#Medic and Engie make me so ill every time I think about them for a while I feel like tearing into things and biting people and throwing up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vanityloves · 4 years ago

Note

Storm and ivy + medic

@septemberlove i have. no excuse for how late these are but uh. thank you for sending these in 💕.

[word count: 1.8k+ with the longest 'authors note' bc im mentally ill]

sfw, mmm comfy cozy, general sick hcs,

storm - what are cozy days in with your f/o like?

Whenever I think of cozy days, my brain immediately goes to rainy/chilly weather where we can cuddle up together and my brain short fuses. I'm gonna assume this is just like a day off or something though!

How I visual them together vs how I write them is odd because they technically don't act or accept they're 'together' until after the comics but I always write them like they're in a Steady Relationship while on base. I'm always writing a slight AU if you will. Or maybe it's after they get their jobs back at Mann co - I should highkey adjust that but No ♥️. No more thinking, just content based off my idealized universe.

There's definitely a point in their relationship where it's like 'I think I have to put in a little more work here'. I'm not saying either party is slacking but they're slacking ♥️. Neither of them really take action. Chef doesn't blame him or really complain about it because that's their nature, plus they don't know how romantic relationships really work or flow, especially with a person like him. Medic doesn't see an issue with anything and continues on with his normal business.

What I mean by slacking is, there's not a lot of quality time being spent together which would be fine if it wasn't both of their strongest Love Languages, which could help them strengthen their relationship. It's odd because they're 'romantically involved' but they don't spend a lot of time together for either of them to consider it romantic, simply because it's on company time.

ANYWAYS THATS JUST ME BEING CONVOLUTED. FEEL FREE TO JUST IGNORE ALL OF THIS.

Medic goes to bed pretty late and wakes up at a fairly early hour. Chef is a late sleeper and forced to be an early riser because their Actual Job is to make at least 2 or 3 meals a day (if they want something else, they're on their own but hate when anyone messes up the kitchen and will honestly, stand there and watch said person).

There's minimal time they can spend together if they want to do their own activities - for Medic, it's tinkering around with organs or in Engie's garage, for Chef, they're typically meal prepping or trying to tend to an animal or plant of some sort.

Medic is actually more direct about wanting attention and it's never been a problem because he's cautious about it. Chef is more emotionally inclined and willing to drop hints that they want more attention.

Chef probably has one day off where it's a complete free for all, for the rest of the team, which would be the perfect time to spend with Medic - If he wanted to stop working, that is. Just don't picture it but, Chef will literally sit in the medbay for hours just to be near the guy, but it isn't bad? The drone of machinery or the scratching of his pen is relaxing, or having his doves nearby is always sweet! Plus, he's prone to talking their ear off when he finds something interesting, so they'll chime in and have some back and forth.

But, yknow - sometimes having someone's undivided attention is nice and Chef is pretty dense when it comes to that and wonders why they feel so upset.

They swallow their pride and ask Medic if they sleep in his room one night and Medic's not as dense as Chef, he understands that they'd never ask for something so out of the blue for no reason and he promises to finish up his work early so they could head to bed together. Chef had nothing planned, they literally just needed that affection and closeness - since it was their day off Medic takes the hint and puts his work aside for the time being.

They'd probably sleep in and stay in bed a while longer before getting ready together - no uniform required. Chef isn't so talkative in the mornings, Medic's noticed, but they were happily fiddling with his buttons and tie, humming in thought before answering his questions. Medic's seen them out of uniform of course, but it's always funny seeing them in just a button up and jeans like … mom on the go vibes. Medic leaves his coat behind before making his way to the kitchen with Chef.

The kitchen usually has a couple people loitering around, grabbing their coffee or honestly, waiting around for Chef because they always make extra and these bitches are lazy. But the kitchen has now become A Medic Supremacy Zone and he has first dibs - the benefits of being w/ Chef I guess. The two would work as if the others weren't there, keeping their conversation between each other even if that means Medic tilting his head down while Chef leans in closer to reply. There's a high possibility the other have left them to their own devices, seeing as the couple was ignoring them / knows they won't be getting anything. Breakfast isn't extraordinary but it feels special since they actually get to sit across each other and share the morning today.

It's possible that they'd go out and run some errands today, but it's a cover to window shop and walk around. I'll be honest, they probably haven't had proper dates so it's refreshing. You could ask Chef what they liked the most and they're just like :] Yes.

Other times, they like to curl up and catch up with some reading (well, Medic at least) while Chef rests against him and skim over the words. They're not too invested in what he's reading but likes to have some idea of what he's talking about so they don't ask too many questions. (Very 'these words are big and english/german is not my first language + I can't read as fast as you can so I got lost 7 pages ago). Medic likes to watch Chef garden and tries to help them tend to whatever they're able to grow in the goddamn desert. He overwaters a cactus and looks away if it dies. Chef talks ab how they're growing mint and how it really took off while Medic's standing there like :] Oh, lets make tea with that. Because they're Old People (read: Medic is old)

🕊🐁

ivy - how do you take care of each other when you’re sick?

Chef is easier to take care of when they're sick. They continue working until they're pretty beat but once they feel sick and a break doesn't work, they'll try to finish up what they can before turning in early. They see themselves to bed and inform whoever's near that they won't ne there at dinner and if they really cant figure it out, then come get them - other than that, they're barricading themselves in their room.

When they're sick they're REALLY sick but recovery time is usually a few days (depending on how bad it is). They basically hibernate and don't like being disturbed. They're used to not fending for themselves since they've been on their own for a while but really appreciate all the check ins Medic does w/ them, especially when they're all better.

Medic, being...their Medic, he definitely gives them a check up when they first begin showing symptoms and he can be a stickler when it comes to drinking fluids and eating properly. Chef usually has a finicky stomach as it is so Medic really urges them to drink soups and easy foods like bread and crackers. He checks in on them A LOT, even if that's just peeking in to see if they're asleep or not. He backs off when Chef gives him a cold stare from under the covers and minimizes his intrusions/tries to be more sneaky about it. He has colder hands and they let out a sigh when he puts his hand to their cheek or forehead to check their temperature.

Chef doesn't hesitate to take any medication he has for them, mostly bc they aren't fully coherent but they also don't have energy to care, in fact they have the thought that if he accidentally kills them, maybe respawn will cure them. Unfortunately, Medic debunks this before they can even muster up the energy to ask.

Overall 7.5/10, very good patient. Will refuse to get up and accidently falls asleep in the shower which scares the shit out of him.

Medic on the other hand is very stubborn and doesn't like to stop working unless there's something that physically stops him (ex: vomiting, serious injuries [unlikely bc medigun], etc). If he tricked the Devil, surely the man can beat the common cold or flu! Unfortunately he gets those full body shivers and feels terrible. He can be pretty dramatic when he's sick and everyone's subjected to his bad attitude.

It's Chefs turn to play doctor - they can tell by looks alone that he's under the weather. His face is flushed and he's a bit sloppily put together, which isn't *too uncommon* but his tie isn't tied and his glasses lamely slide down his nose. They tsk a bit while taking his temperature just to keep track of it before ushering him to his room.

He can be dragged to bed if persistent enough. Chef's firm hold on his arm is enough for him to get off his chair and have them tug him along. He doesn't have any room to argue with them as they look up at him, so he relents, stating that a short break would definitely do him good, but he'll be up and at em by tomorrow.

Chef is doting and becomes a bit of a helicopter parent when checking on him. This mostly consists of peeking their head in but not really stepping in the room. Every so often they'll wake him up to drink water and either hand him an ice pack or offer a cold towel and move to dab at his forehead and neck.

Medic hasn't been too keen on having others taking care of him bc that's HIS job, and he often tries to shoo Chef away by saying he's more than alright now. Sometimes he's caught sitting up in bed doing work or taking notes on something bc he's a bit restless when he's sick and stationary for too long.

But he's right. He's very good at taking care of himself - when Chef offers him food he'll force himself to eat some of it and he's drinks plenty of fluids without needing reminders. He kinda bosses Chef around, telling them to grab certain medications from the Medbay. They trust his judgment on his own health and bring him what he asks for but Chef keeps a mental note of what he takes and when. Don't need the doctor accidentally taking too many pills today!

Overall 6.5/10. It's hard to get him into bed and becomes restless fairly easily. He is persistent that he's ok after one day of rest only to be found sneezing himself away in the Medbay.

#tf2 oc #self insert #medic #self ship #tf2 headcanons #my headcanons #my writing #i guess #'have you written enough?' idk you tell me.#s: soul food #if anyone reads even a part of this im sorry #💙 2d's spouse 💙#mars!!!#ahh thank you again.. sorry these are so late ahshhd i get caught up w/ other stuff so this was self care <3 !#im very passionate ab medic YSHDHD like yeah no shit bitch 🦧

7 notes · View notes

evilphrog · 5 years ago

Text

Team Fortress 2: A summary by someone who has never played an FPS game but has a kid who infodumps regularly:

So the world is set in an alternate version of the 1800s, where cartoons were already a major part of the culture. The civil war was fought over the right to wear hats, which were seen as a form of currency? There was a discovery of a metal called Australium, which can make people immortal. The RED and BLU teams fight over Australium mines. There aren’t any stairs in the mine, because every person in the universe knows how to rocket jump. There are 7 members on each team, and the corresponding members of each team are either twins or clones of each other.

Soldier is very into Sun Tzu’s Art of War. He was rejected from every branch of the military, so he became a mercenary. His bullets are made of pressed casino chips. He surgically removed part of his chest to make himself harder to hit.

Pyro was originally a woman, but is now a man. I don’t know if he is trans, or if they are two different people. He thinks he is spreading love and sunshine around, but actually, he is just burning people alive all the time.

The demo man (demolition) is a good demo man, because otherwise he wouldn’t be sitting here discussing it with you. He grew up in an orphanage, which he blew up at age 10 on accident. His birth family was so proud of him that they came and brought him back home (no question why this is the character my son tells me about most often). He was given a task to clean a library by a ghost (?) and while there he read an evil book which is now haunting his right eye. Medic cut his right eye out, but when he grew a new one, that eye became haunted as well. He now has no right eye.

Medic is absolutely balls to the wall terrible at his job. He accidentally sewed a live bird into Scout’s chest. Due to his extensive human experimentation, he created something called the Uber Charge, which gives his teammates superpowers for limited periods of time.

Scout has like 11 PhDs and one time, when they all thought they had 3 days to live, he spent the entire time teleporting bread, which created a sentient bread monster that almost killed everyone. His father started the TF2 industries, and is a war profiteer who sells weapons to both the Red and Blue teams.

Engie (engineer) also has a dozen PhDs and reads a lot. He is unquestionably the smartest on the team, and also the worst with firearms. His bloodstream is pure alcohol, which makes him immune to most illnesses.

Spy is elusive, and nobody knows much about him. He is secretly dating the other team’s Spy (they aren’t twins or clones? I don’t think it is incestuous but that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing about this lore), but that doesn’t stop them from trying to kill each other in battle. It doesn’t really matter, since everyone is immortal because of the Australium.

#team fortress 2 #How did I do?#If anyone wants to infodump about their special interest to me I can make one for you too #best guesses

6 notes · View notes

raccoonpatriotism · 6 years ago

Text

260 [Random, Useless Headcanons 📂] from @homeofthevan | Part 2 Explosive Boogaloo

1-100: Here

101: He’s always had an, uh, ‘excellent’ temperament with old women - starting from being forced to help out at Old Folks Homes to get him out of the Orphanage.

102: He yells to show he cares.

103: He also yells for the sake of it.

104: You have to constantly say his name if you want him to continue to be part of the conversation.

105: that’s why he so often repeatedly uses names, nicknames, a simple ‘son’ when speaking to people.

106: He assumes everyone’s just like him until proven otherwise.

107: Along with what I said earlier about him not being empathetic; he really isn’t able to visualize himself in someone elses shoes unless he’s been walked through, like, a specific a few times.

108: He respects Miss Pauling the most out of everyone he knows.

109: Smissmas and Thanksgiving are tied for his favorite holiday.

110: Jane really likes Halloween though, and isn’t a grump on Valentines day.

111: <- Jane’s password for anything he owns that requires a password. More 1s if necessary.

112: When he’s thirsty he’ll go to the nearest form of water for hydration - catch him just drinking out of the bathroom sink - leaning up as he wipes his mouth, chirping, “Hello, private.”

113: He guzzles coffee like it’s fuel, but he has a very strict, No Caffeine after lunch protocol.

114: Decaff is for WIMPS.

115: Jane plays the trombone.

116: Subsequently, in most music, he appreciates and hums along with the bass parts.

117: Modern AU-Jane may be a Call of Duty fanboy, but he respects Halo for being another accurate depiction of life on the battlefront.

118: Speaking of modern Jane, the Military didn’t accept him in the 80s either.

119: His love for the military lead him to believe for sure he’d be accepted he was the Perfect Patriot and his enlistment would be a surefire way to help fund his transition--

120: But of course, as strong as he had become he’d spent his youth very sick and with the possibility of the illness to return along with a terrible psyche eval and 80s typical transphobia that lane was firmly closed.

121: At least he had DOOM to fall back on. And he was physically strong enough to hold down jobs to at least pay for testosterone.

122: And then Call of Duty came out and he became an early era streamer. (Went viral as one of those guys who basically RPs being an actual soldier in the voice chat.)

123: BACK TO CANON JANE because those headcanons just.. plain, aren’t useless. canon jane doesn’t have to deal with transphobia. tch.

124: He’s not the best to have on your football team as menacing as he is. He’ll start tackling everybody. Running the wrong way. Trying to steal the ball from his teammates.

125: If you tell Jane something’s American after he criticizes it, watching him backtrack is really fun.

126: Jane doesn’t get sick often, which is good because he is insufferable. Either goes full isolation straight up outside somewhere. Or is whining to everyone and everyone how it’s not allowed that he can’t be burrowing somewhere outside.

127: His hands are always warm - if they’re cold he’s probably having an Episode of some sort.

128: Rock and Roll helps his tinnitus, though he’ll still refer to it as Hippy Garbage. Like most music.

129: Jane could probably tapdance if given proper shoes. Mmm no, he’d stomp through the floor. Horse level clomping.

130: He’ll be the hype-man for anyone on his team.

131: Despite not being a fan of mint flavoring, he loves himself a candy-cane.

132: His thumb isn’t double jointed - seeing someone showing off their double jointed-ness would have Jane proclaiming magic was necessary.

133: LT. BITES lightning round!! Lt. Bites sees jane as its “General”

134: It got the bite taken out of its ear fighting over sour cream - it won.

135: Jane doesn’t give any raccoons a higher rank than Bites.

136: Lt. Bites doesn’t crave human flesh or anything, but it likes the sensation of biting people!

137: Jane has tried to get his raccoon a job at RED.

138: You can tell when Jane is having a really good day on the battlefield because you’ll round the corner and there’s Naked Soldier.

139: He’s waxing poetry about the beauty of the Male Form, take it in you soft quivering maggots.

140: I can’t get the image of Jane crowd surfing out of my head? That’s, like, his ideal dream for being recognized for his heroics. Medals and a mosh in his Honor.

141: Anytime he sees a Bald Eagle he entirely stops what he’s doing to place his left hand over his heart.

142: Jane loves The Art of War and is still awaiting Sun Tzu’s next book.

143: [ Alcohol ] Jane only sees ghosts when he’s starving, drunk, or suffering from a concussion. And it’s merely a way for such a boar minded guy to internalize what’s going on around him.

144: He can touch his toes keeping his knees straight.

145: Jane has minor ice-skating knowledge, as most growing up in the midwestern united states do. He’s not, good, though, he’s really intent on Taking Steps instead of gliding.

146: Put him in front of a piano and he’s holding out on finger and pressing down on one key at a time like an old man at a desktop keyboard.

147: Jane is ready to beat up your father.

148: Especially if your dad is shitty, unleash good ol’ Solly on him.

149: While he favors picking his nose with his pinkies, neither of his pinkie pads have any feeling.That makes them a little less dexterous when the time comes.

150: He’s always aching to be active, his brain will take things literally if it means he’ll be doing something.

151: Rum pineapple juice and malibu caribou -- Er. He doesn’t like pineapple flavoring. Isn’t a fan of mixed drinks in general?

152: He’s capable of staying out of the picture and not picking his nose, often times if things aren’t focused on him he’ll just sorta.. Stand out of the way playing with his hands - rifling through his pouches. Some times he’ll even, *gasp* pay attention.

153: He really likes to but in with his opinion is the thing.

154: He’s an American and his ideals must be heard.

155: Merasmus out here having doing the most for Soldier, in helping him reintegrate back into society. You think he’s bonkers now?? Psh. You should’a seen him fresh home from Poland.

156: He’s shown up to Civil War reanactments with a real gun.

157: Jane is incapable of yawning silently.

158: Stairs are overrated.

159: Catch Jane with a lukewarm mug of water pouring coffee grinds directly into it and saying “Damn, that’s a fine cup of Joe.”

160: Only. 100 left? Sweet Joseph Wetnurse of Jesus He’s got dirty blond hair leaning toward brunette.

161: Any righteous death deserves a warrior’s burial - That’s why you’ll find Jane, helmet over heart, giving a stirring eulogy about the Toilet from the Men’s Restroom that Got Unearthed and Shattered By... Nobody In Particular.

162: He will just join in large groups of people - like protests? He’ll just fall in line and preach his own stuff which sometimes doesn’t exactly align with the group at large.

163: i asked myself, would jane pick someone else’s nose? Yes.

164: His hugs are always really warm.

165: He would notice his wallet being pickpocketed - unless it was replaced by something the same weight. He’s like a temple from Indiana Jones.

166: Mentally? Jane’s fine with being alone, but. That leads to him living in a box or a room straight out of that “Damn, bitch, you live like this?” comic.

167: Despite deep cold being triggering to him (SEE HC, 67.), he loves snow-forts and hot chocolate because those are great American past-times.

168: next one is this post’s 69 brace yourselves! Jane’s never truly in silence, the constant whistling in his ears will see to that. That’s why sometimes, when it is quiet, you’ll catch Jane looking into space like he’s trying to see where the sound is coming from.

169: Important to note, he ain’t popping a boner any time he’s fighting nude. Or, really, fighting any time. Intent is really important for him. (If he gets all rubbed up on, though, Well,)

170: Jane is under the assumption that everything he comes up with is ingenious and people like Red Spy are holding society back by ignoring such wide plans.

171: He’s secretly soothed by everyone on his team’s voices.

172: First off, himself. He loves to hear himself talk. Mostly fueled by self-important intent, the tenor of his own voice also soothes his eardrums.

173: Pyro’s is muffled yet energetic - and never fails to get Jane pumped up.

174: Scout’s got that accent that is pure and simple, American. Soldier may not listen to half of what he says, but for background buzz and funny colloquialisms

175: And, Engie's accent garners a whole other sort of American respect out of the Soldier. As far as soothing goes? Engie’s is like butter.

176: Soldier hate’s Heavy’s accent on principle, but below his American Stubbornness is a love for the deep, thoughtful symbols Heavy provides. Plus, y’know, he appreciates a fellow loud guy.

177: Demo’s voice makes Solly a happy man. It used to make him furious, an all Scottish accents did, but more recently it makes him feel nostalgic.

178: Jane would swear up every mountain he can that there’s nothing positive to be found in Spy’s accent, but zoning out to such poised speech patterns and rounded vowels is a common occurrence.

179: When Sniper gets that gravelly tone going on, when he takes things really seriously? Jane like that.

180: Jane can’t find it in him to be really put off by anything Medic says during surgery, so his voice only causes a feeling of safety throughout the Soldier. He can’t get enough of hearing Enthusiasm in the Medic’s voice.

181: He doesn’t believe the Police can arrest him because they aren’t the official Government.

182: He looks at a baby and is like “What animal is this?”

183: Big hands.. talented at giving massages.

184: BEWARE HIM BREAKING YOUR SPINE - just specify ‘and don’t kill me’!

185: Jane doesn’t gossip so much as, be around people who are gossiping which makes him want to make up some Hot Goss. Also, he’ll act like every rumor someone else shares is spoken truth.

186: Jane picked up finger guns from Scout. He either uses it constantly or doesn’t use it for weeks at a time.

187: He lifts, broskis.

188: Jane will talk about trucks because the Average American Male is expected to. He knows nothing about cars.

189: He’s an impulsive liar, so caught up in in his web of ‘things he says to impress people’ that he believes everything he says. So are the woes of being an adult with ADHD.

190: He goes between being smell-blind and having the scent skills of a bloodhound. It’s probably a mental thing, because there’s no in between, but Jane doesn’t know anything.

191: i’ve been working on these for 5 days at this point... i hope they’re appreciated JANE prefers..soft food. jane Does Not lov the cronch.

192: Which is what makes cashews his favorite nut. they’re soft-ish. and they have just enough crunch to not gross him out.

193: He loves immediate gratification.

194: Beyond joining the Military? Jane’s never had a solid plan for his future. Lives too in the moment.

195: As long as he’s having fun, Jane’s a pretty content guy.

196: Any artistic skills he may have once had go into making Maps for war planning sessions.

197: He’ll fall victim to Sleep Paralysis occasionally and, once able to move, will spend the rest of the day curing ghosts and Merasmus’ magic.

198: He was SUPER into Howdie Doodie Time in his youth, and being put in front of any reruns will have him basically hypnotized into silence.

199: He’s proud of his ass.

200: Jane can keep marching pace for hours at a time. And if he’s not lugging around his rocket launcher he can keep marching for an entire day no pausing.

201: Jane isn’t shy about telling jokes, because he believes everyone has the same sense of humor as him.

202: He knows karate but refuses to use his knowledge because it is not an American Form. He will stick to brute strength and loud yelling thank you very much.

203: He’s the type to state every time he’s going to use the bathroom. Like, people can be having a serious conversation and hes like, “I am going to take a shit now!”

204: Jane’ll go a week without washing his hair, but he always brushes his teeth two times a day.

205: He gives a damn good kiss.

206: All Human Nudity is safe for work. As it was God’s Intention to make people strongest when not held back by fabric.

207: All he wants is recognition.... for his good deeds...

208: He’ll have staring contests with the Sun. He’s yet to win, but that damn star shouldn’t get too comfortable.

209: Much like his pinkies, his feet have been crushed, blown up, and bruised so many times that he doesn’t have much feeling in them either.

210: He’s never washed his bellybutton.

211: He prefers savory to sweet, but he prefers sweet to sour.

212: Half assing is not in Jane’s vocabulary.

213: His brain will get stuck on simple Math - like, he tries his best to figure it out, it’s just.... Numbers..... they are a construct. And so he’ll end up pondering what 5+7 is for, like, 5 minutes.

214: Jane is constantly torn between wanting to be a Figure of Authority and also being a man born in the trenches following orders.

215: Have I mentioned lately Jane fucks?

216: Jane’s room is sparsely decorated, but it’s only because he’s not materialistic and doesn’t generally receive gifts.

217: He’s more than willing to strip Right This Moment and fight something.

218: Jane’s not afraid to call other people losers.

219: He crops his own hair once a week. Same day he’ll do his wash.

220: Jane’s stubble grows in really fast, but he can’t deny the feeling of having a freshly shaved jaw is amazing.

221: If a teammate is struggling emotionally..... Jane walks away.

222: If they’re struggling again, /then/ Jane will give them some uncalled for American Advice. Like, meaningfully yelling “GET OVER IT, YOU SLOBBERING FOOL.”

223: He has a very, very high pain threshold.

224: He accidentally walks into walls all the time.

225: He can’t magically see through his helmet - he just knows everyone’s feet super well.

226: It’s good that Lt. Bites is a wild, self sufficient animal because Jane is terrible at pet care. And child care. And any sort of care.

227: On the very rare occasions Jane gets overwhelmed with depression he’s a shadow of his former self questioning the sanctity of American Ideals and wondering aloud if War really is the answer to his problems.

228: Next day he’ll be fine and forget he was ever upset.

229: He’s never gotten a real back massage before, if he were to get one he’d probably literally melt? Some women he’s slept with liked to say sensually ‘oh what a big tense man you are’ and, like, weakly rub his back. they didn’t get paid to fix this man’s back muscles LMAO

230: Any backwards period-typical beliefs about women went out the window upon meeting Miss Pauling.

231: His love for America is truly as pure as it gets.

232: Jane’s pretty xenophobic, but he can learn better, I’m sure. he’s gotten his ass kicked for being ignorantly racist and he grew to be a better person.

233: He takes really well to learning things through violence, the only issue is.. dealing with Soldier Being Violent.

234: There’s nothing a fist to the face won’t fix.

235: He’s not much of a napper, his brain being far too active to let him rest during daylight hours.

236: He’s constantly moving, even in sleep.

237: Hell, give him a few hours after being knocked unconscious and he’ll start wiggling something around.

238: He doesn’t stop to smell the flowers, because if they wanted to be smelled they’d approach him.

239: He believes in the good of all humans, it’s just buried down past his Fight Everyone radar.

240: He only likes musicals about fighting Hitler.

241: His biggest regret is not punching Hitler.

242: He does not fear death, he does not fear punishment. He lives for his ideals and if he’s taken down believing in himself? Then that’s okay.

243: Jane needs deodorant reminders.

244: He takes personally being betrayed as people betraying the country of America.

245: (oh shit i slacked off it’s been like two days since i wrote something, Who Is Soldier?) CEREAL THEN MILK, MAGGOTS

246: Jane doesn’t know the word migraine so he really can’t describe how he feels.

247: Look, he loves his friends, he loves his guns, but he’s stingy with the word.. Love because that’s what he feels for America and the country will always be number one.....

248: Jane’s not too partial to sarcasm outside of combat, but it’ll find it’s way into his speech. His tone is usually hammed up to signify he’s joking around or being cruel.

249: He’s like a cartoon character, he can only understand sarcasm if it’s Funny to at the moment.

250: Jane likes his hair being pet.

251: He likes his hands being played with as much as he likes playing with other people’s hands. (A lot.)

252: He loves dogs, but is more of a cat person. Dogs and him just echo energy and HYPE feelings back and forth at each other until they pass out and then Jane feels more emotionally exhausted than hanging out with people.

253: The weirdest parts of rom-coms make him cry.

254: He appreciates a good non-american explosion, but he has his preferences.

255: You show Jane genuine kindness and interest and he’s like, Yours. Jane vc: Are you the vice-president?

256: If he were to have a reptile for a sidekick instead of a raccoon, he would have a turtle.

257: He can be delicate when he needs to be, but cracking eggs is a different story.

258: While not too partial to sugary beverages - he has a figure to maintain, root beer and ginger ale are his go-tos.

259: He can appreciate a salad! Jane Doe will eat his greens!!!!

260: Soldier has no tattoos, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be open to getting any. Just never crossed his mind.

SWEET SPIRIT OF JOE BIDEN AM I FINISHED?

thank you,... for reading my garbled thoughts.. for respecting The Soldier... and for being a creative individual. But mostly the respecting Soldier thing.

#patriotic headcanons #patriotic answers #like hell im gonna proofread lets go baybeeeeeeee #//THANKS AGAIN #I LOVE SOLDIER TF2 #tf2 soldier

14 notes · View notes

charlyoddsox27 · 7 years ago

Text

its 6am, i havent slept, im bored, so im posting a list of the mercs in order of whom i like the most and reasons why, because thats something i should do i guess?

here goes

(spoilers for the comics down below but either way i think im the only person on earth who has never read them before now)

~~~

~~1. Medic~~

reasons for being my favourite:

• fucking. look. at. him. 👌

• 'mad german doctor' is one of my favourite tropes and he is a pretty bang-on satirical depiction of it

• cute-ass german accent

• he has pet pidgeons hE LOVES HIS PIDGEON PALS THEY KEEP HIM COMPANY

• healers are the most respectable class imo and since Medic pretty much started it he's automatically the best, thats how it works right?

• he sold some random persons soul to satan in exchange for a ***ballpoint pen*** and can i just say, fucking mood??? (he is literally the "i'd sell you to satan for one cornchip" meme)

• "yes, Archimedes...I couldn't agree more." *shudders* b oi .. .

• so many more reasons to love this gross old doctor so little room in Tumblrs posts.

~~2. Spy~~

reasons for being my second favourite:

• cranky, done with everyones shit, just wants to be left alone, fucking mood

• he's a spy i mean c'mon. look at the swanky-ass suit, look at the class radiating from this asshole.

• he may be a dick but he has a soft side he's just too jaded to show it most of the time (see: Scouts death in the comics?? real tears. honestly wish they'd panned that out more.)

• masks are hot tbFH--

• he enjoys a nice glass of whisky by the fireplace and so do i (fun fact: france is the biggest importer of scottish whisky in the world so its a nice touch)

• shapeshifting is fucking cool are you serious like he can just. do that. what a legend

• "i have a cyanide pill in one of my molars, if i break it then spit some in your mouth before i die, we can avoid being tortured." *'heavy' bursts in to save them* "PFFTHBTHF--"

• "SEDUCE ME."

• arrogant frenchman is one of my other favourite tropes and this is the most arrogant frenchman ive ever seen

• he's the only fully sane Merc, maybe apart from Engie.

• people love to hate him bc he's an asshole but...come on. after working with all those other weirdos for years, you'd be pretty jaded too.

• as a gross shipper, he's the easiest and the most fun (imo) to ship with Medic (rip me)

~~3. Pyro~~

reasons for being my third favourite:

• would have tied with Soldier if it werent for that one picture of them in the comics holding a puppy over their head with the most adoring expression on their mask??? good Pyro. goodest Pyro.

• doesn't do much in the comics but makes up for it in pure charm. look at that soulless face and tell me you dont love it.

• ambiguous gender ambiguous gender amBIGUOUS GENDER AMBIGUOUS GENDER. she/he/they? trans? nb? whatever you headcanon, it'll never be confirmed so its literally up to your own imagination. fucking ace, Valve 👌👌👌

• likes to burn things. god damnit. they like to burn things, guys. but they enjoy it so much, you just cant hate them, you can only feel a sympathetic joy that this precious lunatic is having fun in their own little world.

• canonically mentally ill (schizoprenia? it could be hallucinogenic drugs but i like to think its schizophrenia.)

• pretty sure they burned a pair of pedophiles in the comics. at least i think thats what those panels were insinuating. "lets open an orphanage and have an endless supply of kids to--" sounds pretty red-flaggy to me tbh. plus they were the villains so, eh?

• bludgeoned a bear to death until its skull was pulp because it insulted their special interest. you go, Pyro.

• for a few bits in the comics they have a really cute family dynamic going on with other Mercs, Soldier for example."Miss Pauling, Pyros on my side of the car." "Miss Pauling, Pyro cut off my hand." fuckin' cuties.

• when they start putting on like 50 shirts to keep warm in the Russian mountains. chubby.

• a gas mask that can function as both badass, and completely adorable.

• just. everything about them. how could you not love them. they're not in the wrong, you are. stay away from my misunderstood child and let them burn things god damnit.

~~4. Soldier~~

look I'm sorry, I love Soldier and he was gonna be tied with Pyro but that fucking puppy drawing sold me.

• absolute gold every second he speaks. he could sneeze and i'll laugh.

• such a dumbass you cant get annoyed at him for it. like. just agree with him and move on. no point reasoning with a boulder. "haha! silly Miss Pauling, thinking theres different types of blood." Medic: "haha yes! indeed, silly."

• HUTTAH *NECK SNAP*

• i'm not American and even i can see how blatantly his character mocks stereotypical Patriotic Americans™. but its so dumb and laughable, its adorable.

• EVERYTHING ABOUT HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH ZHANNA IS A BLESSING. EVERYTHING.

• the first "meet the Mercs" video i ever saw was "meet the Soldier" so he holds a special place in my heart

• (preaches about experiencing the horrors of war; has never actually been to war. shh dont tell anyone though--) *neck gets snapped*

~~5. Demoman~~

• I'm Scottish. even though his accent is absolute garbage (no offense to the VA), any representation is very nice.

• Black AND Scottish?? i mean has a character like that even existed before TF2??? amazing example of representation right there. there are barely even any black people in Scotland, how did this happen. I love it. more of this, please.

• he's a drunk guy who blows shit up for shits and giggles and god I wish I could too, sounds like a miracle stress-reliever.

• his sassy black scottish mother. combining the stereotypical black mother with the stereotypical scottish mother is literally the best thing that ever happened.

• the bit in the comic where Medic explains that Demo can't remember what happened to his eye bc he scooped out part of his brain, and the look on Demo's face. just. the look.

• again, he's scottish, he's stereotypical, and he's awesome.

~~6. Sniper~~

• underrated

• piss jars. piss jars everywhere.

• "no dad, im not a crazed murdering lunatic, I'm an assassin. ...well one's a job and the other's mental sickness!!"

• "meet the Sniper" has kickass music

• ruffled gross old man who isn't actually old, he's just seen some SHIT

• actually given development in the comics + some really good scenes with Spy.

• so suave...so...handsome. handsome ruffled bushman. me like.

• he dies first in the comics but gets brought back and gets a cool-ass scar. and then he's just walking around naked everywhere for the rest of the comic. Medic, where the fuck did you put his clothes.

• isn't actually Australian. thats like one of the biggest twists in the comic. "no wonder i was never inhumanly strong and my chest hair didn't grow into the shape of Australia!!" Classic.

• says "bugger" a lot and i love that word

• he needs a hug, let me hug him. and give him a bath.

~~7. Heavy~~

I'm gonna be crucified for putting the big lad so low but i promise i dont dislike any of the Mercs. he'd be higher up but...ive never really liked big huge tank-men tbh :/

• loveable as fuck

• will murder you if you bully his puny little Medic

• i looove Russian accents omfg

• he like big gun. i can respect that.

• when Medic was killed and he went APESHIT on Classic!Heavy and I lost my fuckin' mind over that shit

• he probably has a soft spot for small cute animals. i love imagining him being swarmed by Medics flock of doves and petting them like "good bird...so many good bird..."

• actually smarter than people give him credit for???

• i really really wish his character was a lil more fleshed out but. that's just me. i love him but he doesn't have the same appeal to me as Medic or Spy.

• his entire relationship with Medic...ugh. yes. best friends and/or boyfriends. all good to me 👌

• he named his gun Sasha and that's adorable

~~8. Engineer~~

• gOD, FUCK, I REALLY WISH HE DID MORE IN THE COMICS. i barely know anything about his character. i like him a lot but...god, he...he doesn't...do.....anything.......

• he built a cool robot arm for himself and AI turrets and teleporter machines and guns that fire magic healing powers and immortality machines, in the 1960s. what. some kind of wizard fuckery is this.

• smoothest voice in the west

• "y'all"

~~9. Scout~~

oh god i really am gonna be crucified. i dont hate him i just. like him the least.

• shitboy

• reminds me of a shitty ex but also kinda relateable in a way

• some genuinely funny bits in the shorts.

• gross horny hetero teen boy with a god complex and serious daddy issues. also, he can't read. the "sex bom" tattoo on his chest will be an eternal testament to that. nice job, Spy. you raised him good.

~~~

hoo boy there we go theres all the boys, all the beautiful boys (and Scout) in order of how much i love them. if i made any errors in my info about the canon, feel free to send me death threats 💙 (no seriously tell me though, being a newbie is embarrassing)

so uh. yeah. that took two hours to write. its now 8am. im still bored lol. bye i guess.

#long post #charlyspeaks #charlys cesspool of interests #team fortress 2 #team fortress #medic #pyro #heavy #engineer #scout #spy #demoman #sniper #soldier #zhenna #tf2 #drabble #my opinions #ooooo

30 notes · View notes

babybluebanshee · 7 years ago

Text

Heavy Rains - Chapter 1 (TF2)

Being stranded at Teufort during a raging storm with a gaggle of homicidal mercenaries isn't Miss Pauling's idea of a relaxing vacation. The group tries to make the best of it, but when a mysterious illness starts making its way through the barracks, it's a race against time to find a cure before it's too late. And that's not even bringing the emotional baggage into things.

Rain was not a common occurrence in Teufort. The town got around fifteen inches of precipitation a year, and even then, most of the townsfolk blamed that on a witch’s curse.

Most of the time, it was bone-dry and hellishly hot, a barren wasteland only fit for a few determined souls and the likes of the Mann. Co mercenaries, men too tough and too damn insane to register things like heat stroke and dehydration.

So naturally, when the local radio weather station predicted bizarre torrential rains headed directly for the small New Mexico town, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and winds reaching at least sixty miles an hour, the townspeople blamed the witch and burned effigies in their front yards. The Mann Co. mercenaries were simply confused.

And although Miss Pauling counted herself among the confused, she had very little time to dwell on it. She was currently overseeing the shipment of various supplies to the men at the Teufort base, to tide them over until the storm had passed. She had put them to work loading the boxes off the truck, so they could sort them in the loading bay later. It was best to keep the nine men occupied during something like this. Each one was a volatile whack job in their own special way. Something about being stuck together in close quarters brought all that out in full, destructive force.

She didn’t need another incident like the one in Coldfront. It’d taken three days to clean up the mess, and most of the mercs still complained about ringing in their ears because of the explosion.

With black clouds looming on the horizon, the project couldn’t be completed fast enough for her liking. Sadly, the mercenaries seemed to be in no big hurry, and kept distracting themselves by bickering and trying to loot through the boxes like a bunch of excited kids, eager to see what they’d gotten for Christmas.

“I ain’t lifting that one,” Miss Pauling heard Scout shout. Looking over the rim of her clipboard, she saw him standing next to a large box, and staring up at Soldier. Scout’s face was scrunched up in what he probably thought was an intimidating glare. Miss Pauling thought he just looked constipated. Soldier carried two boxes, one on each of his shoulders, and didn’t look too happy to have Scout in his face, managing to pull off a legitimately intimidating look, even with his helmet obscuring his eyes.

“That box weighs twice as much as me. I try to lift that, I’m gonna snap in two,” Scout continued.

Soldier snorted like an angry bull, and said, or rather yelled, “Back in my day, we didn’t have Sallies like you running around. We were strong and lifted boxes all damn day. And then we threw those boxes at the Nazis and we LIKED IT.”

“Pardon me if I ain’t gonna take my history lessons from a certifiable head case like you,” Scout yelled back, jamming his tiny body as close to Soldier’s as possible. It wasn’t exactly the dominant stance he’d hoped for, since he did only come up to the bottom of Soldier’s chin, but he held his ground nonetheless.

“Oh, son, your mouth is writing checks your butt will find uncashable. Uncashable, you hear me!?” Soldier growled, lobbing the boxes he carried to the ground. He shoved himself even closer to Scout, and continued his tirade. “Insinuate that I am crazy one more time, and your butt will be escorted from the bank, am I understood, private?!”

As the two men continued to scream in each other’s faces, Engineer, Heavy, and Sniper walked by them, each carrying a box on their shoulder. Engineer cast a look between Scout, Soldier, and the three boxes lying on the ground, and then, shaking his head, picked up one with his free hand and slung it under his arm. Heavy and Sniper quietly did the same.

Miss Pauling felt a headache coming on as thunder rumbled in the distance.

It was soon drowned out by a loud, celebratory “Woooooo!” that sounded from inside the loading bay. Suddenly, Demoman came rushing out, a bottle of Mann Co. beer in each hand, and a few on the bandolier that usually held his grenades. Miss Pauling didn’t want to think about where the grenades were now.

“Feast yer eyes on this, lads,” Demo called, using a thumb to pop off the cap of a bottle and take a swig. “The lass was good enough te bring us a whole case of the stuff. This wee squall will pass in no time if I have my way about it.”

“Ya best take it easy there, partner,” Engineer said, setting his boxes by Demo’s feet. “Otherwise that case ain’t gonna last you two hours, let alone the entire storm.”

Demo paid him no attention, simply tipped his head back and drained the open bottle. After he’d gotten every last drop, he let out a long sigh of satisfaction before he pointed to Miss Pauling and said, “Bless ye, lass.”

Miss Pauling gave a small smile and said, “I figured you guys might as well have some small comforts while you’re shut up during the storm. It’d get pretty boring around here otherwise.” After a moment’s consideration, she added, “Just please don’t overdo it. I do not want to come back to another Coldfront.”

Medic came up behind her, carrying a box of bottled water in front of him, and huffed, saying, “It was not so bad, Miss Pauling. I managed to reattach Scout’s thumb completely after all.”

Before Miss Pauling could register that nobody had ever mentioned any thumb reattachments, another rumble of thunder, much closer than the last, made the ground tremble beneath them. “Alright, you guys,” she said, taking her lavender pen from behind her ear. “Looks like the rain is ahead of schedule. We need to get these last couple boxes in the base before we all get soaked. Heavy, Engie, can you bring them in? There should only be a few more, mostly more water and stuff.”

The two men nodded and started their way back over to the truck. Miss Pauling continued, “Medic, Sniper, get inside and help Demo, Pyro, and Spy sort through all that stuff. Try to keep Pyro away from the paper products until Engie gets back in there to distract him.”

Medic and Sniper did not look at all happy about their assignment of dealing with the firebug, but they obeyed without a fight, although Miss Pauling swore she heard Medic mumble something she knew for certain to be a German swear. She didn’t bother herself with it at the moment. Soldier and Scout were still arguing a few yards away, and Soldier had managed somehow to find his shovel. This needed to be taken care of before first blood. Tucking her pen back behind her ear, Miss Pauling walked over to them, and managed to catch more of their ridiculous argument insults layered on top of each other so only snippets could be heard at a time.

“...think your shovel scares me, ya lunkhead?”

“...and we lived on falcon eggs and rocks…”

Miss Pauling’s head ached harder. “Guys, that’s enough!”

“He started it!” Scout said, jabbing an accusatory finger right into Soldier’s helmet.

Miss Pauling saw Engineer and Heavy out of the corner of her eye. Their arms were loaded with boxes, and they cast a wary look up at the sky before dashing inside, the added weight of the supplies nothing to them. She heaved a silent sigh through her nose. “I don’t care who started it,” she said evenly. “I’m here to finish it. Now quit screaming in each other’s faces and get inside. If you don’t hurry, you’re gonna get -”

There was a blinding flash of lightning, following by a deafening crash of thunder. Then, the sky almost seemed to open up, and the torrential downpour hit them like a tidal wave beating the shore. All three of them were sodden in a matter of seconds.

“...soaked.”

Soldier and Scout looked at Miss Pauling like a couple of scolded children. Miss Pauling merely jabbed a finger in the direction of the loading bay, and they both began marching toward it. Miss Pauling followed behind them, regretting with every step that she’d decided to wear pumps that kept getting stuck in the sucking desert mud.

--------------

As soon as Miss Pauling was inside, a towel was draped over her shoulder courtesy of Engineer. She gave him a smile, set her clipboard (which had thankfully managed to stay mostly dry) to the side, and furiously started rubbing herself down. As she pulled off her glasses to wipe the rain off, she saw Sniper throw a couple of towels to Soldier and Scout, managing to hit Scout directly in the face. The towel muffled Scout’s indignant yelp, which Sniper was ignoring anyway to pull down the loading bay door.

Throwing the towel back over her shoulders, Miss Pauling slicked back the strands of hair that had come loose from her bun and pulled out her pen. “Okay, guys, time for some inventory. Just wanna make sure that everything is here. I can already check off the beer…”

Demo gave another hearty “Woooooo!”, before throwing back another bottle.

“So let’s crack open the rest of these and get them put away.”

To her side, Heavy nodded and grabbed a nearby crowbar, jamming it under the lid of the nearest crate and jimmying it open in one swift motion. He tossed the lid out of the way, and it landed with a thick clunk. Engineer tapped Pyro on the shoulder and motioned for him to help him sift through it, while Heavy moved along the line of boxes, cracking each of them open like a powerful machine for a pair of mercs to dig through. For once, Miss Pauling felt as though things were going to go smoothly.

Another crack of thunder made her jump. The noise was as clear as if they didn’t have concrete walls surrounding them, and that made Miss Pauling nervous. She didn’t like being nervous. Nervousness meant a lack of control.

“Sure would be nice if we had a radio,” she said, thinking out loud more than anything.

“Oh yes,” Spy suddenly said, pulling himself away from the box he and Sniper rifled through. “I almost forgot.” He ducked down, and pulled up a small, beat-up black baseball radio. “I’m sure this will be sufficient. Assuming it still works.”

“Hey, that’s mine!” Scout shouted as soon as he set eyes on the radio.

“Don’t be such a child. I merely borrowed it for a greater purpose,” Spy said, setting the device on a nearby chair. He flicked a switch on the side, and a small burst of static began emanating from the speakers, nearly drowned out completely by the rain beating intensely against the metal roof.

“You coulda just asked,” Scout said, the pout evident in his voice as he went back to pulling paper towels and toilet paper out of his box. “Didn’t have to go through my room and swipe my stuff.”

“Oh, don’t act so scandalized. I go through everyone’s rooms,” Spy said dismissively as he fiddled with the knobs. For a minute or two, it seemed that the radio wouldn’t be able to do anything but spit static at them because of the rain. They got snippets of a drawling political discussions and a very garbled classical music station (which seemed to disappoint Medic immensely), but finally, Spy managed to find the Teufort weather station, although it was quite faint, and interrupted by the occasional burst of static.

“...citizens wisely preparing for what promises to be a very brutal storm, possibly the *bzzzzzt* of Teufort has ever seen. There *bzzzt* reports of mass flooding, especially along the road leading out of the town and to the highway. All *bzzt* redirected, and many of the roads closed down until the end of the storm. Civilians are advised *bzzzzzzzzt* leaving Teufort, as it is currently incredibly unsafe.”

Miss Pauling’s headache returned with a roaring vengeance.

She was stranded here. She was stranded with a group of nine mercenaries who, last time they’d been cooped up together, had caused explosions and apparently lost thumbs.

“Well, ain’t that a kick in the teeth,” Engineer muttered. “I’m real sorry, Miss Pauling. Looks like you’re stuck with us for the next couple of days.”

The rest of the mercs looked up at her apologetically. Well, except for Scout, who looked quite pleased at this turn of events. In an obvious attempt at smoothness, he said, “Yeah, that’s definitely too bad. But hey, I’m sure we can make the most of it.” He flashed Miss Pauling a crooked smile that made him look like an excited puppy. Miss Pauling had to bite back a frustrated groan.

Spy, letting out a quiet huff, rolled his eyes and shut off the baseball radio. Taking two long strides, he reached Scout’s side and shoved the radio into the boy’s hands. “Yes, we’ll certainly make the most of it,” he said, his tone borderline scolding. “Which is why Miss Pauling will be staying in my room. On the opposite end of the base from yours.”

A titter rippled through the group of men. Scout’s face reddened, and he shot Spy a glare very suited to a sullen teenager.

“Oh, Spy,” Miss Pauling said. “I don’t want take your room.”

“Nonsense,” Spy replied, waving off her concerns. “I insist. I’ll stay in my smoking room. The chairs there are as comfortable as any bed.”

Miss Pauling gave him a grateful smile. “Well, thank you, then. I appreciate that.”

Another crash of thunder made the base tremble around them. Engineer nearly dropped the case of Bonk he was pulling out of a crate. “Sheeeoot,” he muttered. “Always hated storms. Got the worst back home. Least you don’t gotta worry about twisters here. If we had to deal with one of those, I’d be heading for the hills.”

As soon as Engineer set down the case, Scout tore into it, pulling out a can and popping it open. It fizzed merrily. He tipped it back, draining the contents in seconds. Crushing the now-empty can in his hand and tossing it over his shoulder, he said, “You think a twister is bad, hard hat? Try a hurricane. Not only do you got rain, thunder, and lightning 24/7, okay? But you gotta worry about floods too. I remember when I was nine, we got hit with a really bad one. Any of you guys ever heard of Hurricane Esther? Worst one that I’ve ever been through. We got stuck inside for days. Couldn’t leave, couldn’t nothing. Made one of my brothers cry. That was actually the one bright spot of the whole thing.”

Scout’s light-speed chatter tapered off as he pulled out another Bonk and cracked it open. The other mercs seemed to deflate with relief at the silence.

The reprieve did not last, as the loudest crash of thunder the storm had offered up yet once again shook the base. It felt like a bomb had been detonated right outside the loading bay door.

And then the lights went out.

“Well, hell…” Miss Pauling heard Engineer grumble.

From somewhere in the dark, Pyro let out a frightened whine. Engineer once again spoke, this time in a much gentler tone “It’s okay, Smokey,” he said. “I can get those back on, no problem. Just gotta find a flashlight…”

There was a sound of something heavy colliding with a body, and someone let out an “oof!”

“Shit, sorry, uh, whoever that was…” Engineer said.

“No worries, mate,” Sniper ground out. “Ain’t like I need all me ribs anyways…ow...”

There was a sound of footsteps, then a cry of pain from Spy. “That was my foot, bushman!”

“You try getting a metal arm to the gut, ya bloody spook,” Sniper hissed back. “Think it’d take your mind off your shoes getting a bit scoffed.”

“I doubt it, considering these shoes cost more than that repulsive van you sleep in.”

Someone fell backwards into one of the crates, apparently grabbing Medic on the way down. Miss Pauling heard him cry out, “Scheisse!”

“Jesus, hard hat,” Scout grumbled. Miss Pauling heard him scrambling to get back to his feet. He must have been the one to fall into the boxes. “You’re gonna kill somebody with that thing.”

“Well, it’s damn dark, son. I don’t know what to tell ya.” Another thud of metal against flesh, but this time the flesh sounded much more solid. Engineer must have hit Heavy. “Sorry, big guy…”

“Is no problem,” Heavy said casually.

“Did anyone actually see a flashlight in any of the boxes?” Miss Pauling asked. She stood as still as she could. There was no need to contribute anymore to this unfolding chaos.

No one answered her. They were heading towards another Coldfront at full speed.

Then, suddenly, a tiny light filled the space. It drew everyone’s attention simultaneously. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, sat Pyro. In his hands, his lighter, burning brightly.

Engineer grinned and said, “Well, ain’t you a smart little bug?”

Pyro merely let out a sheepish giggle.

Miss Pauling did a quick survey of things - Sniper was still gingerly holding his ribs, though he looked like he wasn’t in too much pain. Spy, now that he was actually able to see them, seemed to be inspecting the damage done to his shoes. Scout hoisted himself back up into a standing position, while Medic glared daggers at him for pulling him down. Engineer was roughly an inch from Heavy’s gargantuan torso. Demo took advantage of the light to pop the top off another bottle of beer, which he handed to Soldier. Both watched the others fumble over each other from a safe distance. Miss Pauling heard them chortle.

She took a deep breath. Things were okay. No one was injured. No one was dead. She could work with this.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Engineer slap Pyro’s hand away from a roll of paper towel stick out of a crate, which he’d been slowly moving the lighter closer and closer to. Pyro let out a defeated whine.

She could mostly work with this.

--------------- It took Engineer two and a half hours to restore the power. “Would have gotten it sooner,” he said as he came back into the loading bay, wiping the sweat away from under his hard hat, “but there were a few times when I had to back off ‘cause of the lightning. Don’t wanna get cooked if it strikes here again.”

“I thought lightning didn’t strike in the same place twice,” Scout said. He’d found his baseball and was lazily tossing it in the air and catching it as it came back down.

Engineer grinned a bit and replied, “That’s just a myth, son. Been through enough storms to know that lightning tends to do strike wherever it damn well pleases.”

Scout seemed unimpressed by this fact. He merely turned his attention back to his baseball, his expression bored and, oddly enough, sleepy. Miss Pauling didn’t even know it was possible for Scout to run out of energy.

Then again, looking at the seven other men lounging around the loading bay, she couldn’t say she was surprised. In the two and a half hours Engineer had been fiddling with the power, they’d been cleaning out the crates of supplies and putting everything away, seeing only by flashlight. It had surprisingly taken a lot out of them. Demo and Soldier were both on the edge of sleep, sitting back to back, still holding bottles of beer in their hands as their heads dipped every so often. More bottles were scattered around their feet.

Sniper had pulled his hat over his face, and she noticed his body slackening every so often as he dozed. Spy took a lazy drag of his cigarette. Medic had fetched his chessboard and had coaxed Heavy into a game. Pyro was practically curled up on the floor like a kitten, napping.

The rain had eased up a bit, though it still hit the roof with rigid consistency. Miss Pauling listened to it for a minute. She supposed that the sound would be enough to lull even hardened mercenaries to sleep after a stressful day of work.

“What about the rest of the stuff in the control room?” she asked. She tried not to yawn. Confound that rain, it was soothing.

“It’s pretty much all shot,” Engineer replied. “Communications are down, and the respawn is just...out. And crawling in there to fix it while this storm is still raging is outta the question. Lightning strikes while I’m in there, I come out looking like bacon left on the skillet too long.”

Miss Pauling couldn’t help the groan that escaped.

No communications. No respawn.

Normally, that wouldn’t bother her. As concerned as she was about the mercs eventually snapping from the confinement and inflicting bodily harm on each other, she at least trusted them enough to not kill each other. They feared Medic and his particular brand of “healing” enough to try and keep themselves in one piece for the next few days.

It was just one more thing to worry about. One more thing that could make things worse. One more thing out of her control. One more thing that she’d have to write up in the mountains of paperwork that were inevitably going to follow this whole debacle. Her head throbbed again.

Spy stood up, pulling her from her increasingly anxious thoughts. Taking one last drag of his cigarette and stamping it out against one of the discarded crates, he said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, gentlemen, but I find myself all ‘funned’ out. And if no one is interesting in cooking dinner…”

A collective groan rose up from the exhausted pile of mercenaries.

“As I expected. With that, I believe I shall retire for the evening.” He turned on his heels until he was facing Miss Pauling. “Shall we?” he asked, motioning towards the hall.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” she replied. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she’d almost forgotten Spy offering his room. She found herself a little too wired for sleep just yet, but she honestly couldn’t think of anything else to do to kill time until she was. Maybe she could just lay down, stare at the ceiling, and wonder what antagonistic gods had thought it amusing to strand her here.

She let him lead down the hall, past the dining hall and respawn room, and into the barracks. They passed eight doors, one for every man in the base - except, generally, for Sniper. Like any outdoorsman, he preferred sleeping outside, and made a habit of sleeping out in his camper van whenever the weather permitted. Weather was most definitely not permitting now, and Miss Pauling had gently persuaded him to remain indoors for the remainder of the storm. Although the suggestion had made him stare at her like she’d grown another head out of her abdomen, he’d grumbled an agreement.

And Miss Pauling’s mother wondered why her daughter seemed so lukewarm on the idea of children.

She nearly collided with Spy’s back as he stopped in front of the final door, near the end of the hallway. They had reached his quarters. Miss Pauling made no comment about how close it was to a large exit sign, leading out of the base.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask me,” Spy said as he opened his door, motioning for Miss Pauling to enter ahead of him. Ever the gentleman, even when motioning a lady into the spartan barracks of a military base.

Looking around the room as she stepped in, she realized “spartan” might even be too generous for Spy’s room. The place was almost completely bare. She knew for a fact that most of the other mercs had some personal things in their rooms - photos of family, posters, calendars, even the occasional pin-up picture in Scout’s case.

Spy’s room was completely spotless. His thin bed was made, blankets smooth and pristine, pillow propped against the wall and looking like a human head had never made contact with it. Minimal personal effects. Hardly a hint about what kind of man lived here, as much a mystery as Spy himself.

The only indication a person was ever in this room was the desk, which held a line of books, pressed against the wall. Moving closer to them, Miss Pauling realized they were very well-thumbed, having obviously seen multiple readings. One book was set aside from the others, a scrap of paper stuck between the pages to act as a bookmark - A Pocket Full of Rye by Agatha Christie.

Spy was reading a cozy mystery?

A quick look at the other books on the desk revealed similarly unexpected titles, at least the ones that weren’t in French - seven books all featuring “Austen” embossed in gold lettering on the spine. A few more Christies thrown in. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Even a dime store copy of The Andromeda Strain.

“You are more than welcome to read those.” Miss Pauling jumped a bit. She’d almost forgotten Spy was in the room, and with his infamous cat-like quietness and grace, he’d walked up to her side to see what she’d been gawking at. He’d pulled out a cigarette in that time, and had managed to silently light it.

“I simply ask that you be careful with Mr. Crichton,” he continued. “A few of the pages are falling out. Cheap glue does not last in New Mexico heat, as it turns out.”

“Yeah…” Miss Pauling muttered, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks and ears. “Um, sorry for being nosy. I just...ya know, never pegged you for much of a reader. Let alone Miss Marple.”

Spy chuckled a bit. “Things can be tedious around here when there are no battles to fight. And Dapper Cadaver is only a monthly subscription, after all.”

Miss Pauling smiled back. Though she’d never say it to Spy’s face, these books offered a look at a side of him he did his best never to show anyone - a human side. It was strangely endearing that this man, who prided himself of his suavity and mystique and ruthless efficiency at putting knives in backs, could be content with reading a quaint story about a spinster turned amatuer sleuth.

She cast another glance at the books. “I don’t get much time for reading these days,” she said. “Demands of the job, ya know? I don’t think I’ve sat down and read a full book since I was in college.”

“I would go mad,” Spy said, pulling a face of mock horror. “Surely we must catch you up. After all, you have plenty of time to fill presently.” He ran a finger down the line of books, humming curiously to himself as he did.

“Really, Spy, it’s fine,” Miss Pauling said. “I’m sure I can find something to do to pass the time.”

“Oh yes,” Spy said. He didn’t look up from the line of books. “I’m sure that Scout would be more than willing to let you ‘hang out’ with him. Sounds positively riveting.”

“...give me the damn book.”

A sly smile spread across Spy’s lips as he pulled out one of the Austen books and held it out to her. Gold lettering on the cover read Pride and Prejudice. She recalled being threatened with the book in high school, if she had chosen to take the AP courses. All the upperclassmen girls had complained loudly about it. She’d stuck with the regular English course and only had to read Huck Finn.

“I dunno, Spy…”

Spy gently set the book in her hands and closed her fingers around it. “Just give it a try, and if you don’t care for it, bring it back. I have many more in my smoking room to choose from,” he said. “I know it seems daunting, but believe me, she is worth it. Besides, I believe you’ll find...a bit of kinship with Miss Elizabeth Bennett.”

“Yeah?”

“She too often finds herself the only voice of reason amongst less than sane persons.”

Miss Pauling couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Excellent,” Spy said. She didn’t miss the excitement evident in his voice. “Perhaps we can even discuss it once you’ve finished?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Ah, well, it was a noble effort, no?” Spy said, his grin slightly devilish.

Miss Pauling chuckled again.

Spy’s grin softened a bit as he said, “I realize this was not the way you intended to spend the next few days. And I know the others and I...we can be a bit overwhelming.”

“That’s not…” Miss Pauling trailed off, the bare-faced lie dying on her tongue.

“I appreciate you not thinking you had to spare my feelings,” Spy said. “Although we may not act like it, all of us are fairly self-aware. We are forced to spend every day around each other. We know what we are like. I promise you, Miss Pauling, I will try and make this as uneventful as I can.”

Miss Pauling felt a warmth rise in her chest. She clutched the book a little tighter as she said, “Thank you, Spy. For everything.”

Spy bowed slightly at the waist. “You’re quite welcome. Goodnight to you, and enjoy the book.”

And with that, he grabbed up the Agatha Christie and walked out, shutting the door softly behind him.

Miss Pauling looked down at the book in her hand again. It didn’t look too terribly long, and besides, Spy had offered other stuff if she didn’t like it. There was no harm in humoring him, not after a promise like that.

Especially when a glance at her watch showed it was only a little past nine, and she didn’t feel in the slightest bit tired. Who knew, maybe a boring book would be the best way to help her fall asleep.

She sat down on Spy’s bed and removed her mud-caked shoes. She tossed them under the desk, so they’d be out of the way. Then came the nylons, which she pulled off gingerly and folded neatly. At two pair for a dollar, she wasn’t taking any chances with them. She pulled out the four bobby pins and the rubber band that held her bun in place. She tossed them onto the nearby desk. She gave her now-free hair a quick tousle. Then she pulled her arms into her blouse and undid her bra clasp, pulling it out and tossing it on the floor with the shoes.

Fuck it, she was basically in for the night, and she liked to think no one would come in without knocking first. She was willing to put up with a lot of things, but sleeping in her bra wasn’t one of them.

She laid back, propping herself up a bit on Spy’s pillow, and nestled the book on her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something small and white at the far end of the desk.

Upon further inspection, she realized it was a bottle of aspirin. A water bottle sat on the desk next to it. She hadn’t even heard Spy set them down before he left.

Well, now there was no two ways about it. She’d have to read the book. It would only be polite.

--------------

Medic felt his eye give an involuntary twitch when he heard Scout’s loud, obnoxious groans just outside the doors of his lab. And here he’d been hoping to spend the evening in relative peace and quiet, cleaning up around the lab or doing paperwork or tinkering with some Uber upgrades, to the tranquil sound of the rain outside. Another groan, obviously meant to sound piteous, echoed through his lab as Scout stumbled in, slamming the swinging door so hard it banged into the wall and frightened many of the nearby doves into fluttering, in search of less dangerous perches.

Medic’s eye twitched again. He pushed his glasses up and said, “What is it Scout?”

He lifted his head to look at the younger mercenary, who stumbled over to his desk, clutching his stomach as if it were ripping him apart from the inside. “Doooooooc,” he moaned. He sounded like a toddler crying for it’s mother when it wasn’t getting enough attention. “I’m dying, doc, you gotta save me.”

Medic rolled his eyes. Scout was, to be perfectly frank, the biggest baby he’d ever known when it came to physical maladies. Skinned knees got him grinding through clenched teeth that he was sure to bleed out in moments. A black eye had him wailing that he was blind now, worse off even than the black Scottish cyclops. Stomach cramps got him in the fetal position, crying out that it was cancer, it had to be cancer, tell his mother he loved her. Every time, Medic checked him out, submitting him to a full physical exam if that’s what it took, simply to silence the bellyaching. He never found anything more wrong with Scout than the typical bumps and bruises that befell every other man in this God-forsaken base.

He wasn’t about to entertain Scout’s incessant whining tonight, not when the weather already had him in a less than ideal mood.

“Scout, I do not have the patience for you tonight,” he grumbled, standing from his chair and walking out from behind his desk. Perhaps if he put distance between himself and the little twerp, Scout would get the message and leave him be.

“Aww, come on, doc!” If anything, Scout’s whining got even more pathetic. “Feels like I’m gonna keel over any second. Have a little sympathy, will ya?”

“I rarely have sympathy for the idiot who comes in here every time he stubs his toe,” Medic snapped.

Scout opened his mouth, probably to plead his case again, but he quickly shut it and let out another choked moan. His arms pulled even tighter around his abdomen. If Medic hadn’t known better, he’d almost call that genuine pain on Scout’s face.

Medic didn’t have any illusions about his position. He was not what many called “a caring professional”. To him, the healing was a rather tedious side effect of his experiments. After all, it was easier to poke someone’s atrophied liver if they weren’t in danger of dying on you before you could put it back. But you just didn’t figure out the secret to cheating life-threatening injuries by being a bleeding heart to every whining toddler that came limping through your door with stomachaches and broken bones and the entirety of their blood on the outside of their body. It just cut into the amount of hours you could spend finding reasonably priced Loch Ness hamster hearts.

But he wasn’t entirely without compassion. While his comrades tended to give him funny looks when he asked for volunteers for his more...ambitious projects, they did still volunteer. The wild success of his Ubercharge was proof of that. And the biggest reason for it was because he tried his damnedest to do it as painlessly as possible. It didn’t take a dubiously achieved medical license to know that people didn’t like pain, not even mercenaries who were used to be shot, stabbed, and blown to bits.

Medic was many things, but a sadist was not one of them. It just wasn’t conducive to his curiosity.

Which is why, after another pained groan from Scout, he sighed heavily, opened one of his desk drawers, and pulled out a bottle of white tablets. He tossed them to Scout and said, “Take two of these tonight and get some sleep. If you don’t feel any better in the morning, come back. Then I’ll see what else I can do, ja?”

Relief blossomed on Scout’s face. “Thanks, doc,” he said. He turned the bottle over in his hand, the tablets clacking together against the glass. “So, these penicillin or something?”

“It’s aspirin, Scout,” Medic said, turning his attention back to his papers. “You probably will not need penicillin any time soon. Unless you have a case of syphilis you haven’t mentioned. In which case I have been working on a super vaccine from some spare bits of the bread tumors. You will never guess where that gets injected…” For added effect, he looked up slightly and gave his best maniacal grin.

What little color was left in Scout’s face drained away, and he muttered a “Night, doc” before tucking the bottle in his pocket and stiffly walking out.

Medic chuckled once he was alone. He may not have been a sadist by nature, but he seemed to becoming quite cunning in his advancing age.

#team fortress2 #tf2 #fanfic #miss pauling #tf2 scout #tf2 pyro #tf2 soldier #tf2 heavy #tf2 demo #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #heavy rains

16 notes · View notes