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senorablack · 11 months

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WRONG ANSWERS ONLY TAG What it says on the tin. Made for the creative writer in mind, but anyone could play. Truth welcomed, but keep in mind the sole rule of the game is absurdity. Answer unwisely.

1 - What’s your problem? It all started in the summer of 1990, on a spicy August Wednesday morning. 97's ice skating accident was when my problem truly manifested. I wasn't physically harmed, but was visually assaulted. Threw an all bean chili onto one of the performers outfits because it was god damn ugly. This deep-seated hateration exacerbated with the invention of the Croc in 2002.

2 - Define Fanfiction to an adult who hasn’t heard of it before. It's not smashing a pair of barbies' non-genitals together, but it's not-not smashing a pair of barbies' non-genitals together. People write it mostly to see their favorites rest in ways they desperately want to (i.e. sleeping whilst cuddled up in someones arms, sleeping soundly next to someone who is safe, sleeping after highly aerobic sex, sleeping next to someone who is the opposite of you heat/cold wise, sleeping with no work the next day, sleeping for a week in way that seems like you're not okay but you are just mind your damn business).

3 - What is the next epoch for the human race? Floating stuff. Not enough hovering things yet. I want to live over the ocean and yet.

4 - There’s a big ass lake to cross and there are three boats. Two of them can fit three people. One of them could fit two. There are nine people. How do you get everyone across? Tie the last person to one of them and have them float on their back on the water very, very still until you've all floated across.

5 - How was cheese discovered? Some ancient hindu dude was eating, and got a lil bit of the lemon they were squeezing onto their roti and gravy into their cup of milk. they were like 'damn, bro, that was my milk' but also like, went to go get more milk. but check this out, they forgot it. and when they came back like days later. that shit was all separated. and because they didn't like waste, they spread a little bit it on their lunch. turns out that shit was fire.

6 - What makes a good film or television show? Laugh tracks when there are no intentionally funny scenes.

7 - Tell us what hill(s) you would/will you die on. That bus was right to hit Regina George, but it could have done it in a more tactful way. Also that fucking door had room for Jack too.

8 - What does the person who tagged you do for leisure? Yodeling competitions during the weekends, and on most nights I write black out poetry using @lt right wing news websites.

9 - Who was tumblr created for? The strong, the brave and the neurodivergent. People who wear their wednesday chonies on thursday.

10 - What happens after we die? Hell and heaven aren't single places. Goodness and evil have always existed on a spectrum and so does the place they plop you in once you've shimmied out of your meat suit. They, of course, are a committee of drag queens who rate your outfits, runway walk, and attitude through your living years and place you in a environment you deserve.

11 - How many continents are there and what are their names? Seven continents named: California, North California, Ice California, South-East California, California to the Left, California Down Under, and California: Reloaded.

12 -Who was your favorite side character from Martin Scorsese’s 1973 cult classic, Gonchorov? Sebastian Butterbee - The cafe attendant everyone important told their woes to throughout the film. Turned out that he'd been selling their secrets in exchange for really neat exotic houseplants.

13 - What’s the real way to spell Ashley? Yeah, everyone gets this wrong. It's Azhli.

14 - What do pets do when their human pals aren’t home? They cosplay and host dungeons and dragons night for their pals on the block of course.

15 - Tell us how to survive a tornado. First step is take one for the gram. Second step is drive the fuck out of tornado country. Warn no one because Darwin.

16 - How did you and your closest friends meet? The heist. I was a socialite and budding actress who had a lot of time and money. They wanted some sort of necklace that I couldn't have cared less about but hired me to wear it to the met gala to aide them in their quest. It was neat.

17 - Describe the perfect date. August 1st through 31st.

18 - What are some common mistake(s)/misconception(s) people make/have about you? People assume I'm not listening to them on facetime because I am often looking at myself. But I AM listening. It's called multitasking, beb.

19 - Tell us a secret you’re suppose to keep to your grave. My friend once told me that they truly didn't believe Ohio was a real place.

20 - How tall are you? 14 beer cans or roughly 4.5 of p@nera breads new green goddess caprese melt (/not spon lmao)

21 - Define: swap meet. It's that thing people do after connecting on dating apps.

22 - What’s at the ocean floor? Dead billionaires apparently

23 - Beyoncé once (answer) an entire (answer) during (answer), then went on like it was nothing. ate - crawdad boil - the super bowl half-time show

24 - What do you consider red flags? People who have an aversion to potato dishes (i won't TAG ANYONE BUT COUGH), crocs, and those who cannot merge onto the highway.

25 - If the person who tagged you were to get famous, what would they be known for? Arson - but the first one was an accident and the second was because nobody complimented my hair in 24 hours.

high pressure tags - @normyreedus @greenlikethesea @leatafandom @katiedora @sparklyslug @dallae @tolkientrash @onirislanding @happylilthought @stevethehairington @quarble @quiriusblack @steddielations @melonberri @graveyardlilies @loudsnapdragon @spikeymarshmallows @steviebats

and **anyone** who comes across this who thinks this is silly and neat. please tag me because I'd love to hear how equally unhinged you are. :)

#idk just wanted to make my own tag game #i made this at like 2 something in the morning because why?????#tag game #meme #gonchorov #fandom #tag im it #holy crap this is longer than i thought #feel free to ignore this BUT why

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kairithemang0 · 18 days

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Hmmm... ok genuine question would it ruin it if I made a second chapter?

I like this as a one shot but I do have an idea for a second chapter and possibly onwards, but I feel like it would ruin it. Because they'd probably get sad and it would probably lead to even more mischaracterization which frankly I believe this is full of I don't think this could ever possibly happen in canon I mean these two having a NORMAL CONVERSATION??? it's impossible. but idk I have ideas and I need somewhere to put said ideas.

Maybe I'll make the second chapter and entirely different fic and then put it in a series so it can end at the first one but ALSO there's more

#spies are forever #tin can bros #tin can brothers #curtwen #saf fanfic #saf fanfiction #this idea can from a comment #u know who u are #/lh /nm

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lightenupcowboy · 11 months

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9 people you want to know better!

Thank you @thestayathomedragon for tagging me!

last song i listened to: The Torture Tango from Spies are Forever by Tin Can Bros. (This song is so random wtf, just recently watched this musical for the first time and it was amazing)

currently watching: The Great British Sewing Bee lol, not really watching any series right now. (The Barbie movie keeps playing inside my head after I watched that, though. I'll soon be watching Resident Evil: Death Island on repeat, I'm sure.)

currently reading: I'm like in the middle of three books at the moment I think lol. Motivation to read is very up and down. I've been having an urge to read Shakespeare or something lately. I also relatively recently got into fanfiction again after years of not reading anything. It's been great. Chreon got their claws into me.

current obsession: Yeah, Resident Evil came back with a vengeance for me when I played the re4 remake almost on a whim. I was obsessed with the og resident evil 4 for a bit in my late teens and I was like ooh the remake is out! And I took one look at Leon and I still haven't recovered, I guess. I still sit up with a gasp at night when I'm trying to fall asleep because I'm having realizations about themes and parallels in the re4 remake. It literally keeps me awake at night because my brain keeps digging into it. So. Many. Thoughts.

Tagging (no pressure to do it) @no-thanks-bro @sunhatllama @resident-rats @they-are-separate-things @luisseras @solarmidnight @catsateherface5987 @kadavarine @luis-serras

#tag game #yeah no pressure to do it #i just thought this was cute

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sonnetthebard · 3 years

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Owen doesn't really like horror movies and he gets paranoid pretty easily because of them. He hates that it happens and never tells anyone about it, he thinks its embarrassing for someone like him to be set off by something as simple as a movie. Curt also didn't know, until he proposed watching a horror movie one night. Owen went along with it because he knew Curt wanted to watch it with him and tried his best to sit through it, but Curt picked up on how uncomfortable he was -S

I know this was supposed to be headcanons, but... I had to write this as a oneshot. I absolutely love it.

Genre: Fluff/ Romance/ Angst

Words: 3171

TL;DR: Owen is not a fan of horror movies.

TW: Anxiety/ Triggering, brief mention of violence, panic attack, minor implied ptsd.

"Darling, I'm home!" Owen called into his shared hotel room teasingly.

"What, you're done scoping out the venue already?" Curt smirked, making his way out of his room, already dressed down to just a dress shirt (with a few buttons undone) and dress pants.

Owen smirked at that. Evidently Curt had decided his work for the day was over. They were in the primary stages of a small mission- one that should be simple. Intercept the passing of information from the French to the Russians- no matter the cost. If they had to kill someone, so be it. It may be an easy mission, but it was a crucial one. It was set to happen at the ballroom in one of the biggest estates in London during a gala hosted by its owners- set to happen in two days. The owners weren’t royalty, but they were rich- which probably made them more powerful than royalty either way. The event was going to be massive. Royalty and dignitaries from all around the world would be there- and, of course, the informants they were there to stop. If they didn't intercept this information... well, let's just say the Soviets would have a rather large military advantage. And that wasn't something anyone wanted.

Earlier in the day, Curt and Owen had gone out and met the family hosting the gala- who were in full support of their work. They’d even offered to be so good as to give them a discreet signal when their marks arrived. Of course Owen had turned that down because, even with good intentions, the utilization of untrained assets was always a risk. Once they were done with that meeting, Curt and Owen had done some genuine espionage. They were lucky. Their informant had told them when and where their marks would be in preparation for the gala. So they'd alternated locations to watch their opponents. That way no one got suspicious seeing the same two people watching them everywhere they went. Then Owen, being the keener that he was, had gone to the ballroom and scoped it out. He always loved that part of planning. Plus, the house was practically a castle, and it was old. Owen just wanted to see it. It was a marvel of architecture. But it was at least a productive visit. He had a good sense of the place.

Now, though... Now Owen was exhausted. He'd had a big day preparing for not only his physical game but his mental one. So he was more than happy to be back with the man he loved. And he really did love Curt, in spite of his flaws. Owen was well aware of those. He would have to have been dull not to take them into account when preparing for their romantic relationship. Owen knew he was the more fit spy. He knew Curt could be a bit... careless at best, reckless at worst. And boy, did Curt’s ego ever get the better of him sometimes. But Curt was one of the most affectionate people Owen had ever met. His heart was massive, and he was as loyal as a dog. That was more than enough for Owen. They would follow each other to the ends of the earth. Owen may not have the smartest lover in the world, but... he had never felt more loved by one person. Not even his own parents.

"Already? Love, I was there for nearly three hours." Owen chuckled softly.

"You must be exhausted." Curt rolled his eyes playfully.

"As a matter of fact I am!" Owen scoffed, smirking and setting his jacket on the rack. Curt walked over to him, wrapping his arms over his shoulders and kissing him gently. Owen hummed into it, snaking his arms around Curt's waist. "What are you up to, Mega? Trying to breathe some life back into me?"

"No... I just missed you." Curt blushed lightly, still smirking and trying to play this off as cool as he could. "Am I not allowed to kiss my favourite partner after a long day of work?"

"Oh, you're more than welcome to..." Owen winked, giving him another gentle peck. He rested his forehead on Curt's, sighing. "I would say you could kiss me any time you’d like, but... well... we both know the world isn't quite ready for that."

"I know." Curt sighed. "One day..."

"We can only hope." Owen agreed. He gave Curt one more small peck of reassurance before, pulling away, walking into their room. "So what have we got for plans tonight? I was thinking maybe we could grab a bite at the fish and chips stand down the street. It's quite good. Then... maybe we could go to the cinema?"

"Actually... I was thinking maybe we could stay here." Curt bit his lip. "We've got a television here, and... they're showing Creature From The Black Lagoon on one of the channels we pick up. I missed it in the theatres while we were in Germany, and I've been hoping to see it for a few years now. It's a horror movie, and I've heard the special effects in it are great! We could watch it together!"

"Oh..." Owen bit his lip, breath hitching a bit at that.

Now... there was a bit of a dilemma. Owen came off as very suave, very tough, and impenetrable but... he had a bit of a problem with horror films. That, and films surrounding espionage. He didn't know what it was about the visual medium of storytelling that was becoming so popular, but... it affected him deeply. It was as though it set off something deep inside him, and brought up all his own fears. Even if they weren’t the fears discussed in the movie. As tacky as the movies were with their corny monsters and questionable acting they sparked his anxietes. Even worse to Owen was the irrational paranoia that came with it. The fear of something that didn't even exist. Even the things that very clearly could *never* exist. Like Dracula. Still, if Curt wanted to watch one with him, he would do his best to sit through it. Maybe he could focus his attentions on Curt and not the movie. Or maybe this movie wouldn’t get to him so badly.

"Oh what?" Curt checked, the smallest trace of concern riddling his features.

"It's nothing." Owen chuckled, trying to mask his lie. He didn't want Curt worrying about him for something so trivial. "I would love to. What are we doing for supper though?"

“I didn’t think that through.” Curt admitted. “We, um... well, we’ve got half an hour before the movie starts. Maybe we could grab fish and chips and eat it here while we watch?”

“Sure thing, love.” Owen sighed. “You want me to go and get it, then?”

“That works for me.” Curt nodded.

“And do you want me to get some crisps for later in case you get a bit peckish?” Owen checked.

“Can a get a translation of that?” Curt teased. He knew most of what Owen meant, he just loved bothering him and he knew how much his boyfriend hated Americanisms.

“Do I really have to?” Owen groaned. Curt just raised his brows in expectation. “Fine. You’re lucky I love you... Do you want me to get you some ‘potato chips’ for later in case you get the ‘munchies’?”

“I would love some potato chips.” Curt smirked triumphantly.

“‘Potato chips’...” Owen grumbled, grabbing his jacket again. “Bloody Americans butchering our language...”

“Love you too!” Curt called out the door teasingly as Owen left.

The fish and chips place wasn’t far down the street. It was one Owen knew well- his parents had even taken him there as a child. He remembered those days... Things were simpler. Not nearly as complicated as his life had become. But that wasn’t why Owen was so eager to get out of the hotel room. No, Owen wanted the space alone to brace himself and prepare himself for this movie. Because he’d always been strong for Curt. He didn’t want Curt seeing him weak. So he just needed a bit of fresh air. That’s also why he’d volunteered to get the crisps (no matter what Curt wanted to call them). Extra time to steel himself. He took his time, but even then he only spent twenty minutes out of the house. Still... it was better than having had no time at all to prepare. He took deep breaths, making his way back to the hotel room.

“Alright, darling. I have the food.” Owen called him, taking his shoes off and walking into the hotel. He set the food down on the coffee table. Curt walked out, dress shirt completely gone now. In it’s place, a white tank top. He was in denim jeans now, likely so that he didn’t ruin his dress pants. Owen smirked. “I thought we were supposed to be watching a movie, love...”

“We are.” Curt furrowed his brows, confused. He sat down on the couch, taking one of the meals for himself. Owen shrugged his jacket off, hanging it back up. He then joined Curt on the couch, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Well... you’re very distracting...” Owen hummed. Curt blushed.

“I can put my shirt back on...” Curt mumbled.

“No, darling. Don’t do that.” Owen sighed contentedly, taking the meal Curt hadn’t taken and setting it in front of himself. Curt had taken out his multi-purpose hunting tool and a pocket knife to eat with, but Owen stopped him. He pulled out the provided cutlery. “Here, darling. We can eat like civilized people”

“Right.” Curt flushed again.

“You’re adorable when you’re all worked up.” Owen chuckled.

“You’re a bully, you know that?” Curt grumbled, getting up and walking over to their in-room television. They were lucky. Not many hotels had them, but... this one did. Their superiors didn’t mind splurging a little on their accomodations, because it usually meant they were better rested for their job.

“I’m not a bully...” Owen chuckled, his heartrate picking up again at even the thought of what he was about to watch. “I’m just a tease, doll.”

“So you admit it?” Curt smirked triumphantly, fiddling with the knobs to adjust the channel.

“Only this once.” Owen rolled his eyes playfully.

“I think I... there we go!” Curt beamed as the television crackled onto the right station. The scoring to a typical horror movie started. Owen gulped, already not liking this. Curt seemed to pick up on that. “You okay?”

“Absolutely fine.” Owen lied. Curt sighed, coming back and sitting down.

Both men sat in silence, eating and watching the movie. Owen tried to focus on his food, blocking out the movie and his surroundings. But... that was unfortunately very hard to do. Especially when Curt was so invested. The man was leaning as far forward onto his knees as he possibly could. He thought Curt might have said something about Owen being right about the fish and chips, but Owen didn’t really hear it. He was caught in his head, in a way. And in many other ways, he was totally and uterly absorbed in the movie, trapped without consent the the saga being recounted on the screen. He didn’t even notice when he finished his food, caught up in everything.

And then... then came the moment Owen was dreading. The one that had his palms sweating and his body tense the entire night. Even with all that awful anticipation it caught him completely by surprise. Just as it was meant to. For some people, that was the thrill of the game. To him, it wasn’t. To him, it was not just truly terrifying, but also... humiliating. Totally and utterly humiliating. Especially in front of his Curt. Curt, who thought he was this suave, impenetrable rock. Curt, whom he was the foundation. Curt got to watch him cower like a child. The moment of dread was, of course, the first jumpscare. And just as Owen had predicted, he had jumped right out of his seat, yelping. Curt saw him and... he started to laugh.

The world caved in for Owen. It was a mix of the genuine fear he’d experienced watching the movie, the fears that fear alone had resurface, and the humiliation. He felt in a way that he was disappointing Curt already. And the laughing... it rang in his ears even once Curt had finished. Because this time Curt wasn’t laughing with him- he was laughing at him. He tried to mask it, but he was far too caught up in his head to have any control over what his face did. He shook a little bit. He couldn’t even fear anything around him. He had tunnel vision, and everything sounded like it was underwater. Owen hated it. He knew then and there that trying to be tough had not been the right move. That he should have said no to Curt. But it was far too late for that realization to be any good.

At first, Curt had admittedly thought it was funny that Mr. Tough Guy Owen Carvour himself had fallen victim to the classic jumpscare. And he would be the first to admit he had laughed a long time- especially when he thought that for once he had been the one to fluster Owen and not the other way around. But then, when Owen neglected to come back with any snide remarks... When he didn’t tell Curt to shut up, or even chuckle along with him... That was when Curt knew that now was not the time to be laughing. That something was genuinely wrong. That was when he finally took the time to notice that his lover was shaking, and the fear that had been in his eyes when he jumped had not vanished- even though the protegonists were safe. Curt took Owen’s hand’s carefully. Owen twitched in what could be a flinch, but put up no fight. That was the final tip-off for Curt that sommething was very wrong. He got in front of Owen carefully.

“Hey... Hey, Owen. You’re okay.” Curt soothed. Owen seemed to snap a bit out of it- enough to see Curt in front of him and look him in the eyes. Curt suppressed his concern and put on a comforting smile for Owen. “That’s right, babe. Look at me. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

There was a moment of Owen just staring into Curt’s eyes and reminding himself that Curt had his back. That he was safe. Once he had calmed enough to speak, he took a shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry.” Owen mumbled.

“No... no, don’t be sorry!” Curt shook his head, giving Owen’s hands a squeeze. Immediately as thought that had awakened something in him, Owen was squeezing back as if it were the only thing keeping him on the ground. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do.” Owen spat, almost as though the words were poison. Self hatred oozed from his tone. “I’ve been lying to you. I’m a coward.”

“You are not a coward...” Curt stated firmly.

“I bloody well near shit my pants at something I saw on the telly!” Owen pointed out, incredulous. “Something imaginary, on the other side of the screen where it could never harm me.”

“That’s what these movies are made to do, O.” Curt assured him.

“They’re meant to give people a quick fright.” Owen shook his head. “But... that terrified me. Genuinely scared me.”

“Well... we’ve got pasts.” Curt bit his lip. “We’ve seen stuff. We’ve been the victims of real jumpscares where we could have died. Maybe it reminds you of those. Maybe the lines blurred.”

“Curt, it wasn’t anything we’ve been through that scared me.” Owen softened, nearly whimpering, both scared and embarassed but also pleasing for Curt to listen. “It was that that creature was going to show up behind us and do the same, or... take you away. That poorly dressed, hokey monster that could not be any further from being real. I’m not just a coward. I’m a bloody idiot.”

“You’re not a coward, Owen. And you’re not an idiot. Everyone’s brain is built a bit differently.” Curt soothed him. “You want to protect me... just like I want to protect you.”

“From something that could never hurt us either way.” Owen pointed out.

“Sometimes that doesn’t matter to the mind.” Curt sighed. “I don’t know if this happens to you when you read all your books, but sometimes someone will tell me a story and I get so invested in it that I’ll feel like I’ve lived through it myself.”

“I know what you mean...” Owen nodded.

“Well... maybe this movie did the same thing for you.” Curt reasoned.

“I... suppose.” Owen blinked, realizing Curt made a lot of sense.

“Just like you feel things when you read... you’re feeling things watching this.” Curt sighed.

“Right...” Owen nodded, letting that sink in.

“You think you can take a few breaths with me, O?” Curt soothed. Owen nodded, following Curt through a few deep breaths until he had stopped shaking and his grip on Curt’s hands had lightened. Once Curt was satisfied, he got up and changed the channel. I Love Lucy was on. He smirked, sitting back down on the couch. For once, he was the one pulling Owen close to cuddle. “We’re going to watch this channel for the rest of the night, okay? I think it’s got some of the good family shows on it.”

“Are you sure?” Owen checked. “I can go lay down. I know you really wanted to watch this film.”

“Yeah, but... not as much as I want to spend time with my handsome British boyfriend.” Curt teased.

“I love you.” Owen sighed, resting his head on Curt’s chest.

“I know.” Curt winked playfully, running a hand through Curt’s hair. “Hey, if you’re ever uncomfortable with what I want to do... just tell me, okay? No judgement.”

“Alright.” Owen nodded.

And so they spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms. Eventually they did switch and Owen was back to holding Curt. He found immense comfort in that- and that Curt didn’t judge him. It was lovely to be totally and utterly enamoured with someone. And that was what he was with Curt- what he was certain they both were. He didn’t focus on the telly (though it did give him a few laughs- that Lucy was always getting into trouble). Instead, he focused on Curt’s hands running though his hair, or the little kisses he was being adornerd with. In other words, he chose to focus on how much he was loved. And that put him in an entirely better place. There was, at least, one thing they could take away from the whole fiasco: no more horror movie nights. They had enough horrors in their own life without needing to worry about anything on the tv.

#tw: swearing #tw: panic attack #tw: implied ptsd #tw: anxiety #tw: triggers #spies are forever #saf #curt mega #agent curt mega #owen carvour #agent owen carvour #joey richter #curtwen #gay #lgtbtq #oneshot #tin can bros #tcb #tin can bros fanfiction

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gentlemen-of-lies · 3 years

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Gentlemen of Lies, chapter 1

British towns have weird names (Or last time I stay in a London hostel)

(Next chapter) (Prologue)

————

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The café was further than Curt had originally thought, and getting lost down the maze of roads and blocks of flats didn’t help him with time keeping. He was already running late after spending twenty minutes- not getting dressed like he was supposed to- but instead fuming over the fact that he’d forgotten half of his clothes at home. All he had were a pair of trousers and thankfully a new pair of underwear. But other than that and his coat, he had to wear what he had on last night, and it was starting to feel like cardboard.

Needless to say, he failed in his attempt at not looking a mess. He was unshaven and all he could do with his dishevelled hair was try and flatten it down with the palm of his hand. He was chewing on a mint as he raced into the café, out of breath, ten minutes late, and stinking of whiskey.

He spent a few seconds pulling himself together before scanning the room, ignoring the looks he was getting from customers. He had to figure out which one of these people were his new partner. He did a mental count. Four customers, one waiter and a person behind the counter. Six possible people. One of the customers had a child. So it was most likely five possible people. That wasn’t too difficult.

“I hear the weather in Teignmouth is particularly bad,” he greeted the guy behind the counter, in a British accent that he’d been instructed to use, but which he’d completely forgotten about until now- once again hoping that Cynthia didn’t find out. He thought his accent was pretty good, he had to be good as a spy of course, but he still received a slightly confused stare. And no reply. Or at least, not the reply Curt needed. So it wasn’t the bartender.

“Right...” was all the man had to say. Curt put his mind at ease by immediately changing the subject and ordering a coffee. The man raised his eyebrows, nodded and turned to where the coffee beans were kept. Curt resumed his search, and his eyes landed on a man sitting in the far corner of the restaurant.

A young looking man, perhaps around his age. Dark hair, brown cap over his eyes. Certainly very secretive looking. Curt decided he was his best option, hoping his decision was right; he could get away with a slightly eccentric opening statement to the bartender, but not to a complete stranger. As if he needed to lose his dignity any more today.

He tried to smarten himself up as much as possible, so even if he had got the wrong person, he hopefully wouldn’t look too ridiculous. Curt cleared his throat just before he reached the man, and once again put on his mock accent.

“I hear the weather in Teignmouth is particularly bad.”

“To travel there you’d have to be mad.” Curt breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god. He sat down opposite from the man, just as the waiter came over to give Curt his coffee. Curt gave a swift thank you, and turned back to the man, still hiding underneath his cap.

“So... you’re who I’m teaming up with?” Asked Curt, a little awkwardly. It wasn’t like him to lack any sort of confidence, but the man sitting across from him was clearly much more together than he was.

“Unfortunately,” replied the man, revealing a very low voice. “For me,” he added. At Curt’s silence he raised his cap above his eyes and leant his crossed arms on the table, his face nearing Curt’s. “I take it you’re a newbie and, judging by your appearance and the whiff of booze that met everyone’s poor noses as soon as you entered the shop, you’re not a very good one.” Curt was defiant.

“I had a rough night,” he explained. “The flight over was long and the accommodation sucks. Doesn’t make me bad at my job.”

“No, what makes you bad at your job is doing so little research that you can’t even pronounce the name of the place you were given in your secret code.” He sat back again in his chair, arms still crossed. His eyes were bright, smug. Cocky. Curt already hated him.

“You mean Tane-mouth?”

“No, I mean Tin-muth, my dear.” He gave a slight chuckle, laughing at Curt’s stupidity it seemed. “First rule of England,” the man continued. “Don’t trust the signposts. Chances are you’ll pronounce them wrong.” He held his hand out. “Perhaps a proper greeting is in order,” he said. “Owen Carvour. MI6.” Curt reluctantly took his hand, tightening his grip as if to assert some kind of dominance after having his last remaining dignity stripped away in a matter of seconds.

“Curt,” he replied. “Curt Mega.” Owen snorted.

“God, how American.” Curt sipped his coffee, if only to stop himself from saying something he’d regret. “Well, enough of the chit chat, Curt Mega. We have work to do.” Owen stood up, and put a few coins on the table.

“Where are you going?” Asked Curt, his coffee cup still almost full.

“We are going someplace more private,” replied Owen. “Or did you forget that we’re part of the secret service?” Curt took one more gulp of coffee, drinking down as much as he could- burning his mouth in the process- and stood up to follow Owen.

“Your place or mine?” Owen said, and Curt couldn’t work out if it was rhetorical or not.

“Yours?” Owen looked him up and down.

“Better not. People know me. We’ll go back to yours.” It was Curt’s turn to scoff.

“If you say so, but fair warning. The place is a dump.”

“So is everything around here, we were in a war after all.”

“So were we.”

“Oh hardly. You came in forty five minutes before the war ended.” Owen opened the café door with a clink of the bell, and the two stepped out into the grey street, weak sunlight barely piercing through the sides of the surrounding buildings.

They barely talked on the way back to Curt’s hostel; Owen didn’t seem to mind. Curt was apparently so beneath him that ignoring him was as easy as ignoring a flea. Curt on the other hand was suddenly very aware of his movements, how his arms were swinging, how many steps he was taking. He didn’t want to walk faster than Owen, nor did he want to walk slower. But the middle ground meant that he inadvertently fell into step with his new partner, which just felt embarrassing. As if he was copying him or something.

God, Curt, what’s wrong with you? He was supposed to be leading Owen, but it was as if Owen was leading him. He didn’t like this imbalance of power one bit, so he reluctantly sped up his walk to ensure that he was in front of Owen, and not the other way around.

Bill looked at the two suspiciously when they finally returned, a clear question of ‘who’s this bloke?’ playing on his lips. Curt declined to explain himself; simply nodded in greeting and allowed Owen to follow him to his room.

“You know you’re supposed to tell the man that I’m a colleague from work, or here for a game of poker,” informed Owen, a low voice in Curt’s ear. “Saying nothing will make him suspicious-”

“Are you going to criticise everything I do?” Replied Curt, his voice louder and more abrupt as he became more and more irritated at Owen.

“If it fucks up our job, then yes. How are you supposed to learn otherwise?” He was so full of himself, and how? He barely looked older than Curt himself, he couldn’t have been in the force for that much longer. How was he so confident?

If Curt wasn’t such a proud man, he’d probably be able to admit that he was jealous in a way. Jealous that someone in the same position as him was so much better at their job. Cynthia would love Owen, and they didn’t even work for the same government.

But Curt was a proud man. So he settled for viewing Owen as nothing more than an arrogant bastard. And by now they had reached room 17, the worst room in London. Curt brought his key out and unlocked the door, pushing his weight against it since the door itself barely fit in its own frame.

“Huh. Quaint,” was Owen’s observation of the room. Sarcastic of course, but it could have been worse. The room was an absolute mess, every piece of furniture was rotten or broken, the wallpaper was damp, the curtains were covered in mould, and not even Curt could deny that the smell was overpowering, like a drunkard’s basket of dirty laundry. It wasn’t pleasant.

“Perhaps we should have gone back to mine after all.”

“I’m sorry about the smell, nothing works here and half of my stuff is back in America.”

“A spy without a change of clothes? You really are bad at this aren’t you? I’ll have to lend you some of mine.” Curt blinked at him.

“Really?” Owen raised a confirmatory eyebrow. “That’s a bit... personal isn’t it?”

“Bloody hell, Curt, there’s nothing personal about our job. If it makes you any more professional, which clearly is a tall order, then I have no choice.”

“Fine...” Curt replied through gritted teeth. “Thank you for the offer.” He sat down on the chair near the bathroom, the only piece of stable furniture in the room. As much as he didn’t want Owen sitting on his bed, with any luck the frame would break and Owen would finally have a taste of losing one’s own dignity. But alas, Owen declined sitting down altogether, and simply leant against the window frame.

“I won’t go through everything,” Owen began. “We’ll start afresh tomorrow. You need time to get to grips with the case. You do know what the case is don’t you?” Curt nodded, trying to remember what Cynthia had told him. Something about a mole in MI6 feeding information to the Russians. He didn’t know why he was involved though. Surely this was enough for the British secret service to handle.

“I have the necessary files inside my jacket. I’ll give them to you to peruse,” he pulled out a light brown folder from his jacket, and placed it on the tabletop beside him. “Try not to lose them.” Curt rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to lose them.” He wasn’t that incompetent.

“If you say so. Read them over tonight, and we can report back tomorrow. The files contain a list of suspects. Do try and memorise them.” Curt reached over and picked up the file, opening it up and scanning the first page absent-mindedly. All he managed to take in were the photos of people’s faces, not yet bothering to even read their names.

“Where are we meeting tomorrow?” He asked, looking up from the file.

“Down by the station. It’s not far from here, but I’ve slipped a map into the file for you.” Curt turned the page, and as expected, a small, square map was slotted into the fold, with what was presumably the station circled in red pen. “We’ll meet outside, and maybe take a little wander. Better to talk on the move, but I suspect you already know that.” His tone of voice suggested a conviction that Curt did not, in fact, know that. Curt decided that a response wasn’t worth his time.

“Right. I’ll read the files.” Curt stood up, the chair creaking as he did so. Perhaps it wasn’t as stable as he first thought. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Take a shower. I’m not working with someone who smells like the inside of a pub.” And with that, Owen went to leave. “I’ll see you at ten tomorrow, old man.”

“Ten it is.” The door closed, catching on the frame, so Curt had to push it in fully once Owen had left. He sat back on his bed, the mattress sagging at an alarming rate. He was sure he could feel the floor underneath. He lay on his back, staring at the popcorn ceiling. He wanted a drink, but he thought against it. He was determined to prove that Owen bastard wrong. Show him- and Cynthia- that he wasn’t the idiot, drunken agent they though he was.

He was Agent Curt Mega. The greatest spy to ever live.

#spies are forever #spies are forever fanfiction #spies are forever prequel #curt mega x owen carvour #tin can bros #gentlemen of lies #agent curt mega #owen carvour #starkid

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