#teufort island

[sillytf2]

surprise tomodachi life post!!!

(since my medic and heavy miis somehow got together after not interacting with each other once)

plus some other shenanigans that have been happening on the island:

engie looking for metal on the beach

and finally, spy doing what he does best

i just learned that i can export the images to my laptop, so the next teufort island batch of images should be clearer!!!

- 🦀

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

(This is a copypasta)

Listen, I've literally had it with this blog like for fucks sake you can't just claim all of the Teufort mercenaries for yourself. Sniper is my favorite comfort character and you DO not sexualize him correctly. You complete miss his characterization and he would be insulted to see the way that you sexualize him.

You need to stop sexualizing him AND Medic for that matter.

Hello! I have been following your posts for the past two days, and have come to the conclusion that you do not deserve to have Sniper on your island

[dxppercxdxver]

more! more for that collaboration with @chiropteracupola!!

lightning in my heels

Samuel knew he had to leave the night General Mann raised a toast in his honor, sloshing ale over the grimy tables of an inn just outside New York Island that had once belonged to a rebel couple; the patriarch of which Samuel had shot dead with calculated efficiency not three hours prior.

“I really must congratulate you, dear boy.” General Mann had taken Samuel aside, not long after their troops had overtaken the room and board of the inn, the smile playing over his thin lips walking the razor’s edge of pride and contempt. “You have secured us a rather valuable resource, and with so little trouble. I have to admit, I am impressed.”

Samuel shrugged, subtly pushing off the hand the general had rested upon his shoulder. It was almost certainly meant to be a show of camaraderie, but there was little comfort to be found in such a gesture, as General Mann reminded Samuel far more of a skeleton than of a man still at peace with the mortal plane. His sympathy for the living followed suit. The number of men slaughtered by his many subordinates’ blades rather made Samuel’s stomach turn.

“Just doing my job, Sir,” he said stiffly, pushing into the inn.

Now, with the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the clinking of innumerable glasses, Samuel was struck with the absolute certainty he could no longer remain in General Mann’s employ. Of course, there were logistical reasons aplenty—the pay was miserable for the amount of work he provided, for one—but truly, Samuel simply knew he could not live with himself if he continued on this path.

That, and…

Casting a furtive glance downward, Samuel retrieved a letter from an inside pocket, eyeing the unmistakable wax seal of General Saxton Hale, the premier Australian soldier who had recently thrown in his lot with the rebels. The missive had appeared outside the door of the bedroom Samuel had found himself quartered in for only a night, plain and unassuming if not for the crest splattered across the page in thick red droplets.

He frowned, then reached for a pocket knife, popping the seal with ease and unfurling the paper. It was but one sheet, and was as brief as it was damning.

In thin, looping script, the message read Mr. Mundy. Have need of your service. Rewards aplenty. Mann no trouble. Waiting at Teufort.

And, at once, the reverie was broken by the splash of ale across the page, smearing every last word into oblivion with a raucous cheer.

“Ah shit,” Samuel cursed, scrabbling to towel off the paper with the edge of his coat. It was, of course, too late, the letter was already dissolving into vaguely sticky sludge, but still, he felt compelled to try to salvage its remains, as if there was something more to be gleaned from the act of thoroughly soiling his clothing for the sake of having said he tried. Beside him, a bearded gentleman Samuel could never recall the name of elbowed him roughly.

“Stroke o’ luck, there, eh?” he laughed, much too loud and far too mean. “Who was that from? Has the Australian got himself a lady?”

“No.” Snatching the letter off the table, Samuel found himself concentrating on the wood grain in the table, stained darker by the spilled alcohol dripping onto his breeches. He could not say with any honesty that he much cared for his fellow soldiers, much less socializing with them, and he recoiled slightly, pulling his arms into his chest. “‘S nothing.”

The bearded man clapped him on the back, cackling uproariously. “Come on then, give us a look!”

“I would really rather not,” Samuel said, injecting as much force into his demeanor as he could manage. His skin seemed to prickle, the light from the room was beginning to wear on his eyes, and everything was too noisy, and the man’s hand was still touching him, and—

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, leave the poor fellow alone!”

General Mann’s words cut through the din with a quiet sort of violence. Joviality and mirth were at once snuffed out, replaced with a fervent attention, laced with a sinister fear lurking just under the surface. No one dared move against him, and while Samuel was grateful that the contact and the noise were gone, all of the room’s attention was on him now, and he wanted nothing more than to leave this wretched inn behind and never look back.

Alas, his options in that regard were far more limited.

The way General Mann conducted himself was of some note to any who had come to know him for their own. He was a slight man, with thinning silver hair and a shrewd face whose skin never seemed to sit quite right on the bone, but his posture, rasping voice, and air of cool menace belied something far more malevolent than one might have originally assumed. Samuel towered over him, boasting several more pounds of muscle and twenty fewer years to his name, and still, the General terrified him.

And now he was just… staring. Like he was waiting for something, although Samuel could not for the life of him figure out what that could be.

“Um… Thanks?”

“Oh, no need to thank me, Mr. Mundy,” General Mann sneered, placing a shining-booted foot atop the table until he was leaning over Samuel’s body, ale in hand. “I am simply… doing my job.”

The pointed echo of Samuel’s words plucked at his spine, sending a reverberating chill down his back. All eyes were on the two of them now, locked in this amorphous stalemate where the stakes were decidedly unknown but still high and sheer as any cliff face.

With a contemplative expression, the General reached down and swiped a mostly empty glass of ale from some wildly drunk Lieutenant or another, raising it triumphantly. Samuel rather felt as though the guillotine was being drawn to tension.

“A toast, I think.” Samuel’s heart hammered in his chest as the rest of the company raised their cups aloft, like the readying of so many rifles. His execution was drawing nearer, somehow he knew that, and although he had no earthly idea where he was going to go once he did so, Samuel was certain he had to leave this place.

But first, he had to survive his General’s congratulations.

“A toast!” Mann continued, offering a gloved hand for Samuel to take. When he did so, he found himself hoisted onto the table, Mann’s arm wrapped tightly around his lower back and sitting vice-like against his ribs. “A toast for Mr. Mundy, for securing our victory today, and for his fine marksmanship in service to our glorious king.” A cheer sounded round the inn, a gunshot roar, and Samuel grimaced, wincing as General Mann pulled him in closer; in a way, Samuel was reminded of a python, squeezing its prey until it suffocated. “Without him, well… We would surely still be crushing the rebels beneath our feet, but his unique talents have afforded us quite an advantage on that front, wouldn’t you say?”

“Hear, hear!”

The firelight was much too bright to Samuel’s eyes, facets of light lancing off the tankards in every hand, knives to his skin. General Mann’s hand held him ever tighter.

“And to that, dear boy, we offer our humble thanks,” General Mann said, sporting the air of a man who had never sincerely given his gratitude to anyone in his life, “and raise our cups to the bright future you will surely bring us and our cause. A toast, lads! A toast!”

Beyond this point, everything was suddenly happening to Samuel, as though he were no longer an active participant in his own body. Clumsily thrown liquids sloshed over his shoes, and the General was pressing a skeletal kiss to his cheek, and the chorus of praises battered at Samuel’s ears with a vengeance, driving deeper into his skull with every renewed whoop and holler. His mind was whirling, traversing the inn upstairs to his room, where his rifle and pack lay, as yet untouched, and then down again to the hitching post outside, to the quick loop of rope that would need undoing before he could saddle up and disappear. Inelegant, clumsy, but the only plan he had.

At last, General Mann seemed content to release him, and stepped down to the floor again, leaving Samuel trussed up like a Sunday roast for all to see. He nodded stiffly, unable to make eye contact with anyone in the room, before following the General’s lead and returning to his place on ground level. The festivities were already in the process of recovering from such a painful interruption. Samuel knew this would be his time.

With a swift tip of his hat to the only man who afforded him a second glance, Samuel stole up to the second story, slipping into his room with a pained sigh. His breaths came jagged and strained, and he fought the sensation of choking as he slung his rifle over his back, securing his ammo box at his side and pulling the breech open. Just in case.

Pack and equipment secured—though it provided precious little comfort—Samuel then turned to the bed, stuffing a pillow under the blankets. If anyone bothered to check, it would certainly not fool them for long, but he was hoping, perhaps foolishly, for the best, and thought it wise to cover his tracks all the same.

The steps creaked traitorously under his sodden shoes, though the roar of the celebration was more than enough to muffle his escape attempt. One of the colonels gave him some sort of look as he rushed for the back door, but Samuel surmised he was far too drunk to realize the import of whatever it was he was seeing. Or, at the very least, he hoped that was the case.

Late summer air, damp and unyielding, enveloped Samuel like a shroud. Flies buzzed in his ears, hovering over the troughs of stagnant water kept for the horses, and he followed the sound to the hitching posts, cloaked in relative darkness. Save the distant yellow glow through the grimy windows, the night was blessedly heavy, and afforded a great deal of cover.

Samuel’s horse was easy to pick out amongst the many boarded; a great tawny beast by the name of Gunpowder, her form was unmistakable, looming several hands higher than any of the others. She was a powerful, dexterous animal, light on her hooves, and carried Samuel through many a gauntlet in her time. He just hoped she had one more run in her.

“There’s a girl,” Samuel murmured, tying his pack to her saddle and hoisting himself up with a groan. Gunpowder shook her head, chuffing slightly, and Samuel idly patted her neck as he swung his rifle around to his front. It was better to be prepared, when one was in the process of commiting treason.

“Well, if you get arrested for horse thievery…” He reached for the bit of rope tying his horse to the post, and more philosophically, to that damnable redcoat army, and loosed her with a slash of his machete.

Gunpowder needed no instruction. The instant she was free, she turned toward the road, speeding to a gallop within moments. For one beautiful, fleeting instant, it seemed as though they would escape entirely unscathed.

And then the shots came.

The rat-a-tat crack of a line of muskets firing at once sounded from the inn, with the ensuing explosions of wood and bark sending splinters raining down over Samuel’s head. Behind him, hooves beat against the arid dirt. Samuel had company, and snapped Gunpowder’s reins, driving her into the forest.

Brawny as she was, Gunpowder was nimble, and Samuel had learned to work with her sharp turns and glorious leaps. He trusted her to guide them, leaving him time to ready his rifle, turn around, and pull the trigger.

A man he vaguely recognized fell from his own horse, limp as a ragdoll, before Samuel reloaded and aimed again. All the while, Gunpowder tore though the trees, hooves finding gaps in the gnarled roots as fast as they came. Her footing was sure, Samuel’s aim was straight, and they fled as they fought, felling their newfound enemies with ease. Despite the danger, Samuel’s blood sang, and he fought the urge to cry victory to the sky.

“Come and get me!” he yelled, a savage euphoria twisting his voice to a growl. “Come and fucking get me, you bastards!”

Samuel had no idea where he was headed. Once the morning light came again, he would certainly need to reorient, to figure out his game plan, but for now, the furious shrieks were dwindling behind him, and Gunpowder’s chest was sure against his legs, and he knew in his heart they were never going to catch him again.

[transmorolians]

Alternatives to "all of your favourite characters live in a mansion together...":

They live in an Animal Crossing town

They live in a Minecraft world

They live in Teufort; they are Team Fortress

They live on the Tomodachi Life island

They live in Miitopia

They live in Terraria

You know, I would like to put all of my favourite characters in a mansion together...

But it would be hellish for every character involved, because that includes characters who are evil, assholes, evil assholes, are creepy sleazebags, or just hate each other for some reason.

[xxiamtiebrousxx]

I explain TF2 from a conversation I had. EDITED heavily.

"I managed to persuade my parents is rated T, but's actually rated M (for men lol).

It's about nine mercenaries, the heavy weapons guy, the engineer, pyro, medic, sniper, scout, spy, demoman and soldier. This is between 1968-1972

There are two teams, BLU and RED.

They are controlled by the Mann Brothers who have been fighting for years. The Administrator oversees this and makes the moves. They have Christmas and Halloween events. They were once interviewed. That's how "Meet the Team" videos were made. They were also blackmail.

The RED team stole the BLU intel. Medic and Engineer discovered they had three days to live because of teleporting bread. Scout asks Spy for advice on wooing women, because he has a crush on Miss Pauling, the assistant to the Administrator. Day three comes and he gets Pauling to come over. Medic and Engineer find out they weren't going to die, but Soldier had teleported bread for three days straight and created a giant bread monster.

They kill it.

As it turns out, the Mann Brothers had another brother, Gray Mann, who murdered them and tried to take over Mann Co, which Saxton Hale was CEO of. Mann Co provided RED and BLU with everything they needed, so they teamed up to fight Gray and his robots.

After a year, it ended in a stalemate. Gray confronted Hale to fight him. He had a policy that said any CEO can fight Hale and if they win, they get Mann Co.

Turns out, Gray Mann was not CEO of his company. Instead it was his daughter, Olivia. Hale couldn't fight her so he surrendered. Gray fired all the mercs and they went into hiding.

Miss Pauling was tasked to find them. She found Soldier, Demo, and Pyro, They went to Teufort, New Mexico, where they used to work, to rescue Scout and Spy who were framed for crimes they didn't do.

They soon go to Russia to pick up Heavy, where Soldier meets Zhanna. They then head to Australia to pick up Sniper, who found out he was adopted.

This entire time, Gray and the Administrator were in a race to get the most valuable mineral, which was running out. It was called Australium and it could grant youth. They didn't know that Charles Darling, Saxton Hale's enemy, recruited Hale and his ex-girlfriend Maggie to go get some Australium to.

The mercenaries, Pauling and Zhanna head to New Zealand to pick up the last cache of Australium. It had been sunk because everyone there though the world had been covered in lava. Sniper's real parents turn out to be jerks and abandoned the team when Lar-nah, Sniper's mom, crashed through the dome covering New Zealand, taking the cache with her. It began to flood when Gray's team, Team Fortress Classic, came in and shot Sniper. In the six months the mercs had gone in to hiding, the team Medic joined TFC.

The mercs were taken by TFC to an island. The TFC Heavy took Gray's life extender. Zhanna sacrificed her hand to save Soldier, who was being tortured. Pauling and Spy are in chains and are about to take cyanide when "Heavy," who was on a mission with Scout, breaks them out. It turned out that Heavy was the TFC Spy and he is killed by Zhanna and Soldier. Meanwhile, Medic brings back Sniper to life. The team who was rescued by Zhanna and Soldier try to break out but are "killed" by bloodsucking robots.

Medic revives everyone and Heavy, Scout, Saxton, and Maggie join in the fight. There's this whole epic fight in which Scout and Medic die, but come back. They manage to defeat the TFC team.

Back with the Administrator, she is in need of Australium. Engineer who was by her side the entire time had replaced her life extender.

The comics end with a cliffhanger, with a younger Administrator, or Helen as she is called, declaring she knows where there is more Australium." BONUS: Scout is Spy's son.

[presidentbungus]

I know I should keep like ONE thing private before I post the unfinished garbage draft but like. sharing. Heehoo. here’s the first part of a big project I’m currently working on! there is not that much done or else I would probably be posting more parts to keep you in even FURTHER suspense but whatever.

demo commits Shenanigans and, for engy, it does not spark joy. Enjoy or somethin

Lesson 1.1: Keep an eye on the door.

Someone keeps leaving in the middle of the night. Now, Dell’s no meddling man, he could really care less what exactly they were up to—(long as it’s not against the law, they don’t need to hafta bury the entirety of the Teufort police force out in the back again)—but whoever it is keeps leaving the kitchen backdoor open and lettin’ all the cool air out, and arrangin’ all the cupboards even more of a mess than they already are, and—and he’s pretty sure they’re taking Lola somewhere, cause he keeps coming back to the garage and seein’ her in different places and he ain’t that bad at parking.

He likes to think he’s made it clear he don’t have a problem with other people driving his truck. If they ask.

No one has asked.

He’s holed up in the kitchen at the middle of the table, where he can see the door in and the door out. The clock ticking above the cabinets has not told the correct time in months. He knows it is sometime after 2:00 AM, which is what the last clock he saw said, and it is definitely not 8:17 because that is what the one in here reads. There is a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, which he takes a long sip from every time he wonders if he could be doing something more productive right now. This is important. Lola is important. A door opens at the end of the hall, followed by footsteps. Low groaning.

The walls might be melting. Engineer is very tired. He arms himself with his wits to the best of his ability. The footsteps are too heavy to be Scout’s, but too light to be Soldier’s, and too uneven to be Medic’s. Actually they’re really uneven. And it sounds like whoever it is is sliding against the wall.

Engineer’s a bit surprised when Demo of all people enters the room, rubs his eye and itches his eyepatch, and leans against the doorway, yawning. The stumbling makes sense, then. Demoman looks at the coffee pot for a long time and then yawns again and then almost falls over, but barely maintains his balance. Dell feels kind of bad watching like this but he decides he can let it go another minute or two. Ensure he’s the culprit. He doesn’t seem to have noticed there is another person in the room with him. He picks up the pot, doesn’t take so much as a half-glance at the mug cupboard before he starts drinking directly out of it.

… Well, alright. He’s seen basically everyone on base doing that once in a while. Demo drains the pot in about ten seconds and now moves onto the cupboards, slamming open doors and pulling things out of packages and sniffing them and setting them on the counter. Eventually he finds a package of crackers, tears it open, takes out a roll. It’s on his way to the junk drawer for scissors he finally seems to notice Engineer (thank god for that) and he just stands staring for a moment, and then closes his eye, and then opens his eye. He does not do anything after this.

“Morning,” Dell eventually says, if just to break the silence. “Were you planning on putting all that back?”

“Do you know where we have scissors?” Demo sounds like he might puke and/or die if he got hit with a stiff breeze. “I think whoever used ‘em last didn’t put them back.”

Engineer purses his lips and hopes this drives home the point.

Demo halfheartedly searches the kitchen island for about another ten seconds, and then he says: “… You’re mad at me because I keep driving your car aren’t you.”

“Why didn’t you just ask to drive her?” Engineer looks at the clock. “And why exactly are you going anywhere when the sun ain’t even started to be up yet?”

“This is why I didn’t ask,” Demo says. “‘Cause I knew if I asked it was gonna be a whole big bloody lecture on taking care of meself or somethin’ ‘cause why am I leaving at the asscrack of dawn? Well some of us have jobs to do—“

“Jobs?”

“I’m the night shift bartender at that hole in the wall in Teufort. Money don’t make itself, y’know. And I work at the bookstore when I’m on break from the bar. And if I have a wee bit of time I’ll stop by the diner to wait on tables. And sometimes I—“

“Tav, we make ten times in a week what all of those jobs combined make in a year.”

Demo ponders this for a moment, then shrugs. “Money’s money. Work’s work. I didn’t ask ye, anyways. If you wanna laze around on yer poor little arse all day I won’t stop you but some of us want to contribute somethin’ to society.”

… This is worse than Dell expected. “How many hours of sleep you reckon you get a day?”

“… Eh.” This gives him pause. “At least an hour. Sometimes three or four if they let me sleep in the back room of the store between jobs—“

“Okay, uh… do I need to be the one to tell you that ain’t enough?”

Demo tears the package of crackers open with his teeth and pours half of it into his mouth, mumbling: “I’m doin’ great.”

“No. No you aren’t.”

“‘Sides, I don’t remember askin’ ye.”

“That’s strange, I don’t remember you askin’ me if you could drive my truck either.”

Demo opens his mouth, and then closes it and chews, and then opens it again and many crumbs tumble out. “Okay point taken.”

“Good.” Engineer sighs. “Alright, now tell me why you’re really working all those jobs, ‘cause it obviously ain’t money.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.”

Demo dumps the rest of the package into his mouth, and he blinks for a while, and eventually he scratches his eyepatch and blurts: “If I ain’t working on something I feel like I’m wasting my time.”

“Okay. How many holes do I have to poke in that argument before you believe me that it’s unnecessary?” Okay to be honest he feels like a bit of a hypocrite. “I know I’m bein’ a bit of a hypocrite but still.”

“I know it’s stupid but I can’t get it outta my head,” Demo mutters, intense like he is actively terrifying himself saying this. “It’s… I just lie awake thinkin’, what if I was working right now. And then I work. And I know theoretically it’s bad for me but like I’m workin’ so it doesn’t matter! I am so hungover. If I don’t leave in the next two minutes I’m gonna be late for work. Where did you put your keys again?”

“… What?”

“Oh… oh, sorry. Can I use your truck?”

“Um, no.”

“Thanks Engie. You’re a bloody lifesaver.” Demo plucks the keys off of the hook by the fridge and basically goes sprinting outta the room, and by the time Engineer gets to stand and start wavin’ his fist he’s basically gone. His footsteps are lopsided all the way down.

“I said no!” he calls, and he gets no response, so he kicks the table leg and curses because it hurts to kick the table leg. Eventually he makes his way to the door even though the foot stings and all the way down he sees the door to the garage open and close, and just after that Lola’s engine starts rumbling and fading into the distance and whatnot and all he can do is just kinda stare in mild disbelief.

“Shucks.” He could leave it be and let bygones be bygones. Water under the bridge and all that. Particularly because it is sometime after around four AM and he has been up since seven o’ clock and equations are still ricocheting around his brain like frisbees.

… But something stops him. His conscience tells him that is a wounded soul right there. He needs help, and obviously no one else here is going to get it for him.

That is a person, not an air conditioner, Engineer tells himself, but somewhere he knows he has already lost this battle. He is going to see that man sleep through a full eight hours if it kills him.

[asktamafort]

are there any defective graybot tamamercs?

ON THE FIELD...

KA-BOOM!

ROBOHEAVYTCHI: Hello? Anyone here?

ROBOHEAVYTCHI: Hmm...

ON THE ISLAND... ROBOHEAVYTCHI: Woah...

ROBOHEAVYTCHI: Hi!! I’m back for repairs-- MAXAMILIAN: Get out of here.

MAXAMILIAN: Look, I ain’t wastin’ my time chasin’ wind-up toys.

MAXAMILIAN: Go on, git.................... ROBOHEAVYTCHI: Y-yes, s-sir.

BACK IN COALTOWN... ROBOHEAVYTCHI: ...

???: ? ROBOHEAVYTCHI: ...

ONE LONG CHAT LATER... ???: Whadd’ya say, son? ROBOHEAVYTCHI: ...

LATER, ON TEUFORT...

You could say so.

[purple-compromise]

Revision comparison for those of you who are curious about how much I have added/will add or change in the first ten or so chapters:

CH 1 ORIGINAL: 

“The compound at Teufort rises, sprawling, out of the desert as Miss Pauling’s car kicks up sand in the dry wind that’s already clogging your lungs. No amount of sunscreen can save you from the pale glare overhead; the only thing that eases your eyes is the brim of your homburg—and barely that. You’re still squinting as your escort stops the car outside the fence.

“We’ll walk,” she says with a polite smile, lightly slapping the steering wheel with her driving gloves.”

CH 1 REVISED: 

“The compound at Teufort rises--sprawling, rectangular, aluminum, red--out of the desert as Miss Pauling’s car kicks up sand in the dry wind that already clogs your lungs. Heat-haze swims in the air, distorting lonely buildings that look more suited for barns and silos than a base of operations of any kind. You narrow your eyes against the gleam of tin roofs. All you've seen for miles is dust and orange sands, desolate stretches of dirt and withered islands of brown grass, terrain so dry and ashen you half-expected to see the eyes of T. J. Eckleburg* before anything resembling civilization. No amount of sunscreen can save you from the pale, golden glare overhead; the only thing that eases your eyes is the brim of your homburg, and barely that. You’re still squinting as your escort stops the car outside the chain-link fence.

“We’ll walk,” she says with a polite smile, lightly slapping the steering wheel with her driving gloves.”

Plus footnote:

So... changes largely won’t affect plot or story, but I still encourage you to have a look if you would like to experience the early fic at as high a quality as present chapters. I’ve also added and tweaked dialogue/body language to better match my current understanding of the characters, as I was really just trying to get to know everyone that early on, as I’d never actually written for TF2 before.

Again, thank you all so much for sticking around so long! You’re amazing, and I wouldn’t be here without you! 

[southieswinger]

HEADCANON DUMP 3 ( I GUESS THIS IS MORE PAST SCOUT ).

-scout would have liked to go to lesley, the art university in cambridge, and still harbors dreams of attending after his contract at teufort is up. that said, as the years go by, he’s starting to think that maybe he won’t be able to handle a job that isn’t fighting. this worries his mother more than it does him, but he is disturbed by it from time to time. -scout had several brothers in various wars over the past couple of decades; two have died overseas, and his family is still coping with the loss. -scout’s ( maternal ) grandparents were irish immigrants. -scout has seen every disney movie that’s come out since he’s been able to walk in theatres, some multiple times. his first was cinderella. treasure island set off his pirate phase, but it faded quickly; after one halloween in an eyepatch and cardboard peg leg, it fizzled out. he cried during old yeller. all time favorites include swiss family robinson, the jungle book, and the parent trap ( which he used to fantasize about all the time ). -he and his mother watched the sound of music every thanksgiving; he denies liking it, but still goes home every year to watch it with her on the television. -he tried to get a job at fenway but couldn’t manage it. -he’s drawn on every bathroom stall from lansdowne to tremont. -can you believe scout was alive at a time when you could get into the mfa for any price from FREE to affordable? he spent a lot of time sketching there. -he kept trying to get into the night clubs around fenway when he was underage. it never ended well for him. -he was an avid reader of highlights magazines when he was little, having his brothers help him through them due to dyslexia.

[talariismoved-blog]

❝ i’ve had more fun dead than i’ve had living. ❞ [ He got to mess with the devil, what did you do, Scout? Didn't even get to play foosball in the end. ]

1V1 IN TEUFORT, NO RESPAWN▎▏༻ ⟡ ༺ open

He slowly lowers the cup of tea he was sipping on to look at Medic. His voice made it sound like he missed being dead; that the accident on Gray Mann’s Island had been fun. Certainly, it was– just not the part where he and two of his friends, his team members, died as well. Or was it a near death experience? He couldn’t tell. It took him a while, until he finally pointed at the Doctor and replied,         ❝ Please stop talkin’ ‘bout dyin’ durin’ breakfast. Why- why is that even the only thing you evah’ talk ‘bout? That or organs. None of ‘em are very good breakfast topics, Doc’. ❞

[sillytf2]

no doodles for today, but here's my tomodachi life mercs instead

i love them with all of my heart.. ALSO soldier and demo are married!!! love is winning so hard on Teufort Island rn

i'll post more about all of their silly antics in between doodles in the future possibly

-🦀

[aequitcs]

"alt!"

X: AcceptingA muse I used to play:

“Y’know mate, I’m willing to bet good money that after killin’ a week in that dustbowl in New Mexico, you’d be in no bloody hurry to leave your lush island paradise anytime soon...”

At least that was the story that he heard. Some little tropical spit of land in the middle of nowhere? It’d have to be better than the dirty old mine in Teufort he was paid to shoot up all day long with those other maniacs. So what if they had no phones, cigarettes of coffee? (Well, maybe not the last two...)

[rbb-archived-blog]

◎ Do you want Spy to act as a dad for you or do you feel too betrayed to even consider letting him be a part of your life.

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ Send Scout an ask, and he must answer even if it’s a secret - Accepting

          ❝ Geez, how do I even answer this. Of course I feel betrayed. He lied to me for twenty seven years and even kept it hidden aftah’ he found out. He is a damn, lyin’ and egocentric snake who didn’t even think how I would feel ‘bout it! He... he nevah’ even considered how I’d feel ‘bout all this, did he? If he had just talked ‘bout it, or... or given any hints! I mean, Jesus, I’ve been workin’ with my own Pa for eight years! Side by side! Talkin’ to him! And not once he thought ‘Hey, maybe my son would like to know who his Pa is!’. He’s a fuckin’, stupid, useless, egocentric........ He’s my Pa. I’ve looked my whole live for my dad and there he is. Right there. He... did help me walk back to the rest of the Team when we were on Grey’s island. He did come back for me when I woke up again. He, well, he did come with me to the Teufort Bank to get my stuff before leavin’ Mann Co.. He... Is confusin’. I don’t know what he wants or why he acts like that. I don’t know if he wants to be my Pa or if he’s too scared to try, or maybe he really doesn’t want to. I don’t know. But... it would be nice to have a dad for once, wouldn’t it? ❞

[sillytf2]

GREAT NEWS FOR TEUFORT ISLAND‼️

my heavy and medic miis got married the other day, so here's that and some other silly things that happened lately!!

the doves after medic accepted his proposal.. 😭😭😭 here's who came to the wedding!!

demo messing with merasmus

spy spying on medic

[sillytf2]

Break Time #2

inspired by me getting called "baby" while playing medic earlier

...and also ubering a spy in that same session

Transcript below cut + Notes:

M: Lately, I've noticed something unusual during these past matches.

M: Each person has a particular petname for me. Although, it usually happens when I uber them.

M: That being said, I don't mind it. (Although, it is a bit distracting.)

M: I'd rather they do that than launch insults at me.

M: Agh, I've learned my lesson, but I can't forget the look he gave me...

this originally was gonna be more about the various petnames Medic (and me as medic) have been called in-game, but I realized there weren't any of them for certain characters, so I changed up the whole thing.. leading to some wonky writing, but i'd chalk that one up to me being stuck in the mines 💥

anyways, if you've read this far, ty!! also nothing much has happened on teufort island,, im waiting for more smaller things to happen so i can do another post about it, but we'll see how it goes!! also id answer questions about it or anything else if you guys want!! (but this part might go into a bigger post since its already a long enough post)

-🦀

[sillytf2]

Update/More Info:

Every post, except for posts under the #teufort island tag, all have descriptive Alt Ids on them!!! This includes every doodle, comic, and other future posts!! There will be descriptive alt ids added to the current and future teufort island posts soon!!

Also ty for sticking with us while we experiment with different mediums!! Since every merc has been accounted for so far, stay tuned for some other special guests...

- 🦀