fic: Post-War Pin up
Aug. 2nd, 2018 01:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Post-War Pin up.
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1500
Author's note:
Has inspo from this art. Set post-Expiration Date and established relationship.
This pin up mentioned is Hilda. Isn't she cute?
For Sarah.
She bit her lip as she lifted up the camera. She wasn't used to being on this side of the lens. In her line of work, it was the less pictures of her, the better. Anything might become evidence, even a simple snapshot that would remind someone of a glimpse of a girl dragging the remains of a body at sunset.
Except, for once, it wasn't blackmail. Well, technically, it could be used as blackmail, if it got into the wrong hands. But Scout would kill someone before he let anyone get ahold of anything of her.
"You're being ridiculous," she murmured to herself.
Even more ridiculous than the amount of bullet holes in this public bathroom. What, had there been a spider on the ceiling? That was the only logical explanation. She'd picked the cleanliest bathroom in the whole base, and it still looked like a vicious elevator war zone met Swiss cheese and had some kind of bathroom baby.
(Nothing but the classiest bathroom photos for her boyfriend.)
And, as she caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror, she did look ridiculous. Most pin-ups did, with their pursed lips and dewy eyes. Her attempts to strike a sexy pose just made her look a little scary. Especially as her dress was stained with new blood from her latest kill. She didn't have time to change, before she'd gotten this little plan in her mind that the best thing to keep Scout happy during that two-week business (see: burying) trip would be a picture keepsake. Or to be more precise: a picture pin-up.
She wasn't pin-up material, that was for sure. They had a demure, coy demeanor which she couldn't pull off. Her smile looked more like she had a gun in hand--and of course, she did.
All except Hilda, who managed a sense of realism, and was damn cute to boot. A shame there weren't male pin ups like that, then her Helga pin-ups could have company. And Miss Pauling could enjoy them both. Of course, Scout would gladly oblige. He'd be downright giddy at the thought of being able to strip down for her and flex. She smiled at the thought. She'd have to save that request for something special, because he'd grin and grin at the thought of her wanting something to remember him by.
She could just imagine him. You want me to flex for you Miss Pauling?!
As she lifted the camera, she noticed a splatter of blood across her forehead. It was too late to fix it now; she had only a few more moments of lunch. Click went the shutter. The Polaroid was dull brown, until the picture formed into view. Her expression had come out beyond ridiculous and deep into the region of comical. Miss Pauling grimaced. No, no, that wasn't right at all. She tossed the picture aside.
She undid a couple buttons, then had to redo one. The holster of her third gun, dubbed the cleavage gun, was sticking out. She smiled at the memory of when Scout's expression when he got to 'second base' as he called it. Everything was baseball with him, even sex.
She set one gun, three knives and a few cyanide capsules on the bathroom counter. Then she started to hitch up her skirts, just enough to show the lacy tip of her stockings, and the thigh holsters that had a knife on the left, and a pistol on the right.
He'd like her covered in blood, stinking of death, with guts underneath her fingernails. He wouldn't complain about a little blood. He usually came to her, covered in other people's blood,
Miss Pauling pushed aside thoughts that this could be used as blackmail. What, a little bit of skin, something for her boyfriend to remember her by when she was gone on trips?
She'd been in the business far too long if she was this paranoid about a harmless photos. Only Scout would be this enthused by an ankle, after all.
She glanced though the Polaroids. Finally she settled on one. Not too revealing, but enough to keep his mind—and hands—busy while she was away.
*
The hot dry air blew across the road like a taste of hell. The bloody shovel lay discarded in the sun, while opportunist flies buzzed around. She wiped sweat and blood off her once-purple dress.
The bodies were done for the day, but the day was far from over for her. She could have her five seconds of off time. Otherwise, she'd probably get heatstroke.
In the shade of the truck, Scout scraped his shoe across the sand. His attempts at a brave face were largely failing. He put his hands behind his neck and leaned against the truck.
His reaction to the news had left him looking like she'd twisted a knife in his back. "You're leavin'? When are you goin'?"
"Tomorrow," she said.
All his composure fell to pieces. He looked somewhere between alarmed and full on 'kicked puppy' with his big gray eyes. "Is it gonna be long?"
She patted him on the thigh. "No. It's just—ahem—business. It shouldn't take more than just a couple days."
"A couple days? That's like—more than 24 hours! 24 hours without Pauling sounds awful....terrible, a fate worse than death." But all his sadness turned to a sudden hopefulness. "Sure you don't need any back up?"
She gave him a wry smile. "This is a top secret mission. You aren't so good at secrets, remember?"
Scout held up a finger like he was going to contest that, but finally he accepted her assessment. Not even Scout could exaggerate and make it seem like stealth was his strength.
"All right. I guess you got me there." He rubbed at his chin with his palm, like was going to say more but got caught up in thinking up the brilliant comeback.
"Anyways, I have something for you to remember me by. Be good and you might get more."
Her cheeks slightly colored as she held out the picture.
It was like he'd gone completely starry-eyed. He pulled her into his arms in a giant hug.
She laughed. "Don't crush the picture!"
He quickly pulled away and checked the picture. "Phew, it's still fine. And so are you! It's my greatest treasure. Other than you, I mean."
He let out a long and happy sigh. "I can't believe it, a picture of you for me...Hey wait, wait!
So, I might get more if I'm good?"
"And pigs might fly over Guam," she said.
Scout smirked. "Ain't my fault I'm so good at bein' bad. Besides like, what's bein' good when I'm workin' like this? Technically my job is murder, which is bad. So you see, you should give me more pictures for just what a bad, bad boy I am."
Okay, Scout had her there. "Hmmmm. I'll think about it," she said.
She let out a sigh. There went her five seconds. "I have to get back to work soon, and I have to pack..."
"Got time for one last kiss? I'll make it real fast." Scout gave her that starry-eyed look again, the one she could never say no to. If he ever learned how to weaponize it, there was no telling the amount of damage he could do.
"All right," she said. "I have time for one kiss."
He leaned in close. "If we make it quick, maybe we can fit in two."
Then it was just his warmth, the heat of his mouth against her. Two kisses was sounding awful good right now. She could make up some excuse to the Administrator later.
*
She woke up before dawn. After getting ready, she boiled up a pot of coffee. The fluorescent lights came to life as she stepped down the stairs from her apartment. Most of the staff was asleep now. Even Demoman, who suffered from constant bouts of insomnia and fits of near comatose alcoholic slumber was either asleep or passed out somewhere. His red shirt shone in the lights of the base, almost like a target.
She had to really had to figure out better similes for her boyfriend—preferably ones that didn't involve killing.
"Scout?" she said.
Scout quickly turned towards her, and broke into a big smile. "I didn't miss you! I was afraid you left out early, and I wouldn't get a chance to give you this."
He reached into his bag.
"Here, I got somethin' for you to remember me by while you're gone," Scout said. He burst into a big grin as she took the yellow packing envelope. "I mean, I did it for fun, too. But I didn't want you to forget me for a minute."
She opened the envelope. It was bursting with Polaroids. She lifted a few to the light, and blushed immediately at the site of his supple bare ass. Photos of him flexing, making kissy faces at the camera, of his ass and other parts of his body. Unlike her more fastidious point of tossing away so many and only keeping the best, Scout had given every single one he took.
Of course he would think everything he touched was golden.
"Don't worry, Scout. You've managed to definitely be quite memorable. I'd say it started you went screaming and streaking through the base."
Though the 50 pictures of his naked body would certainly help jog her memory, if she ever managed to forget the perfect curves of his ass.
Scout laughed. "That's me, always stickin' in your memory. Like I'm hoppin' around, sayin' 'Miss Pauling, Miss Pauling, I'm over here waitin' for you! I won't be goin' after any other girls. Just me, this picture and my hand. Okay, both my hands. After all, I'm too big for one hand."
Which was a complete exaggeration, just like everything Scout did. Except how much he loved her.
"Thanks for thinking of me," she said.
"I'm always thinkin' of you. Even when I'm thinkin' about food and baseball, you're still there. Sometimes I'm eatin' you." He winked at that.
She laughed, though it was an awful joke. Maybe it was the sleeplessness, the caffeine, or the sheer fact that when you loved someone everything changed.
Or maybe his sense of humor was just really rubbing off on her.
"Think of me too, okay? And don't be too long. I'll be countin' down the seconds until you're back."
He leaned in for one last kiss goodbye. She set aside her work dates, her plans, and everything for that second and just embraced him, and the moment. Even though it'd only be 72 hours at most, and knowing Scout he'd spend at least 70 of them on the phone with her.
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1500
Author's note:
Has inspo from this art. Set post-Expiration Date and established relationship.
This pin up mentioned is Hilda. Isn't she cute?
For Sarah.
She bit her lip as she lifted up the camera. She wasn't used to being on this side of the lens. In her line of work, it was the less pictures of her, the better. Anything might become evidence, even a simple snapshot that would remind someone of a glimpse of a girl dragging the remains of a body at sunset.
Except, for once, it wasn't blackmail. Well, technically, it could be used as blackmail, if it got into the wrong hands. But Scout would kill someone before he let anyone get ahold of anything of her.
"You're being ridiculous," she murmured to herself.
Even more ridiculous than the amount of bullet holes in this public bathroom. What, had there been a spider on the ceiling? That was the only logical explanation. She'd picked the cleanliest bathroom in the whole base, and it still looked like a vicious elevator war zone met Swiss cheese and had some kind of bathroom baby.
(Nothing but the classiest bathroom photos for her boyfriend.)
And, as she caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror, she did look ridiculous. Most pin-ups did, with their pursed lips and dewy eyes. Her attempts to strike a sexy pose just made her look a little scary. Especially as her dress was stained with new blood from her latest kill. She didn't have time to change, before she'd gotten this little plan in her mind that the best thing to keep Scout happy during that two-week business (see: burying) trip would be a picture keepsake. Or to be more precise: a picture pin-up.
She wasn't pin-up material, that was for sure. They had a demure, coy demeanor which she couldn't pull off. Her smile looked more like she had a gun in hand--and of course, she did.
All except Hilda, who managed a sense of realism, and was damn cute to boot. A shame there weren't male pin ups like that, then her Helga pin-ups could have company. And Miss Pauling could enjoy them both. Of course, Scout would gladly oblige. He'd be downright giddy at the thought of being able to strip down for her and flex. She smiled at the thought. She'd have to save that request for something special, because he'd grin and grin at the thought of her wanting something to remember him by.
She could just imagine him. You want me to flex for you Miss Pauling?!
As she lifted the camera, she noticed a splatter of blood across her forehead. It was too late to fix it now; she had only a few more moments of lunch. Click went the shutter. The Polaroid was dull brown, until the picture formed into view. Her expression had come out beyond ridiculous and deep into the region of comical. Miss Pauling grimaced. No, no, that wasn't right at all. She tossed the picture aside.
She undid a couple buttons, then had to redo one. The holster of her third gun, dubbed the cleavage gun, was sticking out. She smiled at the memory of when Scout's expression when he got to 'second base' as he called it. Everything was baseball with him, even sex.
She set one gun, three knives and a few cyanide capsules on the bathroom counter. Then she started to hitch up her skirts, just enough to show the lacy tip of her stockings, and the thigh holsters that had a knife on the left, and a pistol on the right.
He'd like her covered in blood, stinking of death, with guts underneath her fingernails. He wouldn't complain about a little blood. He usually came to her, covered in other people's blood,
Miss Pauling pushed aside thoughts that this could be used as blackmail. What, a little bit of skin, something for her boyfriend to remember her by when she was gone on trips?
She'd been in the business far too long if she was this paranoid about a harmless photos. Only Scout would be this enthused by an ankle, after all.
She glanced though the Polaroids. Finally she settled on one. Not too revealing, but enough to keep his mind—and hands—busy while she was away.
*
The hot dry air blew across the road like a taste of hell. The bloody shovel lay discarded in the sun, while opportunist flies buzzed around. She wiped sweat and blood off her once-purple dress.
The bodies were done for the day, but the day was far from over for her. She could have her five seconds of off time. Otherwise, she'd probably get heatstroke.
In the shade of the truck, Scout scraped his shoe across the sand. His attempts at a brave face were largely failing. He put his hands behind his neck and leaned against the truck.
His reaction to the news had left him looking like she'd twisted a knife in his back. "You're leavin'? When are you goin'?"
"Tomorrow," she said.
All his composure fell to pieces. He looked somewhere between alarmed and full on 'kicked puppy' with his big gray eyes. "Is it gonna be long?"
She patted him on the thigh. "No. It's just—ahem—business. It shouldn't take more than just a couple days."
"A couple days? That's like—more than 24 hours! 24 hours without Pauling sounds awful....terrible, a fate worse than death." But all his sadness turned to a sudden hopefulness. "Sure you don't need any back up?"
She gave him a wry smile. "This is a top secret mission. You aren't so good at secrets, remember?"
Scout held up a finger like he was going to contest that, but finally he accepted her assessment. Not even Scout could exaggerate and make it seem like stealth was his strength.
"All right. I guess you got me there." He rubbed at his chin with his palm, like was going to say more but got caught up in thinking up the brilliant comeback.
"Anyways, I have something for you to remember me by. Be good and you might get more."
Her cheeks slightly colored as she held out the picture.
It was like he'd gone completely starry-eyed. He pulled her into his arms in a giant hug.
She laughed. "Don't crush the picture!"
He quickly pulled away and checked the picture. "Phew, it's still fine. And so are you! It's my greatest treasure. Other than you, I mean."
He let out a long and happy sigh. "I can't believe it, a picture of you for me...Hey wait, wait!
So, I might get more if I'm good?"
"And pigs might fly over Guam," she said.
Scout smirked. "Ain't my fault I'm so good at bein' bad. Besides like, what's bein' good when I'm workin' like this? Technically my job is murder, which is bad. So you see, you should give me more pictures for just what a bad, bad boy I am."
Okay, Scout had her there. "Hmmmm. I'll think about it," she said.
She let out a sigh. There went her five seconds. "I have to get back to work soon, and I have to pack..."
"Got time for one last kiss? I'll make it real fast." Scout gave her that starry-eyed look again, the one she could never say no to. If he ever learned how to weaponize it, there was no telling the amount of damage he could do.
"All right," she said. "I have time for one kiss."
He leaned in close. "If we make it quick, maybe we can fit in two."
Then it was just his warmth, the heat of his mouth against her. Two kisses was sounding awful good right now. She could make up some excuse to the Administrator later.
*
She woke up before dawn. After getting ready, she boiled up a pot of coffee. The fluorescent lights came to life as she stepped down the stairs from her apartment. Most of the staff was asleep now. Even Demoman, who suffered from constant bouts of insomnia and fits of near comatose alcoholic slumber was either asleep or passed out somewhere. His red shirt shone in the lights of the base, almost like a target.
She had to really had to figure out better similes for her boyfriend—preferably ones that didn't involve killing.
"Scout?" she said.
Scout quickly turned towards her, and broke into a big smile. "I didn't miss you! I was afraid you left out early, and I wouldn't get a chance to give you this."
He reached into his bag.
"Here, I got somethin' for you to remember me by while you're gone," Scout said. He burst into a big grin as she took the yellow packing envelope. "I mean, I did it for fun, too. But I didn't want you to forget me for a minute."
She opened the envelope. It was bursting with Polaroids. She lifted a few to the light, and blushed immediately at the site of his supple bare ass. Photos of him flexing, making kissy faces at the camera, of his ass and other parts of his body. Unlike her more fastidious point of tossing away so many and only keeping the best, Scout had given every single one he took.
Of course he would think everything he touched was golden.
"Don't worry, Scout. You've managed to definitely be quite memorable. I'd say it started you went screaming and streaking through the base."
Though the 50 pictures of his naked body would certainly help jog her memory, if she ever managed to forget the perfect curves of his ass.
Scout laughed. "That's me, always stickin' in your memory. Like I'm hoppin' around, sayin' 'Miss Pauling, Miss Pauling, I'm over here waitin' for you! I won't be goin' after any other girls. Just me, this picture and my hand. Okay, both my hands. After all, I'm too big for one hand."
Which was a complete exaggeration, just like everything Scout did. Except how much he loved her.
"Thanks for thinking of me," she said.
"I'm always thinkin' of you. Even when I'm thinkin' about food and baseball, you're still there. Sometimes I'm eatin' you." He winked at that.
She laughed, though it was an awful joke. Maybe it was the sleeplessness, the caffeine, or the sheer fact that when you loved someone everything changed.
Or maybe his sense of humor was just really rubbing off on her.
"Think of me too, okay? And don't be too long. I'll be countin' down the seconds until you're back."
He leaned in for one last kiss goodbye. She set aside her work dates, her plans, and everything for that second and just embraced him, and the moment. Even though it'd only be 72 hours at most, and knowing Scout he'd spend at least 70 of them on the phone with her.
