I have a bunch of oneshots all over my desktop. If by chance I finished them all I would feel bad for spamming them so I'll just dump them here. Concrit is welcome (so is booing really), especially if it turns out I'm shitting all over something. Like in this first one in which I fill request 219 of the request thread despite having never smoked, done drugs, or felt the need for a cup of coffee in my life. I'm sorry "whoring themselves out" became "NEARLY fucked two entire people". However, I could try and make up extra chapters and pretend they happened in the middle of this. (Summary: Spy/Sniper, almost Demoman/Sniper, prompt "One of the characters is trying to break a bad habit (Preferably Sniper trying to quit smoking) and become moody or anxious... then (not entirely sure how this would work out, do as you please or go for the literal) to make the cravings and withdrawals subside, they whore themselves out. Relationships form or don't, I refuse to be picky.") Dependent. Sniper was missing. Sniper never missed. He was Sniper. Only right now he wasn't feeling like Sniper. Normally Sniper would treat his gun like a royal family member. Today he dropped it to the floor in frustration. Normally he would gibe the enemy cackling, today he threw frustrated screams at them to tell them to hold bloody still. He was angry and spiteful and, most of all, depressed. He wasn't up for this bullshit war-game right now. He didn't know why he ever took the contract, really. He didn't remember why anything was worth anything today. It wasn't just a bad day. It was the worst day so far in a very long nightmare. He kept telling himself to push for one more day and one more day and he had managed to quit nicotine for over two weeks. But it had ground off his patience. His cravings weren't getting better, they were getting worse. How long did he need to go before that hump was crossed? It was looking more like he wouldn't make it there until it was too late. He gave up his work. All his professional standards were moot in the face of this monster in his brain and body. He was riddled with shaking and distraction. There was nothing to do except smash his head on the wood of the back wall and try to focus on the pain instead of his itch. But then he smelled it. He caught the scent of a fresh cigarette wafting around. It was faint and weak but it was torture to his senses. There was quite the moment in which he didn't even realize what it meant before he twirled around and met face-to-face with a stinking, lurking Spy. He didn't have the time or patience for his Kukri, he jutted the heel of his boot so hard into the Spy's ribs that the BLU keeled over and fell on his ass, hard. He was obviously surprised and pained. But Sniper had his eye on the cigarette the BLU had dropped, its ash now scattered on the floorboards. "Filthy outdoorsman, how did you know?" Sniper ignored the question and glared silently at the man. At this pivotal moment he was finally in control of something where he had been feeling helpless all this time. The adrenaline-laced beat of his heart was a break in the storm. It felt good. The Spy was clearly oppressed by the air coming off the man. Even as an enemy, he felt like something was very wrong and that this wasn't the rival he knew. It actually made his heart pang to be looked at this way instead of with bitter rivalry. It was like he hated him. He didn't. Spy gasped when knees thudded at either of his sides. He had a knife in his hand and Sniper had nothing, but there was something so unnatural about all this that the spy was too clammed up to protest when their lips were entwined. It was surprisingly soft. But needy. But despite that he felt completely overpowered in this position. What was even going on, he didn't understand. Did Sniper hate him, want him, or both? All the addicted feelings Sniper had been agonizing over were washing out. It didn't matter how temporary it was, it didn't matter what the consequences, and it didn't matter that Spy was looking at him funny. It didn't matter that it was going to mess up the delicate way they had both been treating their relationship. When he clawed at Spy's jacket he was clawing himself away from the incessant burn of cravings. Before he knew it he had Spy clawing back, lost in what he was mistaking for passion. Firm in their oral embrace, Sniper wrested loose Spy's belt at an alarming rate and grabbed ahold of his dick. He immediately coaxed it to attention, leaving Spy practically choking on how fast it was progressing. Honestly, wrestling in the enemy territory did suggest a need for some haste but he'd at least have liked a word from Sniper confirming that there was something to this besides steamy, confusing touching. It wasn't his way. He was a romantic. And their rivalry, brimming with all kinds of silent sexual tension, was not a traditional wooing. Still, he'd never been touched so... feverishly. Even with all his qualms he was already hooked and letting the bushman have his way. Before he knew it Sniper had his pants fallen about his knees and was rutting him. Spy could practically feel himself pulling splinters from his bare buttocks now as he would certainly be later. But the sensation was making it up. Sniper was grunting with the contact and when his jacket suffered the weight of Spy clinging on he flashed a grin, predatory and pleased. Spy's return smile was unnerved but tainted with adoration. Sniper had enough of it once they were both obviously turned on. Spy was sure by the way he looked at him he knew where this was going, but he was wrong. Sniper was still running from that distant craving when he took residence in Spy's lap and, without discussing it, started positioning himself for penetration. Spy's heart skipped a rapid thump. Sniper was being completely reckless, prodding his erection against an unprepared ass. He wasn't doing very well. Reluctantly, Spy reached around his back and massaged his buttocks, teasing some relaxation out of the exit. Sniper determinedly worked his way on, squealing in pain but completely immersed in it. It didn't feel good, it was gut-wrenching, but it was relieving a million times over. Freeing. Sweat was cascading in droplets off his hairy chin, and when he looked down through his tinted shades the smoulder seared into Spy. The awful pressure on his dick was uncomfortable but the heat... god, the heat. Between the Badlands' natural humidity and the flushing skin kept snug under layers of clothing it was unbearable. Sniper moved himself agonizingly, their lovemaking dry and raw but god it was what he needed. That pang he had before, what was it? It was long gone, replaced, the hole filled with a new sensation. He milked Spy for all he was worth, feeling much like a parasite using him. Spy tried to lead his lips down for a kiss but he spurned him. There was perhaps a twang of guilt when the suit-clad arms fell to the ground listlessly, resigning the man to the empty feeling he had quietly feared. Their moans were out of synch, hoping for different things from each-other. They orgasmed, and it was a stark burst of pleasure next to all the roughness, but Spy couldn't have felt more ashamed by it. Sniper didn't even see him. He wasn't looking at him anymore, not spacially and not at all. He almost yearned to be hated rather than ignored. Their parting was an awkward silence in which Sniper went back to his rifle and Spy, after watching himself get shunned, pulled his sorry self together and trudged, cloaked and not in a hurry, back to his side of the field. Nobody noticed his absence the remainder of the day, not even in his own team. Pretty easily done when you tended to cloak before even leaving spawn. Sniper was able to rest soundly in his camper that evening. His itch had subsided, and he felt calmer than he had in days. He was specifically poised to lay on his upper back because, yes, he had developed a searing pain in his backside and sitting on it was pretty uncomfortable. But it was worth it. He'd driven out his demon, at least for a while. Even through the feeling of sickness and bodily wreckage left by their encounter, he felt refreshed. He only remembered the looks Spy had given him remotely, faded images that he didn't even know if they were legitimate or part of his feverish mind. -- It was barely a week more before Sniper went as far as lighting up a smoke. It had barely been conscious, he just vaguely understood he needed one and had instinctively proceeded to fill his need. Before it touched his lips, though, he stomped it into the ground furiously. Was he THIS weak? No! But god, that burning in his gut was killing him. He was distracted again, walking down wrong hallways and bumping carelessly into people all the time. He would mutter sorries and move on, trying to avoid putting the grump on his comrades. He knew they didn't deserve that, and he knew he was verging past the ability to stop himself from railing into everyone he so much glanced at. "...what'd'ye think yer doin'," came a slur from behind the distracted Sniper. Speaking of walking down wrong hallways, he had been so absorbed in his self-loathe he was somehow in Demo's living space. He stood stock still with his hand still on the handle of the door he had been closing, taking in the large Malcom X posters on the walls, shamelessly open-at-the-centerfold porn magazines strewn on the bedside table, and the floor coated with bottles and some bits of broken glass. The entire place stank of drink, but that was sadly unsurprising. This was probably the only person with a worse addiction than Sniper breathing within a hundred miles. Oh, and Demo had his dick out. Sniper also noticed that. It was difficult not to. It was 90% of the reason he was frozen where he stood. His heart had stopped and he was allowing ideas to rush through his mind. Especially about the last encounter he'd had with Spy, and how good it had felt to drive away that need to smoke for just a while, how well it had helped. "Oh, Holy Mary's Baby, sorry, I didn't--," he stammered while Demo sluggishly slid upright on his bed. The Scotsman stalked over and grabbed Sniper's hand, clenching it over the door handle and closing the door the rest of the way. "Aw Christ mate, no," Sniper snatched his hand away and tried to push the wood of the door fruitlessly. The last thing he needed right now was to be tempted by the prospect of tainted consent. "You're drunk. Go lay down." "You can come with me, skinny," Demo drawled, "I ain' drunker'n I am never when I 'splode stuff 'n' stuff, s'no big deal. Let's keep each-other's company." "I think you're a might drunker'n that." Sniper smiled jokingly but his heart was pounding. This wasn't the first time Demoman had been this drunk and acted this way with people but it seemed a bad time to cross their addictions. He felt wrong about it but he was glancing down at Demo's junk. He was imagining things that made him twitch in want. There was a fire in his lungs and another in his pants, like they were insisting either one or the other be satisfied. He shook it off, and in this moment of weakness, pulled out his pack of emergency cigarettes and started lighting up with shaking hands. The pressure was too much, he was making his choice. But Demo grabbed the lighter and tossed it to the side, out the window, spurring his resolve. When Sniper incredulously opened his mouth to complain, and with fiery gusto, he shushed him. He didn't know the damage he wrought. "Ye've been doin' so good quittin' those, don' ruin it," Demo muttered, tickling a finger under Sniper's chin playfully. Sniper bit back his scathing comments. Demo didn't know the harm he was doing, blissfully unaware of the battle in Sniper. God, he knew if he took advantage here it would make him feel better. The cyclops probably wouldn't even remember, judging by the thickness of the alcohol on his breath. It seemed immoral, or moreso than with Spy, but it was feeling more and more like the thing to do. Demo couldn't hear any of Sniper's thoughts and took his silence as consent, nibbling and lapping at his jaw like he was coaxing him, trying to relax him. Sniper's breathing evened out but his chest was rising and falling dramatically. It was a sudden shock when hands groped around his buttocks through his slacks, and he bit his lower lip in recognition that his lust was winning over and driving out his cravings. It was like his body couldn't even handle the two chemical needs at once. "Alright, you feisty bastard," he snickered warily and pushed some distance between himself and the man trying to eat his face. Demo's drunken self was pleased, playful, and let himself stagger back with the push, sliding his hand into Sniper's outstretched one and leading him along. They toppled into the stiff Mann Co-grade mattress, and the large hand decided to rub Sniper's sides soothingly. The thinner, lighter of them found he was once again straddling another mercenary. He could see through the slack opening of his partner's mouth he was licking his teeth like he was imagining, or perhaps savoring from moments before, Sniper's taste. It made Sniper's skin crawl, which was good. Pleasure, discomfort, he was past yearning for it all. He slid his hips along Demo's exposed regions, unbuckling his belt as he did so. There wasn't a strong reaction for his ministrations, but that's what you get for dry-humping an intoxicated person. He could tell it was going to be rougher on his ass than with Spy. But that was probably for the best. That terrible, terrible brew of pain and pleasure was what he was going for. The large, dark hands started fondling him again, fixated on the fat of his posterior and kneading the cheeks. "Soft like me mum's tenderized-ta-hell haggis," Demo murmured. Sniper didn't bother noting how little he cared for the analogy. Sniper had felt he'd lost going through the motions with Spy-- whom he needed to stop comparing to this situation so much-- but with this candid encounter the foreplay before making it to the bed seemed to be about it. No kisses were had, nor did they look each-other in the eye very much. Their gazes remained mostly toward where their bodies met while Sniper once again made the agonizing move to penetrate himself. Demo winced but let him keep trying. But quickly he decided there was no chance his endowment was making it through. "Me thinks we need a little elbow grease," he purred, and put his hands behind his head, relaxing. Sniper stared at him blankly before catching on. It didn't suit him well but Demo had a point-- there was no need to end up going to Medic with such an embarrassing issue. So he scooted back and hunched over, taking the object of his desire into both hands and started licking at it. He conjured as much saliva as he could from the back of his throat and let it glide off his tongue. His fingers worked the inadequate substance over the surface, ignoring the pipes of dirty talk coming from above his head. "Oh ye like that, ye do. If you're gonna bloody well camp ye might as well camp my pants." Surely that sounded more clever in Demoman's lucid head that it actually was. Sniper again ignored it. He was hard as a rock and it seemed like he was baby-sitting the Scot instead of doing what he was wanting to and getting his brains fucked out. No sooner than he thought that a pair of hands gripped his head. Ah, irony. Demo guided Sniper's mouth closer to his cock. Sniper was smacked in the face a bit and was weighing towards protesting, but the moment he opened his mouth it was invaded. His own lack of tact let that happen, really. Demo was surprisingly kind about it. He didn't mean to rough up anyone, he was just unable to make controlled decisions to avoid it. He moved Sniper along his cock but he didn't try to get a deep-throat or anything. It was actually killing Sniper how gentle he was. This kind of cutesy behavior, serenading him to the bed and caressing and such, it was painful because for one this was definitely a one-off fling and for two he was sure that need to smoke would be creeping back up any time now and it actually made him panic to think so. But all quickly became futile when he realized it was only his own neck that was making him bob now. An unappealing noise rose from Demo and when Sniper looked up he found out his outlet had fallen asleep. Still hard, but asleep. A lot indignant and a little cranky, Sniper let the big hands fall and moved over, untangling them completely and picking up his vest to just find a fag to light up and destroy the frustration he was feeling right now. But when he looked for his lighter he remembered it had descended from the window to, presumably, the ground below. He went over to see where he had to go to retrieve it and was mortified to find under Demo's window... nothing. There was literally a cliffside underneath that side of the building. And that's why Demo doesn't get as much smut written about him as anyone else. -- Sniper slammed the poor man against the door of his camper, arm pressuring and choking his throat as a threat, and felt his wrist for the telltale watch. He pressed random buttons until he pinpointed the one that took off disguises and came face-to-face with the BLU Spy, wheras before he had been looking at the false face of his footloose comrade. "Scout scooted off to Boston last night to visit his sick mum. I thought you was a Spy, try gathering a little information." Despite being clearly overpowered Spy clicked his tongue. "I just though he was closest to your type, perhaps." "Why not look for a fling on yer own team? Less chance of me guttin' ye after." He licked Spy's lips, waging for a kiss, which made Spy's heart soar and break at the same time. He turned his head away from the bushman. "Non, I cannot go through with this. Just stab me and let respawn give me a quick trip back." "You come here and proposition me with someone else's face and have the gall not to go through with it?" Sniper growled. After his debacle with Demo the day before he was hankering for some pankering. If it cost him his loyalty to RED so be it. His tug-of-war between cravings for nicotine and cravings for sex was driving him insane and he knew which one he would sooner give into. "Why don't you just fuck the demolitions person again if you are so in need?" Spy spat. "I..." Sniper spluttered, "Have ye been stalkin' me, ye damned ghost?!" "Well it's not as if you're very approachable! Though, non, it seems I was wrong in thinking so, you seem to be quite easily approached." At this Sniper had enough and crammed their mouths together in an awkward, unreciprocated kiss. Spy turned his head away in disgust. His resistance was frustrating, posing the possibility of another fling lost out on. "Come on, I need this." "You are out of control," Spy said with a twinge of panic. "This is me getting IN control, Spook." He pressed his knee between Spy's legs, parting them and running his free hand along one from the knee to the thigh. It elicited a groan but not a happy, wanting one. "If you call choking me and asking for sex I don't want controlled..." He smashed his knee into Sniper's side, making him guffaw and loosen his grip enough to squirm away and hit his cloaking device on. Sniper rubbed it off and looked around blindly at no-one and nothing. The comment stung. "Look, I've... I've been giving up smokin', I mighta bin a little out of it when I had my way with ye. But the sex helps. I mean, it really helps. It makes me feel like I ain't dependent on the fags anymore!" Silence replied him. He frustratedly rammed his boot into the camper, shaking the entire vehicle. He felt cornered, judged, and it was making him sick because why did he feel the need to justify himself to the BLU Spy of all people? Or to anyone? Sniper slouched into the camper door with a metallic bang from impact, then slid his back down it to sit in the grass. His fingers kneaded his face and pushed his hat up by the brim to run through his matted hair. His skin felt greasy and he was suddenly aware of how unkempt he was, having forgone regular hygiene in his day-in-day-out strop. Everything about him felt unclean. A quiet murmur finally replied. "Sounds like you're just dependent on a different kind of fag." The fwoosh of the cloak coming down accompanied the Spy sitting down by Sniper, his silhuette coloring itself in on the canvas of the Badland's scenery. He didn't meet Sniper's eye but he wasn't so eager to get away anymore. He had just looked too pathetic to leave alone. "Listen, I don't think you necessarily need to give up anything. I smoke, and I'm not giving it up any time soon. But, if you prefer the sex to the smoking... I would like to be the one you're addicted to." Sniper's ears warmed over to hear something so oddly lewd but also partly a confession. They were both much aware of the tension they'd always ignored between them, they had just never been so brave as to approach one-another in such a way that didn't involved some kind of blade. Excluding a delirious encounter in which Sniper had used Spy as an outlet, which was quickly coming back to haunt him. He'd ignored that, too. He had been knitting himself quite the convenient reality, really. "Hell, I like ya Spook, but I can't ask for that after what I did." Spy's gloved hand guided Sniper into a kiss, soft and forgiving. "If you like me as I do you, despite what you 'did', I would be heartbroken for my offer to be turned down." Sniper's mirroring hand ran along Spy's neck, poking for a continuation of the kiss. This was more pleasurable than the pleasure he had sought. He could feel the affection pouring into him and that huge hole filled without any strain on his body. It felt good. Still, he sought a little more and his hands crawled to Spy's hips and his thumbs pressed into the crooks of his sides. Spy's hips rose and let Sniper lift him over, a leg crossing to his other side so Spy was overtop. Baring down on him. Spy's hands rose behind his head and his gloved fingers creeper under his mask, pulling it forward and over his head thus breaking their smooching. Sniper gulped. He hadn't imagined Spy as quite so handsome because he had never bothered to to imagine him without his face covered. Spy didn't make a big deal about it and resumed his loving pecks. But Sniper treated it as more, seeing something he considered intimate relative to whose face it was. His fingers traveled into hair he found was just as matted and unkempt as his own and aggressively tugged Spy's waist, his back curved into him. He fondled under his jacket and through the gaps between buttons on his shirt and felt the flesh he hadn't taken any time to admire the previous round. The oppressive heat of the desert was gone in lieu of the night but his companion was still warm to the touch. Realizing his heart was investing in this, realizing he wanted to see everything he could of Spy, he let their lips break apart again. "Inside. It's warmer. Nobody might see." The Spy nodded numbly, his enamored stare showing he barely heard that. He caught on quickly anyway when Sniper guided them upright and into the camper. It was regrettable he had to stop touching for any given second even to open the door, but Spy seemed to agree and buried his face into his back as he did and closed it behind them. When he turned around fingers latched onto his vest and peeled it away. Shoes were kicked off by heels and they managed to have just gloves and socks encumbering them by the time they rolled each-other onto the tiny sleeping bunk. "Mon dieu, how cramped." Sniper shrugged and made nothing of that, choosing instead to pinch bits of exposed chest and figured out he was free to explore it like he was so desperate to. It wasn't terribly muscular, he could feel ribs under the skin if he ran his fingers over the right place, but it was acceptable. Spy was grinning as he did this, always pleased to be admired. -- A cigarette waved in front of Sniper's nose. He responded by pushing away the hand holding it in favor of rolling back on top of Spy and scratching his fingers in the modest amount of chest hair under his cheek. "Are you sure? Because I am about to light up and I'm not going to apologize for it." "I appreciate yer sensitivity but I think I'll live."
This was great. You oughtta post it on adultfanfiction.net or fanfiction.net so you'll get some recognition. I've always loved the dynamic between Spy and Sniper. You did a great job personalizing their relationship. I hope I see more from you!
I'm crap at giving constructive criticism unless there's something glaringly wrong with a story, and nothing caught my eye like that here. Also: unf. That was a fun read. I would have loved to see more of Sniper and Demoman, but beggars can't be choosers (and dirty fanfic requests are pretty low on the scale of begging, but somewhere above real sexual favors and extra kidneys).
Holy shit, I love this. I love the angle you've got going for Sniper (feel bad for Demo, though, poor guy needs more love). And I enjoy just how overall manly and real-life it is. No sappy thoughts, no swooning, etc. Write more.
"Soft like me mum's tenderized-ta-hell haggis." Oh, Demo. Tell me more about my eyes. This was lovely. All of it. It's not terribly often that an author can make me feel genuinely sorry for Spy, without that sympathy being overwhelmed by malicious delight. If anything, my sympathy for Spy might have been too great: By the end, I was of the opinion that he deserved better than second fiddle to Sniper's cigarettes. Perhaps a nice demoman. Beautiful, anyway. Nice and straightforward. Saccharine kept within my very low tolerance. And shit another great thread for me to forward to. Today has been a good day.
Interesting to see Sniper as the pursuer; the portrayal is not exactly unheard of, but it's still pretty damn rare. It's also very rare to see a fairly realistic description of raw sex as painful. And the scene of Demo falling asleep in the middle of a blowjob was funny. I liked it :)
And that, my friends, is how you write unlubricated buttsex. It's a sensation only a pain slut could love, and yes, it WILL take your mind off whatever other troubles you may have.
>>2 I have a fanfiction.net account but, I dunno. I have this weird Hetalia fic from years ago that I still get reviews on every week and even though I know it's crap people just praise it an praise it and long story short I don't like it because I don't have any faith in the community. When I try to be constructive I get shot down, too, it's a terrible environment. I've been looking at AO3 though. Really though, widespread recognition isn't important to me so much as having some relaxing fun with a bit of writing now and then. I actually have a TF2/Tangled crossover trollfic covered in dust on ff.net though-- I might just rip it down and post her up here, heh. >>3 Demoman is someone I want to give more love... but not with Sniper. Doesn't actually feel right to me. >>4 >>5 Yesss, score! I like slightly sappy romances from time to time but. Yeah. Men don't talk about their feelings. (And neither do I for that matter so I wouldn't know how to.) That's something I'll try and carry over into anything else. >>6 >>7 You know what? I was concerned it wasn't painful-sounding enough. Thanks. (I was also told in High School sexual stimulation ability drops when intoxication rises so hey, points for me paying attention in Law class!) I'm kind of sad I haven't gotten any negative remarks. Fuck, guys, how am I supposed to strive for self-improvement? Thank you all though. I have five more weeks of college and then I'll have an entire summer to use to write on a whim. I look forward to it.
You know what? I was concerned it wasn't painful-sounding enough Well, context is important. We are talking about battle-hardened mercenaries who are used to get shot and stabbed and blown up everyday, their pain threshold has to be much higher than a normal person's. That still doesn't justify all those bad fics where the men fuck with no lube and no stretching and it somehow feels wonderful. But the way you described it seems like an accurate middle ground to me. And word about ff.net. Some writers there are gracious about constructive criticism; but many will react to any criticism, not matter how gentle and polite, as if you had run over their puppy while seducing their grandmother and laughing at their baby pictures.
>>9 I dunno if I would calculate taking bullets to being resilient to painus in the anus. I dunno if I wouldn't either, though. I haven't had the experience of either so far. If what I did worked I'm happy. And, I wouldn't give time to an author who acted that way... I get more bothered about fellow reviewers who go out of their way to say "don't listen to ______". But eh, it's a beehive of crummy attitudes. Word indeed.
>>10 The physical sensations are quite different, but really, pain tolerance of this sort is always mostly psychological, anyway. If you've got the tools to get along with a knife or a bullet in places where it doesn't belong, tearing you up from the inside, or whilst burning alive or reduced to a pulp with a shovel, or dying and being brought back to life, then you can probably use those tools to deal with intense discomfort in the ass or cock. Mind, that wouldn't protect you from harm to your pride, or your sexual identity, or any number of other sacred concepts that people for some reason choose to associate with their naughty bits. It's very possible for these otherwise hardened mercenaries to feel the physical pain of an injury more acutely simply because the nature of that injury dings their psyche in a less protected areas. Spy, for example, could potentially have a terribly difficult time handling the unpleasantness on his junk, not for the sake of the pain itself, but because that's not how sex with Sniper was supposed to feel. War doesn't usually prepare you to have your romantic aspirations torn up and rubbed in your face. - Anyway, since you asked, I felt like the story got a wee bit rushed towards the end. I do the same thing in my writing, so I'm always sure to set aside a special revision session for adjusting the pacing near the end. Usually that does the trick. - Your Spy doesn't really sound that much like Spy, in fact, he sounds like you. Listening to his response clips before you write him might help you to get into his character, and if it doesn't, you can always have someone who writes him well help you to revise his dialogue. - If you don't have a grammar nazi beta, you should get one. There are a number of little surface errors, mostly in syntax and punctuation. It's not as if they render the story unreadable, but even little distractions can bitch up your momentum, if the reader notices while they're reading.
>>11 That's all interesting stuff to think about! I couldn't have worked it through that deeply myself. And... that's all the response I have. Thank you, I'll try and learn my brain with the idea that pain can be swayed by expectation. - I worked on it sporadically over the course of a couple months but the end I only read through twice... on the same day. Good idea. Now that I look back on it that's kind of obvious to me too, and I'll probably fix this (and other stuff) if I ever archive it somewhere. - This statement worries me, holy crap. I mean, I don't think he sounds like me. And even though I know me better, it doesn't matter if it SOUNDS like he sounds like me. Listening to voice clips is something I do regularly in and out of game, however Spy's quippy one-liners are kind of out of place here? The three modes you can hear him in are gloating, being paranoid, and that TINY bit at the end of MTS where he calls Scootma his Petite Chou Fleur. From that last one I've pegged him as a monogamous-romantic kind of guy... but now I'm looking back and thinking about it more and more I am starting to agree completely. I don't think he sounds like me (to me) but his characterization is weak... - I obnoxiously believed I could correct myself. Er, well, if you saw the difference between a rawly written piece by me and a piece combed by me for grammar, I DID correct myself. A lot. I'll get my ladyfriend to check it next time. I might try and put this through the wringer this weekend and see if I can't improve it.
Faced with the reality of how difficult it is to write a decent wubby story between mercs... here's some not-wubby-at-all CBS/Medic bromancigore something drabble I don't know? Which I'm going to leave with a sage because it's not worth bumping even if there's not a lot to bump. -- Initially he scraped his teeth over the calloused flesh until an incisor settled neatly in the notch beneath the peaks of two fingers while the remainder of digits fell off his bottom lip. He clamped his jaw down, however only amply enough to ache. There occurred a delicate jerk but he drew the arm around his victim's waist to tell him to collect himself, lest worse transpire by a fluke than he'd already intended. The vice tightened and the pressure set gashes into the flesh between his yellowed teeth and the bone of the phalange. He didn't cease there, furthermore, and kept firming his bite until it snapped. His partner whimpered but they weren't done. More cleaving tendon and fragmenting bone followed, and then the dermis broke and blood seeped over his tongue and down his chin and matted it's hair. With an exertion he tore off one of the sections and spat it into his hand. His subject promptly clamped his own hand around the open-ended, bleeding digit and breathed a shuddered breath. He contorted his forearm to blot the sweat off his visage and beamed. "It will grow back."
>>12 I think that what's missing most from Spy's dialogue is his confident speech. In the game, everything he says is neat and direct; he knows exactly what he wants to say, and that's exactly what he says. You've got, for example, the "just" and "perhaps," in "I just though he was closest to your type, perhaps.[/i/" which together give him an insecure, almost apologetic tone, very unlike him. The line "[i]Well it's not as if you're very approachable!" The discourse marker, "well," and "It's not as if," both very indirect, like he doesn't really know what he's saying, or is hesitant to say it. "Listen, I don't think you necessarily need to give up anything." features the hedges, "I...think" and "necessarily," again, softening his speech, while "Listen," asks for the Sniper's attention, rather than commanding it. And so on. I hope those are good enough examples to help you understand what I mean. >>13 I didn't have a clue what was going on and it still made me shudder.
>>14 Yeah.... eh, I was thinking about it, and I guess if there's one thing I /could/ suggest, it might be making Spy's interest in Sniper more covert. IE. He's kind of playing coy and skirting around actually admitting he wants Sniper's attention, but something about his demeanour betrays his real feelings to Sniper (like the simple fact that he showed up at Sniper's van).
>>14 >>15 I came to the same conclusion. To fix it I'm trying to expound on the entire story as well as rewrite it.