// Request Fill for Meringue//

annethecatdetective:

((May I humbly request Sniper/Spy, with Sniper getting the drop on Spy, for once? He’s gotta have at least one moment of glory before Spy comes around stabbin’ again. :3))

He was tired of it. When the Spy kept getting him, he got the Razorback. When he got the Razorback, the Spy started shooting him in the back of the head, and then he got paranoid, and pissed off.

And the Sniper hated getting mad, when it was so much more productive to get even.

He set his rifle up on a makeshift tripod, with the sight lazily watching the wall of the BLU base, took his kukri in hand, and crept behind a couple of old crates in the back corner of his nest, and he waited. The Spy would come, would see that the Sniper was up there and come, looking for an easy kill.

And the Sniper would be ready when he came.

He grinned, watching the Spy’s shock and confusion as he showed up to find the Sniper missing. The grin was still in place when he launched himself out of hiding and tackled the man to the floor.

“What’s the matter, darlin’, thought you were gonna catch me daydreamin’ on the job?”

“You swine!” The Spy struggled, miffed over the dirtying of his suit, ashamed at having been tricked, and deeply confused over how being addressed as ‘darlin” made him feel. “Get off of me!”

“Yeah, not bloody likely.”

“How does someone so skinny weigh so much?” The Spy grunted, trying to throw the Sniper off to no avail.

“It’s all muscle, sweetheart. Guess you’re all stuffed shirt and shoulderpads, so you wouldn’t know.”

“Off.” Another grunt, another burst of struggling, another rush of shameful, confused lust at the new endearment.

“No. Now we can set here and wrestle a bit, if you’re not sick of me yet, or I can finish you off.” He stabbed his kukri into the floor by the Spy’s ear. “Real fast across the throat? A good quick stab to the belly? Ah ah ah, you try and get smart with that knee and I’ll flay you alive and make it last, pet.”

The Spy stilled. “Keep growling those sweet nothings at me, ‘pet’, and I won’t be held responsible for my actions.” He snarled, but he stopped trying to knee the Sniper in the groin all the same.

The Sniper froze. Endearments? He hadn’t noticed… and he didn’t have the luxury of being able to review the conversation, not if he didn’t want the frenchman slipping away and stabbing him in the back again.

“What’s the matter, then?” He said, defensive. “‘Cause I can just get on with it, if conversation is the problem. I don’t talk sweet to enemy spies.”

“Oh no? And I do not enjoy being on my back under enemy snipers. Now I think you had better let me up, or kill me, because otherwise I think it’s going to get awkward. Don’t you think, cheri?” The Spy smirked.

That tore it. The smirk, the endearment that the Sniper had definitely not used first, but the smirk most of all set him off. So the Spy thought he could flirt a little and the Sniper would get scared off, maybe let him go? Well, maybe the Spy had another think coming.

He leaned forward, fast, before he could second-guess himself, and kissed the Spy. Hard. He was chuckling as he drew back, at the Spy’s shocked expression.

“What was that you were saying, luv? About things getting awkward?”

The Spy groaned, shrinking down into himself, with the silent and fruitless prayer that the Sniper wouldn’t notice if he was a little bit hard. “Just kill me.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. You just come on back if you ever want the same.” He grinned, giving the Spy a quick death. He could sort through any of his own confusion about what had happened later, but it was worth it, for unsettling the Spy the way he had. No matter what he uncovered, it was worth it.

// The Swimming Lesson//

[click here for full-size images]

by Anne the Cat Detective and Toxo

Tentacles wrap around Sniper’s shins, as he kicks his feet lazily through the water, inching up towards his knees, tickling him with the questing little kisses of each individual sucker.

“You will be careful?” The Spy asks, but it is with a surety and a smirk. He asks every time, and never worries. They’ve both played the game long enough, even if the Spy is out of it now.

“Nah, I thought I’d run headlong into danger this time and get myself all shot up.” The Sniper laughs, and pulls the lovely creature up from its pool for a long kiss.

“Oh, all very well for you.” A moue, a playful attempt to look truly put-out, and the Spy dodges back, but returns just as quickly. Lets the kiss take hold of him, it enters through the mouth and curls in his belly, warm and sweet. “You have all of the fun.”

“Have the best fun with you.” The Sniper shrugs, his fingertips play along the tentacle that rests over one knee. It’s a queer oasis, hidden away and hard to access. The one place he has, away from the war, these long weekends with his strange lover. The only vacation he cares for.

“I wouldn’t take kindly to someone else having my kind of fun with you, no.” Half-coy, the Spy admits—not to a jealous streak, no, he will always claim to not be the jealous type. He will always claim to be free, and open-minded, and unconcerned, but every so often he makes it clear that these are mere pretenses. With marks left on skin, with vague muttered threats against the imaginary men who might move in on his romantic territory—he could pretend to be unconcerned, once, but the Sniper knows how to read him now.

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// bon soir, son//

brandnewpart21

(via writingcyan)

Anonymous asked: First and foremost, I should procalim how much I enjoy your writing. Fanfic and quality don't always go together so it's wonderful to come across people who have both craft/literary ability and fannish appreciation for a fictional property. Secondly, do either of you beta fanfic?

QUIZ:  Thank you so much for your kind words. Writing, more than other arts, can be a very lonely craft that does little to stroke the ego, so this sort of praise is always valuable. :)

Regarding the question itself, my initial response was to send my cohort the message, “What’s beta fanfic?”

I assumed there was some new, niche market for rewriting popular characters as decorative fish, but apparently it’s proofreading. So, yeah, I guess I do that! I used to, anyway — not fanfic, really, but college was mostly fiction workshops and I don’t see how it could be too different. 

I’d be happy to look at your work (or anyone else’s, for that matter!) and give some advice, but for right now I don’t have too much extra time after work, family and personal matters. Still, if you ever want to talk about writing I can be reached at Memestorms on AIM or, of course, on my personal tumblr.

Thanks again, and I hope you keep enjoying our work!

TOXO:  I have been known to beta fics but I’m not particularly timely about it.

// Aquaman, Prince of Atlantis in: Ilsa, Sea-Wolf of the S.S.! (by Quiz)//

[this fic and its illustration were commissioned by Ethermaiden on Slashfic Sunday 2. You can commission custom fics and illustrations from us at any time!]

The devil-woman had taken Arthur’s hook. He pulled at the chains wrapped around his right wrist and both ankles, but had no delusions that the effect would be any different this time. Still, it was important to strive so long as one’s gills were still open. He looked around his small tank again, trying for the hundredth time since he had awakened to get a grasp on his current situation. He had responded to a distress call from a pod of dolphins in the Pacific, only to fall into some kind of strange, electrified net. The last thing he had seen was a tall, blond female surface worlder with the endowment of a mermaid and the cold, vicious smile of a shark. He had known in that moment that she was a monster, and what he caught her crew doing to the dolphins they had captured in the moments before she’d ordered him knocked out had only reinforced that.

    Poor creatures.
 

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