#risk of 'tone' or any vague respect to the player for actually having done All That

[gu6chan]

theyre not widely available yet but thank FUCK someone finally says this bc more ranting in the tags but just leaving the few screenshots i do have of the original ending e here

it was always meant to be a joke!!! just because it comes out more lukewarm as averse to doing a complete 180 does not mean it is and was always meant to be some deep thinkpiece whose themes got already MORE than enough coverage through the previous endings (And additionally already reached a perfect conclusion too!!! Re: Ending D - there's really nothing left to be said or done after THAT ending, Ending E is glorified bonus territory positioned as a finale that has no real substance to ADD outside of what's already been said lmfao)

how does that not only make it more clear that they're not jokes

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

TF2 Fanfic Request - Bomb Voyage

For @camiluna27

Title: Disarmed & Deadly

Hearing the loud bray of his teammates’ mirth intrude on the quiet moment he’d cultivated for himself, Spy’s teeth ground together in frustration. The wine glass shifts, as he rolls it between gloved fingers as the espionage agent contemplated how best to manipulate the others into silence once more. In the background, a record player lazily warbled classical music in direct competition with the din from outside, but is ultimately no match.

Spy sighs, setting down the glass and rising. A few strides across the luxuriously furnished smoking room, and he is flinging open the door to find the drunken quartet of the Soldier, Demolitions man, Engineer and Scout all stumbling awkwardly past. Each attempting to join a rousing chorus of some sort of tavern song, which was admirable considering not a single one was singing in the same key or rhythm, as they leaned against one another in a shambling mass of drunken bodies.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales and counts to ten in order to forestall the possibility that he may lose his trademark composure. Certainly, this was the time for subtlety, not condemnation.

“Gentlemen,” he opens with, noting how they all swivelled to look at him in shock as if he’d simply decloaked before them rather than having stood in the open for the last thirty seconds in plain sight. “While I understand zhat our victory today is cause for celebration, I must bring to your attention zhe fact it is almost midnight, and we ‘ave battle early tomorrow morning. Not to mention, at least one person ‘ere is too young to be drinking at all… let alone in zhis state!”

Scout giggles, in response, halfway to black-out drunk and slurring his words awkwardly as he tried to inform the espionage agent that he was, in fact, twenty-one so it was totally fine. Spy’s right eye twitches, but he withholds the lecture dancing upon the tip of his tongue; inciting argument would do no good, and only serve to ensure the runner would become even more of a nuisance before he could be guided to bed. How on earth he had had a child with such a temperament-... well, no, considering the formidable woman Scout’s mother was, it was not at all difficult to see where such a brash personality had spawned. He felt a soft pang when he thought of her, for he loved her even still; though that particular passion, that moment in their lives, had now closed forever. Still, they had made something wonderful… even if he was loud, annoying and very, very drunk right at this moment in time.

“Ain’t that drunk Schpy…” Scout mutters, pointing over the man’s shoulder to emphasise his point. Soldier cheers the statement, Engineer giggles, and the Demoman claps the young mercenary on the shoulder as he bursts into gales of laughter. Spy’s admonishment dies on his lips at the golden sound of the Scot’s delight; he’d never heard anything like it before, not even from his former beloved, whose laughter sounded like a summer gale.

A twanging sound from Engineer’s guitar snaps him out of his momentary daze, and Spy clears his throat as if nothing had occurred. His expression shifts, underneath the mask, adopting a look that he hoped conveyed nonchalant disdain for the fellow mercenaries’ continued wellbeing. “On zhe contrary, Scout, I zhink you are quite inebriated… and need to sleep it off, or you will be utterly useless on zhe intel capture mission tomorrow. I am even willing to assist you to your room, if zhat is what you require…” Spy informs them, trying to relax his features slightly to look less threatening. He would love to tell them all to shut up, to go away and leave him in peace; but such tactics would only invoke rebellion.

“Now see here, Traitor-...” Soldier begins, prodding the espionage agent in the chest with a slightly shaky finger. “T-the troops perfor-... prefor-... did good in the trenches today, and celebrating is imperative to the men’s morale!”

“Oui, Soldier… and yet, is not rest and recuperation important to tactical functioning, also?” Spy counters, smoothly. “As zhe leader, you must see zhat your men ‘ave adequate nutrition and sleep, no?”

Soldier’s mouth opens, but he pauses as if to consider Spy’s words. “The sneaky crouton’s right, men! You are all tardy for your deployment in Dreamland, which may have repercuss-... repercush-... may cause mission failure. Company, forward-march to your bunks… dismissed!”

The man smartly salutes them, then ambles down the hallway in a shaky approximation of marching. Engineer mumbles something about ‘making sure helmet-head gets back to bed safe’, and follows along behind at an unhurried pace; leaning against the wall every few steps to stabilise himself.

Spy’s attention turns to the runner and explosives expert before him, already tensing for the anticipated verbal barrage of reasons why neither needed to sleep just yet. Only to find himself pleasantly surprised…

“Don’ w-worry lad… I’ll see ye wee laddie tae bed, safe an’ sound.” Demoman says, expression slightly dazed and dreamlike, but his tone as sincere as it was slurred. The man claps a large hand on Scout’s bony shoulder, forestalling any argument with a simple point of contact between them; Spy was slightly envious at how much the runner admired the older man, tried to emulate him. In a different world, perhaps the boy would have been more like-... ah, but that would never come to pass, so it was useless to waste time dwelling upon it.

Demo slips a companionable arm around Scout’s shoulders, steadying both of them slightly, and started to regale his captive audience with the well-known tale of that one time he accidentally got into a fist-fight with a succubus. It was… amusing, at least the first four times you heard it; but after that, well, Spy was glad that the pair were receding down the hallway towards their own respective quarters. He hears Scout titter, repeating something Demo said, and eventually their voices fade alongside their footsteps. The corridor seems oddly vast and empty, now that silence has descended once more; desolate, almost. Spy shudders, not fully understanding why he does so, and decides that perhaps he is too tired to stay up any longer listening to his record. He shuts the door quietly, shoulders only losing their minor tension as he hears the deadbolt click into place; ensuring security, privacy, for the espionage agent.

His solitary glass of red wine sits, abandoned, upon the small table by his armchair as he wearily trudges towards the hidden door by the fireplace. Fumbling fingers activate the lever, admitting the espionage agent to his bedroom and swinging shut behind him with whisper-quiet ease. Spy messily undresses and shirks his mask, falling upon the soft, welcoming surface of the bed in an ungraceful heap.

The faint sound of classical music drifts through the room, lulling him to rest… and yet, Spy realises as he sinks into slumber, his mind refuses to settle. Dreams filled with a familiar, oft-detested face, and golden laughter, fill the midnight hours…

                                                       ~)0(~

Medic was in fine spirits the following morning, having been forcibly retired to bed early by Heavy -before the medical man could get more than a few bottles of celebratory beverage down. Spy discovered this unwittingly, as the sound of the man’s cheerful singing breached his rest, even though a full room stood between them. He was of half a mind to simply blot out the sound with a pillow and steadfastly return to sleep… but, once the doctor was awake, the base tended to arise around him. Little other choice remained, really.

Perhaps he had become too accustomed to living in the relative safety of RED base, amongst the other mercenaries, but Spy actually found himself considering sleeping in this morning despite their tight schedule. His rest had been… well, not disturbed... but far from peaceful; full of odd images and sounds, all of which demanded attention to things he wished to remain vague for the foreseeable future.

Still, the man dutifully arose, venturing towards his private bathroom, and returning only to forage for attire less rumpled than that of the previous day. Everything was an automatic process after almost a year here; blood, battle and death nothing more than an interesting pastime to fill their days between morning and evening meals. Spy mumbles a curse as a cufflink decides to remain elusive, just out of his reach under the bed, and has to resort to digging out a secondary pair from his drawers, or risk running late to breakfast.

Just another day, like any other.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Today, tomorrow, three weeks from now… nothing would change. Oh, perhaps they might be told to switch bases or missions; but in the end, all that really changed was the soil on which they lay dying until respawn caught them. He’d been melancholy throughout the morning meal, delving deeper into dark thoughts and memories to forestall facing a rather prevalent realisation involving-... well, another mercenary on the team.

Even the blaring siren signalling the start of today’s primary match had done little to rouse him; leaving a perplexed Engineer to elbow him in the side, to ask if the Frenchman was ‘doin’ alright there Spah?’. It just seemed so… pointless, today. Perhaps that was his disrupted sleep pattern talking, or the overbearing denial he was running on; or even, Spy had mused with a tight grin, the strange fear he felt deep in his chest that not even four cups of coffee could drown. He’d startled slightly at the contact, surprising them both, before regaining his composure with practice ingrained from years of training. A terse acknowledgement to the labourer, and not a second later, Spy had cloaked out of the respawn room in search of a victim… just as always.

By the time he heard the Administrator admonishing RED for losing the intel briefcase a second time, Spy had already died four times in various mannerisms. Bad luck and unfortunate timing accounted for the first three; including a situation wherein he had actually run into the opposing pyromaniac in a corridor, resulting in a rather agonising and embarrassing end. Only one of those deaths had he actually been attempting to do anything useful.The opposing engineer having taken a dim view of the RED Spy’s attempts to sap the sentry blocking the BLU intel room, and utilised his Widowmaker to full effect upon the masked man. As he respawned, Spy had thought it an ironic shift of fate to be killed by such a weapon… for he had no one to leave behind, to grieve for him should this system fail and the next death become permanent.

That face flashed through his mind once more, and he tried to blink it away… though in respawn, no such sensation was possible. Spy felt the weight of gravity sucking him down as the system returned him to physical form, whole and hale once more, as his italian-leather shoes touched the tiled floor. As always, there was a split-second of disorientation, but that was easily dismissed. His mood was rather dour, considering… and yet, there was little chance that the match would end in their favour; so what was the point of thinking optimistically at this late stage? None that the Frenchman could see. Might as well return to the battlefield and see in what other unique ways he could die today, before the BLU Scout took their-...

Alarms announced the third capture of their intelligence, prompting a sudden surge of RED mercenaries to come thundering back towards the intel room from all over the map in an attempt to block the enemy’s escape. Spy sighs as gunfire and explosions rock the base, taunts and cries of pain; someone was on fire, going off the scent of burning hair hanging in the air. Ah, no… Spy wrinkled his nose in disgust, whoever it was had just been put out by the filthy bushman. Now everything seemed to smell of jarate, how... classy. His sneer falls as a pleasant sensation overtakes his body, and the man need not glance behind at the Medic to realise that he’d been imbued with a rare moment of overhealing by their resident physician. Spies tended to be low-priority patients, after all; you could never tell if they were your own, or the other in disguise. And yet, the gesture was appreciated.

“Und how are you feeling now, Herr Spy?” Medic chimes in, far too cheerily for someone as gore-streaked as he was. The espionage agent turns slightly to behold the doctor in full, and raise an eyebrow at the unanticipated concern lacing the other’s tone.

“I am as always, Doctor…” he responds, trying to decipher the intent behind the medical man’s manic beam in as subtle a manner as possible. “Perhaps you should save your medigun fluid for zhe rest of our teammates… it sounds as if zhey are putting up quite a fight down zhere.”

“Oh I can spare a moment to pester you, mein freund!” Medic retorts, the cheery sparkle in his eyes becoming that little bit more ominous than before. “Perhaps you vish to talk about vhy you seem so distracted today, hmmm? Vas it nightmares? I have got zhese new pills for-...”

“No!” Spy immediately interjects, recalling the ludicrous side-effects from the man’s last experimental sleeping pills, and never wishing to experience anything like that again. “I mean, zhat will not be necessary, but your concern is noted and appreciated.”

“Not bad dreams…? Hmmm, zhen I suppose it must have something to do vith your little infatuation, zhen?” Medic says, laying his trump card on metaphorical table, contriving to look utterly innocent as he did so. Spy is temporarily disarmed by the man’s ability to blatantly state the issue, and feels his heart drop into his stomach as he struggles to recover his aloof mask of nonchalance.

He clears his throat and adjusts his tie, pretending his heartbeat wasn’t thundering in his ears and making it hard to think of a plausible response. “I-... I do believe you are mistaken, Doctor… whatever gave you zhat idea?”

Medic laughs, “Did you zhink you vere subtle? Admittedly, Heavy noticed first, but it did not take much prodding before I also realised... “ he pauses, as someone screams below their feet. “So… zhe Demoman is to your liking, zhen?”

Spy grinds his teeth together, trying to think of a logical way out of this situation without encouraging the Medic; of course the difficulty here was that if he killed the man, to silence him, the german physician would merely reappear in five minutes or so. There really was no solution, was there? With a soft exhalation, his shoulders lost their tension and he replied, “Oui, zhe Demo… zhough I do not know why. He is everything I detest! Loud, brash, a drunken fool with no pride and always so focused on fairytales… and yet…”

“And yet zhe heart vants vhat it vants, mein freund.” Medic smiles, shutting the medigun stream off so he might put a gloved hand on Spy’s shoulder. His expression grows slightly more sombre, as the medical man leans in to whisper, “But I zhink you have misjudged Demo… ve all have zhings in our pasts zhat haunt us, und for him zhey are far more literal. You smoke to keep your nerve, und Demo… he drinks; it vould be ironic for you to fault him for such a zhing, don’t you zhink?”

Spy finds himself without a witty retort, and so, merely nods in response to the statement. Medic claps him on the shoulder and brushes past, striding towards their own intelligence room wherein a battle raged for ownership of the RED intel. From behind him comes a faint whooshing hum as someone is ejected from the respawn system; the sound spurs Spy into action once more, and he finds himself moving automatically. This match will conclude in the next few moments, whether the final intelligence briefcase is captured or not, RED would most certainly lose… though, Spy would be damned if he let them go out without a fight.

In a fluid motion born of muscle memory, he activates the Cloak and Dagger about his wrist, and disappears… into thin air.

                                                        ~)0(~

Scout is the last to fall out of the respawn system following their defeat; as he was the last hunted down during the humiliation round. The runner is spitting expletives so foul Spy half anticipates the boy’s mother will physically manifest in the locker room to wash his mouth out with soap…

The room is heavy with the sense of failure. A thick miasma of frustration, humiliation and disappointment that seems to drain the energy from their battle-worn minds and bodies like a physical thing. Defeat was inevitable and usually inspired a few dark curses aimed at the BLUs, but all in all the mercenaries simply accepted it; going on with their night as normal. Victory also came with some minor congratulations, a cheery atmosphere and perhaps some tomfoolery involving alcohol; but in reality, it was just an outcome of their day job, nothing to get too excited over anymore. Though this, this was the outcome of a battle wherein defeat felt like failure. It didn’t happen all too often anymore, because after the settling in period even intel capture became a push-and-shove style of warfare where both teams had the chance to display their prowess on the field. However… sometimes, both BLU and RED had a match where they were utterly decimated on the field no matter how hard they tried; scoring no captures of points or intel, and cycling through respawn in a never-ending haze until time was called.

This… this was what failure felt like. Thus the reason no one had stepped into silence Scout’s foul frustrations so far; because they all felt it, the burden of shame that came with failing to even procure a single capture on their home base.

No one was looking at one another, all lost in their own thoughts; running the battle back through their minds, trying to work out what could have been done differently. The room was as melancholy as Spy had been prior to speaking with Medic, which truly was ironic; for now it was the physician who appeared downcast, whereas the espionage agent merely felt slightly aggrieved that his last backstab had been ruined by the match time running out before he could land the blow.

They all startle at the sound of a locker door slamming shut to the loud cry of, “Ah, sod it!” in a Scottish brogue. Demo whirls about to face the room, stern expression cracking into a smile as he claps his hands and says, “Right, lads… who here wants tae drown their sorrows in a big old bottle of Scrumpy? Might as well get nice and tanked, have a laugh about today, and do better tomorrow, aye? Who’s with me?”

Just about everyone perks up at the idea, or perhaps it was the Demoman’s personality that really shifted the attitude in the room to one of slightly less despair than a moment earlier. Spy catches Medic throwing the Scot a look, tilting his head towards Scout, and doesn’t have time to question it before a rush of red-clad bodies obscures his vision. When they clear enough to see, the Demoman has a companionable arm about the runner’s shoulders, clearly in the middle of some tale of supernatural heroics or some-such to soften the scowl on the younger man’s face.

It seemed to be working. Enraptured, Scout’s form lost its angry rigidity; a smile creeping across his features as Spy watched, fascinated by the transformation. Demo’s warm tone filled the room, inviting the listeners to relax into his tale and let go of their earthly concerns if only for a moment. The espionage agent was forced to pinch himself to snap out of the complacent haze the golden voice was weaving about them; frowning a little at his carelessness. Had they not been on RED base, he would most likely die from inattention to his surroundings… and that would be an embarrassing way to die for a Spy.

“...but the main thing of it, lad, was that we did have our asses handed to us, aye. And it felt rotten as all hell at the time, but it sure makes a bloody funny tale now that a few years have gone by, yeah?” Demo concludes, making an exaggerated effort to ruffle Scout’s hair in a familiar fashion, as the runner squirmed and laughingly protested.

He was very good with children, clearly… Spy found himself thinking, oddly charmed by the whole situation.

“Are ye coming Spook, or do I have tae tell you a story too?” Demo’s amused tone shatters his thoughts, catching him off-guard. Spy blinks, and sees the man standing by the doorway that led towards the rest of the base, clearly waiting for some degree of response from him.

“Ah… oui, I am coming.” he manages, striding over and mentally attempting to conjure a plausible explanation for his dawdling. Demo grins as Spy slides past him, a tight fit considering how narrow the doorway truly was when occupied by multiple mercenaries at once, but clearly withholds any lewd quips about the situation as a courtesy.

He feels the muscular arm casually drop about his shoulders, and hopes to whatever deity actively exists out there, that Demo cannot feel the sudden spike in his pulse at the action. Thankfully for Spy, the demolitions expert appears oblivious as he beams, “Good thing ye came willingly, I cannae imagine drowning my sorrows without you about to keep us out of trouble, lad…”

There was clearly more to the statement… or perhaps Spy was reading too much into things. Either way, their contact and conversation abruptly ended as they rounded the corner into the base common room, wherein the rest of the team was already heartily digging into snack foods and alcoholic beverages of varying strengths. Demo broke away to speak with Soldier and Heavy; whilst Medic materialised beside the espionage agent, with a beer in each hand, and a knowing grin on his face.

“Please… resist.” Spy pleads, not really entirely ready to deal with the doctor’s smug self-congratulatory speech about how his instincts were correct. The beam broadens, but the medical man says nothing… merely hands over a bottle in silence, as they survey the room. He takes a sip of the beverage, immediately regretting it as his palate all but rejects the sour taste of cheap beer… but, as it was the favoured drink of the team this night, Spy supposes he could bear it in the name of camaraderie.

Indeed, by the end of the evening’s impromptu festivities, Spy had imbibed a good four or five bottles of the awful swill. It was not so bad after the second bottle, he had mused; most likely because his tastebuds had decided to simply die, around that point in time. Mercenaries were sprawled from one end of the room to the other, in various states of inebriation and undress for various reasons. Soldier was, as one would expect, face down and snoring upon the floor clad in only a thin, oozing layer of honey and nothing more. Whereas the resident Pyromaniac was swaddled in a big fluffy blanket, quietly watching the television with the sound off for some unfathomable reason as Engineer slumbered quietly behind them in an armchair. Beside him, Scout and Sniper were entangled in a giggling pile of lanky limbs being sickeningly saccharine… as new couples often are, especially when drunk. He could have accepted any other member of the team as his so-... youngest team mate’s new partner; but why on earth had the runner chosen that piss-slinging bushman?

He sighs, and lets it go… for now. Tonight was for relaxation, commiseration and inebriation. Getting riled up over something he could not change would do nothing but make the evening’s festivities meaningless. Spy is gently brushed aside as Heavy does his best to steer his Doktor towards their room, a task made far more difficult considering the German had made a point to drink more than anyone save Demoman. Scout had complained that Medic was taking his share of the beer, but the physician had sloppily smiled and tapped his nose in a series of jerky motions that clearly meant Scout had worked out his master plan all along. “Tooooooo young to drink lots, Scout…” the man had mumbled, to the runner’s obvious frustration. Still, seeing the good doctor so debauched was a rare and amusing sight.

Everyone else seemed content to bed down where they were, and Spy was content to leave them to it, for the sanctity of his own room. Except… no, he could hardly just leave the man there like that, it would be terrible for his back. Pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, Spy decides he does indeed have an obligation to keep the other man hale and hearty; regardless of the attraction he felt for him. After all, Medic would be indisposed for some time the following morning given how wholeheartedly the man had participated in the post-battle festivities, and therefore would not be likely to take kindly to an early wake-up for the sake of poor sleeping habits.

“Come along, mon amie.” he mutters, gently coaxing Demo upright from his slumped position over the common room table. The man groans in confusion, blinking blearily and trying to focus on the person jostling him awake; there’s a mumbled question that Spy doesn’t quite catch, but he makes a soothing sound in response that seemed to answer it aptly. Spy manages to untangle Demo from the chair, and get him mostly standing; albeit with the majority of his weight resting on the espionage agent. A little cumbersome, but ultimately a functional method of moving drunken teammates from one room to another… or so Spy had assumed, prior to actually testing this little hypothesis. Stumbling down the corridor had been a challenge in, and of, itself; but the pinnacle of the ridiculous experience had been reaching the Scotsman’s room and realising that neither had the key to open it. Normally he could pick the lock and be done with this ridiculous scenario… but that would require at least one hand being free for long enough to do so; and all attempts to rest Demo against the wall so he might retrieve his lockpicks from within his coat… ultimately failed. The other mercenary was not in a right enough state to remain upright without aid.

With a tired exhalation, the espionage agent realises there is little recourse but to simply take the man to his own room; and begins the arduous journey of guiding the other back down the hallway towards his own quarters. The smoking room was not so far from the Demoman’s own, and yet the whole shambling process seems to take an eternity; predominantly due to the fact that the supernaturalist seems to be alternating between fits of laughter and quiet sobs. As much as he would love to discover the reason for such reactions, Spy was focused on simply getting them through the door to his quarters; which was more difficult than usual, as he had to shift Demo around, so he might free up a hand with which to activate the second, secret door within the smoking room. Still, the rush of relief he felt at finally making it inside to the safety of his own bedroom could barely be described in any language.

He moves the other man to the bed and helps him sit; Demo teeters a little, giggling as Spy removes his boots with an awkward degree of effort. By the time the second shoe thumps to the floor, Spy is acutely aware how much he has drunk this evening, suddenly exhausted by such a menial task. True, he would prefer to shower and ready himself to sleep… but one could hardly do so with a guest present. Carefully, he coaxes Demo to lie down on his side and sets a sturdy pillow against his back so he would be less likely to roll on his back in the night; it was unlikely that the other would be prone to choking on his own vomit, but one could not take risks with an inebriated companion, after all.

Stripping off his gloves, Spy pauses to consider whether or not he should leave the other’s eyepatch on… and decides that it is not his call to make. One night would not hurt, after all. Though he does remove Demo’s ever-present beanie, and briefly running his hands over the soft black hair underneath; a gnawing guilt rising in the pit of his stomach as the other pressed back against his palm, seeking more of the gentle sensation in his drunken haze. Spy snatches back his hand, feeling that the interaction has breached some invisible moral line somehow, and decides to simply tuck the other in instead.

He fumbles at the buttons of his topcoat, tosses his ornate belt somewhere near the nightstand, and yanks off his tie without due concern as to where it lands. The designer shoes are shucked almost immediately, and the espionage agent’s aching feet sigh in relief at the freedom. Spy hesitates, fingers creeping under the mask as if to pull it off like he always did, and wonders if perhaps he could sleep in the concealing garment instead. Though-... no, he could definitely awaken before the Demoman, it would be no real concern.

Tiredly, Spy drops the mask onto the small table by the bed and arranges himself on the remaining half of the mattress. Sleep immediately greets him with open arms, and the espionage agent has no time to ponder the implications of his actions… before the world has faded into dreamless black nothingness.

                                                         ~)0(~

As far as awakenings go, being semi-ejected from your own bed was definitely a unique manner in which to jolt back to consciousness. Spy was awake and armed within seconds, swinging his arm around in an arc to-... to pause, balisong blade hovering a mere inch from Demo’s horrified expression. The previous evening flooded back in detail, making itself known alongside the dull ache of his well-deserved hangover.

The supernaturalist’s mouth had fallen open, whether in shock or disbelief Spy wasn’t sure, but he retracted the weapon instantly with a muttered apology in the other man’s general direction. Demo seemed to snap out of his stupor at the moment, managing a croaky, “Spook?”

“Oui, Demo… who else runs around zhe base in a mask-...” Spy’s retort cuts off as, eyes wide in shock, he recalls the fact he is not wearing the concealing garment. “Merde!” he hisses.

“Bloody hell… Spook you’re-...” Demo starts, but Spy cuts him off with a gesture.

“Please do not mention zhe familial resemblance to zhe boy, ‘e does not know yet.” the espionage agent counters, realising the damage has clearly been done and there was no point in attempting damage control. Though Spy freezes when he hears the other finish his sentence in a soft, breathy tone.

“...beautiful.” Demo whispers, trailing off as the espionage agent’s other statement sinks in. The explosives expert lets out a loud guffaw, “Oh… lad, the entire team’s been bettin’ on when ye were gonna get around to telling the boyo about that. But no, I was talking about your face… it’s a bloody crime to go hiding that little beauty under a mask all the damn time now, ain’t it?”

Before the shell-shocked Spy can muster a single coherent response to such a bizarre conversation, the Demoman begins to take stock of the situation and frowns over at Spy. “Uh, lad… did we…?” he begins, delicately, unsure if he’s about to offend the espionage agent or not.

This time, Spy snorts a little in amusement. “No, we most decidedly did not, I am afraid. You were trying to sleep on zhe table, and it looked uncomfortable so I tried to return you to your room… which, as you may ‘ave guessed, did not work out. Zherefore, I ‘ad no choice but to bring you ‘ere.”

Demo seems to sag in relief, “Cannae tell you how glad I am to hear that…”

“Oh?” Spy returns in a casual tone, “And ‘ere I zhought you would ‘ave been delighted. Given ‘ow much you seem to like my face…” There’s a teasing edge to his tone that softens the statement, and they both end up laughing.

“Well, I mean…” Demo fumbles for the proper way to put it, and then plain gives up, much to Spy’s amusement. “Might as well be straightforward given that we’ve already slept together before I even got ye name, Spook…”

The espionage agent actually lets out a brief burst of laughter at the aptly accurate yet deliberately misleading statement. He covers his mouth immediately as he snorts again, horrified that another person has heard his real, and utterly awful, laugh.

Demo’s wide beam is easily misunderstood, however. “Lad, that’s a bloody cute giggle ye got there… suits you. But as I was trying to say, it might’ve been a mite awkward if we’d gone ahead and been silly buggers last night ‘cause that wasn’t the way I usually announce I like a lad or lass…”

Now that, that statement definitely piqued the espionage agent’s interest. “You ‘ave some degree of attraction to me, Demoman?” he drawls, trying to remain monotonous as he clarified the situation. Things like this did not happen in real life; no one ever magically felt mutual attraction after zany antics… and yet, he hoped to have heard that statement correctly.

“I practically confess my love for ye, whilst half-dressed in your bed, and you want to play semantics?” Demo challenges right back, making Spy grin at the incredulous tone being aimed at him. “‘Course I bloody do, you daft idiot… and that’s before I even saw that face ye been hiding!”

There’s a pause, an elongated silence in the room as both occupants collect their thoughts. Spy breaks it by simply stating, “Medic was correct, you are more zhan you appear to be…” as cryptic a sentence as ever. He clears his throat, “Demo, you may not believe zhis statement because it borders on fairytale given the fortuitous nature of our current situation, but… you are not zhe only one with a confession to make. I ‘ad zhought you loud, rude, arrogant and childish… or at least, I told myself you were, because it was easier zhan admitting zhat perhaps my feelings for you were stronger zhan anticipated. You are very attractive, zhere is no contest… but your voice, zhe care and compassion for our teammates, your radiant personality are impossible zhings to resist…”

“Lad, I cannae blush any deeper without dropping dead… how about ye just stop monologuing and let me kiss you, aye?” Demo interjects, leaning across to the meagre space between them to press a warm hand against Spy’s bare cheek. The calloused thumb worries over his cheekbone, as if memorising the sight, the sensation, for later when it would be hidden once more.

Spy’s heartbeat skyrocketed in surprise; he was not usually taken aback, nor seduced in such a manner. Indeed, half his profession was being the seducer of important persons relevant to the mission; so to say he was on the backfoot in this encounter, was an understatement. Still, he could not deny that Demo’s offer was not in harmony with his own wishes, now that their mutual attraction was known to both parties involved… He leans into the sensation, his own hands moving to wrap around the back of Demo’s head and neck as their lips were pressed together for the first time. It was… chaste, compared to other first kisses he had been party to, and yet, oddly perfect.

They drifted closer to one another, mouths seeking each other for a second, third, fourth kiss as warmth built between them. Spy could feel heat spreading through his body, awakening parts of himself he’d thought long dead and buried with former loves. Demo’s hand slides down his side; and his own trace the contours of muscles beneath rumpled attire the other wore. They break apart, panting and slightly dazed at the attraction, the powerful pull that seems to have surged between them from the brief contact…

“That was-...” Demo begins, trailing off without finding the words to express himself.

“Oui.” Spy agrees, breathlessly.

Faint commotion can be heard, signalling the others had arisen and were busily making the most of their weekend. Though neither man inside the secret compartment felt compelled to move beyond their current surroundings, merely content to lean against one another and enjoy the warmth seeping between them.

“This is ridiculous.” Demo eventually laughs, “Fallin’ for a lad who actually liked me back and all…”

“Indeed, it does seem like a plot contrivance in some badly written romance novel, and yet… ‘ere we are. You… I ‘ad never assumed someone like you could ever reciprocate my feelings, knowing what you all zhink of me, zhe sneaky Spy you barely ever see.” he responds, enjoying the sensation of another body aligned with his own on the bed.

“Pfft, you’re an elusive bastard… but ye ain’t as cold as you want us to think ye are, lad. Backstabbin’ anyone dominating a teammate, remembering important dates and pestering us all to do everyday stuff we’re procrastinating for no good reason. Takin’ a drunken Scotsman back to his room cause ye cannae stand the idea of him getting a sore back over sleeping on the table… ye big softie.” Demo grins, pressing a kiss to Spy’s temple. “Love ye for it. Love ye in general, couldn’t help meself…”

Spy’s mouth quirks up in a grin, “What a way with words you ‘ave, mon amour…”

“Aye, but words ain’t the only thing I’m good at, lad… trust me.” Demo laughs, doing an exaggerated wink at the espionage agent.

“Oh?” Spy responds, expression deadpan and adopting a rather disbelieving tone.

Demo prods him in the side, “Oi, ye cheeky beggar, none of that now… or ye’ll never find out what I’m capable of.”

Spy runs a hand through the other man’s hair, scratching lightly and grinning at the reaction it got. “Forgive me, mon amour?” he teases, and feels Demo nod. “Good, because I would ‘ate to spoil zhis moment with our first fight… especially as I was just about to invite you into zhe showe-... ahhhh?”

The burlier mercenary easily scoops the espionage agent up and marches towards the relatively spacious bathroom before Spy can even finish the sentence.

“Lad, if this thing’s got hot water and some vague degree of water pressure then I’ll bloody marry you and it by tonight…” says Demo, emphatically, impressed by the private ensuite.

“Well zhen,” Spy answers, as he’s set down on the tiled floor. “You ‘ad best get down on one knee…”

That golden laugh echoed around the room, sending small thrills through the espionage agent’s chest to hear the joyful sound. Yes… if a relationship must start somewhere, then here was as good a point as any. In love, laughter, and a bathroom with good water pressure…

______________

The End

___________________________________

I know i promised you nsfw, but this is all that happened and im sorry

[spidersanctuary]

A disordered venting about RP problems:

My experience RPing with Tumblr RPing is not very extensive - goes back about five years, I think. Before that, I RPd a bit, much earlier, but for the most part the only RPing I've done is on Tumblr (and Skype, but as an extension of Tumblr RPing).

I don't like bouncing around. I tend to stick with a place that looks legit, get attached to the characters (mine and others') and stick it out, even sometimes unreasonably so. I've been in... basically three group RPs. Two of them were larger (let's say, defined as "more than around ten active players at any given time", and the third was smaller and purely reactionary, a-la "we don't like the way things are here so we'll make our own". Though not without problems (and I can't say I didn't have my part in them), it was the most drama-free as a whole. It also looks like the fourth, soon to come, might follow along the same pattern.

Despite my sample size of one, I'm confident in saying small groups have a different dynamic. Especially if they're founded by people who already know each other. Bigger groups are trickier, in many ways, and I was struck by the realisation that the different problems I encountered in both my bigger groups were representative of two ends of a spectrum.  Similar things going wrong in opposite ways, so to speak.

One of them was defined by lack of forethought and planning. Indeed the whole RP just kind of happened organically, something more serious growing out of something very silly and casual. While it had its fun sides - and it was wildly fun, at times, for as long as the fun lasted - it's also obvious in retrospect how that could be a huge problem. Different players. No standardised rules or guidelines until way, waaay later in the game (after much drama had already happened). Lots of different people with different RPing backgrounds and personalities and playstyles, none of them fully on the same page. While many of the problems had to do with one or two difficult personalities in the group, that's not really the isuse. There is always a risk of... unpleasant people, no RP group is safe from them and no RP guidelines will truly protect you from someone who WANTS to start shit or manipulate things to their benefit and is cunning enough to do that. But even aside from that... the lack of regulation about who could grab what characters and how many (some players ending up with 20+ blogs), or any kind of spoken agreement about activity guidelines and replying etiquette. Lack of agreement about how "canon" certain plots were, in the RPing continuity. Lack of agreement about the continuity, period. A clash between people who wanted to develop a certain pre-planned (and rather exclusive) storyline and those who were more in it for spontaneity. It was a recipe for disaster. It didn't need to get as bad as it did, but starting off like that, it was bound to get unpleasant eventually anyway.

Now, the other group... oh, the other group. After the colourful experience of the first group, the things it offered seemed like a reassuring breath of fresh air. Planning! An almost DnD-esque level of detail to the established universe, rulebook, bestiary and lore! Basically an entire little sandbox lovingly crafted for you to play in. Transparent activity guidelines and rules! An actual mod team working to be approachable while still holding authority! New plots for everyone to participate in to be released basically by the clock, so nobody would feel left out! So lovely! Unfortunately, things are rarely as sunny as they appear. A certain type of literate, application RPs is infamous for their snobbishness and elitism, and despite the initially welcoming tone, that was exactly what this unravelled to be. On the flip side, many of the appeals of the group amounted to little more than elaborate publicity acts. Always, always must the group remain attractive and desirable to newcomers (perhaps unsurprisingly given the apparently abysmal player retention rates, both short and long-term). The tone turned out very different from what was advertised, the sandbox-like universe revealing itself to be more of a literal sandbox, with complex topics turned into gimmicks, and supernatural characters (prosecuted and feared for their in-humanity) easily and casually sharing information about their powers with near-strangers like kids on a playground comparing their toys. The "plots" thrown one's way are not only usually poorly (if at all) developed but intrusive, so that they are impossible to avoid completely even if one is not interested in them. Worse yet, the RP insists on doling out serious consequences and high-stakes crises like death, destruction, invasions of murderous monsters or malignant town-wide spells, but is curiously reluctant to allow any room for serious RPing or sense of consequences.

In fact, it's impossible to talk about consequences when even a sense of any basic continuity is thrown out the window, precluded by the occasional hiatus and re-launch and the various measures taken to make sure that new players enter onto a relatively blank slate. Yes, even if long-time residents of the area and the populace in general SHOULD remember and be affected by that politically motivated massacre half a year back, or that time monstrous vegetables SLAUGHTERED half a school of elementary schoolchildren. Thus, even though the RP is long-running (turning two years old soon), it is impossible for the setting to develop any sense of history, and instead it seems to turn more and more comically nonsensical the more tragedies befall the town and are promptly forgotten a few weeks later. Rather than a serious and in-depth setting, one begins to feel instead as if all the characters are living in a Lotus Eater-like state of vague oblivion, briefly reacting to various events but never quite letting them reach collective memory.

Now, all this might be bearable (and even fun! There's an appeal in a certain kind of wacky no-strings-attached horror-comedy-gore, no denying that), IF a couple things weren't true. a) If the RP (and specifically the mod team) didn't make such a huge deal about what a serious and respectable and serious RP it is. No OCs allowed. "We allow shipping but we don't put an emphasis on it! Please don't think this is one of those silly ship-obsessed RPs". No more than two characters allowed. Replies MUST happen every x days, and even though replies of various kinds are accepted (all prose, just different formats and individual reply lengths), only CERTAIN kinds count towards the activity requirement (???!), and a long-term failure to keep it up will end up in you getting the boot. Even if you ARE active and involved with other people and interact a lot. (Don't even get me started on that. I and about three or four other people, most of whom LEFT shortly after, ended up having our plots disrupted SIGNIFICANTLY because the mods booted - or in this case harangued into throwing in the towel and leaving in a huff - a player who was active with all of us, but wasn't active enough in "the RIGHT way" i.e. the right format. This was part of a bigger package of them caring more about keeping up certain pretenses and ticking off certain boxes to be more outwardly desirable to new applicants than the fun of the users who were already there.) b) The nit-picking. Oh god the nitpicking and micromanagement. Some of the shit I've personally seen, some of it I've heard about. It's one thing to crit a player for not being IC with a mod pre-made character. It's another thing to do that after they've been in play for A YEAR, and if you do that then, you're being blatantly disrespectful of all the development the player's put into them. And it's yet another thing to do that to someone's OC (before the 'no OCs' rule was instated). I've had mods dictate to me that my character shouldn't be reacting to x event like this or that, by listing a bunch of factors that, while possibly convincing, were only ONE possible way to interpret the big picture. For real. Psychology is complicated but for some reason all that goes out the window the moment the mod team decides they know how your character should be played (and I'm not talking about blatant realism or accuracy issues like "that's not how PTSD works" but actual decisions/ways of thinking, things that there should, in theory, be no "wrong" option with because once again, people are complicated).

Which brings me to: C) The omnipresent feeling of entitlement by the mod team aka the Powers That Be, as if they believe that theirs is such a supremely privileged, special and elite group, that they merely DEIGN to let you be a part of it. All of it manifesting in a complete lack of basic courtesy when approaching players. Or rather, any player who's been there longer than a month and who they're not actively trying to be Welcoming(TM) to. I should have seen it pretty early when I had a beef with another player who, to wit, disliked that an RP scene we had depicted her character as a "bad guy" (who was previously ESTABLISHED in canon as a psychopathic murderer!!! and the RP scene basically showed him doing more of the same!!!). She ended up badmouthing me to other players she was interacting with closely, and then they as a group complained about me to the mods, in which she twisted a certain conversation we'd had over Skype into something that reflected very badly on me, along the lines of me forcing her to RP a scene she would be triggered by. Now. This was resolved when I provided the mods with copied Skype messages (direct Skype quotes, a format that, in theory, can't be doctored) that showed she was fabricating that conversation - that she had outright told me she WOULD be okay with doing that scene. She eventually got booted for that (and other stuff). And all would have been well if it weren't for the way I had been initially addressed by the mods, and the condescending, denigrating, making you feel like shit TONE of it. Going from zero, utter peace, to "you have an attitude problem and you need to stop now or we'll kick you out". They also tacked on about half a dozen minor "offenses" I had done, like rambling too much about how the reasons I liked a school subject someone else disliked in the ooc chat, or trying TOO hard to get involved in plots, or other bullshit things that the people involved hadn't even complained to them about. I later realised that this, too, was a Pattern. Whenever they went to you with any sort of grievance, whether from their own side or from another player, they would tack on about half a dozen other "transgressions" you had made, sometimes making them up entirely out of thin air. (Other examples include: Me trying to "enforce a headcanon" by having my character react x way. I then pointed out that the "headcanon" I was allegedly """"enforcing"""" was the information stated on THEIR blog about how characters are large are reacting to a previous major town-wide event. (To wit: the information stated that the Event, a violent and deadly clash between two groups of people, exacerbated tensions between them and led to more mistrust between them. My character, who belongs to ONE group, was being mistrustful of the OTHER group. And somehow, this was not okay. Yes. That's it. That is literally how asinine it got. But then again, it's not surprising - as I explain later, it wasn't baout the offenses making sense. It was about getting to make me feel shitty for something) Or: I was being "inconsiderate" by having my character "out" the supernatural status of another character whose player was no longer in the group, and who they were not in contact with. Said player and I HAD in fact discussed this at the time, and they'd WANTED to have it happen, but the mods didn't know one way OR the other. They simply ASSUMED so they could try to pin it on me!) A long line of instances of them taking "offenses" that they didn't know for sure were offenses, that the player DIRECTLY affected HAD NOT come to them about, to paint a bigger picture of you being some kind of Problem Child who was daring to be naughty in THEIR classroom.

Now, I don't know if this was deliberate, but I can see why they did it. It makes you, as the player, feel like crap, puts you on the defensive, makes you question yourself. "Holy crap, were people really bothered by that time I went on a jokingly-serious rant about how awesome botany is when someone said they hated that topic in biology class?" (Hint: No they weren't. They thought NOTHING of it. But the mods saw it and filed it away for when they needed to make you feel like crap.) It puts the mods in a position of power and strengthened their authority. It forces you into a no-win scenario where you either deny the nonsensical accusations, and thus weaken your position and look less credible because it looks like you can't accept responsibility when you're wrong, OR accept the accusations and thereby agree with them that you're the naughty child and bad at following the rules. So it's a shitty, shitty manipulation technique. All of it coming from a place of entitlement and elitism.

I wish I could say I come from all this wiser, but it does feel like entitlement and elitism are the common denominator here. Part of the problem of the first RP was certain people needing to feel like they were superior and hating it when other people got in the way of that. Part of the problem of the second was stuck-up, self-important mods. Ultimately, it comes down to people who enjoy, just a little too much, to feel power and authority over people. To say that "it's THIS way, because I say it is" and have that listened to without question. Who enforce the rules not because it benefits the community, but because it makes them look good. Who view discussion, in and of itself, as disobedience, as an attack on their authority, an attack on them. I can't say I know for sure how to recognise the warning signs of a group like that BEFORE applying. But maybe big RP groups just aren't worth it, period.