#either in the fic itself or in some of the Oneshots I Couldn't Fit Into The Main Plot

[yuenthevoices]

yeaaa so brainrot has switched to TF2/Overwatch so might be seeing more of this lol

but anyways i had like a sudden flashback to a oneshot fanfic i read in like middle school that i can't remember the fandom or author of, but the plot of it and the setting and the reader just like fit so perfectly for the premise of a TF2 fic that like I literally couldn't NOT write it. this is rushed bc i have to be somewhere as i'm writing this but yea lol

reader is gn and obviously an adult, no specific merc/team for now so just a sort of premise for this? if i suddenly think of a great merc specific one or maybe get a request i'll write some merc specific stuff, but without further yapping:

Badass Bartender prompt!

Somewhere, just outside the Teufort desert, in one of the more secluded and abandoned towns, there lies a bar, seemingly unremarkable at a first glance. However, there are two things that make this bar particularly unique - patrons of the bar, and the owner themselves.

There's not much to be said about the frequent patrons of this bar - a loud, strange group of a questionable profession, and who the townsfolk knew to be the source of the constant sounds of combat and destruction from within the desert during the day. They were truly a...unique group of individuals, not easily forgotten, and if you're reading this, odds are you already know these lunatics.

As for the owner of this bar, they themselves were a bit of a mystery. With seemingly infinite patience, their establishment was one of the few within this small town that hadn't yet banned the group. Often turning a blind eye to their frequently bloody, burnt, or injured appearances and even more unkempt weapons they carried with them, they seemed quite indifferent, treating them like any other customer. There was only one rule the owner had for these patrons - no violence within the bar. They could brawl right outside the entrance for all they cared, only violence within the establishment itself was something they didn't allow.

Tonight was one of those rare nights where the entire mercenary team was present, with the group occupying most of the bar seats. They were, as usual, raucous and rowdy, with a small few actually acting normal, and more removed from the group. The bartender, for the most part, kept to themselves - polishing glasses, serving drinks when requested, politely yet firmly declining any drink requests they either didn't know or didn't have in stock (they made a mental note to look into what "Bonk" was and how possible it was to order a stock of it). An occasional side eye or clearing of their throat occurred when one of the mercenaries were fairly close to resorting to violence, which seemed to be every five minutes, which they usually obliged to.

This time however, it seemed as if there was a genuine fight about to start. The shouting escalated, with two of them standing from their stools, seemingly about to start swinging at each other. However, behind these two, a figure seemed to appear from the shadows, a knife raised and aimed at one of their backs. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out through the bar, followed by the resounding thud of a body hitting the floor. All eyes were turned to the bartender, holding a smoking pistol pointed in the body's direction. The bartender sighed, lowering the still smoking pistol below the counter, placing it in some hidden shelf out of sight of the mercenaries.

"Take the body on your way out."

The bartender then went back to polishing a glass, as if nothing had happened.