After months of outlining, rewriting, staring at Google Docs like it personally offended me, and bothering my friends with snippets...
Try Harder, Frenchman is finally here.
Thank you to everyone who waited so patiently. It genuinely means the world to me. I hope you'll enjoy this slow burn as much as I've enjoyed driving these two idiots into emotional disaster.
Happy reading. ❤️
Word count: 1269
Chapter 1 – The Bet
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Soundtrack
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Go with the flow by Queens of the Stone Age
The whole thing started because Scout couldn't keep his mouth shut.
Again.
"Yeah, right." Jeremy snorted, throwing his boots onto the table despite the immediate chorus of complaints from everyone else. "I'm serious. There ain't no way ya can charm everyone."
Spy didn't even bother looking up from his newspaper.
"Please, continue."
Scout pointed at him dramatically.
"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about! Ya keep acting like every person on this planet is one fancy sentence away from fallin' into your lap."
A smirk appeared behind the newspaper.
"Most are."
The room exploded.
"No."
"Absolutely not."
“That's bullshit."
"Language."
"Shut up, Doc."
Spy lowered his newspaper with an offended sigh.
"Philistines."
Engineer laughed into his coffee. Heavy looked genuinely intrigued.
"What about Sniper?"
The room went quiet.
Spy blinked.
Scout grinned.
That grin alone should've been enough warning.
"Oh, that's easy."
"No."
"Come on, Frenchie."
"No."
Scout pointed across the room.
Sniper was cleaning his rifle near the window, completely unaware that he was about to become everyone's favorite topic.
"Bushman's gonna shoot ya before ya even finish one of those creepy French compliments."
A pause.
Then another.
Slowly, Spy finally folded his newspaper and turned toward the sniper.
The Australian hadn't reacted.
Hadn't looked up.
Hadn't even acknowledged the conversation.
Interesting.
"Mon Dieu." Spy sighed dramatically. "You underestimate my charm."
"Try it."
Sniper never even looked away from his rifle.
Scout nearly fell off his chair laughing.
Engineer covered his face.
Even Heavy looked entertained.
Spy, however, remained perfectly still.
Because that wasn't an outrage.
Or annoyance.
Or embarrassment.
It was a challenge.
And worse—
The bushman didn't sound remotely concerned.
As if the outcome was already obvious.
As if he'd already won.
Spy narrowed his eyes.
Across the room, Sniper finally glanced up.
Only for a second.
Just long enough for their eyes to meet.
Then he looked back down.
Dismissed.
For some reason, that irritated Spy far more than it should have.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
---
Three days later, the Administrator assigned the two of them to a six-week undercover operation.
Spy spent the first thirty seconds convinced it was a practical joke.
"Repeat that."
"You heard me." The Administrator's voice crackled through the speaker.
"A weapons trafficking ring operating in rural Australia."
Spy slowly turned his head.
Sniper was leaning against the wall nearby.
Completely relaxed.
Of course he was.
It was his country.
His desert.
His miserable, sun-scorched wasteland.
"Wonderful."
"You will pose as business partners."
Spy froze.
Across the room, Sniper finally looked up.
The silence lasted exactly three seconds.
Then Scout completely lost it.
"Marvelous," Spy muttered under his breath. "Exactly how I wanted to spend the next six weeks."
Not that it mattered.
The Administrator had probably heard him anyway.
The woman had a terrifying habit of hearing things she absolutely shouldn't have been able to hear.
"Any more good news?" he asked dryly.
"You are getting bold, Spy."
The assassin pinched the bridge of his nose.
Then proceeded to mutter something deeply impolite in French.
The Administrator wisely chose to ignore it.
---
The mission itself sounded simple.
Observe.
Gather information.
Track several weapon suppliers operating deep in the Australian outback.
Easy.
The only complication was their cover.
They weren't supposed to look like coworkers.
Or acquaintances.
They had to look comfortable together.
Like men who had spent years in each other's company.
Close enough to finish each other's sentences.
Close enough to share a room without anyone asking questions.
Close enough that the occasional touch, glance or laugh wouldn't seem out of place.
Spy hated it already.
---
The further they drove, the less civilization seemed interested in following them.
The endless highway stretched across the burning landscape until it disappeared into shimmering waves of heat.
Red earth.
Dry grass.
An endless blue sky.
The air itself felt brittle.
Spy had long since abandoned any hope of looking presentable.
And the worst part?
Mundy had insisted on taking his van.
"Less problematic transportation."
Those had been the sniper's exact words.
Spy glanced toward the driver's seat.
The Australian looked entirely at peace.
One hand rested lazily on the steering wheel.
The other drummed against the door in time with a song only he could hear.
Infuriating.
Life had a funny habit of making people eat their own words.
Sooner or later, Spy was certain the bushman would regret that statement.
Hopefully sooner.
---
Several hours into the drive, something unusual happened.
Spy fell silent.
Completely silent.
No sarcastic remarks.
No complaints.
No dramatic speeches about civilization.
Nothing.
Mundy noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
The sniper shifted ever so slightly in his seat.
Suspicious.
Spy almost laughed.
Apparently his constant commentary had become expected.
How unfortunate.
In reality, he wasn't paying attention to the road at all.
His thoughts had wandered somewhere far more irritating.
Specifically—
To the Australian sitting beside him.
The problem was surprisingly simple.
Mick Mundy refused to react.
Most people were predictable.
A compliment.
A smile.
A carefully timed touch.
Sooner or later, everyone reacted.
Some blushed.
Some became flustered.
Some practically threw themselves at him.
Mundy did none of those things.
He rolled his eyes.
Threatened violence.
Then carried on with his day.
It should have been irritating.
Instead...
It was fascinating.
The bushman was impossible to surprise.
Almost impossible to impress.
And somehow, that only made Spy want to try harder.
Because for the first time in years, someone simply refused to play.
And worse—
Spy was beginning to enjoy the challenge.
Perhaps a little too much.
Outside the window, endless stretches of red earth rolled beneath the burning Australian sun.
Inside the van, neither man noticed how often their attention drifted back to the other.
---
The motel looked exactly how Spy imagined a place in the middle of nowhere would.
A faded neon sign buzzed lazily above the office, missing two letters and threatening to give up entirely.
Dust clung to every surface, coating the porch railings, the cracked windows, even the lonely vending machine that had probably been empty since the previous century.
A row of identical doors stretched along the building, each opening directly onto the parking lot where Mick's van looked strangely at home.
The entire place smelled of hot asphalt, dry wood and sun-baked dust.
Somewhere nearby, cicadas screamed without mercy.
Spy adjusted his tie and stared at the building in silence.
"...You're joking."
Mundy killed the engine.
"Nope."
"I've seen crime scenes that looked more welcoming."
"Yeah?" Sniper grabbed his duffel bag from the back of the van. "Crime scenes usually have better air conditioning."
As if offended, the ancient air-conditioning unit mounted outside their room let out a metallic groan before falling silent.
Spy closed his eyes.
"I already hate this place."
–––
The woman at reception had messy hair and a smile far too cheerful for someone living in the middle of nowhere.
Spy still wasn't sure whether she was genuinely happy or simply immune to the heat.
Either way, she handed them a single key.
He chose not to think about it.
Not yet.
With what little hope he had left, Spy unlocked the door.
The room was cool.
Quiet.
Small.
His eyes landed on the bed.
One bed.
One.
Freaking.
Bed.
Spy quietly closed the door.
Waited.
Then opened it again.
No.
Still one bed.
He slowly turned toward Sniper.
The Australian glanced inside. "Hm."
Then walked in.
Spy stared at him. "...That's it?"
"What?"
"You don't see a problem?"
Sniper looked around the room once more. "No?"
Spy let out a long, defeated sigh. "I'm killing the Administrator.”
First thing you need is a picture/gif and a program or site that lets you make them!
I use https://stamps.pixelwavestudio.net to make these!
☆ stamp maker
Heres some tips on using it…
When you want to insert an image or gif, DON’T click on the blue “+ upload images (0/20)” button, thats most likely meant for custom stamp borders that you upload yourself. Instead, scroll down to the Background section, and click “upload image”!
Keep in mind that the program cannot generate gifs with over 100 frames/heavy gifs, and may take some time. Images are quick though!
To remove the text, scroll to the Add Text section, and delete the default text.
If you are making stamps on mobile, you can scroll horizontally to see the full preview of the stamp!
When you are ready to download your stamp, scroll to the top below the preview stamp, and click the rainbow “generate stamp!” button! If you are on mobile, hold the generated stamp down to download it, or just download the file to your browser/files app (mobile & desktop)
Beavis was still crying. He could not understand where Mama had gone, and he could not understand why she had gone. Through his tears, he could see something move. Butt-Head had finally turned his head. It was slight, very slight. But it was enough for their eyes to meet. Comforted by the familiar, Beavis’ wailing turned into hushed sniffles. Butt-Head remained as he was, as still as a baby could possibly be.
“Go on now. Git.” She placed them back down on their blanket right between the couch and the television. She hastily shook a rattle toy above their heads, dropped it, and ambled back to the couch. The toy rolled closest to Butt-Head, who stared at it blankly before he slowly began to reach for it. His fingers locked, he lifted his eyes, then his hand, smacking Beavis in the face with the toy. Comforted by the familiar, Beavis’ sniffles turned into silence, and he began to laugh.
my favoriteee scene from summer 1998 or something by @dappledpaintbrush i think about it so often
