungen entstanden, die nicht immer von froher Natur waren und sich trotzdem immer zum Guten gewendet haben. Hier war eine Welt, die ihn immer mit offenen Armen empfing. Alles wird gut.

Hier sind seine Freunde.

Notes:

Ich musste lange überlegen, aber ich bin froh über dieses Thema. Ich mag dieses wohlige, warme Gefühl, wenn man von einer Reise zurückkommt. 

Ich hatte wirklich viel Spaß ein bisschen mit der Sprache zu spielen, meine Freude über die Arbeit an einer Übersetzung hält sich deshalb in Grenzen. Ich hoffe nur, dass ich sie so schnell und originalgetreu diesem Kapitel beifügen kann! 

Liebe Grüße an alle Reisenden und Heimkehrer, ich hoffe der Weg war nicht zu anstrengend! 

[james-rowan]

Here’s my (very late, sorry 😓) contribution to the @dualrainbow Pride event. Thank you To_Dragons for helping me edit.

Ships: Montagne/Blitz, Lion/Doc, Valkyrie/Finka and Castle/Maverick

The Pride Festival

The Austin Texas Pride Festival was held on a hot, sunny afternoon, and it smelled of fair food, sunscreen and energy. It was colorful, and bright, mrainbows everywhere, adorning stalls, signs and, of course, people.

To the European operators who had been to Pride events before, it was not only loud, but bold. From the outfits, that ranged from simple rainbow wristbands to full on outrageous outfits (or just a jockstrap), to the signs and stalls and performance stages. Couples were embracing, kissing and making out openly and passionately, without shame or guilt, not only couples but the rare poly groups, finally able to carry on with open affections and taking full advantage. The atmosphere was infectious. It had already claimed Maverick and Castle, who walked very close to each other -despite the heat- hands in each other’s back pockets. They also were very unrestrained with the kissing.

And Montagne thought that he and Blitz could be overly affectionate. But then he was still waiting for his lover to meet them there. He had flown out on his own specifically for this.

Their group included the aforementioned Castle and Maverick, Valkyrie, Finka, himself, Lion and Doc.

They had traveled from Fort Polk, Louisiana, where they, that being the FBI SWAT, SEALs and GIGN, and one tagalong (at her vehement request) Finka, were doing training with the U.S. Army rangers stationed there. After two weeks of a field exercise in muggy swamplands, their Pride group had been excited to go somewhere dry, but unfortunately Houston did not live up to the Texas desert stereotypes; it was almost as humid as Fort Polk. But at least here there was civilization. And Montagne himself was excited to finally see Blitz.

“Schatz!”

Speaking of whom, he was charging at them, looking very much the part of a Pride attendee. He caught his lover in his arms, swinging him around once, despite the soreness from training, then dipped him into a deep kiss. that gained the awe and cheers of not only from some in their own group, but several onlooking strangers as well.

When they finally parted , Lion muttered, “They’re acting like they haven’t seen each other in a year.”

The couple ignored him as Blitz held Monty out in arms length to appraise his outfit. He tutted, “Not to live up to the stereotype, Schatz, but what are you wearing?”

Montagne looked down at himself. He was wearing a lightweight button down with rolled up sleeves, dark trousers and shined shoes, nothing offensive, if a bit formal compared to everyone else, but the reason was important.

Blitz himself was dressed the complete opposite, wearing a loose stringer tanktop that exposed his toned shoulders and even his pecs when he moved just right. Jean cutoff shorts, sneakers with colorful laces, large sunglasses, a backwards ball cap, wristbands: every article of clothing was either rainbow colored, or had an inclusive pride flag adorning it.

“Euh… what’s wrong with it?

“If it were any other day, nothing,” Blitz said. “You look sharp and sexy as ever. But this is Pride, American Pride, ja? Look around.”

Almost everyone was wearing Pride merchandise, had flags draped on their shoulders, or had face paint of various LGBTQ+ symbols, from obvious t more subtle. The bolder were the ones wearing much more and the even bolder much less.

Blitz grabbed his hand, “Come, we’re fixing this.”

“Aren’t we a little old for…”

“Psst, nein. This will be fun, ja? To dress up as we please, get swept up in the atmosphere.”

“We can already dress as we please.”

“I mean colorful, and silly, no fashion rules to hold us back. Come on!”

With that Blitz dragged him off, leaving the rest in their wake.

~

“Well,” Finka chuckled. “Hi to you too, Elias.”

“Those two are disgusting,” Lion snickered. “How long have they been together? A year?”

“Two,” Finka said. “With no signs of slowing down.”

“Their honeymoon phase is going to last forever at this rate,” Valkyrie said.

“That explains why Gilles is going to…” Lion stopped himself, eyes wide.

“What is Gilles going to do?” Valkyrie was now very interested.

“Olivier, you wanted to show me something?” Doc, the amazing man he was, quickly interjected.

Had it been a few months ago, Lion would have been confused, but now Doc had bailed him out enough times during conversations that he immediately went, “Ah right, this way.”

“We’ll go with you,” Valkyrie smirked.

“Non, non, it's private,” Lion said.

“The good Catholic boy he is, he cannot share,” he said, steering Lion away before he could reveal too much.

Out of earshot, Lion mumbled, “How can you be nice while mocking me at the same time?” Lion was a bit prickly at the Catholic comment. It has always been a point of mockery for people outside the church.

“I could ask you the same. You have quite the talent for it. Far more than I can hope to achieve.”

“Most of the time I don’t mean to.”

“I know.” Doc’s tone softened into a reassuring one, giving his side a squeeze. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have found common ground, mon coeur,” he said. “People also tend not to question when a Catholic needs to do private things, no? With Islam it works quite well.”

Lion took a deep breath, but understood. It was nothing malicious. “Thank you. I didn’t want to be the one to fuck that all up.”

It had taken years to come to a mutual understanding, let alone to find a way to deal with their mutual attraction to one another. It was a rocky, long road, but here they were. Lion hoped one day they would be exactly like Blitz and Montagne, or even just Castle and Maverick.

Lion brushed his forefinger against Doc’s hand, tentatively seeking to hold it. Their relationship was so new, so fragile, like a baby bird or sugar glass, too easy to hurt or shatter. A hundred things, even things gentle or nice, could ruin a relationship, if you looked into it. And considering their history, before they got together… where just one off hand remark would destroy a truce they had established between each other, setting them at each other's throats once again. Lion never wanted to go back to those times. He’d do anything to keep it from degrading back.

Doc immediately took hold of his hand, as if he had been waiting to do so all day, giving a loving squeeze.

Warmth flooded Lion, he felt a giant stupid grin spreading across his face. It was almost too much, as he felt pricks in his eyes, as he squeezed back. He glanced sideways at Doc, finding him gently smiling, mellow as always when he was content. He wanted nothing more than to sweep him up and kiss him fiercely, but maybe then it’d be too much. He’d settle for this for now.

After browsing a couple stalls, he remembered something. What did the relationship advice he found on that one website say? That he should always seek to compliment and let someone know how much their actions mean to him, so he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the right words.

“You know,” Lion said, barely able to be heard over the crowd. “I’m so glad you’re willing to hold my hand.”

“Willing? I want to,” Doc corrected, bringing it to his lips and kissing his knuckles.

Lion smile only grew wider, and he had to look away as red creeped from his ears to his cheeks now. “J’taime.”

“J’taime.”

The warm fuzzy feeling in his chest threatened to burst, helped along by with the anxiety, the pervasive fear that this was about to be ripped from him at any moment.

They grabbed something to eat and sat down on a bench. If American food was considered greasy, their fair food was simply lard on a plate, with maybe some sugar or ketchup for seasoning. They commented on this to each other, when something caught Lion’s eye. There were older women and a couple of men wearing t-shirts, that said “free mom hugs.” (the men’s shirts said ‘dad’) As implied, they hugged everyone who came up to them. Some hugs were light and quick, and some deep and heartfelt, lasting many minutes. Lion’s eyes followed one of them until he came upon a group of them, holding signs, the same message written on them.

“Is that what I think?”

“Hmm?” Doc looked up. “Ah, probably. Hold on.”

To Lion's horror, his fellow frenchman asked a nearby American who they were; the man explaining with a bright smile that they were a charity organization that helped LGBTQ+ youth, and they gave out hugs - of course -, for any who had been rejected by their families for their sexuality.

Small talk ensued, in which Lion was only half-participating in as he ate, and when the man finally left, Doc nudged his side.

“You’ve been glancing at them this whole time. Go on, go talk to them.”

“I don’t need a hug.”

Doc tsked, “That’s a lie.”

“Huh?”

“If anyone needs a hug from a father figure, it is you, no?”

“I…” Lion paused then shook his head. “No, I’m over it, I put it behind me. It happened over a decade ago, after all.”

Doc raised an eyebrow, one of his infuriatingly knowing smiles tugging at his lips.

“They are for this who were disowned for being homosexual, Gustave. I was not...”

“And your father would have accepted you being with another man? Or is it only teens getting their girlfriends pregnant that he takes moral issue with?”

Lion didn’t have an answer for him. Well he did, just not a verbal one. There were so many reasons his father wanted nothing to do with him.

“I’m over it,” he repeated, but this time with less conviction.

“Then it would be of no consequence,” Doc said, squeezing his hand. “Go on.”

It was an awkward walk to approach them. He had to remind himself he was a soldier, he had faced death multiple times, fought against some of the most dangerous people in the world and this- This was just a civilian man at a pride event. Much older than him, sure, with a kind face and beard. But he realized as his step grew increasing hesitant that it wasn’t the human he was afraid of, but his soul, and what it could do to his own with just a few brash words.

What was he even going to say? “Hey I saw your sign, my dad hates me, can I get a hug?” That was ridiculous. Maybe lean into the role this man was offering to play, “Sorry dad, I was a fuck up, I can't change?" Or… "sorry you were not capable of loving me the way I am?" Both sounded completely rude to say to a stranger.

But as he approached, the older man met his eye, and there was no need for questions, nor words. The dad only smiled at him and opened his arms.

Lion found himself in the other man’s embrace before he even realized, hugging him as if his life depended on it. The older man matched his energy, a hand on the back of his head as if Lion really was his own child. Time seemed to stretch on and on; Lion had been anticipating a quick hug, just a little taste of what he got so envious of every time he saw someone have a loving moment with their parent, but no, his body refused to let go and so did this stranger. This stranger who held onto him with a fatherly patience Lion once thought only existed in fantasy.

The lump growing in his throat ached. He tried swallowing it down, but it only made it worse.

He shouldn’t have done this. He thought he was over it, yet it hurt, it hurt so fucking much…!

He wanted to run, he wanted to stay, he wanted…

“It’s alright to cry,” the man whispered. “I got you.”

“My real father disowned me.” Lion wasn’t proud of how strangled his voice sounded, or how he let some tears escape.

“I’m so sorry, son,” the man replied, rubbing his back gently. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“I did.”

“No, you didn’t. Nobody does.”

“I never could give him a reason to love me.”

“Children don’t need to give a reason. They’re supposed to be loved by their parents, no matter what mistakes they made, real or imagined. You deserve to be loved.”

Lion was biting the inside of his cheek, trying to will away the need to sob. This was a happy moment, a validating moment, with kind words, and warmth, why did it hurt so much then? His fingers clutched at the man’s shirt, as he gently rocked them. It didn’t feel infantilizing, it felt relieving, needed, like a hole finally being filled.

“You can cry, you know,” the man whispered again. “Emotions are made to be expressed. You don’t have to be strong, not here, not with me. I know you’re hurting, Don’t worry, I’m here.”

A choked sob escaped, and Lion pressed his face into the man's shoulder. “There you go, let it out, I’m proud of you.”

There was no coming back from that. He broke down, and it was ugly.

Lion sobbed into his arms, all rsesemblance of control disappearing, but the father held him through it all. It lasted way longer than Lion thought possible, but they eventually subsided, and he was still being held as he calmed down. When he felt strong enough to break the embrace, he was met with a gentle, fatherly smile.

“Do you feel better?”

“Oui.. yes, thank you,” he wiped his face with his own shirt. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” the manhe said. “I’m just doing what fathers were meant to do.”

“Merci.”

They talked for a little while after. About what happened with his father, his family, himself. The cynical side of him expected them to reveal their ulterior motive, asking him for charity donations, to attend a church service, or even a cult, but they didn’t offer him any flyers or business cards, just warm words... water and tissues. At least he wasn’t the first grown man to cry like this in their arms. They were genuinely good people.

Doc had been waiting patiently for him on the bench, and stood up to embrace him and kiss his cheek upon his return. “How do you feel?”

“Drained,” he said. Then he added, “Relieved. I guess you were…” he caught himself. “No, you were completely right.”

“I’m glad you went then, mon coeur.”

Lion needed a smoke. Before got to know him, Lion would have assumed the doctor was too high and mighty for a nicotine fix, but then found out he was a man in a high stress job like the rest of them, and didn’t judge. Except on the mandatory substance abuse powerpoints they all had to sit through every few months.

He lit up, drawing the smoke in and letting it mellow him out. Every so often he would think back and a few more tears would leak out.

He wiped his eyes with his thumb. “You know why I was so happy that you took my hand?”

“Non,” Doc said, rubbing his back. “But please tell me.”

“I was at the store with my mother and father,” he said. “I was just following along, and I see my mother offer her hand to hold, you know, this gesture…”

He made it. Doc patiently nodded.

“Well I was nearest to her, I think. I was so happy, I remember feeling loved, all warm, because my mama wanted to hold my hand.”

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Go on, I’m listening.”

Lion took a deep breath. His voice shuddered, “She let go, non.. she threw my hand away from her, in utter disgust. As if I were disgusting. She snapped, ‘I don’t want your hand.’”

Lion ducked his head. “It was a small thing, yes, but it hurt, it hurt so much. Turned out she wanted my father’s hand, not her son’s, not mine.”

It was a few beats later before Doc said, “How old were you?”

“Four, maybe five,” Lion said. “I hate that feeling, those moments where you finally feel happy and loved, and the next second someone shatters it completely. Despair is a good word for it, I think.”

“How often did these types of things happen?”

“Plenty, I was a disgusting child, after all.”

“No,” Doc said. “She was just… cruel.”

Lion huffed, not a wry laugh, just disbelieving. “You’re not going to tell me that she tried her best?”

“Did she?”

“I… I don’t know…”

“Then I think not,” Doc said softly, cupping Lion’s cheek. He leaned into the warmth.

"I still get this horrible… fear when I want to take someone’s hand, or show any affection. So I usually don’t.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, mon cher. And if I ever make you feel the way your mother did, I want you to tell me.”

Lion nodded, looking down, not entirely sure if he would. Doc tilted his head back up. “Hey, I mean it.”

Lion took his hand and almost went for a kiss, but the deep moment was interrupted by Blitz and Monty approaching. Lion quickly turned away so neither of the two could see his red puffy eyes, but he did see Monty was wearing a stringer tanktop, tie dyed rainbow, and adorned with rainbows in body paint and a look of subdued embarrassment any time Elias had his back turned. Blitz was going a bit overboard on this look.

“Have you seen Meghan?” Blitz said, “unless you have a bag?”

Doc pointed them into the right direction, as Lion quickly drank his water.

“Olivier, are you okay?”

“He just needs some alone time with me,” Doc saved him. Again.

The pair offered their sympathies to Lion (much to his annoyance) and wandered off to find the two women.

“Don’t you ever dress me up that garishly,” Lion snickered.

“Please, mon coeur, I have taste,” Doc said, before grabbing his knee and squeezing, voice now whispering in his ear. “Besides, I prefer you out of your clothes.”

He nipped his earlobe before Lion could exasperate out his name, earning a yelp instead.

Any semblance of protocol melted into genuine, unmasked joy just to be in each other’s company, in a welcoming space where they could be open about themselves Gustave himself was intent on kissing his lover better.

~

Finka and Valkyrie had been watching a stage performance when Blitz appeared at Valkyrie’s side, grinning, as usual, and... now covered in glitter?

“Meghan, can we borrow your purse?”

“Huh?”

“I don’t want to have to carry around Gilles’s shirt all day.”

Valkyrie turned fully to see Montagne, who had trailed in after him, no longer wearing his tasteful, understated ensemble, but had been attacked by rainbows and what looked to be the same shimmer bomb that Blitz must have been caught in.

“No, you’re going to get glitter in it,” Valkyrie frowned.

“Please? I’ll clean it out for you myself.”

“Glitter?” Finka said, turning around. “We have to ride back with your boyfriend, and you wore glitt-”

Finka must have caught sight of Montagne’s giant pecs escaping the too small, flimsy shirt, because she turned bright red and turned back to stare very intently at the performer.

All Valkyrie herself could think was ’damn Montagne is strong and it shows’, but that was it, of course. Her girlfriend however was bi, with a particular weakness for large people with muscles.

“Och, I almost forgot,” Blitz said cheekily. “You have any sunscreen? Gilles wasn’t prepared for this outfit.”

“I don’t think any of us were prepared,” Finka snipped, still keeping Montagne out of her line of sight. She pulled out a sunblock bottle from her cargo pocket and tossed it over.

“You alright there, Lera?” Blitz asked as he caught it.

“I’m fine, it's just hot,” she replied, still avoiding eye contact, “The weather, I mean.”

Blitz grinned, “He is hot, isn’t he?”

“Mon cher…” Montagne groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just…”

Meghan clapped her hands, “Okay, go away, go be gay somewhere else. We have enough that of our own over here.”

Blitz ignored her, looking at Finka with a grin, “What do you think of us getting temporary hair color? I was thinking of dyeing our hair rainbow.”

“Well, you’ve gone this far,” Finka said, pointedly staring at Blitz’s eyes. “Might as well go full golubok.”

“Hah, ja, I like the way you think, I…”

“Here,” Meghan said, grabbing Gilles’s shirt from Blitz’s hands and stuffing it into her purse. “Go dye your hair now. Go on.”

“Alright, all right.” Blitz grinned, holding up his hands and going. Montagne sighed deeply, a twitch working its way through his cheek before following. Odd, but not her problem. She had someone much more important to worry about.

“You’re into muscles, huh?”

“You know I am,” Finka said sheepishly. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Valkyrie laughed, “It’s fine, he got great boobs.” That caused Finka to snort. “You know, for a man.”

Finka laughed longer than she expected, but it was always nice when her girlfriend had one of her genuine laughs.

“It's always nice to see real muscles,” Finka said. “Real ones, from being big and strong, and healthy.”

“Oh, you mean some like mine?” She flexed, tattooed arms positively sexy as the bulged.

Finka’s eyes got a hungry glunt to them, she put her hands on Valkyrie’s arms, feeling the solidness beneath her fingers, “Yes, just like that.”

Finka kissed her girlfriend long and deep, and Valkyrie relished being able to do so in the open, without the anxiety of having some bigot laying eyes on them and causing a scene. It was annoying enough to deal with the old people (and the occasional man similarly aged man) she had never met before tsk at her for daring to have tattoos and being too buff, saying she was too pretty to mark herself up like that and ask how she was ever going to find a man looking like that. She had already broke the glass ceiling for women in something as prestigious and hardcore as the Navy fucking SEALs, but there were still so many in American society that were convinced that women existed to look pleasant to men, regardless of if said women even wanted a pet man or not.

The kiss was broken when Finka’s wristwatch timer went off, and her girlfriend quickly drank from her water bottle. It was such a practiced motion, Valkyrie wasn’t entirely convinced Lera was aware she was doing it, and it made her heart ache. When she was finished, she wrapped her arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Later they were browsing stalls, and Finka gravitated towards one that was selling pride flags and shirts, not only the standard colors for each identity group, but also the ones that represented multiple identities within the same flag. Finka fingered a nonbinary one with a heart in the bisexual colors on its center. Interesting choice.

“I’d love to see you wear one of these, babe.”

Finka smiled, but shook her head, “I don’t know…”

“Come on, I’m not trying to pull a Blitz on you, I’ll wear one with you.”

“And what am I going to do with it afterwards?”

“Keep it? We’re not in Russia, our base is in Greece, basically its own sovereign territory.”

“When you went through SEALs, there were dissenters that tried to prove your were lesbian so they could get you removed from the program, didn’t they?”

Valkyrie shrugged, “Yeah, but they failed.”

“The last thing that the Russian government wants is one of it most elite spetsnaz operatives in an international effort to be homosexual,” Finka explained. “Its not illegal, yet, but my existence could be considered ‘propaganda.’ I might not just be removed from Rainbow, or Spetsnaz, or the Russian military, I could be jailed.

“Ah.”

“You know what Russian prison is like? I might be able to survive the system if I wasn’t sick, but I am diseased. They’d deny me my medication, not let me stay hydrated or fed or exercised and I’ll...”

“Hey, hey,” Meghan said, quickly drawing Lera into a hug. “I’m sorry, it was just a silly idea.”

“I’m…” she took a deep breath then nodded. “Thank you.”

Meghan kissed her forehead, holding her hands. Lera usually had to be stressed, well, more stressed than usual, to go on such a downward spiral so quickly. Being at such a Pride event, probably, if anyone found out. Finka didn’t believe her own Rainbow Spetsnaz brothers to out her, they were too close, but it was still risky.

“The Soviet Union used to accept openly gay people, did you know that?”

Valkyrie shook her head.

“Not a lot of people do, even in Russia. It was the early years, of course, but they gave gays rights they never had before. But then, of course, the Soviets needed more bodies. Bodies for war, and bodies for work, and of course, they believed gays were the reason that their population wasn’t pumping out babies at a fast enough rate.”

“Oh.”

“It all comes down to child production, doesn’t it? You know this.”

“Unfortunately I do,” Valkyrie said. “Not even just governments but families too. When my grandma found out I was lesbian, she sobbed, crying about how she won’t have any grandbabies from my father’s line. Then she blamed my father for raising me too military, while blaming my mother for letting me compete in high level sports.” She adopted a shrill, tottering grandma voice, ‘Sports always turns girls into dykes. I wanted greatgrandbabies from every child! But you made her want to turn into a boy!”

“Blin.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“My own parents alway knew I would like girls,” she said. “Enough to be surprised and confused when I brought home boyfriends that I was genuinely happy with. They cited my, uh, how you call it, boyishness? Well, I never felt comfortable in the woman’s role and they, knowing what my siblings and I had…, they didn’t really feel a need to pressure us to do anything but stay as healthy and active as possible.”

Meghan slowly began to realize this was turning into much more than a simple sharing of stories, and squeezed her hands in support.

“I never liked being…. I don’t know how to put this. I didn’t like the gendered language used for me. And I never felt when people were talking about women, they were talking about to me as well. Just as I thought the rules and expectations boys are taught growing up applied to me as well. You know, don’t cry, be tough, treat women with respect, fight those who try to push you around. Then I learned of this new concept a couple years ago, someone could be neither. I laughed at it at first but...”

“Lera…” Valkyrie said softly, with a loving smile. “Do you want me to use they/them for you?”

Her… their eyes lit up. “Would you? I mean, I’m not sure just yet, but I would like to try them out. “Non pun intended?”

“Hmm? Oh yes,” they were positively beaming. They were so beautiful.

“Just to see. I mean, I still have to use she and her at work but, just in private.”

“Of course, babe.”

Valkyrie cupped their face and kissed them deeply.

She ended up buying Finka something, a silver bracelet in the colored stones in the nonbinary colors as the setting. Something simple and discreet yet powerful where it mattered.

~~

Montagne had texted the couples to be on their way back to the group when Blitz finally realized he wasn’t just looking like a rainbow, but rather a discontented victim of a rainbow being sick.

“What’s wrong, Schatz?”

The giant man sighed, folding his arms over his chest.

“So… there is something wrong…?”

“If it were any other day, I wouldn’t have minded, but today…”

“Where else could you do this…?”

“It is not the location, it is the look!” he gestured down at himself. “The timing of it!”

“I don’t understand… ok, ja, I can see why I might have gotten a little carried away.”

Montagne raised a glitter encrusted eyebrow.

“Ok, completely carried away.”

“Mmm.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is not the fun you were having that I have a problem with, I am used to your antics.”

Blitz went pink, and bashful. Like a puppy being scolded.

“And you know I love your antics, ge added quickly. But why of all days,” Gilles trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose, and very nearly getting glitter in his eyes.

“Because… its Pride…”

“Yes, you’ve been saying this the whole time.”

“We can go wash it all off, I’m sorry,” Elias said, crestfallen as he moved past him towards the bathrooms.

Montagne caught him around the chest with his arm just as the rest of the group returned, “Non, it's fine… its fine. Perfection is not needed.”

He saw Doc and Loon quickly fumble for their phones, thankfully behind Blitz’s back. Once they nodded, he guided Blitz back to in front of him. “These past few years I’ve known you, you’ve done nothing but make me happy. Your antics, your jokes, your dedication, your downright sweetness, even the way you tap your helmet during exercises. Even before we started seeing each other, your smile would light up my heart and I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Gilles…”

Gilles sank to one knee, pulling out a shining wedding ring from his pocket.

“Will you marry me?”

Elias had clapped his hands over his mouth, unable to process this. Their group, except for the GIGN of course, were surprised and estatic. Valkyrie even exclaimed “So that’s what you French bastards were hiding.”

Blitz still hadn’t answered, his eyes shining.

“Elias?”

“Ja! Natürlich sage ich ja, du großer Dummkopf!”

“I assume that's a…”

Blitz very nearly bowled him over to give him his acceptance kiss. He lifted him up as he stood, Elias straddling his hips and swung them around, a dazzling display as the glitter caught the sunshine.

“I’m sorry I got irritated, I just wanted this to go a certain way,” he breathed when their lips parted.

“Schatz, you could have proposed to me covered in mud and sweat.”

“I know,” he said. “But I still wanted to make an effort. I wanted to do it right.”

“You did,” he said. “Look at you, covered in rainbows, just to make me happy, ja?

“Mmm,” he said as Elias lowered himself back to the ground.

Blitz understood now. Gilles was a traditional romantic after all, wanting the candlelit dinners and picnics at the parks on Sundays. He wanted that to extend to his proposal but Blitz was too excited to have silly fun to notice.

“Hey,” he said. Despite the heat they couldn’t stop embracing. “I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too.”

“If you want,” he whispered. “We can still have your perfect proposal night.”

“Two proposals?”

“Ja, why not? I’ll still be excited.”

Gilles gave it a thought. “I’ll have to make things more romantic between us,” he murmured. “Just to throw you off so you don’t know when its coming.”

“Oooh,” Blitz said, draping his arms over Gilles’s shoulders. “I like the sound of that.”

They dazzled them with another sweeping, showstopping dipped kiss, because of course they did.

“I agree with Lion,” Finka laughed with a grin. “You two are disgusting.”

Blitz laughed into Gilles’s mouth, and flipped her off without looking away.

“Great, now those two set the standard for romantic proposals,” Maverick said.

“Does that mean we’re going to be competing now?” Castle said, perking up.

“I’ll win,” Valkyrie declared. “The rest of you might as well quit now..”

“Pfft, nah, man, if anyone’s winning that it's me.”

“You know, we French have romance in our blood,” Lion said. “I wouldn’t even have to try and I’d win.”

While they dissolved into bickering, the silent ones of their pairs all shared a look, realizing at once what their partners had implied.

Blitz and Monty still had yet to look up from their glitter makeout, oblivious to what they had just started.

[tauruscookie]

Day 2!

Thank you to the mods working at @dualrainbow for allowing me this chance to participate in this event once more! Thank y’all for helping get rid of my writers block 🥹THANK YOU GRUNKLE/ @grain-crain-drain FOR HELPING BETA READ THIS FOR ME!

Have some fluff that’s 2.7K words.

[kiruuuuu]

Sun's Out, Guns Out - Day 5!🌈

Hi all, this is your quarterly reminder that I'm not dead 😊 As always, @dualrainbow has organised a Pride event and I'm happy to participate! Give them a follow and check out the other entries 💖

Since I tend to resort to my favourites when I can't write what I want to write (motivation, thy name is fickleness), this one features Thatcher and Lesion trying to figure out a few things. Well, mostly Thatcher. Please enjoy!! (Rating G/T, fluff, ~3.3k words)

.

Mike Baker has always had a knack for teaching. Born from the addicting sensation of being smarter than everyone, he quickly realised there’s actual merit in passing on hard-earned knowledge founded on a mixture of theory and painful experience. It took him a while to suppress the resentment of witnessing others, armed with his wisdom, excel immediately where he had to struggle for much longer, but once he overcame that particular ego trip, he started receiving heartfelt compliments.

And, well, he likes those.

Suddenly, he played a part in many success stories, was cited as a major influence by skilled operators around the world, and shook hands with others whom he admired on equal footing. There are other advantages as well, like broadening his horizon through exchanges with young minds from vastly different cultures, many of which left him befuddled at first yet enriched in the long run. He’s often called old school, a term he wears with pride instead of embarrassment seeing as it stems from his conviction that advanced technology might be useful but ultimately a crutch. He’s opened many eyes to the old ways and no doubt saved countless lives by empowering others to acquire survival skills not reliant on newfangled tech.

This, too, he learnt the hard way. After the disaster in ‘92, he vowed never to allow something like it again.

Amidst the coaching, he endeavours to learn from his students just as they soak up his advice. Not always successful, he still tries to grasp their differing world views and outlooks, attempts to understand how they developed and why his own rarely match. Finding similarities is easy, there’s timeless topics such as cars, sports and physical fitness, and beyond that cyclical trends materialise and disappear over the course of a decade or two – whisky, gardening, woodworking, it all recurs.

But the longer Thatcher pushes his retirement, the more he perceives a rift forming between his generation and the younger ones. Not having any children himself (or any friends who do), he’s reliant on his work relationships to keep him up-to-date, and while there’s no shortage of sensible, eager young men in the SAS as a whole, Rainbow generally features established, well-adjusted operators who need little guidance.

So… maybe it’s the small sample size. In any case, Thatcher is increasingly perplexed when Mute mentions most of his friends don’t even own a car anymore. Or that they have no notion to buy a house and settle down – even Thatcher considers marriage optional, seeing as his own crashed and burned spectacularly, but not wanting to own property? And the absolutely disrespectful way Mute speaks of national treasures like the Queen and Thatcher’s namesake (which, alright, he’s had long discussions about this and maybe she wasn’t the progressive saint he once thought she was, but still – defacing her monument just isn’t funny).

At first he was filled with a giddy sort of glee when the taciturn, serious young Brit opened up to him, heeded his advice and even looked to him first when he was unsure about anything work-related, but the longer they spend conversing about their private lives, the more Thatcher wishes he’d never asked in the first place. He’s fairly sure he will never understand the point of ‘memes’, no matter how often Mute tries to explain.

.

And one day, a humid, muggy Friday in June, Mute approaches him with a problem for which Thatcher has no answer ready yet. So he does what he always does when he’s unable to process news or make his mind up: ask the one person for help to whom he’d entrust his life without a second thought.

.

~*~

.

“Mark thinks he’s gay”, says Thatcher, apropos nothing, as he turns the page from sports to local news. ‘Hotel California’is softly pouring out of the radio next to the toaster – the classic rock station isn’t his favourite but one meaningful glance over Simon & Garfunkel incentivised him to switch to it. He didn’t want to be accused of being a lonely old man again.

Across the table, Lesion visibly smothers his initial reaction, whichever it would’ve been; there’s an unnatural half-blink and an almost imperceptible pause in guiding the ham-topped croissant to his mouth. And Thatcher thinks: here we go.

They haven’t fought in a while. Not for the entire year, actually, if he discounts their usual bickering (and he’s inclined to, it barely counts despite the awkward atmosphere it forces bystanders to endure, which is incidentally Thatcher’s favourite part). He regrets having to sacrifice their harmonious breakfast which, apart from the at-times questionable songs wafting over, is nearly perfect where he’s concerned. Lesion bought fresh muffins for Thatcher and croissants for himself, Thatcher provides good-quality cold cuts, they share a pot of tea and discuss whatever is new either in their lives or the world. It’s idyllic.

Sadly, he’ll have to ruin it – for the greater good.

Could he introduce the topic in a less inflammatory way? Sure. Would it have the same result, i.e. a quietly destructive Lesion who chooses his words so carefully it’s hard to imagine he’s simultaneously holding himself back from throttling Thatcher? Absolutely not. And therefore this is the only option remaining.

Once Lesion has bought himself some time to process Thatcher’s remark by carefully chewing for an inordinately long time, he avoids his gaze and asks, very calm: “Did he drink too much and say a few things he now regrets?”

Deflection. With a joke, at least, Thatcher taught him that – when they first met, Lesion would raise his brows and change the topic when confronted with anything he did not want to comment on. Either he’s attempting to save the mood or his brain is working overtime to figure out how to respond. Good. So he doesn’t know what to think about this either.

“Nah. We both know the lad barely drinks.”

Lesion begins pushing the crumbs on his plate into a neat pile. “He does when James is around.”

And this is why Thatcher chooses him for any difficult topic. Lesion has mastered the art of being unobtrusive and inoffensive to the point where everyone around him either forgets his presence or believes him to be an accomplice of sorts, thus dropping all inhibitions. His skills in information gathering and observation are unparalleled and Thatcher enjoys making use of them, even if it’s for petty purposes.

Well. Especially for petty purposes.

He’s right, of course, he always is: Thatcher retroactively analyses Mute’s behaviour around his colleague and concludes that yes, Mute does indeed let Smoke be a bad influence on him.

“Tell me what happened.”

Somehow, the initial friction has disappeared and though Thatcher would prefer a sharper exchange of words, he plays along for now. “Julien dragged him to a Pride event last week and some bloke there talked Mark into believing he fancies James. He’s not fully sure, though, so he poured his little heart out to me.”

He spots the tell-tale crease between Lesion’s brow. He’s getting pissed – even though Thatcher isn’t entirely certain why. But that’s what he’s here to find out. “I have additional questions”, Lesion states after a moment, “but I think it’s best if you tell me your thought process first.”

“On what?”

“You seem to disagree with him. I’d like to hear why.”

“With whom?”

Lesion refuses to take the bait and get angry over stupid details. His patience is another virtue Thatcher admires greatly. “With Mark’s assessment of himself.”

“That he thinks he’s gay?”

“Yes.” He takes a sip of his tea. “That.”

Alright then. If this was anyone else, Thatcher would refrain from elaborating, wave it off and attribute it to personal differences rather than risk offending or coming across as ignorant. The two of them, however, have known each other for such a long time that no such anxieties remain: they’ve both made idiots of themselves in front of the other, have supported each other through various crises, have become such an important and fundamental part of each others’ lives that he discards any vanities in favour of personal growth.

Most of the time.

Which doesn’t contradict his urge to exasperate his best friend. It’s almost… charming? Endearing? He’s not sure of the correct term, but it does leave a deep, satisfying feeling in the low of his stomach to watch Lesion ruthlessly apply logic to try and change his mind, working himself up to unmerciful gentleness with which he both ensures victory and that Thatcher’s pride isn’t hurt. These days, he rarely allows himself any indulgences, yet Lesion’s cutting rhetoric is too addicting.

He’s not proven wrong often, but with this man, he almost enjoys it.

“We’ve talked about it before”, he starts, Lesion keeping up eye contact now as he finishes the other half of his croissant, “being gay isn’t a choice.”

An encouraging nod. So far, so good.

“Either you’re born gay or you’re not.”

The nodding fades. Surely, he can’t object this early.

“So either you know that you’re gay, or you don’t know, which means you’re not. And yeah, there’s the bisexuals and whatever, but they know who they are as well. Mark on the other hand said he never really had any interest in anyone until now – but if he was gay, that wouldn’t have happened.” He probably should stop talking. Lesion is looking at him, mid-chew, the same way he did when Thatcher ranted about poor people always buying poor quality products even though purchasing slightly more expensive, higher-quality ones would last much longer.

Which, alright. He conceded the point eventually.

Another sip of tea after the croissant has disappeared. Lesion adds more crumbs to his pile. “Is it too late then?”, he asks, curious. “For him to realise he fancies men.”

“Huh? No.” Ridiculous. As if there was some kind of cut-off point where lads had to live as heteros because they didn’t claim their gayness fast enough. “No, what I mean is… he’s just not gay. He’s found a kindred spirit in James, somehow, and I predict he’s going to turn into an annoying little gremlin under his supervision, but he’s confusing a serious, close friendship with, I don’t know, attraction? Romance?” The more he scrutinises it in his head, the more sense it makes. “Yeah. He never fancied anyone before. How would he know what it feels like? I have the impression he just never had a friendship like that before.”

Actually, this is obvious – he’s almost embarrassed he couldn’t come up with the same explanation when Mark sought him out. No wonder the poor lad is a little lost, a shithead like Smoke will do that to an innocent soul.

Lesion is starting to shift now, sharpen around the edges, weighs his words more deliberately before he allows them to escape his lips. It’s reminiscent of how he is on the job, competent, no-nonsense. He might crack jokes and wear a smile but Thatcher’s gaze penetrates the thin veneer of jovial gestures to reveal remorseless efficiency. And though he respects that part of Lesion deeply, he also savours how pliable, how… domestic they are around each other. Lesion has saved his life more than once, and he’s helped remodel Thatcher’s bathroom. He asked Thatcher to test drive a used car he considered buying, and he’s killed with a smile and a shrug.

If he’s honest, Thatcher prefers his softer side. There’s something peaceful in sitting in his garden and trying to spot birds, even if they’ve had to wash blood off their bodies more times than they care to count.

“How did he come to the conclusion that he likes James?” Gathering more necessary intel. Thatcher suppresses a grin.

“I can’t recall his exact words, it was surprisingly flowery. Maybe he dreamt about kissing him, felt like he was having butterflies in his stomach whenever James texted him, something along those lines. Typical shite, you know. But I mean, that’s normal.”

Lesion’s eyes snap up.

Oh? He’s picked up on something though Thatcher wouldn’t know what exactly. They’re still dancing around the issue, Lesion hasn’t formulated his point yet so it’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking. It’s no fight yet.

“Normal stuff”, Lesion repeats and it sounds very close to a question. He must know what Thatcher means.

“Aye. Everyone has these kinds of thoughts, even if there’s some kind of stigma on it since blokes barely talk about it. It’s curiosity, nothing more, the brain latches on to something and you can’t get it out of your head for a while. Like buying a new car, innit? A mate gets himself a brand new ride and suddenly, you want one too. It’s almost impossible to push that thought away.”

“… a new car.” It seems Lesion has resorted to parroting bits and pieces of Thatcher’s speech. Again, with anybody else, he’d be upset that he’s opening up about a topic rarely discussed between men and met with hesitant mockery, but this is Lesion. His best friend would rather jump out the window than hurt him deliberately.

“Not the best metaphor maybe, but you get the gist. He’ll just have to pull himself together and realise it’s perfectly normal to have these kinds of, I don’t know, intrusive thoughts, and move on.”

Lesion’s face evokes the image of an exhausted mum debating internally whether she should let her child eat the crayons just so she can have a bit of peace and quiet. He’s still not contributing to their conversation which is frankly worrisome – not that Thatcher is apprehensive about what might be going on in his head, but he knows the longer he talks the worse it gets. The two of them have a code word for ‘you should probably shut up now’ and there’s a reason Lesion is the only one who uses it regularly.

“Do you not agree? Just because you think like this doesn’t mean you’re queer. Hell, most of the blokes on this earth would’ve ended up married to another bloke if they followed that line of thinking. The two of us might as well have married.”

This shakes Lesion out of his stupor. “Might as well”, he repeats, sounding oddly entertained. It seems he’s about to add something but decides against it, shaking his head a little before he takes a deep breath and gets up to pour himself another cuppa. Buying more time. This is getting serious. “Want the rest?”

Thatcher hands him his Arsenal mug, mulling over the phrase which seems to have sparked amusement in his best friend. There’s worse fates in the world than being tied to this man, he supposes – they get along better than any married couple he knows. Most days, their schedules are intertwined, they give and take in equal measure and have found compromises for all their differences in taste. “Might as well”, Thatcher mutters without meaning to and accepts the tea-filled mug with an added ‘ta’.

Instead of sitting back down, Lesion leans against the counter, fingers wrapped around the Winnie the Pooh mug he used to pick as a joke (and now defends from other guests), steady gaze resting on Thatcher without the hint of reproach. There’s a warmth in it he’s accustomed to seeing when it’s late and they drank a little too much. Quiet anxiousness rises in Thatcher; he can deal with exasperation but doesn’t do well with vulnerable sincerity.

“You’ve not talked about this with anybody else, I assume?”, Lesion asks.

“Of course not. If they’re all too embarrassed to say it out loud, I’m not gonna be the first one.”

An eternity passes while Lesion stands there, eyes drifting aimlessly around the cosy kitchen, and contemplates how to reply. Thatcher’s uneasiness increases with every passing second yet he knows better than to interrupt the other man’s thoughts. Despite his growing desperation to interrupt his own.

He has a feeling he won’t like what he’ll hear next.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘normal’”, Lesion starts hesitantly. “I do believe it’s not unusual to be curious in one’s younger years, but… dreaming about kissing your mates when you’re in your fifties is, um.”

Thatcher’s cheeks begin to heat up. He hopes he hasn’t committed a grave mistake. “Oh come off it – don’t tell me you don’t think about those things.”

“Ah…” The corners of Lesion’s mouth lift into a sheepish smile. “I do.”

“See!”

“But, Mike. I’m gay.”

Uh.

Thatcher’s brain screeches to a halt. “What”, he says and can’t keep the hint of anger out of his voice. Strangely, he feels betrayed rather than surprised, and it’s a tad odd to realise he’s genuinely upset over the fact Lesion never told him. He cares not one bit about his sexuality, Lesion can do whatever he wants, but Thatcher needs to be in on it. Still, it helps to distract him from the fact that Lesion’s earlier words open up an entirely different can of worms.

Which is that apparently Thatcher’s mind has significant overlap with that of a gay man, at least where other men are concerned, and he is not prepared to face this particular revelation just yet.

Maybe I should’ve married him, he thinks and suppresses the sudden, absurd urge to laugh.

“Do you want to talk about this?”, Lesion offers, still smiling, and it’s eerie how well he knows him – when conflicted, Thatcher tends to withdraw unless assisted, yet is too prideful to ask.

He appreciates the suggestion but appearances force him to weakly object: “Don’t you have errands to run today?”

Lesion shrugs. “They can wait. I’d rather make sure you don’t end up brooding the whole weekend.”

A fair assessment. Thatcher nods and is flooded with relief over having someone in his life so willing to talk about everything and nothing, except… Suddenly, there’s something else besides gratitude as well.

.

~*~

.

“… so, in conclusion, it doesn’t matter what you identify as. Just do what you feel is right, use your common sense – and I know you have a lot of that. If you feel an attraction, there’s nothing wrong with pursuing it without worrying about labels for the moment. Alright, lad?”

Mute stares at him in much the same way Thatcher’s family did on their last reunion when he asked for extra vegetables. He adds a mental note to teach Mute how to control his expressions better and keep his composure even when confronted with the unimaginable.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“No, I just -” The lad blinks a few times before starting to nod. “I mean, yeah. Thanks. That’s actually really helpful. I was worried about some of it, but what you said just… some things clicked.”

Boy does Thatcher know how that feels. “Don’t mention it. You got your head on straight, lad, keep it that way.” He realises too late and hastens to correct himself: “I don’t mean – well, you know what I mean.”

His awkward floundering earns him a grin he much prefers over the troubled look which has recently dominated the young man’s features. “Yeah. No worries.”

“Good man.” Thatcher pats his back and gets up, relieved their talk went smoothly and confident he’ll be able to manoeuvre similar conversations in the future. Which is a relief, because based on Mute’s memes, the entire younger generation is some kind of queer or other and he’s had his suspicions about Dokkaebi for a while.

“Just one question though.”

He turns to Mute, expecting anything from mundane to profound and certain he will be able to advise. After all, it’s his job to guide and teach wherever he can.

The lad points to Thatcher’s neck. “… is that a hickey?”

Alright.

Well.

Time to make up an excuse and get the fuck out of here.

[painfulstitches17]

Siegemas 2020 day 11 :

"You. Me. Snowman. Now."

A short Bandit/Jäger story where they build a snowman for @dualrainbow 's event. Thanks again !

Tiny sprinkle of angst otherwise it's not me. Hope you like it ! 💛

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018854

[nutbrain]

Valentine’s Day Event

My entry for @dualrainbow​ Valentine’s event. I hope you enjoy it the short fic about Thatcher receiving cards from unexpected sources

Thatcher stared at his work mailbox, and his mailbox stared back. Quite literally now that it had been transformed from a respectable metal paper catcher to a horrendous pink and red construction paper monstrosity. It came complete with paper hearts and a googly eyed snail proclaiming “Snail Mail!!!” in scrawled handwriting. 

To make matters worse, the box was simply stuffed full of Valentine’s cards, each with a small piece of candy haphazardly taped to them. Thatcher grabbed one of the papers teetering on the edge of the opening, breaking open the lopsided sticker on the edge. He quirked an eyebrow at the cartoon watermelon’s declaration that he’s ‘One in a Melon!’. At least the chocolate crudely attached to this one was decent.

Digging out his knife, he carved a larger hole in the back of his cardboard mailbox, shaking out all the cards onto his desk and tossing the box there as well. While he wasn’t a fan of the garish colors or cheesy lines, he wasn’t about to let decent chocolates go to waste. After the candy was safely secured, the various fruit themed cards joined the box in the trash. Thatcher huffed in irritation as his cell phone buzzed in his pocket; he’d gotten none of his paperwork done and being bugged wasn’t something he wanted. Checking the caller and seeing it was Thermite, Thatcher took a deep, cleansing breath before answering, bracing himself for the overwhelming enthusiasm he was sure to encounter.

“Thatch! We’re runnin’ drills against the frenchies. Want to help us wipe the floor with those baguettes?” Thatcher looked at the clock, and then his paperwork, then back at the clock. He opened his mouth to turn the other man down when Thermite piped up, “Lion’s been talking smack, tellin me ya were too busy preppin’ for yer retirement party.”

Thatcher knew it was a trap. He really did. But at the same time, wiping the smug smirk off the CBRN op’s face would be incredibly satisfying, and his gadget went hand in hand with Thermite’s. Popping a chocolate into his mouth he agreed; afterall, he could use the practice.

~~

Thatcher was correct about how enjoyable the whole process had been; talking Pulse into finding Lion every round for him had been petty, yes, but also undeniably worth it (Thatcher would be lying if he claimed he didn’t still hold a bit of grudge). However, some of that giddiness was quickly replaced when he made it back to his office, horrible mailbox risen from the dead, held together with duct tape and dream. Even more worrying, is that it was once again filled. This time, many of the cards were donut themed, proclaiming happily that ‘you donut know how cute you are’. At least his secret admirer had the decency to leave a donut out for him.

Looking at them they were all pretty crudely assembled, seemingly less time put into this set than the last. The stickers holding the sides together were lucky if they touched both side with how lopsided the sticker placement was and some were bursting open. Reopening his previous work, Thatcher picked through the lot of them and found a few that had the chocolate eaten out of the still attached wrappers.

The Brit was still in the process of pondering a pokemon themed card (which assured him was a great catch) when Smoke, whose arms were filled with a laundry basket’s worth of cards, walked in, promptly turned around, and walked out.

“Oi! Get yer arse back here, Porter.” Said man stuck his head back inside, doing his best to look nonchalant as the rest of his body remained out of sight. The sound of something dropping echoed from the corridor as Smoke strolled back in.

“Whatcha need, Maggie?” Thatcher raised an eyebrow and Smoke change dtactics. “Ooh, whatcha got here, mate? Cute cards from an admirer I see. That donut looks delicious”

“Uh huh. These cards look a lot like what was in that basket you dropped outside. Now spill. Why are these on my desk?” Smoke attempted to deny but, cowed by Thatcher’s stormy expression, relented.

“Well, yous were all chatting the other day ‘bout how I’ve got Mute and Sledge has his Italian Stallion-“

“Please do not refer to Maestro that way.” Thatcher did his best not to think about Maestro that way. Smoke answered with a cheeky wink before continuing.

“Anyway, I wanted ya to feel special for Valentines. I mean, who knows how many you have left, old man?” Smoke affectionately punched his arm, a rare show of genuine sentiment from the shorter man. Realizing the break in character, he swiped some candy off a card and pretended it never happened.

“You spent an awful lot of time on all this.” Thatcher tried, gesturing to the little parcels.

“Nah, mate. I had recruits for the day, so they were in charge of arts ‘n crafts.” Smoke popped a KitKat in his mouth. “Guess I should get back to ‘em though. Now that the gig is up, I think I’ll see how many they can make for Mute. I’ll fill his entire locker with ‘em.”

Smoke chuckled to himself as he left, calling back to let Thatcher know the floor candy could still be his if he wanted to pick it up. 

“Get back here and pick them up yourself!” To which Smoke responded by whistling loudly has he sauntered down the hall. Grumbling to himself, Thatcher stooped and tossed the fallen cards back into the laundry basket, hoping Smoke had stolen it from someone who used it mostly for clean laundry.

“Busy day, Thatcher?” He hadn’t heard Lesion come up, his own grumbling masking the other man’s quiet steps. Lesion was giving him a good natured look as he squatted down to help, tossing things into the basket with Thatcher.

“I see you have a lot of love notes here.” Lesion noted as they stood, Thatcher holding the laundry basket.

“Love notes is one way to put it. I’ll have enough chocolates to last me the entire year.” The Brit huffed. Lesion chuckled, reaching into one of his numerous cargo pockets and tugging out an envelope.

“Well, hopefully mine doesn’t have too much competition. The restaurant I reserved is quite nice, but I understand if you have more attractive offers.” With a cheerful grin and a cheeky wink, Lesion dropped the card on the top of the pile. Thatcher couldn’t do much more than blink in shock for a moment, finally recovering enough to process.

“Hmmph. It’d better be nice. I have a lot of suitors lined up, you know.”

“Oh believe me, I know. You’re such a charmer.” Lesion replied with a chuckle, bidding Thatcher a good afternoon and instructing him to wear something nice, to which Thatcher pointed out that cargo pants and a suit jacket do not qualify as ‘nice’. Despite the large stack of paperwork he’d yet to do, Thatcher couldn’t help but feel that his mood was happier and step a bit lighter for the remainder of the afternoon. He even had the good will to let Smoke think it was all his own doing. 

And Smoke believed he’d been responsible, at least until Thatcher and Lesion arrived back on base with matching tinfoil swan leftover containers, hands interlaced.

[r6shippingdelivery]

Day 1 of Sun's Out Guns Out 2023, for @dualrainbow!

This fic is based on a prompt @ojiisan01 gave me and it's a gift for them, I hope you'll like it (and sorry for the wait) 💜 (Tachanka/Kapkan, 3.4k, rated T)

[1queasycrow]

One single very tired queasy crow presents some flair which may or may not make sense, what goes on in that stasis foam eh?

Thanks to @dualrainbow for letting me participate even tho I'm in the arse end of the time zones ily all

[todragonsart]

The taste of wine - Chapter 1 - Siege-O-Ween Oct 29th

Prompt:  “I suppose, my secret’s out”

I welcome everybody back! It’s been such a long-long-long time, since I actually enjoyed writing something. I mean, times like that happen to any kind of writer or artist, and I’m just so happy to be out of it. This was so much fun, and why would we stop at just 6000 words? Come on!

Okay, honestly, I wanted to stop. I wanted to write a shorter one, but it kept going and going and going and now I’m planning like... 4 more chapters and a prologue :’) DoN’t HuRt Me PlEaSe <3 

As always, I can’t thank @r6shippingdelivery​ and @freedert95​ enough for helping me with the beta-reading. You two are absolutely life-and-sanity-saving and I love you both very much.

Oh and also, this is for @dualrainbow​‘s Halloween event, so thank you guys too, for resurrecting me from the dead! 

I hope you enjoy!!

“I want you to help me die.”

Mike turned towards the man standing on his right, eyes wide with shock. He let his gaze wander, just for a second, on the other. His tall, proud posture, his handsome face, basking in the dim candle light, his gentle, green eyes now looking at him full with hope, expecting help. How could a so-called monster look this innocent, the soldier couldn’t fathom. Why would he want to die? And more importantly, why would he want to be killed by somebody like Mike?

In his wondering, he almost missed the way the other’s lips pulled into a small smile. “You won’t help me, will you?”

Lifting his chin a bit, Mike looked the other in the eyes and he couldn’t help, but think ‘what a waste’, but shook his head anyway. “I will.”

The man seemed caught off guard- almost surprised for a second, but his smile widened as hope filled him even more.

Mike shook his head, looking away. What a waste.

But how did he get into this situation in the first place?

The Boogie-man. Zombies. Ghosts. Mummies. Werewolves. Monsters . Mike Baker had never really understood them. He understood the concept, and the literature, but he didn’t understand the need. It was just the need to be scared. Or even more, the need to force the fear of darkness into the shape of something understandable. Because that is what all these so-called supernatural monsters were, weren’t they? Just images made by scared children on a moonless night. A howl? A wolf! A growl? A zombie! A mug falling down? Definitely the leftovers of a dead person. Not the wind. Obviously not the wind.

Mike never said that he didn’t believe that something was hiding in the dark, far from it - being a soldier, facing new threats every other day made him learn that in fact there was always something around the corner, ready to attack. But nonetheless, he was sceptical of the supernatural.

Living in this world for 54 years he never met any kind of supernatural monster that could have been killed with only silver, salt or fire. In fact the only monsters he met were people. People acted way worse then any animal or entity ever could, hurting others and themselves, acting selfish and rude, being agressive and stupid. Obviously not every person, but he was facing terrorists, he believed he had seen the worst of worsts. He had seen men murdering innocent people, he had seen organizations turn children into mindless soldiers and he had seen mothers killing their loved ones and then themselves for the ‘greater good’. He had seen a lot. Like a lot . But he had never met any kind of supernatural monster, so yeah.

He had every right to be sceptical, and ironical, because he did not understand the fear of the unknown and darkness like a normal person did. Howls? There was no werewolf able to sound as a friend dying from an open wound. A growl? The unhappy sound of a terrorist being cuffed. A mug falling down? The reaction to a newly found biochemical weapon. No monsters, just people. Bad-people.

He started to feel bad for the monsters in books, tv shows and poems at one point. All that screaming, shouting and wanting to capture or kill them… Why were they the ones being chased? That was the other question. Why were the monsters always bad? Why would a werewolf or zombie or mummy or anything attack the human beings, like they did in the stories? To hunt them, taste their blood and eat them and their brains? Oh come on.

The fact that sharks don’t even like the taste of human meat must mean something!

But it could be the blood... All animals had blood, why would a vampire attack that one human being, when they could hunt a calm cow, or something. Much less screaming, much less effort, much easier target.

And don’t even start with the brain bullshit. Why would anything try to eat the brain?! The people mindlessly attacking others for being a little bit different than they are were empty anyway!

And also, why would a demon or spirit or whatever the fuck attack humans after their life? What if they are stuck and just need help? What if they just want to be friends?!

He believed in ghosts, tho, he did. But not the… ‘the white sheet with two holes for the eyes on it’ kind, obviously. He believed the ghosts of the past. The screaming in his nightmares about the wars, the eyeless people standing behind him in the mirror, the feeling of his mother’s gentle hand on his shoulder.

Ghosts.

But not the hollywood ghosts scaring innocent people. His own ghosts. Some of them were bad, some of them were good, even soothing. Mementos of his childhood, his first love, his daughter. Good ghosts, who never wanted to hurt him, in fact most of the time, they helped him in their own way.

And after all… everything started with a ghost.

The ghost of his father.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

When he first noticed the familiar figure, he was in the middle of buying baked beans in the supermarket. He was all alone, thinking about calling Penelope after dinner, to ask where would his grandson want to go this year for a little Trick-or-treating during Halloween, minding his own business with the cans, when he noticed a tall, dark figure just outside the shop’s front window.

He didn’t even notice it first, but when he felt the unmistakable feeling of being watched, he looked up, right at the dark figure. The long coat, the old hat, the wide shoulders; he caught himself thinking, Dad…? But his father died at least thirty years ago, so yeah. It was kinda suspicious.

He looked around, trying to find out if anybody could see the figure, and as he looked back, the window was empty.

Strange.

But the ghost of his father had never been a bad omen. Maybe he should visit his grave. Or perhaps it was a reminder that he forgot to put on his watch this morning, the one that once belonged to his father.

Shrugging, he went back to pick the beans and that was it.

Or so he thought.

Because, not long after this, he noticed the figure again. He was just arriving to his boat after a disgustingly long day of work, ready to open a beer and crash on his couch, when he saw the familiar silhouette from his peripheral vision. He turned his head, but as the last time, the figure was gone.

Mike lifted an eyebrow. It was his father’s birthday coming up soon. Heh. Motherfucker never missed a chance to make people wish him happy birthday after all.

Shrugging it off again, he entered the boat, and did as he planned with his beer and couch.

But obviously, it happened again. The tall figure standing patiently, just looking at him from afar when he arrived home, bought his supplies, walked down the streets. The well known shadow never moving, never looking like it was alive, never changing.

He once even noticed the figure standing at the docks, as if waiting for him to get home. It was strange and the feeling of being watched never seemed to disappear.

The last straw was when he noticed the shadow during the night he was with his daughter and grandson, Trick or treating, having fun. He almost missed it again, the silhouette standing in a dark alleyway just the other side of the road. As he saw the shadow there, Mike got furious all of a sudden. Hanging around, waiting for him was one thing, but bugging him during family times? A real jerk move.

As he noticed, he immediately stopped in his track and turned towards the figure, stepping down the pathway. His gaze was fixed on the figure that looked like its usual, frozen self, but as it noticed his attempt of getting closer, it did the strangest thing: it moved.

It wasn’t a scared wince or anything a normal human would do when they were discovered doing something bad, it was just a surprised lift of shoulders and a slight tilt of hat, but it was something . And as Mike took one more step forward, the figure did the same thing backward. And that was when the good omen of his father turned into a human monster, because who else would follow him around every night just standing still and watching. He had a stalker. One of the most disgusting kind of monsters.

His instincts kicking in, he reached for his gun, but the second he touched it an ear-rippingly loud car honk pushed him out of his state of mind. He was standing in the middle of the road and a very angry driver just honked at him again.

Looking at the man behind the wheel, Mike sniffed and let his gun slip back into its holster. He glanced back at the figure, but that motherfucker was gone. Of fucking course.

Great.

Not caring for the loud honking at all, he turned back and stepped on the pathway again.

A stalker.

Glancing back at the other side of the road, he lifted his chin, looking around.

A ghost? A stalker? A monster, maybe. A human one, who was apparently afraid of him.

It didn’t matter. It was time to end their relationship.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Except the figure disappeared.

Not in the term a ghost would, because Mike still felt like he was being watched, but he didn’t see the silhouette again. It pissed him off, but he was smarter than giving up. Instead, he turned to his team.

He asked Marius - one of the best tinkerers the world has ever seen in his opinion - to install a few cameras around his boat, so that he can monitor every movement from within his home, and Marius - although a little bit weirded out - delivered. Mike was satisfied, he finally got a chance to get ahead of the mysterious staker, now all he needed to was to be patient and he never had a problem with that.

He waited for three weeks without seeing the shadow again, but on the fourth Friday, he finally caught it on record. Since the cameras were recording live, and he spent his nights sitting in front of them, he just caught a glimpse of the figure’s coat. It was fucking four in the morning, and he was doozing off before, but the second he saw the movement, he got on his feet and reaching for his gun, he rushed to the exit of his boat, all tiredness forgotten.

The adrenaline was rushing in his ears as he burst out of the door, gun in hand. It took him just half a second to find the figure in the darkness, then he was already charging towards it, running like he never ran before.

“Stop right there!” he shouted and again, he caught the figure off guard; it winced from the sudden sound in the otherwise peaceful night. It looked around, trying to find a place to hide, clearly trying to escape, but the old soldier was fast. The moment the figure turned away in an attempt to run, it made a mistake and Mike caught it’s arm in his iron grip. The force of him tugging at the figure efficiently knocked it’s hat off just to reveal a patch of sweaty, ginger hair. He lifted an eyebrow, tugging at the arm again, trying to get a better look, but the figure just seemed to have more than enough of this abuse.

Knowing all too well that trying to slip from Mike’s grip was a useless motion, it instead planted its feet and turning on its heels it kicked the soldier on his side, efficiently knocking the air out of his lungs. Wheezing, Mike immediately let go of the arm, gasping for air. Growling swears he looked at the figure, but it was on the run already, making distance between the two of them.

Spitting, Mike got himself together, and rushed after the figure. He had been waiting for this fight since Halloween and he wasn’t going to let that motherfucker run away once more. The figure was fast, but Mike was angry, and it made him more dangerous and reckless. He had no problem keeping up with the pace, in fact, he was catching up to the shadow step by step. He was ready to finish this.

In their chase, Mike kind of forgot to look where he was going, but it didn’t really matter. The only thing in front of his eyes was the prize of finally catching this motherfucking stalker, the changing of landscape around them didn’t matter at all-

Until it did.

Mike had no idea how, but they ended up in the more abandoned corner of Hereford. There were mostly suburban areas or empty factories on this side of the town. How did they even get here!? He looked around in concern, taking deep breaths. He had no idea, he only started to notice everything around him just now.

He still had the figure right in front of him, but their distance started to grow as his legs got tired of the running. The adrenaline in his blood slowly faded away, and with that, his energy did too.

He soon noticed himself gasping for air, his sight getting a bit blurry, slowing down, which was- not a problem namely because the figure was heading towards the last building in the line, which turned out to be a… a church? Really? A church.

Before he could ridicule the shadow in his head, he saw it run straight up the front stairs of the building, and the next thing reaching his mind was the loud band of the door being shut.

Taking big gulps of air, Mike let himself collapse on the ground, eyes fixed on the building. This might have been the strangest night of his entire life, and it was far from over. Giving himself a few minutes, he just sat there, watching the building, kind of waiting for the figure to escape again, but there was no movement around the church. Odd.

He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and stretched as he stood up. Twisting, he popped his spine and with a low groan he approached the church. He couldn’t see any movement around the door, but as he stepped on the first stair, he noticed how a light had been lit in the window of the church tower. So, there was somebody home.

He pulled his gun out - just in case - and stepped to the door, slowly pushing it in; it wasn’t even properly closed. Holding his weapon as steady as possible, Mike stepped in. It was pitch black. Grimacing, he fished his small flashlight out of his pocket, turning it on. The narthex was empty, only a few old benches left, waiting since god-knows how long, for people who never came.

Mike looked around and noticed a smaller entrance door. Stepping there, he glanced inside the nave and seeing no movement, he entered. Looking around, he lowered his gun a little. Rows of benches, hand-made pillars, a few old, wooden sculptures of Saints here and there, with their additional little plaques of info. Mike hummed, directing his flashlight at each of them. There was nothing unusual, really just a worn down little church. He didn’t even know that there was a church in this part of the town and he has been living here for a good 10 years now.

Getting deeper into the building, he started to measure the space in his head, trying to find the stairs into the attic. It was a small church so it was not many places where they could hide the way up. His hard guess was behind the main altar, so he made his way there, making sure he was as silent as possible.

As he arrived into the crossing, he stopped to take a quick look into both of the transept sides, that was when he noticed it. It wasn’t a big thing to notice, but it was strange on its own. On one side he saw an old Virgin Mary, the other held an equally old St. Joseph. Squinting, he glanced back at the other sculptures in the nave. All of them were old, but otherwise clean. The benches were left to rot, but every statue was in the best shape, not a single part missing or paint being spotty.

“What the fuck?” Mike heard himself whisper, but glanced in the direction of the main altar. The Jesus there was in the best shape possible. Mike shook his head, and stepped up to the main altar. He glanced at the sculpture, tilting his head a little. “Listen, if he is just a strange fan of mine I won’t hurt him, but otherwise… I can’t promise you anything. Don’t come after me later, okay?” with a smirk, he shook his head. Always an atheist.

Behind the altar, he noticed a small door, hidden from even the front rows. Getting more and more relaxed in this very strange situation, he lowered his gun completely as he entered the small door and there he found it. The stairs to the attic! According to the soft lights at the top of the stairs, he found what he was looking for.

He switched off his flashlight and started to climb still as silent as possible. He was about… 99,9% sure the stalker knew about him, but still. This time, he wanted to be the one hiding in the dark.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

He was around half of the stair when he heard some kind of a rustling under his boots. He froze in the middle of his movement - not wanting to be heard -, and looked down in a slight panic. Squinting, he leant down; a plastic bag? Okay, what now?!

He gently stepped off the bag and lifted it up in the weak light of the staircase. Mike’s eyes rounded as he recognized the object in his hand. It was a very strong bag with rows and rows of writing printed on it, informing the handler about the date, the place and the type of blood. 0-. Mike closed his eyes and opened them again, hoping that the plastic bag would… maybe miraculously turn into fairy dust and butterflies, but the plastic bag remained. Normally he was okay to see this bag, it was a useful little object, you know, saving lives here and there, but- this one was empty. Why the fuck was it emtpy, it was clearly used before. He glanced up at the top of the stairs. Okay what the fuck.

Taking a gulp of air, he stuffed the bag in his pocket and continued his way up. As he got to the last few steps, he first noticed a door on top of the stairs, and it being slightly open, he heard a soft sound. Stopping yet again, he tried to concentrate, and soon could make out the sound of fabric rustling and gentle tones of a piano.

Getting more and more confused, he finished his journey up, lifted his gun in front of himself, and without knocking or giving any warning, he burst into the attic, just to be greeted by a pair of green eyes fixed on him. He lifted his eyebrows. He has seen this look somewhere, but he couldn’t, for the love of god, tell where.

The eyes belonged to a - very - handsome face of a young man. He had elegant and sharp features, with a bit of arrogance hidden in his posture. He was without a doubt attractive, but Mike couldn’t care, because the young man had locks of ginger hair on his head, and who had that as well? His dear stalker. So he pointed the gun at the other, who was annoyingly calm.

“It took you long enough to get up the stairs. Might be the age,” said the stranger, with an amused little smirk. He looked away, down to the table and reaching out he poked on the phone laying on the surface. The soft piano stopped. “I started to get worried.”

Anger building in him, Mike gritted his teeth. “Who are you? Why are you following me? What do you want? What the fuck is this?!”

The stranger smiled at that, looking back at him, never noticing the gun. “My name is Olivier Flament. I have been following you, because I need to ask you a favour. I would like to ask for your help in an important matter. As for what… I believe this is my home.”

Struck by the strange honesty of the other Mike blinked a few, lowering his gun just a tiny bit. “What matter? Why were you following me?”

“I told you, I need your hel-”

Mike cut in. “Why were you following me everywhere for almost three months?”

The man fell silent, he glanced at the table. He almost seemed… shy?

“Spit it out!” Mike grumbled, making the other look up. His posture might have been calm, but his eyes were like the sea before the storm.

“I didn’t know how to approach you, see my lifesty-”

“So you decided to follow me, even with my family and when I try to catch you, you run? Almost not suspicious.”

Olivier looked at him for a few long seconds, trying to figure him out. It has been harder than he planned so far, and if he didn’t play it cool, he would get into a deep problem. “Look, I didn’t mean to scare you, but-”

“Oh you didn’t scare me.” Mike lifted his gun, pointing straight to the other’s head. “You made me angry. ”

The young man turned his head down, now looking guilty. “I didn’t mean to. I would never hurt you or your family, I swear to God. I need your help. Please, just listen-!”

Mike watched him, standing there, one hand on the table, leaning there a bit, trying to move away from him. He noticed something… inhuman in this man, something otherworldly. The posture, the face, the eyes… It was so strange. Not unpleasant, far from it, just odd.

The soldier lowered his gun a little, and took the plastic bag out of his pocket, throwing it in front of the other. “What is this crap?”

Looking down, Olivier hummed. “That’s my favourite. I probably had the same type back in the Dark Ages, and now I find it delicious.”

Mike’s grip on the gun tightened. “Quit the jokes, mate!”

The young man didn’t answer, he just glanced to the left. Following his eyes, Mike looked away, just to see a little fridge. It had an open cooler bag in front of it, what had about 10-15 similar blood packs in it. He looked at the man again, grimacing in disgust. “You are sick.”

The other shook his head. “I am really not. Don’t think that I enjoy drinking human blood in particular. It is not a very exciting diet after 800 years, but it does what it needs to, and still better than starving, or hunting and hurting the innocent.”

Mike glanced at the bags again, and then back at the man standing in front of him. “If you tell me, you are a fucking vampire, I will vomit.”

The sides of Olivier’s mouth pulled up into a gentle smile, and crossing his arms in front of him, he nodded. “I suppose… my secret’s out.”

“You are joking!” Mike blinked.

Olivier shook his head with that amused little smile. “No. And you didn’t vomit. Surprising.”

The soldier shook his head. “You are crazy!”

“Says the man who chased another through a town, gun held high, ready to murder.”

With an unamused grimace Mike rolled his eyes. “You should be happy that I’m just holding my gun and not using it.”

“Not to sound too smart, but that wouldn’t do too much harm on my body. See, this is the problem. As far as I know, I’m pretty undestroyable.”

Mike lifted an eyebrow. “Huh?”

Olivier nodded. “If you would like, I can show you,” before finishing, he already reached for a letter opener on his table. It looked sharp, and he held it out for Mike to see, then without a heartbeat, he pressed the edge into his own palm.

For reasons unknown, Mike immediately reached out, to catch his hands before he could hurt himself, but confusion hit him even more, when there was not a single drop of blood coming out of the wound. In fact, the raw flesh - or at least what was supposed to be the raw flesh - did not look the way it was supposed to look like. It was not red and healthy, but grey and… there wasn’t any blood. Not a single drop.

Mike slapped his palm across his mouth, and shutting his eyes, he took two steps back, turning his face away. There was no blood, there was no smell, there was nothing . Nothing human. What the fuck. Now he felt like vomiting. He looked up at Olivier. “What the fuck is… What!?”

The man looked at him and humming, he put down the letter opener. He picked up a piece of fabric, wrapped it around his hand. It didn’t really serve any purpose other than hiding the disturbing wound from Mike out of pure sympathy. It wasn’t an easy thing to see. “You seemed very confident in yourself just a second ago.”

“Fuck.” With a huge sigh, Mike held back his dinner, and taking a deep breath he adjusted his posture. “Okay. Okay. Let’s pretend, for a second, that I believe you. What do you really want? What kind of help do you need from me ? Do you want to eat me, or something? That is why am I here?”

Hearing this, Olivier suddenly seemed annoyed. “If you would just calm down a little, I would tell you everything!”

“Get on with it!” Mike shouted suddenly, with his gun held up again.

The man- or vampire- or what the fuck stood there, mouth slightly open, eyes helpless. He bit his bottom lip and turned his head down again, lifting both his hands in a soothing motion. “Please... “ he glanced up at him again, almost scared. “I know exactly how this sounds, alright? But I… I don’t want to cause harm to you, I swear. I wanted to introduce myself to you, but I have spent the last… forty-something years of my life being in- being alone, and I had no idea how to approach you! This is the truth, I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you, you are not my type! I do not even enjoy hunting humans, all that screaming and blood and waste…” Olivier shook his head slowly, looking Mike in the eyes. “I swear. I don’t want to eat you, I don’t want to harm you, I’m more than happy with those bags. I genuinely need your help!”

With jaws clenched, Mike watched his every move, considering his options. He slowly lowered his gun, and side-eyeing the vampire, he turned around to observe the surroundings. It was a way of getting used to the situation, and also it was a test of the other. He wanted to see how Olivier reacts to him in his own home, if it could even be called that. With a frown, he looked around.

The attic was spacious, with a few smaller windows built into the roof. It was divided into two, a smaller room, which reminded him of an office, that was where they were standing. It had a heavy, old table - Olivier waiting patiently beside that - pushed under a window, close to the wall, an equally old leather chair, a few cabinets with papers, candles, smaller and bigger containers, a small, locked chest, and other unusual stuff piled on them and the fridge with the fantastic blood bags in it.

The other half of the attic was just behind Olivier. Not knowing what to expect, Mike looked around. He didn’t see a bed or a coffin or anything where somebody would be able to rest comfortably, but he had a hard guess that Oliver - if he was truly what he said to be - didn’t really need sleep. However he saw an old couch and two nice armchairs in front of a- a- a bookshelf. Well. A bookshelf was a very, very weak expression. It wasn’t just one bookshelf, he saw at least three or four of them, and each one was stacked with books. And not just the shelves, no, there were books everywhere. Everywhere. It looked like a motherfucking library over there. Piles of books behind the couch, around the armchairs, stuffed into the window slots, put on the beams and around the columns. It was so messy, yet amazing, Mike couldn’t help but let an amused little snort out.

He looked back at Olivier, who was still standing next to the table, waiting for him, without a single movement. He didn’t take a breath, he didn’t blink. Sniffing, Mike lowered his gun completely. “A vampire?”

Olivier nodded.

“How old are you?”

“As far as I remember, I have been turned-” he hummed. “ around AD 750-850.”

Mike lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘around’?”

Olivier cleared his throat, looked away as if he was embarrassed. “We didn’t really have birth certificates back then and my memory is kind of blurry from a 1200 years of perspective, don’t judge me.”

Mike hummed. “Is this your real name?”

“I have been called many names over the years, I don’t know if you have noticed, but it’s sort of suspicious if somebody uses a name for 1200 years, but don’t worry. For those who I wish to get close to myself I am Olivier Flament, yes.”

“Why are you talking like this…? I’m a simple man.”

“Then you might know that old habits die hard.”

Not being able to hold back, Mike smirked at that. “Touché.”

Olivier nodded gently. “Would you like to ask anything else?”

“Who turned you? Are there more of you?”

Looking away, Olivier started to fidget with the phone - actually an iPhone - on his table. “I don’t really know who turned me and I don’t know about the others. To be honest, I don’t wish to have any connection with them anymore. I have had enough, especially since the so-called “Dracula” figure ruined our reputation in popular culture.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Mike almost burst out laughing. “You are- you are hurt by the movies?”

“Since they tell false facts, obviously yes.”

“Why don’t you correct them, then?”

Now it was Olivier’s turn to lift his eyebrow. “And how do you expect me to do that? March over, knock on the silver gates of Hollywood and say ‘Excuse me, we do not actually sparkle under the sunlight, says me, an actual vampire!’ or what? I’m not a fool. As soon as I tell the humans what I am, there would be one of these two options: one, they would want me to turn them into vampires as well, for the fun of living forever, or the second, they would panic as the herd of animals they are and chase me until they either catch or kill me. Not like they would succeed in any of these options, but it’s easier for me to just lay back in silence and busy myself with the old knowledge of the early ages.”

Mike, taken aback, just shut up for a few seconds, lifting his palms in a protective gesture, but it was for the looks only. He somehow did not feel the need to protect himself anymore, in fact, Oivier reacting so seriously to a simple joke put him at ease. He liked it here, and he found himself being interested in the other. It was still a far-fetched idea, and he was still 60% sure that he will wake up on the ground in his boat, with a few empty bottles of whiskey around him, but this wasn’t so bad after all. The vampire seemed almost nice, and he was never really down to judge at the first glance, so why not wait and hear him out?

Noticing his own rambling, Olivier fake-cleared his throat again and turned down his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I assume you have been saving this up since a very long time.”

“Indeed.”

With a small, amused smile Mike shrugged. “It’s okay. But if you don’t want to tell people what you are, why tell me?”

“I have heard about you before, and I trust that you won’t tell my secret to anybody. I believe you could help me with my problem. I know it is very hard for you to understand my reasons and drive, but I put my trust into you.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. “What do you need my help for?”

“I want you to help me die.”

Mike turned towards the man standing on his right, eyes wide with shock. He let his gaze wander, just for a second, on the other. His tall, proud posture, his handsome face, basking in the dim candle light, his gentle, green eyes now looking at him full with hope, expecting help. How could a so-called monster look this innocent, the soldier couldn’t fathom. Why would he want to die? And more importantly, why would he want to be killed by somebody like Mike?

In his wandering, he almost missed the way the other’s lips pulled into a small smile. “You won’t help me, will you?”

Lifting his chin a bit, Mike looked the other in the eyes and he couldn’t help, but think ‘what a waste’, but shook his head anyway. “I don’t enjoy murdering people, but if you have a good enough reason I will. But you have lots and lots of explaining to do before we get to it.”

The man seemed caught off guard- almost surprised for a second, but his smile widened as hope filled him even more.

Mike shook his head, looking away. What a waste. He didn’t like the idea of killing the other. He kind of started to like him in a very twisted way, but he understood why somebody would want to die after 1200 years of living in the dark.

Olivier stepped closer to him, offering his hand gently, a smile as bright as the sun.

Mike glanced away with a low sigh. “What have I gotten myself into? Mike Baker, by the way.”

“I know!” with a soft laugh, the vampire shook his hand. “I told you, I have heard about you. And as for what… Let’s just sit down, and let me tell you my story first, okay?”

Stepping back a little, Mike looked him in the eyes. After a long pause, he nodded. “Okay. You can start with how you know me.”

Olivier nodded, and stepped into the other part of the attic, gesturing towards one of the armchairs. “Have a seat.”

Mike put his gun on the big table and followed Olivier into the ‘living-room’. He looked around a bit, observing the piles of books here and there and with an amused smirk, he sat down. The armchair creaked under his weight and he frowned. “How long since you invited anybody here?”

Olivier looked at him, sitting down on the couch. “This is a fairly new place for me, truth to be told, I have only lived here for about ten years. But in the term of having interaction with humans and other vampires… It’s been just about thirty years or so. I prefer being alone.”

Nodding, Mike kicked off his shoes and put his legs on top of a strong pile of books. Olivier rolled his eyes with a smile, but he didn’t say anything. “So,” Mike began. “Why me?”

Fidgeting with his fingers, the vampire looked away, and then back at Mike. “I knew your grandfather, and also your dad.”

Let me know what you think!! <3 

[southernoracle]

Siegemas Day 6

Prompt #43: “Who even came up with ice skating? Do you know what a terrible idea it is? Its like...strapping knives to your feet before getting on ice which you may or may not fall through.”

[Part of team GIGN (and CBRN's big cat) has commandeered a frozen pond they discovered outside of their living quarters off base, and their beloved medic finds himself stranded in the middle of this natural skating rink after attempting to skate. Rescue is sent, but only to realize his rescuer, Gilles, cannot skate.]

[Emmanuelle "Twitch" Pichon, Olivier "Lion" Flamment, Gustave "Doc" Kateb, Gilles "Montagne" Touré. Rated T for mild fluff and cursing, featuring Doc x Monty. 

Happy Holidays Everyone! And thank you @dualrainbow for letting me participate. Special shoutout to @aesos-caliber for proofreading this, giving me pointers, and just fueling my Monty x Doc rage. Thanks bb!]

~~~

"He's going to fall and bust his ass." Emmanuelle muttered, huddled up against Olivier for warmth. It was blistering cold out this evening.

The two stood at the edge of the frozen-over pond, both clearly agitated by the cold. The younger pulled her phone from her pocket and began filming. "Hey Gilles, smile for Twitter!" Emmanuelle chided, rewarded with an "Oh, fuck off!" that sounded clearly agitated. 

The giant had to focus hard to turn and glower at the young woman, Gustave hollering from the middle of the frozen pond. "Em, I swear to God if you post this on anything--" the Doctor snarled, but then wobbled and nearly took a nosedive to the ice, arms flailing wildly to catch balance. "Gus, don't goad her on. If we both fall, we might break this ice." Gilles strained as he too struggled to keep upright, clinging to Gustave's arm.

Gustave had a wild urge to ice skate today. He knew how, had skated a number of times as a kid, but for some reason, it had completely evaded him now. He had panicked, wound up in the middle of the pond (which was no measly watering hole; nearly an acre and a half wide.) He stranded himself and howled for rescue like a cat in a tree. Gilles had been the only one to actively volunteer to rescue his lover. The problem; Gilles had no idea how to skate.

"Don't pull too hard, I'm going to fall! Jesus Christ, Gus!" Gilles grumbled, glancing over his shoulder at the two laughing at the shore. "Bastards." He huffed a puff of white, Gustave glaring down at his bladed boots. 

"Who even came up with ice skating? Do you know how terrible….of an idea it is? It's like...strapping knives to your feet before getting on ice...which you may or may not fall through!" Gustave griped, exasperated. Gilles deadpanned down at the lovely Physician. "I get it. Start skating towards the shore, or I'm going to start pushing you." The taller man said, clearly unamused.

The two men started their way to the edge of the pond. Gustave had built up a bit of momentum with a pitiful little waddle, Gilles trying his best to keep that pace. He had no blades, and controlling his speed was infinitely harder. "I'm going...to sneak laxatives in both of their drinks tonight. If they're going to shit on me for trying to have fun...it will be within reason!" Gustave muttered.

"Remind me not to piss you off, darling." Gilles said, having hooked his elbow with Gustave's. The Doctor shot a glare up at the shield operator, but then his stride slid a bit too far, too quickly. He wound up nearly pulling the splits, and Gilles had to throw an arm around him quickly to catch him, but his own weight being flung downward caused a catastrophic shift in balance. 

Gustave plopped right down on the ice since he was able to land on his hands and knees going down, but Gilles smacked and cracked the surface with a yelp, ass first. He had slid forward a bit thanks to their momentum. 

Now wild howls erupted from the shoreline, Emmanuelle and Olivier doubling over one another in a chorus of fits. "Delete that now, Em! I know you filmed that!!" Gustave yelled from the ice, but they only continued to chortle. Gustave growled in defeat, Gilles grimacing. His ass would be bruised tomorrow, there was no doubt. 

"I'm going to strangle them both." Gilles snarled, finally getting to his feet and trying to lift Gustave. "Just drag me, for fuck's sake. I can't get up." He whined. Gilles sighed, reached down and snagged the medic by the fur-lined hood. 

He continued his journey and finally made it to the shore with Gustave being dragged behind, and at this point, Emmanuelle had to twist and contort her legs to keep from pissing herself laughing. Olivier was red in the face, teary-eyed as he wheezed. The Parisian scrambled to his feet once he made purchase with the snowy ground, shoving Olivier and pointing at Emmanuelle. "You two are getting shit for Christmas!" he snapped. 

"Oh come on, Gus. Don't be such a sad-sack!" Emmanuelle finally calmed down enough to talk, Olivier having been shoved out of his jovial laughter and back to agitated. Gilles sighed, grabbing Gustave's hand. "Come on, dove. You're safe now, let's just get you in and warmed up." The shield operator tugged at his hand. Gustave glowered at them both before coiling his arms around himself, leaning into his giant furnace boyfriend as they made their way towards the cabin, the laughing two following at a distance.

"I'll make you some coffee and find the warmest blanket we have, dove." Gilles said as they made it to the door. "Can you stay with me? You're incredibly warm…" Gustave shivered, teeth chattering. "...Of course. I'll turn the fire on, and we can watch a movie." He promised.

They made it into the warmth, and the two hecklers split off to their rooms. "I didn't post it, Gus...but I am keeping it for further blackmailing purposes!" Emmanuelle called as she slid quickly into her room. Gustave bared his jittering teeth, but was sat down on the couch by Gilles. "At least she didn't post it. Who knows, we may get a laugh out of it tomorrow." The taller man called from the kitchen as he made coffee, careful as he sat down beside him with a wince, handing off the piping beverage. His ass cheeks were already knotting up from the fall. Great. 

Gustave burrowed into Gilles' side immediately, still quivering. Gilles pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around them both. "Here...since your ass wants to act all Humbug." Gilles grinned, turning on the live-action How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

"I hate this version." Gustave quipped, pouting into his coffee. "Just shut up and watch it, dove." Gilles sighed, running his fingers through the man's raven hair to rid it of lingering snowflakes, planting a light kiss to his cheek. "Fine…"

FIN