A/N
We (Hotteaforme and LozzofLondon) get all sorts of reviews, but some really take the tea-dunked biscuit.
This is 100% a sparky, snarky, crackfic. Inspired by some of the more amusing reviews we come across in Fanfic Land.
*Please Note* A sense of (dry) humour is required.
Chapter 1: Eagle Has Landed
21:00, 22 February 2021
Location: Vauxhall, London
The room is dark, the tap-tap sound constant as a lone figure hunches over a keyboard, face silvery-blue from the glow of the screen.
A door opens, casting a bright slither of light across a large table and bare walls, quickly extinguished as it shuts with a thump.
Footsteps, heavy on the worn carpet.
There's silence.
A slurp finally breaks it.
"Could you not do that, Cullen?"
"Do what?"
"Slurp."
"I didn't slurp."
"Yes, you did."
They fall quiet. More typing. The sound of the backspace being pressed, an audible huff.
Slurrrrp.
"God, this is hard," She groans, slouching in her chair.
"What's hard?"
"Trying to figure out a lemon! How many times can he thrust?"
"I don't know. Read it to me."
"With one hand on her breast—"
"What is this, the 1800s? Change it to tit."
"Is that what you call them?"
"Boobs, tits, the girls …"
"The girls? Really?"
"Really. Go on. Carry on."
"With one hand on her tit, the other finds her heated centre—"
Sluuuurp.
"Would you stop that?" She sniffs the air, her face scrunching in disgust. "My God, is that coffee? And you call yourself an agent of the Queen."
"I like coffee. You're right though, that"—he points to the computer—"is a load of bollocks. Move over. Let me write it."
He sits in her vacated seat, pulling the keyboard closer and studying the Google Doc on the screen in front of him. After a minute, he turns around, coffee cup dangling from long fingers.
"Do you have the most vanilla sex in the world, or what?"
Even though it's dark, Swan is sure her cheeks are turning pink.
"At least I have sex. Surprised you can get laid at all with your attitude."
"Trust me, Swan. That's not a problem."
She slumps down further into her chair, inspecting his profile, illuminated only by the light of the computer screen. He's smirking as he types. She moves closer, suddenly worried. She's become familiar with Cullen's facial expressions over the last week, and that smirk is definitely when she needs to be worried. She leans in, reading over his shoulder.
"You can't say that!"
Confused, he looks up at her. "Say what? What's wrong with it?"
"Moist. No one likes that word." She shivers, emphasising her point.
"Don't worry, Swan; at this rate, no one's going to read it. It's shite."
"We need people to read it."
He lifts a finger to correct her. "Person. We need one person to read it."
"And how do you suggest we draw that one person in?"
"Trigger words."
"Moist isn't a trigger word."
"It could be. No one uses it—which is a blimmin' shame, if you ask me. So if two fics appear out of the blue, using that same word …"
"Point taken." She turns her attention to the other laptop, scrolling through emails.
When briefed by their field supervisor with this particular ... mission, Swan had laughed in his face. Carlisle wasn't amused. Neither was she. Compared with her last assignments ...
"You want us to masquerade as fanfiction writers?" she'd said in horror.
"Do you, or do you not, have a first class honours degree in English Language and Literature from Cambridge?"
"Yes, but—" She had stopped, mid-sentence, looking desperately at Cullen, who appeared unperturbed. "You want us to write fanfiction?" She whispered the last word like it was dirty.
"That's what I said. Involve and immerse yourselves in the community. Gain trust. We have reliable intelligence that an underground network is using the largest website to spread dangerous misinformation through coded reviews and literary works."
"Literary works?" Swan had always thought fanfiction was utter drivel, written by obsessed fans, and allegedly … full of erotica. Her sister had sent her a Harry Styles one once, and she barely made it past the first paragraph.
It just wasn't her cup of tea.
"I've allocated you a room." He dangled a keycard in front of her. Swan stared at it, unmoving until he tilted his head in an annoyed fashion. "Chop, chop."
She snatched the card out of Carlisle's hand, turning on her heel and stalking out of his office, only pausing to glare at Cullen, leaning against the desk with his long legs crossed in front of him, disposable coffee cup glued to his hand.
"Come on then," she said, like he was a small child, or a dog.
Cullen didn't move, amused, eyes lingering. He sighed when Carlisle cleared his throat, a pointed look toward the door Swan had disappeared out of.
"You owe me. This is going to be a nightmare."
Carlisle sent him a smug look. "Lighten up. You might learn something."
Rolling his eyes, Cullen stood and followed Swan down the hallway, towards their allocated room.
"Email alert," Swan says, sitting forward, right clicking, and opening up a new tab. Cullen leans over to read.
"What does that mean?" he asks, looking from the screen to Swan's face.
"One of the stories I follow updated."
"What does that mean?"
"I thought you said you'd do your homework"—she motions to the screen with her hand—"figure this out? Did you even read through the flash cards I made you?"
A few days had passed. They had spent most of it bickering. Trying to come up with usernames and brainstorming plot ideas, researching.
"The website makes no sense. It's old and clunky. What fandom am I even looking for? All I could remember was … vampires. I ended up reading Buffy fics, and I know that isn't the one highlighted in the brief."
"No, it's not."
"There's no Edward in Buffy, and I know how much you like to read—and write—about him."
Swan scowls, eyes narrowed, a silent warning that Cullen ignores.
"You don't need to read or write them anyway," she tells him. "Just read the damn reviews and look for the pattern."
"So, you get to have all the fun?" he questions, looking put out for a second.
"It's bait, nothing more, nothing less."
Cullen laughs. "Right. If you say so."
"You're still pissing around with the lemon. Stop it. I'll fix it." She slaps his hand, hard.
"I'm helping you."
"No, you're hindering me."
"All right, Anne Rice, chill …" He sighs, pushing his chair back as he stands. "I've printed some out. I'll get them pinned to the board."
Swan switches the laptops, watching Cullen leave the room before turning her attention back to her story.
Sure, technically, she's working, but she can't deny that she's been drawn into the world of fanfiction. It's … addictive.
But there's a serious matter at hand too.
International security issues can't be ignored, no matter how far-fetched, delusional, and innocent they appear on the surface.
As field agents who rarely come into contact with one another, Cullen and Swan are way out of their depths with this particular case. It's been … interesting, to say the least.
This time last month, Swan was boobs-deep in an international data breach, and Cullen was somewhere in Geneva, conducting a cyber security briefing.
"Sorted," Cullen says, entering the room again, waving the printouts of anonymous reviews in his hand. In his other, he holds a cardboard cup of fresh coffee.
"I'm okay, thanks," Swan mutters sarcastically, motioning towards his drink.
He shakes his head. "Nuh uh, not going there. You want tea, you make it yourself. Fuck knows I'll make it wrong again."
"You put the milk in first!"
"What's wrong with that?"
"Everything!"
"Look, tea-etiquette aside, I couldn't carry two cups."
She scoffs. "Bullshit."
"There's a Costa across the road, go for a walk and cool off or something."
Lips pursed, she stands, chair dragging back along the carpet, gripping her pen tight and resisting the urge to stab him in the eyeball. That would be a shame—his eyes are nice … green, like church windows. He has a spare, so it wouldn't be the end of the world if one was out of commission for a while—or forever.
Cullen is wrong. By the time Swan has made it down the three flights of stairs and across the road to Costa, the only sign of life is a boy in a cap mopping the floor, the doors barricaded and the chairs stacked high.
She turns and walks a little way down the street, but everything's closed. Sighing, she parks herself on a bench, careful not to sit in bird shit, and takes out her phone, googling for places that are open nearby that might offer a decent cuppa.
It just so happens there's an email alert in her personal inbox. She glances around warily, but it's just her and a pigeon feasting on a trampled sausage roll from Greggs.
Chapter: When He Said Hello Ch 36 by Mu …
It wouldn't hurt to just … read it. She was anticipating these updates, rabidly. It was part of her job, she reminded herself. And she really, really wanted Hermitward to come back.
Besides, Cullen seemed confident in his ability to write the lemon. As long as he steers away from the word moist, it couldn't be that bad. Really. Could it?
A/N
Thank you to May and Ciara for pre-reading and cheerleading. And Sally for Beta'ing and laughing along with us.
Thanks for reading!