|1||Adult Request Thread Pre-emptive Strike||701||23 November 2011 03:52|
|2||Class & You: Request Thread, Name-Your-Kink||24||26 April 2015 18:49|
|3||Any, and I mean any, Quick-Fix/Blunt Force Trauma (aka Medic/Scout) fics||1||17 April 2015 08:49|
|4||It Takes Three to Tango||28||2 April 2015 11:22|
|5||Efficient German You-Know-What/My Other NSFW Fics||1||26 March 2015 14:34|
|6||Any class and you?||205||18 March 2015 06:42|
|7||Faded colours (RED Sniper x RED Spy, RED Sniper x BLU Spy)||4||12 March 2015 02:07|
|8||In My Sights--Sni/Spy/Eng (Sniper POV)||5||2 March 2015 18:07|
|9||Sandvich Gratitude (Heavy/Sniper)||2||27 February 2015 04:22|
|10||Null Our Boor; or: Taco Run||37||14 February 2015 04:15|
|11||Sawmill by Freizeit||2||9 February 2015 07:32|
|12||FUN TIME with HELMUTS||74||6 February 2015 18:46|
|13||Hepatically Yours (Demo x Medic)||4||20 January 2015 15:01|
|14||Poulette||162||20 January 2015 04:37|
|15||NotTim||81||14 January 2015 03:26|
|New Thread | All Threads|
Okay, the newer one has already started to auto-sage. It's currently still on the front page but it has fallen past the line where we'll have to start clicking All Threads in order to see it.
Here is the link to it and the ones before it. Lots of great requests still in these!
I'm going to repost the two most recent ones from the most recent thread.
I know this is mostly requests for new stuff, but I haven't been here in a while and I'm having trouble finding an old fanfic. It was Engie x You, started with ambiguous-gender-ness and then had two endings, one for M and one for F.
Okay, so I've started fleshing it out a bit. I want, for a change, for everyone else on the team to have turned Medic down for sex. They think he's creepy and unattractive. Heavy's the only one who likes him, and Medic takes advantage of this. Also hacking a few limbs off in the process, because he's a terrible person.
Either that, or a similar idea with Classic Heavy x Modern Heavy, because I see Classic Heavy as someone who would only have sex with someone who would challenge him (i.e. Modern Heavy).
Hello tf2chan, new here. I'm a fanfiction writer looking to expand my horizons, and since I've been on a tf2 fanfiction kick lately I'm opening up for anon requests. But this time, I'd like to go beyond typical vanilla NSFW and open myself up to other types of kinks/fetishes/forms of sexual expression in literature.
Long story short, tell me what you wanna see. I predominantly lean towards Medic and Sniper stuff, but can certainly expand beyond those characters if need be.
I do draw the lines at underage things/or anything with legality issues. But you all already know that. I may be reluctant to go for requests involving scat or water sports, as I don't necessarily have a propensity for that kind of fetish either.
But forget that. I'll write what inspires me, so let's see what you lot can come up with. You can also suggest possible story lines as well, which can be incorporated into your anon request.
Ready, set-- request!
Hi, I'm new here so please don't hate me if I make some minor errors in etiquette, generally-known unspoken rules, /crippling shyness about requesting porn/, etc.
I would love to see a fic in which, by some as-yet-to-be-determined circumstance, the hapless reader (female or ambiguous, preferably) becomes the team's communal sexual-tension-reliever.
Ooh, I like that idea Kinky bastard. XD No need to be shy, you're among friends here. Fellow appreciators of smut, much like yourself.
(Psst, I'm new too. Don't sweat it!)
As the title says, looking for any recs of Medic/Scout. I've never used tf2chan before and I don't know if there's a tag search or anything.
I don't care what the fic is about. All kinks welcome(except necrophilia). No holds barred. Looking for fics that make /afanfic/ live up to its name.
Quick-Fix is such a rare pairing that I've read all the ones on ao3 and ffn, as well as dA.
This is a Spy/Engie/Spy porn fic. Very little plot, less dialogue. Concrit welcomed.
Requested (and betaed) by jeffian
Friday’s battle looked like it was going to end in a stalemate. Neither team had managed to capture the other’s intelligence even once. The Engineers had been extremely aggressive and creative with their placement of sentries and teleporters. Whenever a Spy or Scout managed to get to the briefcase, a Soldier or Demoman seemed to come from nowhere to shut them down completely. And it seemed like you couldn’t take a step without running face first into a minigun or flamethrower.
RED Engineer chanced a glance at his watch. There were less than ten minutes to go in the day’s battle. He had spent the last half hour or so planted behind his level 3 sentry in the Intelligence Room, guarding the briefcase. If he could hold out for a few more minutes, at least his team wouldn’t lose. He slipped his pocket watch back into the bib pocket on his overalls and waited, counting down the last few minutes in his head. With the exception of a BLU Scout that managed to get halfway across the Intelligence Room, Engie didn’t see anyone from the BLU team as he set himself up to run out the rest of the clock...
He was drumming his fingers idly on the back of his sentry when RED Spy darted in slightly injured, with the BLU Pyro in hot pursuit. Spy dove behind the Engineer just as a rocket made quick work of the Pyro. “What happened, Spah? Ah thought you were making one last run for BLU’s briefcase.”
“I was,” Spy said bitterly, brushing dust off of his suit. “I would ‘ave gotten it too if ze boy hadn’t run directly into a sentry just as I was sneaking into zeir intelligence room. A stray bullet decloaked me and I retreated, right into ze waiting arms of zat mumbling abomination. I barely got away with my life and most of my suit intact.” Spy lit a cigarette to calm his nerves. “Hopefully ze boy and ze Soldier ‘ave better luck than I did.” As the Spy exhaled smoke through his nose, the telltale sound of electricity crackling filled the air as
I am in love with the way the both spies are fighting over Engie. I've missed this fic and I'm always welcoming more from you.
Heavy x Medic medical kink.
Heavy had always had an appreciation for science. As one of four members of the team with a degree, and the only one lacking one in the area of “hard science”, he often listened in on what Medic, Engineer, and Demoman were saying, nodding even if it wasn’t his area of expertise. He at least understood that they did what they did for the betterment of mankind, the team, and for the pursuit of knowledge. And Medic knew that he knew this; he smiled a little over the rims of his spectacles as he watched the Russian listening intently from the corner. It was at that moment that he began making plans.
Medic called Heavy in, as soon as the daily battles had finished, and asked him to remove his trousers. Heavy agreed, pulling them down a bit skeptically, and the doctor nodded and asked him to follow with his underwear. Heavy did as he was asked - he was no stranger to health checks and medical exams - and Medic tried to feign disinterest as best he could as he took the tape measure from his pocket. He first noted down each measurement of the Russian’s penis - impressive in length and girth - then tested his body temperature, heart rate, and so on. And while Heavy was still perched there, half naked on the examination table, Medic had to turn his back as he asked him to masturbate until he was at full erection, so he could compare notes on the before-and-after. Ever the co-operative patient, Heavy simply shrugged. Anything for science.
Heavy was given a chair to sit down on, to make it easier. Medic wasn’t that cruel, to force a man to pleasure himself on that cold table, but he couldn’t help but smirk a little as he… observed. After all, it wasn’t perverse if you took notes. And right now he was noting every detail in the Russian’s face; every gathering bead of sweat, every bite of his lip. Heavy’s hands moved slowly and deliberately, running his thumb and forefinger down the length of his shaft, tugging gently and carefully running his calloused thumb across the tip. But research demanded professionalism. So he quickly proceeded with the rest of the measurements, noting the change in size and curvature, as well as elevated body hea
I've been a thread stalker for a couple of months for a fanfic and I was wondering if there is anyone who can still make those kinds of fics now these days? If so, feel free to put it here.
I'm not sure if I should ask this here, but I have a Scout x Reader story that has been sitting in my document file for over a year, and I need a beta reader to edit it. It's part 2 of a story that I submitted here over a year ago, and I accidentally saged it. Is anyone willing to help?
RED Sniper is having problems with his relationship with RED Spy - and then what do you know, BLU Spy arrives to the stage.
Greetings everyone! I've been thinking about writing a Sniper/Spy fan fiction for a long time and now I've finally decided to do so! There might be some typos, I'm sorry about that (English ain't my mother language). Enjoy!
It was quiet. The battle had come to an end. Once again RED team had taken its victory and send every single member of the enemy team back to the BLU’s base (by killing them). The winner team had turned back to their own base to celebrate their victory – but no-one seemed to notice that a few members were missing.
In the highest floor of a little wooden tower two silhouettes slowly melt together when Sniper pressed his warm dry lips against the Spy’s. The Australian pressed the shorter man against the wall by his body and slid both of his hands on his partner’s chest to unbutton his shirt. Spy’s suit jacket had already taken care of and the clothing was lying on the floor – keeping company to the taller man’s hat and sleeve. Sniper kissed his way down to his partner’s neck receiving a low moan as a response.
“Attendre... mon ami”, Spy mumbled. The taller man stopped his doings and let a growl escape from his lips. Sniper didn’t speak French that well, but this repartee was way too familiar for him. He leaned back separating him and Spy and starter the shorter man deep into his eyes, “What is it now, spook? Did you change your mind again?”. The Frenchman frowned and let out a long tired sigh, “Oui”, he repeated shortly, pushed the bushman aside and took his suit jacket from the floor. Sniper sighed as well and crossed his arms with an unpleased face, “Y’now – if my kisses are that bad you can tell me”. Spy gave a small humph to his partner’s comment and put his jacket on.
“I’m just not on the mood”.
... He leaned back separating him and Spy and __starter__ the shorter man deep into his eyes...
it's supposed to be STARED -.-" dunno how it ended up like that, srry
I'm interested to see where this will go. Love triangles between spies and snipers are always tasty and I'm looking forward to read more in the near future. However, to make the experience little more pleasant for the readers, I would suggest you to find yourself a beta reader. There are some typos and stuff in your text and having a good beta will definitely get it flowing.
So, eighty years ago, or six, or whatever, I wrote In My Sights in response to a request, I think. And I was asked to write Sniper's POV, and I was sure I put it here, but I couldn't find it, so if anyone wants it, here it is. IMS and Engie POV is with it in the afic archives. Hope you enjoy.
In My Sights (Sniper POV)
It was dusty in the air ducts. I wonder if the Spy was used to this. I couldn't help but think of how the storms used to settle a blanket of dust over the houses in old 'down-under' towns. I looked over my Kukri, unusually distracted. It wasn't the plan; that was the easy part, but something kept bugging me. Maybe it was the plan. It wasn't right, but I bet it would be fun. Not much left between right and wrong out here anymore. Everybody's mission objective was make sure you kill everyone else before they kill you.
I sat up from hunching back against the duct wall, a tapping noise and a beep making me flinch. Took the wanker long enough. I was beginning to think this wasn't turning out, but he didn't disappoint. Our Pyro came prowling around the corner, or, someone who looked like our Pyro, but I knew our flamethrower was busy cooking, despite the alarms not sounding yet.
I waited for the metal box to come out before I jumped down out of the open vent, landing on top of the Spy. He let out an expected grunt as I kneed him into the floor and kneeled down over his lower back. He reached for his balisong, but I took his hand, snorting out a laugh. "Hey there, wanker. You feeling lucky tonight or did ya take a blow to the head?"
He started thrashing after my comment, but I was ready for the struggle and put my steel to his neck. I palmed his forehead and pulled his head back to make the point clearer. "Nah don't struggle. I need that pretty neck of yours," I chuckled, bowing his body back until he started complying. "To your knees." He obeyed quite nicely and I walked him past the decoy sentry, a small grin finding me as we walked. He smelled like a good catch. The faint trace of tobacco, Jasmine cologne, and adrenaline filling my nostrils as w
Sure. I've been contemplating writing the Spy returns fic, but wanted to know if there was still interest first. And thank you for the compliments.
(Holy crap, I hope I'm doing this right!) So a friend advised that I write something different to take my mind off a misbehaving fic, then shamelessly requested Heavy/Sniper or Soldier/Sniper, with sexually competent bottom + dirty talking Sniper. This is essentially my first venture into writing smut (and my second attempt at writing), so you'll have to forgive any awkwardness.
Side note: English isn't my first language, so grammar/punctuation may be wonky. The fic hasn't been through the Beta wringer, either.
This has less plot than a $10 porn flick. You have been warned!
Sniper can honestly say that this is completely unexpected.
"Sniper is okay with this?"
Please don't hide, this was lovely. Your dirty talk is nice, though it could be a bit stronger sometimes. However, I love the idea of Heavy's gratitude for small gestures being something so...different. Hell, I think this story hints at much more plot than you give yourself credit for. Might there be more from you in the future? *crosses fingers*
My On the Road/TF2 pastiche.
I first startarted bumming around with Scout a few years after the war ended and a few before war ended which was never a war, , and this was long before I realised that neither war really had a beginning or an end and that all of them just ran into eachother, willrun into each other til the end of time, but more about that later. Scout had decided that night he was “just stahvin for a taco” and I had to reflect that sentiment. We were both coming down and Scout was certain that he was the fitter of the two of us to drive, I could not object. He had only done “just a little speed and some mescaline.” “Where'd you get mescaline?” “Where I get mescaline.” That's when I knew I would never get a straight answer out of him for anything, as if I ever wanted one. We left and very shortly I knew we wouldn't just be getting tacos. “I need to see the Medic,” he said and gave me a cheeky bloody wink and while we were driving he told me about his awesome life: running, literally, from one girl to the next high, to the next girl to the next high, to a few men in between, mostly for the money. “I'm the fastest hand in Boston!” I believed him about that mostly business and I didn't question him further on it. We arrived at Medic's place and before the engine stopped, Scout had bounded over the carhood and was screaming into the building's intercom, “I'M HYEAH TA BUY!” We were buzzed in. While dazed and lumbering halfway up the steps, he'd already reached his destination but immediately raced back down to intercept me, “Come on, old man, you're holding up the mission!” “Gwaawn, I'm not that much older than you!” “You are.” “You just seem young cause you still act like a teenager.” The door opened. “Aw, gawddammit!” “C'est le plus plaisir de vous-rencontre, aussi. You've brought another friend, I see.” “Saloooo!” I called out. A plain, unmasked face suddenly appeared and I was taken aback, we
“Try to remember the worst thing you’ve ever done. You needn’t tell me.”
“Yes. What now?”
“Do you associate this event with a choice or a compulsion?”
Medic considered this briefly. “There was a clear sense of urgency, as best it can be described with respect to discretion.”
“With respect to discretion, were the rules of ethics or morality suspended in this moment of indiscretion if your act was so compelled?”
Medic answered very carefully, “It feels as if yes and no could be correct in the same instant.”
“That is the essence of post-modernism this goes for science as well as art. Heisenberg discovered what literature has known for centuries; objectivity is the least objective of all experiences.”
“And now empiricism has to be re-examined? Along with logic and simple arithmetic, I can go back to testing a person’s humors, supposedly?”
Admittedly, any biped with a marginally acceptable sense of ethics could have done that job. At this thought, the medic mused at the irony of how stressful and simultaneously simple the task of keeping everyone alive actually was; it was easier to decide on whom to take a bonesaw, to be utterly, gracelessly honest. Musing further, he concluded that this conflict encompassed the ultimate endgame of evolution; save the world at the pull of a lever, and pull enough times to nearly kill you. Forever.
It used to be that a life could be measured by the scars incurred, a document of times passing, but now everything can so easily be smoothed over. Each little meaningless resurrection. The first law of thermodynamics. All that can be is either being or becoming and it's all mostly emptiness; each unique arrangement of particles determines what bounces, bends, breaks or binds; all of it waiting for oblivion. I v prakh vozvratish'sya. “Knives, knives to grind,” he hummed.
The sniper quit the loo to stumble upon a line, the faces of those waiting ranged from dismay to bemusement. Well, I am allowed to use a toilet, aren't I? Even if, admittedly, at this point using a jar feels more natural. Reflecting further, he discovered a bizarre conjunction (and where it became a schism) between a duty (ignore the pun, s'il vous plait) and a right. The definition, the difference, depended purely on context and temperament. These are the choices: inside the tent, outside the tent; kindness or cruelty.
Spy felt an intrusion as he entered the bathroom. “Qu'est-ce que ça?”
“Himmy uh mah.”
“D'accord,” he complied giving the proposition only a brief thought. Before he could fulfill the request himself, a bare hand reached into the opening designated for his mouth, and feeling a strange, bare hand where any such contact had previously been infrequent generally, absent recently, his body involuntarily tried to graft itself onto the pyro's, commencing at the hips. He found it difficult to recover from this dizzying imbalance.
Even with the corporeal engulfment
Continued [please, masturbate gloomily as needed]:
Heavy felt the most trepidation at what he was about to do in how the rest would receive the event, that it is derivative and obvious. We know how much you love Tolstoy, but is this the best way to show it? He calculated and tried to merge the deceleration of the train and his body's acceleration. Witness this, everyone: the trite and sentimental escape no one. Cliches tie all the absurdities between breaths together. All else is pornography.
The resulting red cloud made Mundy grip his kukri handle so firmly that it should have bonded to his hand. This is what it feels like to faint, he thought as his balance faltered. His personal dignity was undiminished since he was not the focus of anyone's attention presently. Shock melted into pure emotional anguish; this sensation made itself felt as a burning that emanated from his soft palate and radiated through to his forehead.
Spy's thoughts turned to religion: how the ones of eastern origin generally concluded that this experience—what we tether ourselves to and label physical reality—is all illusion; still, this is too much reality for some people. These are the ones who are blessed more than they can stand until it becomes a burden. You come to a choice: abandon reality, abandon meaning, or abandon the self. This is how Nihilism becomes a luxury.
Pyro knew exactly what was meant by the explosion of glitter and gears and, having long since lost the capacity to experience shock, ran toward it, fully aware of the futility in the gesture. This is what it means to be human: find the hopeless moments react against it, extract meaning and amplify. Delusion doesn't change reality, it merely favors one louder, brighter set of noise over another.
Scout, Spy and Tavish were the three men who had the wherewithal to go after the Pyro; Scout was the only one fast enough to make the interception. The rolling around that followed was hard enough to take, but it was all of this misery and drama mashed together that made him gasp for air, a remarkably rare event indeed though obviously overshadowed by a few others. My catching the vapors i
this fic is horrible, just be forewarned. I felt inspired after reading Pickle's Terrible Dark fic.
Sawmill by Freizeit
(this fic contains rape)
The battle at Sawmill wound down as the Announcer called time and the BLU team was set running from their bloodthirsty RED counterparts. The BLU Sniper hid behind some crates in the corner if the room with the large circle saw. He watched tensely as a group of REDs passed by. There was the Soldier, the Pyro, and the Engineer that passed the Sniper as he held his breath and clutched his close-range kukri. The Pyro ambled out ahead, their flamethrower held out firmly ahead and ready to turn any fleeing BLU into cinders.
Behind the crates, Sniper breathed a sigh of relief as the group passed through without noticing. When he felt they were out of earshot he let out the breath he had been holding in. The breath caused his body to move enough that a board beneath him creaked. At the noise the Soldier halted, grabbing the Engineer by the shoulder. The pair turned silently to the crates, making their way closer with melee weapons drawn. Behind the crate the Sniper shook and sweated, which caused his aviators to slip down his nose.
“Why don’t you come into the light where we can see you, Sally,” offered the Soldier with a laugh and a glance at the Engineer.
The Sniper’s eyes shot to full openness. There really was no option at this point other than to run. He took a deep, audible breath and held his kukri aloft in white knuckles, charging out from behind the crates. He tried to loop around, exiting from the side where the REDs had entered. He ran as fast as his legs would allow him, kicking up sawdust into the air. Soldier had anticipated this. He charged after the retreating man, lifting his shovel over his head and bashing the Sniper over the neck.
That blow to the neck caused Sniper to stumble and fall onto the floor. He still had his kukri, however, and rolled over onto his back to slash at his assailants. He managed to slash the Soldier across the cheek and nicked the Engineer’s forearm before the two had him tackled. Using his wrench, the Engineer beat the Aus
SO I went to update, and found that it squirted out the bottom at some point.
The engineer waited until everyone else was off doing their own post-victory celebrations before even entertaining the idea of making a move on the soldier. With the sterner man having a good drunken mellow going, it seemed like the perfect opportunity.
He gladly let the soldier throw one of his heavy arms over his shoulder and pat him roughly, all the while saying in his usual, over-the-top way how great it was to have a red-blooded Texan in his corner in the recent mission. The engineer returned the appreciative banter, cautiously wrapping his own arm innocently around the other man's upper body. It was a rare occasion for him to fully experience the shape and the feel of the soldier, so he secretly drank it in as he often did in these fleeting instances. The soldier's body was still hot from the fight, and the strength in that battle-hardened musculature was ever the more apparent in his drunkenness. The smell of his sweat and the beer on his breath were another feature of this teasing false intimacy that kicked at the engineer on a daily basis. Thankfully, the soldier hardly noticed the engineer's hand slowly feeling it's way down to around his waist. His body was so much harder than the engineer's comparatively short and stocky assemblage, and it swayed widely as they stumbled their way back to the barracks.
Being pleasantly buzzed himself, the engineer decided to skip formalities and get down to business. He didn't register entirely that there would be any kind of consequence to this plan; just a quick fuck before they passed out – no complicating things with words. The soldier was never good at listening, nor did he even seem to be capable of spinning a string of coherent thought for that matter. Besides, drunk as he was, he probably wouldn't remember anything in the morning anyway.
He skillfully undid the soldier's belt buckle and tried to keep the taller man steady along the walk, but the Soldier interpreted his struggle as horseplay and in an instant had stopped and put the engineer into a sleeper hold.
I don't know how.
I'm an idiot. I'll go hang myself now, sorry.
This was for Secret Santa 2014 over on tf2promptfest on tumblr. My first time writing Demo, and I really wanted to avoid making him the insensate drunk that I often see in the fandom.
It was hard to tell which annoyed Demo more: that the bottle was just beyond of the reach of his outstretched fingers, or the fact that his left leg had been blown off. He huffed out a sigh that sent the parched dirt swirling away from his mouth and, unhelpfully, into his eye. Irritating in more ways than one.
The RED Soldier had blind-sided him and shot a rocket right at his feet. It'd had the combined effect of slamming him backwards into and through the wall of the building behind him, and of separating his lower leg from its vital, upper section. Demo had no idea if that lonely limb was in one piece. It seemed irrelevant right at this point. After all, what was he going to do with it if it was? He didn't have any band-aids on him, and he'd used the last of the gaffer tape over an hour ago. It'd be as useful as attaching a roast lamb to the stump anyway.
He scrunched up his face, trying to shift the drying grit from under his eyelid, and let out a few choice phrases that he felt adequately described his disappointment that the rocket-blasting leg-separator hadn't finished him off. The bastard could at least have knocked him a bit closer to the fucking bottle!
Demo stretched futilely again but the bottle was at least two feet away. Unbroken as well, unlike him, but visualising his arm elongating hopefully towards it like a thirsty snake was the only thing that was distracting him from the viciously acidic pain flowing up his thigh.
Maybe if he just lay here, someone from RED would either come along and end this physical perjury, or he'd bleed out and go through Respawn. He wasn't all that keen on trying to stand and hop back into the fray, nor was he that interested in seeing what the inside of his knee looked like.
It wasn't until he opened his eye that he realised he'd passed out. All-in-all, this was turning into a really shitty day. The mission had been a debacle, he was missing a quite
uh, I'm going to require moar, please. I love your depictions of demo and medic, and was really able to visualize medic in the cold shower! Excellent work
This shit's like crack I swear. I just keep coming back for another hit and now I'm building up a resistance to the same old stuff and I think I'm ready to steal somebody's television so that I can pay the author for another installment. Shit's just got all sorts of psychology without turning the prose purpose with emotions, just enough richness in the environment without going off on tangents. Real immersive shit. Not saying you have to continue this story if it's finished because at this point I'm pretty sure I'd suck your cock for any story you're willing to give the fandom, but I would definitely suck your cock for stories.
This is my very first attempt at TF2 fic, and is a oneshot. Please be gentle.
I don’t remember all that much. I don’t remember my name, for example. Sometimes when I try the fragments fly around like leaves in a teacup.
I recall being relieved when the van stopped for me on the highway out of town, and the thin one looked out. He said I could hide with them as long as I needed to, and laughed when I hid my head under a blanket in the back. I don’t remember what I was running from, only that I did not want to remember.
The soft one is almost as small as I am, and always comes to me naked. I hear the door open and close, then rustlings of fabric and metal on the stone as he strips while walking. He smells like engine oil and soap, and says nothing until afterward. He likes to touch me everywhere, with both his warm and cold hands. He learned one day that if he used his fingers inside me when I came, my cries poured forth babbling, fluting chirps. Once, when he didn’t stop I fainted, and when I woke up he was gone.
This room has no windows, and the light that shines through the frosted glass in the door can come on at any hour. I wake instantly at this, and can even steal a minute or two to groom myself before the door opens. I don’t remember how I arrived. Or what happened between that day and when I woke up in this room, on a pile of blankets in that corner behind the boxes. They come to me here when they can’t sleep. Many nights can pass where they don’t come, but those are rare. I guess they don’t sleep well.
The big one is the nicest. He almost always asks first, and never goes on top since that first time. He always sneaks in honey for the grain paste that is all I am can really eat now, and always brushes my hair while I clean up. He tells me stories in his own language, which is wild and choppy like a ravine in flood. I can hear his smile when he teases me into breathy laughter. He likes me to bite him in little pecks all down his chest and promises one day to show me the moon.
Oh, wow. I'm new here, and it seems like this thread is long dead, but this story was enough to prompt me to make my first reply/post on here. I'll probably never get a response, but does anyone know where I can find more of the OP's work, or their tumblr? I'm sure this fic will haunt my subconscious for quite a long time.
OP's tumblr is Justamus, and they don't seem to have written much in a long while. That said, their Secret Santa fic a couple years back was also quite horrific.
Reposting this repost of a repost since y'all lost everything. Originally written by OwlTiem. Because of character limits, this has to be broken into 2 parts, jsyk.
Six nails. There are six nails in the underside of the kitchen table, and a wooden bracket at each corner to keep it straight. At some point, someone has dropped a cigarette on the table cloth and turned it over to hide the scar, so it hangs down on the left if he sits with his feet towards the sink (and who would burn a tablecloth and just hide it? That's not right. Someone will find it and blame him, because he smokes so much, but it wasn't him. It's not his tablecloth to burn.) In the middle is a no man's land where he can scrunch himself up, arms around his knees, and be almost sure of no feet brushing him which might give away the secret - unless Sniper sits in the middle and leans back in his chair, which has only happened once. (He was trembling for hours after that, curling up in Engineer's room, lighting one cigarette off the end of the last.) All Sniper did was huff and refurl his knees, giving nothing away (which is why it's so stupid that he got so scared, so fucking stupid.)
The first time he ended up under there was only a day or so after defecting, sneaking into the kitchen in the dead of night to peel a thin strip of glaze off of Soldier's apple pie (he knows it's wrong, very wrong, it's stealing and it's a bad idea and they might even throw him out; but it tastes so good and he'd only ever take the tiniest bit, just for the sweetness) only to be interrupted by Demo and Pyro (punishment for the crime, no doubt.) Of course he wasn't seen, but spent an hour under the table, listening to Demo curse and bitch and Pyro snigger and mutter. It's a good place to hide if surprised in the kitchen, it's a reliable place at least; but it's not very easy to escape from unnoticed (always have an escape plan. ALWAYS have an escape plan.) It was five people this time, too many to deal with coming in all at once, and too many to slip past cloaked (so of course the best course of action is to get under th
Holy Mary Mother of Joseph. NotTim might be the single best thing I have seen out of TF2. I'm floored by the wonderful process of his creation, and the amazing writing that's been done with him. We need to bring NotTim back. He's the most adorable thing ever, and the world needs more. (side note: I LOVE the idea of his real name being Mitton)