ten in the rafters

russianspacegeckosexparty  asked:

Amateur vampire hunters stumble across Bucky in the day time sleeping, suspended from the rafters in bat form. He's like ten feet tall and snoring. "Wow, he's even uglier up close" one guy says and one crimson eye opens suddenly

“Bitch, where?” is the last thing they hear

What a day.

I spent the evening working alone while my counselor and intern took the night off (they’ll be gone until dinner tomorrow). This involved “counselor swap” where male and female counselors switch cabins to talk to the kids and answer questions. I’m pretty sure it’s intended to be about puberty, crushes, and bodily functions, but I was dropped into a cabin full of ten year old girls who literally swung from the rafters while singing and screaming and shining me with flashlights while giggling and talking about animals. It was a nightmare.

Then, I returned to my cabin, only to find my boys sitting in a circle telling one another their saddest memories. Four of them were crying, some were hugging, and all of them looked harrowed. They talked about dead pets, sick relatives, dead grandparents, and witnessing domestic abuse. It was some heavy shit but they all wanted to keep going, and after it ran its course (with some intervention and help from a more experienced counselor) everyone was jovial again, reading silly stories, and making shadow puppets. I apologized to them for my inexperience and reluctance to be strict but thanked them for being such a rewarding and smart group to work with, and they assured me that I was a great counselor and they were glad to be in my cabin.

They’re all asleep now, but I’m pretty shaken. It’s so hard to see such sweet young kids having already suffered so much pain, stuff they shouldn’t have to deal with, ever, but especially not before they can reliably open fruit snacks without help. Mothers being abused by their boyfriends, grandparents having to move back to a hovel in Mexico to afford healthcare and never being able to come back to the US.

It’s not fair. They’re not my kids, not really, but I wish I had a better world to give to them. I love kids, I honestly do, but I don’t know that I could ever be a parent - it’d just be too painful.

sniper/spy ficlet #13

i didn’t like this too much but then my darlin' Gearbutt drew a thing for it and i ;///; i love u, thank you so much hon ;v; *hug* <3 please forgive the fic LOL

***

“Je te déteste,” the Spy whispers before the knife, “je déteste quand tu m'ignores.”

“Same t'you mate,” the Sniper growls, whirling to deflect the blade with his own. “Think you’re a bloody pain in the backside.”

Midday, hot as hell. The nest is stifling, thick with heat, but it does nothing to slow either of them down–not even the Spy, whose visage is as cool and unruffled as always, the kind of blue you’d find relaxing over an afternoon horizon… it drives the Sniper mad.

“That makes two of us,” the man parries, smug, “except, of course, you always miss. I’d wager you’re more luck than skill after all, bushman.”

“And I’d wager I’m gonna bloody kill ya,” he snaps, darting forward. “What, you still can’t get a kick outta sneakin’ up on me any more, eh? Gotta have your bloody say before you go?”

The Spy swirls neatly around him and swats the suggestion aside, gripping his own knife tightly. “If you weren’t so easy to manipulate, perhaps you wouldn’t find me here so often.”

“You’re all talk, spook,” the Sniper glowers, circling the Frenchman with a challenge in his eyes. “Nine times outta ten, you only come in here t'bloody sit in the rafters or on one of the crates behind me.”

Didn’t matter that he was the one to let the man perch to his content… it hits a visible nerve.

“Idiot,” the Spy hisses, lashing out with a flurry of furious swipes. A few shallow cuts make their mark and one deeper, flashing up the Sniper’s arm in a streak of red that stains his shirt and rips a cry of pain from his lips.

“You bloody–bloody wanker!”

“What were you saying about sitting around?” The Spy glares, flicking the balisong closed to pocket it. Infuriating lout… he seizes the marksman’s arm to inspect it. “It’s a scratch.”

There’s a moment of shock, followed instantly by a heated stare, and then the Sniper huffs. “Doesn’t feel like one. Feels like you just cut open half my bleedin’ arm.”

His entire body is rigid with both anger and hurt, and the Spy suddenly wonders if getting the momentary upper-hand was all that worth it. Their rivalry–attraction, if one was honest, but it didn’t do well to be honest, here–was known across both teams, and for the most part, the two of them were content to let each other mutter whatever insults they pleased… a sort of silent agreement, given how often they were at each other’s throats or threatening each other with worse. But killing each other, making a show of it…

“I’ll disguise as RED’s Spy, call the Medic,” he murmurs.

“’S fine,” the Sniper grumbles, making no move to pull away. “Next time you feel like havin’ a fencing match instead ‘f actually killin’ me, I’ll whip out score cards for ya.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You’re still a bloody pain.”

They share a look, a lingering touch.

“Meet you after? Have a 'sorry for today’ beer?”

“Oui,” the Spy smiles, soft and teasing. “Since I loathe you so much.”