|1||Tropic of Cancer (Sniper/Spy sap)||97||24 May 2013 10:39|
|2||How It Began (BLU Team)||1||16 May 2013 05:25|
|3||Request Thread Go!||116||13 May 2013 12:35|
|4||The Sudden Death Experiment||51||13 May 2013 01:42|
|5||Fanfic of a fanfic? Territory Control continuation||5||8 May 2013 23:38|
|6||What's a Little Hug Between Enemies? (a Sniper-Spy fic of ridiculousn||18||3 May 2013 02:17|
|7||Faust's Grimoire of Oneshots||5||30 April 2013 08:00|
|8||Permafrost||8||29 April 2013 08:08|
|9||Pericolo! Morte! Rinnovata!||8||26 April 2013 09:41|
|10||A-kon Related Fanfiction||10||20 April 2013 22:44|
|11||Machine Root||29||20 April 2013 22:34|
|12||Convergent/Divergent||6||17 April 2013 17:30|
|13||The Favourite||5||17 April 2013 01:19|
|14||Put 'Em Up, Sputnik!||1||25 March 2013 07:12|
|15||Sollydrabbles||18||20 March 2013 09:49|
|New Thread | All Threads|
ANOTHER LATE NIGHT POORLY THOUGHT OUT POST ON TF2CHAN?
DON'T MIND IF I DO
It’s early Sunday morning. Too early for a sunrise or birdsong, but I can feel the cusp of daylight approaching and with it the summer heat. A peek out the window confirms that the sky is starting to pale. The squat apartment building across the street is dark and quiet, and a few pedestrians flit between sidewalks like wary robins. I let my hand drop and stalk into the bathroom. It’s cooler and feels good after a restless night. When I flick on the lights, though, the sudden flash is like a brand against my retinas.
The first time I see my reflection since yesterday isn’t encouraging. I’m a lightly built man to begin with, but now I simply look thin and tired.
Funny how knowledge can change everything, isn’t it? Yesterday, I thought myself quite healthy for a retired assassin. Sure, my blood pressure is a little higher these days and I really shouldn’t smoke and drink so much, but these are habits without consequence. Can you blame me for being so trite after the years I spent as BLU Spy? I’m used to death being violent and sudden. Not a subtle orchestra of genetics and plain bad luck.
Hell yeah! An update! Also, did lawlspy go annon for other reason than forgeting?
Well I suddenly got this idea of writing each TF2 character’s back story and how they joined the team (I’ll be writing the BLU team… since I like them better for some reason). It’s headcannon all the way, I believe. All comment and criticism appreciated.
This is Scout’s story. Hope ya’ll like it, and apologize in advance for all the errors and mistakes.
How It Began
Scout - Shiver
Snap. Crash. Shatter!
Scout awoke in the middle of the night. He knew it was the middle of the night, because everything looked like a solid black world the moment his eyes snapped open. The sound was still ringing in his ears. Shatter. Something shattered just outside his room. Scout felt his breath evading him.
Last one autosaged, so it's time for a new one.
This idea just won't leave my head. Feel free to denounce it as stupid, but I keep thinking of the whole team getting teleported to feudal Japan, and somehow Demoman ends up being worshiped as a physical incarnation of Amaterasu. Meanwhile, Japan has no idea what the fuck to make of the rest of the team, but assumes that they're with Demoterasu and so they're venerated on general principle...
I'd also love to see Scout or Soldier struggle with ceremonial robes (I think some of them had up to twelve layers).
Mercs as benders (like in Avatar)
That is all.
Captcha: ceelan army. Make of that what you will.
Hello everyone. This is a chaptered piece that I've been working on and am quite excited about. I'll probably be posting it elsewhere as well, on ff.net or something of the like, but I wanted to put it here first because in my experience this tends to be a decent place for honest feedback, which I am always welcome to.
Thank you and enjoy.
There were eight tally marks in the wood. Eight tally marks, which meant they had been alive for at least eight days, and at least eight days meant at least one day over a week.
But the engineer hadn’t added another tally mark in a long, long time. It wasn’t that he forgot about it. He just didn’t want to know anymore.
It was some time past those eight days. Maybe a few days. Maybe a week. Maybe three. Like I said, the engineer didn’t know and he didn’t want to know, either.
So it was some immeasurable time past those eight certain days, and the engineer had taken apart his sentry for the umpteenth time that afternoon. The air was a little bit cooler than it had been earlier, but he kept his shirt off and the bib of his overalls unbuckled, anyway. A little bit cooler, by the standards of wherever the hell they were, was still pretty goddamn hot. Normally he was more of the modest type, even in the sweltering summers of Bee Cave, Texas, and would rather just sweat through the extra layer of cotton. But there were no ladies around here to offend. Just the sniper, and he could probably count the number of things that offended the sniper on one hand.
The sniper usually kept close by, if he could help it. Not his typical behavior. He was never the type that seemed particularly interested in forming close bonds with any of his fellow teammates—or anyone at all, for that matter. To the engineer’s knowledge, he was a bachelor, to boot. Not that he’d ever really gotten the chance to ask about it, though. Before that last battle had been initiated, the sniper and the engineer had probably shared a total of twenty-odd words, most of which being something along the lines of “Good morning” or “Thank you” or “Ow, I’m not a spy, you idiot.” But as their
Sorry about the hiatus. I had finals.
The Engineer had been known to have a fuse as short as his inseam, but Miss Pauling hadn't quite expected to see him run out with a shotgun in tote, leaving a trail of smashed mirrors in his wake.
For one of the first times in her life, she didn't have a plan of action.
Surrounded by the scattered shards of his fury, she fell against the washroom wall. Water leaked from a busted faucet—if she hadn't felt so hopeless, the waste might have actually concerned her.
But her last two men were circling each other like hungry wolves, and she had run out of ideas.
"You're in quite the predicament, aren't you, mi Querida?"
It was a familiar drawl that made Miss Pauling's stomach sour. She snapped her neck to see a familiar, blue-suited man in an implacable state—not quite alive, but certainly not dead. His cheeks were hollow and his visage sunken, but there was an impish gleam in his smile and his eyes as he crossed his arms and strolled to her side. He held in his filthy, skeletal body an air of smug casualness, and as he removed his cigarette case from the inside of his jacket as he settled against the wall next to her.
So I'm a huge nerd and wrote fanfic for a fanfic that was on the afanfic board. AnneTheCatDetective's "Territory Control" (and "Dustbowl Horror") were fics I really liked. I've had some ideas rattling in my mind about where the story could go, and since the original hasn't been updated since 2011, I thought maybe I could toss up this little bit of writing I did inspired by the story.
This original is here: http://tf2chan.net/afanfic/res/7786.html and this fic takes place directly after the last update.
“What do you mean the dive equipment isn’t coming?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s out of stock.” The calm voice over the phone receiver was the exact opposite of the Sniper’s mood. “We can send one over as soon as we get our next shipment, but our records show that won’t be until next year.”
“Next--NEXT YEAR? That is absolutely ridiculous!”
“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s the best we can d--” Sniper didn’t let the voice on the other line finish as he slammed the phone back down on the hook and angrily beat his fist against the wall.
“Fuck.” Not a day went by where he didn’t talk to his Spy about the stupid dive equipment. It had become something of a distraction from the Spy’s condition, talking and making plans about what they would do when Sniper could finally travel to his cavern home. But the entrance was too deep in the water, he needed that diving shit. The rest of the year sneaking around, going to that little island in the middle of the lake, out in the open, he didn’t know how he’s going to tell the Spy. He didn’t know if he could do it.
I, too, have been disappointed at the lack of Territory Control updates, and I rather like this! It fits rather well with the story so far, and I hope to see more!
Hello, all! I've a little crossfaction Sniper and Spy dramedy here for your perusal.
This was inspired by a beautifully done fanart I ran into somewhere that, well, I believe the technical term is "hit me right in the feels." And then, because my brain apparently works like this, what I wrote ended up in an entirely different direction.
It's done by the amazingly talented Damien Murphy and can be seen here if you remove the spaces: identitypolution. deviantart. com/gallery/32674557#/art/Mercy-252337284?q=gallery%3Aidentitypolution%2F32674557&qo=13&_sid=7499743
In an amusing twist of fate it was in turn created as a response to AnnetheCatDetective's marvelous fic Mercy--which makes this little fic of mine a fan fic of a fan art of a fan fic of a video of a game. Holy smokes...
At any rate, rest assured that all Australian slang herein is very, very badly abused, and will probably continue being so. Meanings should be clear from context.
The RED Sniper had a problem.
He gazed through his scope at the battle raging below, keeping half an ear and a nose alert for unwelcome visitors creeping about, and sighted on the BLU Demoman lurking just barely behind cover below.
Ooh, I liked this very much. Again, it felt very in character for Spy. It's funny how much of a mindfuck the RED Sniper has given BLU Spy...and he didn't even intend to.
It's also funny how offended Spy gets at the idea of Sniper preventing him from doing his job. Spy admits he's not morally superior to Sniper but there's still this almost "innocent" picture Spy paints himself who just wants to go about his day backstabbing like usual but this brutish Sniper is ruining it all.
It's interesting how hugging one-another is so ingrained in our humanity. That physical touch has been simultaneous comfort and survival. The Eighteen Perfect Idiots may be of varying degrees of crazy, but they are still human.
"he delighted in studying them as a child with a magnifying glass might study ants on a bright day."
Loved this line, very 'Spy' indeed.
You write Spy's mind track very well, going round in circles and making funny connections but always keeping his priorities and standards at the centre. I thought poor Spy was turning into a nervous wreck but I'm glad he pulled himself back to Earth. I eagerly await for the next instalment of this fic.
You've captured the personalities of our favorite mercs very well indeed. Even with adding your personal touches, the inner monologues read like they come from the character's themselves (quite, in their own voices, perfectly).
A rich, poetic prose glues it all together. Not only am I impressed with this fan-fiction— mon cheri— I predict you have a future in writing professionally. Very well done.
Responding to Post #48 in the request thread (with some inspiration from Olga Mannlova):
Gazing out at the crowd from behind the curtain, Medic's heart began racing. He had been performing for some time now, and no one at headquarters knew. He doubted they really cared. After all, as long as he didn't fraternize with the enemy, he was golden.
But no one on the team knew. Not until now.
Turning to look down at the outfit he wore--a pair of black and white diamond-patterned pants and a black greaser jacket--Medic gulped nervously.
"Stage fright, Friedrich?"
Upon hearing his stage name, Medic turned to look at Tora, a fellow performer. Clad in brightly colored bell bottoms and a filmy shirt that reminded Medic of a Gypsy performer, Tora had been impersonating Janis Joplin for three years, and doing an excellent job of it too. She wasn't really Medic's type, though.
"Vell, actually, a few of mein friends are here," he replied. "Zey don't know about zis, and...vell..."
Here's a picture of what Medic's supposed to be wearing:
Summary: A brief tribute to the victims of the Boston bombing.
"It just ain't rahght, fellas. It was supposed to just be a race, and look what happened." Engineer sighed. "What those monsters did...it's just plain unthinkable that anybody would do somethin' lahke that.
"Scout feels ze same way, Laborer," said Spy, taking a drag from his cigarette. "True, neither Scout's mother nor any of his brothers were harmed, but ze boy is quite upset."
And indeed, the runner was. At that very moment, he was beating the stuffing out of Heavy's punching bag, having already turned Soldier's cardboard troops into Swiss cheese with his scattergun.
"Good thing we're on ceasefire, huh?" Engineer asked.
"Why do you say zat?"
"'Cause it looks lahke the RED Spah wants a chat with Scout."
Witch Fortress 2
Summary: A normal morning with Reliable Enchantments and Divination. (Alternate Universe)
"You know," Medic mused aloud. "If I did not know better, I vould say zat Frau Rowling vas a vitch herself. After all, her depiction of magical society is very similar to vat zings are like in England."
"Really?" asked Scout through a mouthful of pancake. Catching a glare from Soldier, who was reading the paper, she swallowed. "Sorry. So, things are like dat 'cross the pond?"
"Ja, alzough Herr Fudge vould never have gotten avay vith a cover-up in real life. It vould have ended vorse zan Vatergate, vouldn't you agree, Soldier?"
"Damn right," Soldier answered. "If Nixon was a REAL man, he would have let himself be thrown out, instead of resignin' like a coward. Serves him right either way."
"How does Doktor know what English witches are like?" asked Heavy, in the midst of preparing one of her sandwiches for the day's match.
"My family moved to England after Stuttgart vas bombed during ze var," explained Medic. "Und it vas very fortunate zat ve did. Under ze Nazis, vitches eizzer swore loyalty to ze party or vere put in a camp. I manifested only a veek after our departure."
Cuz there isn't enough Soldier/Spy hanging around.
Spy covered his face, mortified, as the RED team began cheering. It was BLU’s fifth loss in a row and the humiliation of defeat was becoming bitterly familiar. He lifted his head to see REDs strutting back to their base with the air of conquerers, and turned back towards his own. It was 5 PM local time, but the sun had already sunk below the horizon. The cloudless October sky was a sure sign it would be a cold night.
“Tabernak,” he muttered and trudged inside with his hands tucked into his armpits.
The sudden warmth and bright lights were both welcome and irritating. Spy screwed his eyes shut and tried to clench his hands into fists, but they were still too cold. He passed the conference room, which was still empty, but he knew from past experience that the team would soon gather there to shout and argue over their latest loss. Since everyone but himself had respawned after their last ill-fated attack, they would already be preoccupied with blaming each other.
Spy turned the corner and slipped into the shower room. He was wet, cold, and had lost sensation in his feet. A hot shower was much overdo.
He sat on a nearby bench and tried to slip his shoes off, but his feet were numb and clumsy. “Fuck you,” he said petulantly, and bent over to undo his shoestrings. They were wet and reluctant to unknot, and nearly as stiff as his fingers. When he pried them off, he saw rather than felt the unpleasant way his wet socks clung to his feet. No wonder he had lost feeling. Shaking his head, Spy rolled up his pants and coaxed his sock garter down his calf.
The quality of silence changed. Spy glanced up to see Soldier staring at him, boots in one hand, shovel in the other.
It was official.
BLU was in a slump.
Spy turned a page as the shouting began. He sat sideways in the rec room’s only chair with his legs dangling over the armrest. After pushing through the day’s trauma of being burned alive, he had settled in for a quiet evening. The shouting escalated and he tore himself away from a delectable sex scene to glance at the open door. It sounded like Soldier and Medic were having another argument. Furious German echoed in the hall, followed by Soldier’s flatly accented English.
A door slammed open.
“Do not walk away from me, you cowardly son of a bitch.” Soldier’s voice boomed in the base’s near silence. “If you weren’t sniveling behind that Rusky, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
It went deadly quiet. After a heartbeat, Medic walked down the hall. When his footfalls stopped, Spy strained his neck to look over his shoulder. The doctor regarded him bitterly.
“Zis is where your meddling leads us, Herr Spy,” he said. At Spy’s puzzled expression, a flicker of doubt crossed his face, but he continued down the hall without another word.
Soldier appeared next, bristling with aggression. Spy turned away and buried himself in his book. Lieutenant Johnson’s Johnson was in need of more attention. He smiled faintly when he ran across the phrase, “extraordinarily tight fuckhole,” and fished out his disguise kit and lighter without taking his eyes off the page. With the ease of long practice, he opened it, mouthed a cigarette by the filter, and lit it without looking. After a long drag, he held it between two fingers and stretched his arm over the chair’s back. Ashes would fall on the floor and annoy everyone, but that was part of the pleasure.
An update you may or may not care about:
Pericolo! Morte! Has an update.
Which is mostly an announcement of a NEW SERIES.
Pericolo! Morte! Rinnovata!
I'm writing the first chapter as we speak. I'd love to hear your comments or suggestions if you all have any.
Thought some of you would like to know. Thanks!
Taking time to cool my heels, yeah, I see what you guys mean. I'm sorry about that and I'll try to avoid doing that if I write anything else in the near future. Bleh.
So, again, sorry about the rather newbish decision of mine. I have, in the past, written serious one-shots for the 'chan back before it upgraded, so if I get struck by inspiration again I'll post new ones directly here.
Hopefully no harsh feelings... thanks, everyone!
No one wants to discourage you from writing. Just, well, remember to post the actual story next time, rather than a link.
I think anyone above me has already gone over the relevant points of why the story doesn't seem appropriate overall.
Instead, if you're still reading (and I imagine you might check back), I'll give the points of crit I thought of when I glanced over the first chapter.
It should, in my opinion, never <i>ever</i> be necessary to include a dramatis personae at the beginning of your fic. Quite aside from the fact that it kills the pace of the story before it's even after getting started, you shouldn't have to use one even if you're including non-standard characters.
You should be able to introduce and develop the characters within the narrative instead, and organically reveal details about them and build them up.
And in the case of fanfiction where readers are already familiar with them, only point out the necessary or unusual details when you are bringing a character in. Don't tell the reader what they already know.
If you're taking a chance on writing OCs or partial OCs anyway, I would think they'd need to be familiar enough to be comforting (or at least a certain amount of canon-compliant), but different enough to spark the reader's interest. You have to strike a good balance. It is fanfiction, after all - if you stretch too far you might as well shave the serial numbers off and call it an original story altogether.
A story that I think has managed to achieve that balance quite well is Sparkler (http://archiveofourown.org/works/529396/chapters/938003) - there are enough details to make you say "well, hang on, that sounds a lot like it could fit with the Pyro, doesn't it?"
(However, I'm not sure I'd precisely recommend emulating the first chapter, since it doesn't bring in that kind of detail until a bit late for my liking. The fic is good for it overall, though.)
Quite aside from that - as I've mentioned, you killed the pace of the story before it had even started. If you weren't using OCs the way you are, you'd have a chance to actually properly start
Author's Note: In the spirit of A-kon and the fact that my friends and I will be doing Team Fortress 2 for our cosplays, I wrote this. It is a little…childish, I know, but it is written in fun and not something serious or anything. I'm going to post it here just so others might enjoy it. The TF2 characters are meant to be a cross between the actually game characters and my friends and I. So with that in mind and to add some fun, I guess, to this, let us play the guessing game?
Rules: From now to next Thursday (April 25) people can reply to this chapter with guesses to which class each group member represents. Get them ALL right and on Friday next week (April 26th) through Steam I will give you an item that you may choice from the list below. Please add your Steam username to the post so I can trade with you. This is just a fun game.
List of Group Members:
List of Items:
You took the words right out of my mouth. Though.. I wouldn't have been able to comment on the writing style as I couldn't read past the introduction and first paragraph.
Howeller, kudos for your attempt at community involvement. But this was really, really alienating. Sorry, but it doesn't belong here.
If you're interested in writing TF2 fic then why not do something everyone here can approach? Do your research, write it semi-canonically if you must, but at least try and stay in character. If you're seeking improvement in your writing, we're happy to help you. But this... really isn't right.
Alright. I see that you all are having problems here so I am sorry for posting it. Go ahead and delete it or whatever but thank you all.
We're not trying to discourage you from writing. It's just that this isn't the kind of writing we're comfortable with having on the board. If you came back with a more concise plot, where characters were doing something they actually would do canonically, we'd all be more than willing to see what you had to offer and provide due feedback.
It's just that this is more of an inside joke than it is a story.
Hi guys. Relatively newfag anon here. Here’s the first part of a story I’m in the process of writing. Please tell me what you think, and leave concrit. (No seriously tear this story apart. It would be much appreciated.) If the reception is okay, and it doesn’t turn out to be a steaming pile of shit then I’ll post more of what I’ve got right now. (But if it does I’m sorry to have wasted your time.)
Oh, and I’m not a computer scientist, so I sincerely apologize to anyone that has any experience in the field.
(I’m not a writer either what the hell am I doing sorry)
“Get your ass to the damn cart, man!”
“Halts Maul, Ich komme!”
So let's recap:
Spy: Aquatic adaptation?
Please, do continue. I'm eager to see more.
I'm a bit disappointed in Spy. He so often gets an aquatic mutation in stories it's not that interesting anymore. Unless I'm speaking too soon, in which case I apologise. I enjoy the unexpected. The men getting weird powers, not just figuring out what they are but how to cope and adapt and possibly cure themselves is very exciting to read about. Spy turning into some water thing strikes me as stereotypical, and the suspense of learning about how he'll deal with his situation is dulled a bit because this has happened so often in other stories.
I hope I'm not sounding too complaining, but I wanted to give honest feedback. The rest of the newest chapter is great, I can't wait to read more from you.
A while back I said to myself “well, if the teams are clones, what happens when they have to work together during MvM? And what about all these theories flying about the place regarding the BLU Engineer?” So here’s a (possibly oneshot) fanfic about RED Sniper and RED Engineer’s friendship in that context.
Already crossposted to my tumblr and Ao3. For the record, I am (thankfully) not the same VS who posted one or two completely irrelevant fics to TF2chan back in the day. Merely absentminded enough to use a common two letter combination as a name without doublechecking first.
The RED and BLU Soldier had to be having their worst argument to date when Sniper trudged into the kitchen, didn’t they? Must’ve been something contentious too, with the volume they were going at it. It was so bad he almost trudged right on out again. Without his morning coffee, even.
But he unwittingly tuned in to the shouting for a moment, and what he heard stopped him in his tracks.
"AAAAND how do you know the toymaker has not betrayed us? You should be watching him like a HAWK, private!"
"Well MAYBE if you had faith in your team like I do, YOUR ENGINEER WOULD NOT HAVE DESERTED!"
"Say that again, you Commie imposter, and I'll show you what a REAL Soldier can do." The BLU Soldier's voice dropped to a growl low enough that Sniper could barely hear it, and he nearly breathed a sigh of relief at the brief respite.
I'm happy to hear my fic got such an emotional response from you.
Thank you again for your detailed reply.
I'm very glad to hear such positive comments about the last conversation. I worked hard on making the dialogue seem believable, especially since it is such a tense scene. (Would you believe, I've been on-off working on this for a few months, short as it is! I hope with more practice I can get faster at trying to write somewhat subtle interactions.)
Sniper's thought patterns, too. I had some feedback at the editing stages that it wavered between 'my' narrative style and 'his'. So I went over that.
And the characterisation. I always suspect that I'm writing Sniper wrong one way or another.
I'll have to go over the versions on tumblr and Ao3 and clean up those bits and pieces you've mentioned.
And I'm making note of this, too, for the future:
I would suggest when you have a line of dialogue snapping a character out of their thoughts, you leave it on its own, then continue the conversation from there. >It also reads better when you don't follow dialogue with another character's actions.
I'll be making sure to watch out for that, and if I do, use the character's name instead of a pronoun, because that is confusing. Looking over I can see parts of the non-dialogue text that would have been better for use the name instead of pronoun, because of the line they're coming directly after, too. (As well as typos! Damn. You'd really wonder how many times you need to re-read a text to catch them all.)
That line of the Engineer's, you're right about that, I think. I was reading the tone I wanted into it. So I'll have to go and fix that, too.
I'm thoroughly stoked my advice was actually taken on board! (Don't get me wrong - I am all for having my crit countered, but sometimes it's like, Oh come on, I put time into that critique and with reason)
Okay, now that I've had your insight into your intention, my hunch is confirmed. But! I've come to realise it's the comment on the mug that's throwing me off, more than anything else. I'd suggest you reword that section, perhaps moving the mug thing to another part of the story...?
Good on you for taking your time with this, though. And the more you do it, the easier it will be in the future.
Engineer, Engineer... I have to say, I felt like I was in Sniper's position - wanting to believe he's a good guy, but also hella creeped out. I think you handled that conversation perfectly, but as I said before... it wasn't resolved.
Next time you write a conversation like that, either have a conclusion reached through their talking (which, to avoid being rushed and seem more natural, would mean you have to extend out that scene, having the tension escalate and then resolved), or you will have to confirm for the reader almost explicitly (eg: if you want to show that the paranoia is founded, you will need to up the creepiness factor, make Engineer say something that can't be misconstrued as him still being a 'good guy', etc)
Hope that helped.
Well, I'm aware I have a lot of learning to do yet, as a writer, and I am fairly desperate for concrit. (Since I can't always identify what's 'off' about my writing.) Wouldn't really be posting my writing here, otherwise.
So with that said, it doesn't make sense to dismiss any crit without giving it a thorough bit of thinking, first. Still have to do the little tweaks on the versions elsewhere, but that's a matter of having time.
To be honest I can probably just scrap the line with the mug. I think the Soldiers already get the idea of a contest for legitimacy across, and when I continue I can throw it back in at a later stage if I want.
Hehe, I certainly hope so! I'll have to be challenging myself to write things that require greater effort.
Right, thanks for telling me. As for what to do, I'll keep that in mind.
The Scout sleeps peacefully. The dispenser washes his body in a ruby haze, illuminating him on the workbench. Naked, the restraints dig into the smooth flesh of his torso, wrists, ankles. How perfect he looked. No scars, no stray hairs, no fat. He was young but fully formed. Untouched.
And, the Engineer thought, he was a good friend. Always visiting him during work. Making sure he got dinner. Coming to him for advice. The boy had taken a shine to him and it was easy to like him in return. So enthusiastic and eager. Loud and boisterous. His opposite, yet still his. His favourite.
It was best the boy slept for this. He didn't want to hurt him. Leaning over the still Scout, the Engineer pressed a gentle, lingering kiss on his forehead. Metal fingers stroked back the short brown hair. It'll be alright, boy. You'll be grateful for this. Maybe not now, maybe not in the morning. But you'll see it's for the best.
The robots were better than them. With every passing day they were growing tired, clumsy. Engineer had seen the Scout start to trip, fumbling with his ammunition. His own hands had grown heavy, shoulder groaning every time he lifted his equipment. It was no way to be. That's why he was doing this. He knew that it worked.
Cutting off his own hands had been difficult but the dispenser soothed the pain. Picking up the stolen bonesaw, he braced a cold hand on Scout's soft shin. The boy would understand. The saw dug into the flesh easily, like a knife carving up a Sunday roast. Scout jerked awake suddenly, screaming at the sudden pain. He kept screaming as Engineer applied more force, using his weight to see-saw through the bone. Through the restraints held Scout in place as he thrashed out, Engineer quickened his pace.
The cut was jagged. Blood wept steadily from the torn muscles and severed veins. Engineer paused to grip the boy's thigh, squeezing soothingly. His screams had pittered out to shaken sobs and weak threats.
'Easy there. It's for your own good.' Engineer murmured, hand stroking gently. 'It hurts now, but you're gonna be right as rain soon.'
OP here. I might, perhaps. I dislike making promises since my muse is quite flighty at the moment, and I don't want to let people down.
1) How did the Scout end up naked and restrained in the Engineer's workshop in the first place?
2) Why wouldn't the Engineer shoot Scout up full of morphine, or have the Medic on hand to assist in the surgery?
3) Why the Scout? Other classes might have been easier to convince and/or manipulate.
4) Did you do any research into artificial limbs? You should probably do that, even you don't plan on going into great technical detail. Don't lower leg amputations usually remove the knee joint as well?
Oh my. I, too, would like to see what happens next, if there is to be a continuation.
Dot's already covered my questions with this one. It does bug me a little that Engineer wouldn't have administered some sort of pain reliever, unless the dispenser was meant to be helping with that partially (in which case, you'll probably want to make that more obvious).
As a bonus, through random luck I happened to be listening to this track while reading, which made the whole thing more intense haha: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFf5aL40R4M
Posted this to my tumblr earlier, and I'm putting it here, now. Involves Heavy and Soldier having a fistfight. Concrit very much appreciated.
“You did it! I can’t believe you actually beat them.” The team had been pushed back, far enough that the last stand was made the last stand around the bomb hatch itself. But they’d won. There was a collective sigh of relief.
“You heard her! We did it, men!” Soldier was out of breath, sweat dripping from his face, yet he still managed half a yell at their victory.
He turned to the group for a round of high fives and was met with tired stares. The Scout gave a half-hearted effort but shook his hand out afterwards at the force of it.
“Aw, jeez, try not to break my arm, wouldja? Well, whatever, I’m goin’ home. See you losers later.”
The Pyro and Engineer mumbled their assent and followed in the Scout’s general direction.
The Soldier stared after the retreating half of the team. Robbed of the moment, his expression soured.
He stood there for another couple of moments grumbling to himself as the Heavy and Medic discussed plans for the weekend. He stole glances at them in between muttering to himself.
Heythere. 'Skyward' anon here. It was asked that I share some of my other Soldier pieces, and being easily flattered, well, I'll drop some here. Unless otherwise noted, all drabbles are written with the BLU Soldier (Jane) in mind. Hope you like.
Today was going to be spent, he could tell, in the fine company of his good dependable friends Jim, Jack, and Bud.
Veteran’s Day always caused a well of sometimes conflicting feelings in him. There was pride, of course, and gratitude, a sense of solemn honor. The things people usually felt today, were supposed to feel.
Then there were the other things. His old man, Silver Star recipient, utter bastard. A hero, an asshole. Everything he wanted to grow up to be and everything that’d rightly terrified him. He wasn’t ten years old anymore, true, but thirty years later and things were no less muddled. Love and respect and admiration didn’t jive well with fear and hatred and resentment. Makes things painful and confusing to try and sort out.
Then there was the question of himself.
Ten Cent Bastard started it, I ran with it.
It's a holdover from old fandom times, from before the comics. Oldfag stuff.
Why the hell does soldier talking to his shovel have to be a schizophrenic thing? I'm 22, mostly normal(clinically speaking), and when I'm alone I talk to my toys more than I probably should admit. So for me, that's how I've always read Solly-shovel stuff.
Anyway, keep up the good work anon!