| # | Subject | Posts | Last Post |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | Dance Fortress Incident | 4 | 17 May 2012 21:16 |
| 2 | Snake Oil | 49 | 15 May 2012 23:34 |
| 3 | Molten Heart | 4 | 8 May 2012 23:33 |
| 4 | Because It's Bitter | 27 | 7 May 2012 04:19 |
| 5 | Vice Versa | 10 | 4 May 2012 15:19 |
| 6 | Fountain of Youth (WIP) | 5 | 3 May 2012 21:52 |
| 7 | Red Team VS Some Weird People | 4 | 3 May 2012 04:35 |
| 8 | Request Thread Go! | 92 | 1 May 2012 01:52 |
| 9 | Umarung | 7 | 28 April 2012 17:30 |
| 10 | The Fourth Quarter Quell (A TF2/Hunger Games crossover) | 29 | 27 April 2012 07:20 |
| 11 | Bomb Recovery | 15 | 26 April 2012 23:19 |
| 12 | "Apple" | 47 | 25 April 2012 02:04 |
| 13 | Training | 19 | 24 April 2012 10:11 |
| 14 | A perfect 10 - tf2 fanfic with OC | 20 | 20 April 2012 03:24 |
| 15 | Death of a Sniper : The Final Act | 5 | 16 April 2012 11:55 |
| New Thread | All Threads | |||
First fanfiction I'm posting here. It was written at an absurd hour of the morning so there are probably loads of mistakes. It's could be considered crack, conceptually speaking, mostly on account of the machinima influence, but not in an adolescent "lol so randumb" way. I could say it's merely sprinkled with a fine dusting of crack. I have no idea what year I've managed to set it in. Nevertheless, enjoy.
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Few things were unanimous on BLU's side of Doublecross. Medic constantly pestered Scout about his constant cola consumption, though the boy swore by his Bonk and drank as much of the monthly shipments as he could before anyone else could touch it. Heavy and Soldier's philosophies saw the two in an extended state of slightly aggressive debate-- Sun Tzu and Machiavelli could apparently shout louder than Plato and Karl Marx, though, so Soldier usually prevailed in these forums. Spy often climbed to whatever nest Sniper chose to hole himself up in only to insist in the most shit-eatingly mocking way that Sniper did no work whatsoever. This didn't lead to arguments between the two so much as it led to violence that left both parties covered in bruises and scratches. Really, the only BLUs who didn't seem to have any serious points of contenion with their teammates were Engineer (on account of his reclusion), Demoman (due to his everlasting inebriation), and Pyro (who might have had a bone to pick with his teammates, but it was a mumbled, hardly comprehensible bone).
There was one thing, however, that everyone could agree on: Pyro's music was completely obnoxious. It was unlike anything else any of them had ever heard. It didn't inspire feelings of nostalgia and patriotism like Engie's downhome country music could, nor was it as moving as Medic's opera or Heavy's rousing Russian classical. It didn't even cause cravings for baguettes, as Spy's love for accordion accompaniment often did to him and at least two other reticent members of the team. Pyro's music came in the evening as the sun went down, thumping and saccharine and fucking catchy, damn him. The mumbling maniac loved house musiMessage too long. Click here to view the full text.
Wow, I'm falling out of my chair from laughing too hard from this. I love how you managed to capture each of the classes styles in their dancing. I would love to read more of this crack fic.
You know what this fandom needs? More pulpy, serially, fibery action! So, let's grow some chest hair and wear some fedoras together!
Man, it was hard to get writing again. I think I went through five stories (including three variants of this chapter) before I hit my stride again.
/***/
Wearing a tuxedo was not in the Demoman's contract.
He cursed the stiff fabric, picked at handkerchief lodged in his breast pocket. The colors seemed mismatched to him. The jacket was white, the trousers black. The latter was the worst part of the ensemble by far. The fabric clung to his legs, and the waist line was about two inches too small for him. It couldn't be helped, though. That bastard Spy wouldn't let him out of the base with a kilt on, and the only trouser pants he had really hadn't been used in over ten years.
"This had better be worth our bloody time," the Demoman cursed as he stepped out of the Spy's latest vehicular acquisition. How he managed to find so many Italian sports cars in the United States was beyond his knowledge. How he continued to destroy them? Well, that was more amusing than perplexing.
"We are being paid overtime and travel expenses for zis. We are also getting a decent meal." The Spy adjusted his tie. All things considered, he should have been much more uncomfortable than the Demoman. This was the first time in years that he'd stepped into the public without his balaclava on. Instead of his usual mask, he'd switched to a more subtle fedora to cast a shadow over his face. At least the night was dark. "I zink you would be a little more grateful."
The Demoman snorted once. "The whole thin' stinks ta high heaven ta me."Message too long. Click here to view the full text.
Eh, if the ancient people responsible for this had some sort of occult technology for seafaring or even an occult food source, they could have covered great distance even in that time. The biggest issue would be navigating the distance. You should also determine what language they were writing in.
Sitting on the edge of my seat, here. Can't wait to see what's next!
I was going to wait until someone else had updated a story here before I wrote another chapter. Then I realized that I was going to be busy this weekend.
So, have a fight scene!
/***/
The Sniper was quiet, lying on his belly ahead of the group. His right eye was focused through the large scope perched on his rifle. No light came from the laser sight, which had been turned off to conceal his position. As he continued surveying the men meters below their position, the Spy found himself amused with his teammate. He blended well into the shade beneath the centuries-old trees, calm and serene in his task. If the Spy didn't keep a constant eye on his companion, he would have lost him. Bright shirt and all. He did not need the Spy's tools to conceal himself. He wore nature like a dark, verdant cloak. No wonder why there was such fear in the eyes of the men he'd killed back in the United States. They almost never knew he was there until white-hot lead seared through their brains.
It was several minutes before the Sniper wriggled back to the mismatched group. He dusted off his shirt, then spoke quietly. "There's at least twenty-foive blokes down there. Not countin' the pilot or copilot, mind ya."
Toaster whistled lowly. "Didn't think they'd send that many fellows out to look for us."
"Zhey have a good reason to panic. It is not every day zhat an American commercial flight crash-lands in Soviet territory," the Spy said.
Marian asked, "So, how many bullets do you have?"Message too long. Click here to view the full text.
This is my first Fan Fiction so please bare with me.
This will take place between Pyro's diary and actual battles. Any details of other members are of the Pyro's awareness at the time, should a member not be mentioned it means Pyro was distracted by something and didn't see them go off.
The Molten Heart Chp.1
The Cold Front...
Why did it have to be The Cold Front?
Of all the inane places for war to be waged at.
The Cold Front...
This place may be colder than the deepest parts of the ocean but at least things still burned here.
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Okay. To be honest, I can't tell if this is a troll fic or not. If it's not, you need to take this to the Workshop as soon as possible.
You've got spelling errors, sentence fragments, term duplication, and capitalization issues. You should also refrain from using emoticons, even if you're writing part of this as a journal entry from the Pyro's diary. As a rule of thumb, you should spell every number below one-hundred out. Five, not 5. (I tend to go to write out all of my numbers unless they are years, but I believe that is the general rule.) These are all rules that can be followed and occasionally broken, once you know what you are doing. These are easy fixes. What concerns me more is what you have presented to us, as far as information goes.
You are writing details, but they feel empty and meaningless. You had a tenth class that was a chef, and all you mention was two sentences about their horrific death and how everyone supposedly missed them? There is a much better way to drop this information. Actually have the characters discuss this person!
What is this "Russian Literature" book the Heavy is reading? That term only shares two facts--what he is reading is literature, and it's Russian. What author? What story? What does he think about it? Is it good? Dull? Mediocre?
Furthermore, if the team is having breakfast, why aren't they exchanging dialogue with each other? Not even a "Good Morning"? Even a mopey team would at least grunt at each other! What is this? Are they sitting in their own personal bubbles, not acknowledging each other? That's no way for a functional team to act! You'd think at least the Pyro would be making googly-eyes at whoever he wants to woo. I don't expect him to communicate well with the others, but he'd at least give some kind of physical reaction.
I'd also recommend just sticking with one point of view. Either keep to the Pyro's first person observations (whether they are right or wrong), or just do a generalized third person perspective.
I don't want to scare you away from writing. I want you to think about what youMessage too long. Click here to view the full text.
Unfortunately, I have to agree with the person above. Even putting aside the grammatical travesties, this story is as bland as plaster-flavored ice cream. And even putting THAT aside--the story itself didn't move anywhere! I'm sure that Pyro is up to more than breakfast. I'm sorely dissappointed--but you've got time and room for improvement. Ignore just how big that room is! I suggest either indulging in some extra English homework, spending more time in the library, or investing in an editor (who knows their stuff about grammar!). None of those options are difficult, and you'll definitely reap the benifits!
I would like to thank both of you for the advice. I will be taking your comments to heart and try to improve myself and correct my errors.
I hope to receive criticism as constructive as both of yours after I refine this.
Longtime lurker, first ever poster. This fic contains Fem!teammates, and is specifically from the POV of the RED Fem!Sniper. I'd ask you to be gentle, but Hale knows I like it rough.
Well, here goes. Deep breaths.
~*~
Sometimes her mother sent her packages. Never very much, just enough to let her know she's thinking of her. The things she thinks to send though, they frustrate Sniper, but after so many years her irritation was rooted deeper in sentimentality than real annoyance.
She'd hoped for more of the pies her mum liked to bake, home-made ones, so sweet they tasted fresh even though they took at least three days to make it to base. Last time she'd sent a whole box, five pies altogether. Sniper gave up trying to finish them herself and gave one to Engineer, and another to Demo, since of all her colleagues she found them the most bearable.
This time it was a quilt, which suited Sniper well enough, since autumn was rolling in nicely and the blankets provided by their caring employers were no near thick enough to ward off the chill. The cold was never something the warm-blooded Aussie agreed with. She took the quilt out and set it on the end of the bed for when time came to sleep, and went to throw the box away. There was a rattle when she picked it up, and glancing inside showed that her mother had sent more than winter comfort.
Make-up. Not a large amount, just a compact mirror with pressed powder, a tube of mascara, and a little stick of faintly pink lipstick. Sniper tossed them back in with a grunt of disgust that had no tinge of amusement or nostalgia.
This was the fourth time. Every year or so her mum sent her more, assuming she’d used it up and needed more. As if she couldn’t buy it herself at the General store if she wanted it so badly. She didn’t like the make-up mum sent. And she didn’t want it. She didn’t even use it. Sniper had never used it, not in the four years she’d worked for RED. So far as she knew, none of the other women did either, except Demo, though after a few bottles of her homemade liquor whatever color she’d rubbed on her lips usually washed away.Message too long. Click here to view the full text.
I lied. Here, have this thing I wrote super fast just so I can say I updated.
~*~
"Alright lass, have a look, and tell me what'cha think."
The cool wood of a mirror handle was pressed into her hand, and Sniper raised it tentatively to her face, opening her eyes as slowly as was possible. They'd been at this, whatever this was, for a good forty-five minutes. All pulling and plucking and shaving until Sniper was sure she'd come apart like a badly-sewn sock. Now it was time to see the fruits of Demo's labor, and Sniper's suffering.
"Oh bloody hell."
"I know, right? Ye look amazin'."
It wasn't the word Sniper would have chosen--raw seemed like a far more accurate term. She felt that way, at least. Exposed like a nerve, which Demo greatly enjoyed jabbing with tweezers until it sang.
"Can I go now?" she asked, only just barely keeping it from sounding like a whine. Demo shook her head, and gestured to the dress. Sniper eyed with with even greater distaste than before, as if she'd forgotten it and being reminded it existed out a bad taste in her mouth.Message too long. Click here to view the full text.
I really like this story, and it's made me happy to see an update after all this time! I just want to let you know I really enjoy this fic and that it makes me really happy to see you continue it!
Normally I don't read genderbend fics (nothing wrong with them, they are just not my cup of tea), but I started reading yours out of curiosity, and now I'm genuinely curious to see what happens next. I'm looking forward to the next chapters :)
However, before you post them, I suggest you get a beta-reader, or at least carefully re-read them several times. The latest chapter you posted was nice story-wise, but it had some typos and other mistakes.
Hey, this is my first TF2 fic and contribution on this board. I hope it’s posted correctly, if not, please let me know. Concrit is welcome, although I guess there isn't much in the way of plot or characterization or you know, words to concrit. But any help is welcome, I always like to know how I could do better. Thanks.
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Vice Versa
The familiar sounds of fighting reached him even here, isolated as he was from the battlefield. He could hear screams of agony accompanying round after round of gunshots, the cacophony lovingly punctuated by occasional explosions, and now, the intruder alarms. But before long, it became clear that only a few of his teammates had survived to breach the enemy defenses, and the foolish, fragile hope he had been nursing ever since the battle started immediately deflated.
Sighing, he mentally mapped out the enemy Heavy’s path into the interior of the base, that thunderous tread increasing in volume as it neared his location. The bottles of Red Shed began to rattle on the rickety shelf, almost as if shaking in anticipation of the bloodbath soon to follow. Though muffled by the walls imprisoning him, he could decipher the gruff bark of the Soldier and the frantic yapping of the Scout, their useless, empty threats. If only his team’s Heavy had made it through this time, or even their Demo or Pyro, these bumbling idiots might have had a chance, but it was just these two.
Always these two.
Like actors following a not very original script, the scene played out the exact same way it had the last several (dozen, hundred, he can’t even remember how many) times. The door opened briefly to let in a peek of light and a rush of warm air, but before he could speak, the Heavy had retrieved his sandwich and slammed the refrigerator shut again. There was the slightly revolting noise of jaws working around layers of white bread and meat and cheese, and then the much more revolting noise as his two teammates proceeded to have their bodies brutalized by the fully healed enemy. Every now and then the impact of a particularly violent blow would jostle the refrigerator door open and knock down aMessage too long. Click here to view the full text.
“I gotcha, I gotcha!” Demo shouted, against all physical evidence.
This line made me seriously laugh out loud. So perfect.
>>3 This. ThisthisthisthisthisTHIS.
I get that Spy is the loner of the Team, even more than Sniper, and a shifty invisible guy to boot. And I get that the mercenaries are ruthless killers and are used to violence and death.
But come on, a co-worker they have been fighting side-by-side with for months or years gets kidnapped by the enemy combatants, is being kept prisoner and possibly being tortured, and the others don't give a fuck? I could never buy that.
Aww, thanks for the comments, I'm glad y'all enjoyed and had a good laugh.
I actually have no idea how or why the Spy could get his body back but I like the idea of the team being a team, and no man or part of man gets left behind. For anyone wondering, I did have more planned, a whole saga outlined, but I figured this was a good stopping point.
Alright, first things first, yes, this is a Work In Progress, but I've gotten rather stuck and I'm not sure entirely how to continue, so I'm posting it up in the hopes of readers providing critique and feedback.
Secondly, the rough concept: Basically looking into how the MediGun might work and extrapolating a situation basically summing up to a de-aged Medic with his grown up memories, including a previously established relationship with Heavy.
With that out of the way, here's some fic.
- - -
Fountain of Youth
A Team Fortress 2 fanfiction
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Summary: People always speak of their younger years, the youth and vigor they wish they still had. But the Fountain of Youth really isn't all it's cracked up to be. Medic/Heavy, possible OOC moments.
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He lay quiet in the silence of the darkened room, weary eyes watching as his bedmate slept. The little dark-haired boy lay curled in a tight ball, a spare pillow clutched to his chest with the grip only frightened children seemed capable of. It was so strange, gazing down at this small child when there should have been a grown man sharing the bed with him. But there was nothing he could do to remedy the situation, so here he lay, watching a seven-year-old child struggle through yet another nightmare.
Message too long. Click here to view the full text.
If you say this is a work in progress in the title, why is it not in the workshop?
My thoughts are... uh, the post before me put it better. Suffice to say, this could be cute in an incredibly sappy way (which is perfectly acceptable, I'm sure I wouldn't be the only one here to admit sappy stuff can be fun to read). Or it could be creepy as a hobo with his hand down the front of his pants. You might ask someone to help you with wording, even if you're totally confident in your writing- all it'd take is one bad choice of words to turn this into something you aren't trying to make it.
I don't know where you're going with this, so I don't know what the plot might actually be, but I'd be wondering why Medic-transformed-into-a-little-kid isn't somewhere with the other teammates that have two brain-cells to rub together, trying to figure out how he can be made back into an adult and, thus, someone who is legally and morally suitable to be fighting and dying in an ongoing mercenary conflict.
Is he just physically and emotionally a child right now, or has he also forgotten the past 40-50 years? Does he still have all of his adult knowledge to draw from?
Well, this was not put in afanfic so the pedophilia parallels never came to my mind.
Since the story included pronouncing that he had dealt with the nightmares without aide before and he would do so again I assume Medic still has all his adult memories intact, his body has just been shrunk.
Of course this is extremely problematic, for starters he won't be able to fight and heal if he's too small to even tote his Medigun around. Then you have the fact that a child is just no match for a grown mercenary. I bet the Administrator, if she ever finds out, would get pissed at Medic just for being unable to do his job.
This also begs the question why Medic fell asleep while still fully equipped. The pack certainly isn't something comfortable to sleep with.
Then there's how this is going to get fixed. A chemical? Medigun experimentation? Help from Engineer? Dicking around with moustachium bars? Sorcery?
Then there's the shame Medic has to deal with. He's experiencing nightmares, likely childhood memories. Is it just because he's smaller (vulnerable) now that his mind is bringing these up, or is there a psychological effect of the Medigun at work? Is Medic going to start regressing mentally as well? That would put a time limit to finding a cure as soon as possible, especially with Medic being the one who knows the most about his invention. One of those "the best cardiovascular surgeon just had a heart attack!" situations.
Then there are the memories themselves. Everyone in TF2 has a sketchy history but the Europeans I imagine they had to deal with events surrounding WWII while growing up. Again, for a person who routinely slices off body parts with a bonesaw with a smile on his face, Medic likely won't take well exposing his vulnerabilities to others. Even (or perhaps especially) Heavy, who Medic could find difficult to share his past with.
Finally you have the rest of the team. To say the least, they're not used to being "domestic" and if Medic starts to slip into a child mindset there might be some humorous shenanigans coping with that.Message too long. Click here to view the full text.
Thank you for expressing your concerns over the subject matter at had, I did in fact think over the possible implications at hand and am happy to note that it was never my intention to edge into the creeper territory.
The rough idea came from a very sweet picture of a tiny Medic being defended and taken care of in a very fatherly way by his Heavy, and it got me to thinking on how the Medic had ever gotten so small. If I find the picture again, I'll post it here.
As for the memory loss idea, I was sort of playing with that a bit, as it would add an extra note of stress, but at the time of writing, I was going off the idea that Medic is currently only physically/emotionally a child. The memories that he dealt with as a grown man are made stronger and much harder to deal with by the emotional strength of a young child, so he's having a very hard time dealing with the nightmares they create.
Falling asleep with the pack on was basically a moment of cliche with the doctor being his usual workaholic self and having gotten tuckered out after a long day of battle followed by the long after-battle of getting last minute injuries healed up and then having to fight through whatever notes/paperwork what have you. Since the MediPak (in my headcanon) provides a mild surge of adrenalin, he would be using the MediPak like most people use coffee and energy drinks, and then passed out with it either still on or very nearby.
Thank you, this is really helping me get things ironed out in my head.
Um..hi. I'm a long time lurker. Well not that long actually, but you get the point.
Anyway, I had this silly idea nagging me like the annoying kid at school you wished would just go away. So...here...you can have it.
Please give me concrit. I'm trying to use this abomination as motivation to write again.
It began with an unmarked letter on the table found by the Soldier. He had woken up at his usual time for his usual duties; jogging, push ups, getting everyone's lazy asses out of bed… when he had seen it lying there. He started at it for one moment, then went to wake his fellow teammates.
And by waking them up it usually meant blaring his trumpet right outside their doors, or creating enough noise to get them up. Those who grumbled and slumped back down into their mattress, like a certain boy from Boston, had their doors kicked down and were dragged out. Not the wake up call everyone wanted, but Soldier didn't care. He wanted everyone up and ready for battle, even if he had to force them to get up. The Sniper usually avoided this because he slept in his camper van, so when he strolled into the kitchen his first instinct was to see who the letter was for. But at that moment the Soldier returned. He slapped the letter out of his hand and shoving the cursing Australian into a chair. Looking around the room, he was satisfied to see everyone present, willing or unwilling. He slit open the letter and read out its contents.
By the time he was finished, everyone was just as confused as he was.
The letter was addressed to them from the Administrator, and was short and to the point. The war was over, RED and BLU had merged, and the mercenariess were to pack their bags and go home.
"Wait…what?" The Scout was the first to break the silence. "When did this happen?! One day we're fighting and now they're telling us ta go home?!"
"You sure this is from HQ?" The Engineer asked.
Before Soldier could reply, an all too familiar voice cut in on the loudspeaker, greeting them with a curt "Good morning gentlemen", and urging them to get ready for battle. At onceMessage too long. Click here to view the full text.
Okay. Time to put your index finger on the record. Even for a one-shot, this whole story went too damn fast. Too many things were being thrown down at once. There wasn't enough time to build up suspense.
What was up with the demonstrators, anyway? Did they really add anything to the story that Klaatu here didn't try? What was up with that, anyway? Why did he look like the Engineer? How was he part of a team if he was just one guy? Unless the hippies were supposed to be his team.
You need to clearly label who is speaking what sentence. We can guess who's saying what due to accents and speech mannerisms, but it's irritating to see line after line with no attributed speaker. (It'll help when you space your work out, next time.)
You've got an interesting idea, having a pacifist interrupting the Mann war. Hell, the weird color thing was giving me Happy Happyist Cult flashbacks. This might be a strange suggestion, but it would be more interesting if the character trying to stop the war did have a more forceful way of going about things. I'm not saying he needs to jump in there and start kicking everyone's ass, but it's surprising what a little brain-washing or atomic bomb threat can do for a plot.
You do get serious points for the term "Manifatso", though. That's brilliant!
Thanks for the crit.
I'll try not to spoil anything, but this isn't a one-shot. Looking over it now this entire thing sounded much better in my head then on paper. But yeah, there's more to this story. And it isn't just about pacifists trying to interrupt the war.
...Okay I admit it. This is a parody fic making fun of silly Mary Sues. That "purple" guy was based on a actual OC I found, who was also from another team, yet the only member of it. Yeah I know, I should have stated this from the beginning. The lack of character this guy has is supposed to reflect how people don't put a lot of effort into character. Kinda like how I wrote this fic. But yeah, there is a source for these weirdos.
I'll try to make part 2 less of a failure.
Last one autosaged, so it's time for a new one.
This idea just won't leave my head. Feel free to denounce it as stupid, but I keep thinking of the whole team getting teleported to feudal Japan, and somehow Demoman ends up being worshiped as a physical incarnation of Amaterasu. Meanwhile, Japan has no idea what the fuck to make of the rest of the team, but assumes that they're with Demoterasu and so they're venerated on general principle...
I'd also love to see Scout or Soldier struggle with ceremonial robes (I think some of them had up to twelve layers).
This is probably done, but I say a GMV on YouTube with the concept and I thought it was kind of neat.
So, the movie '9'.
What if instead of the stitchpunks, the TF2 guys survived the onslaught by virtue of Respawn?
Or maybe they ARE the stitchpunks?
Maybe they meet the stitchpunks?
I don't really care how you go about it, just so long as it's in the '9' timeline. Oh, and if at all possible, with this lineup:
1 - To Protect Us - Medic
2 - To Inspire Us - Engineer
3 - To Define Us - Pyro
4 - To Teach Us - Spy
5 - To Guide Us - Sniper
6 - To Lead Us - Demoman
7 - To Defend Us - SoldierMessage too long. Click here to view the full text.
Medic was having a terrible day.
It was a long weekend, which meant that they would not be summoned for battle until Tuesday morning. Most members of the team took the opportunity to spend the time at home or family for one reason or another.
But for a few members there was no home or family to visit, and so they remained on the base. This usually meant the only souls occupying the base were Engineer, Pyro, and Medic, with Sniper occasionally hanging around to help the Engineer with one of his projects but for the most part the Australian liked to take his van out into the middle of the desert and do whatever it was he liked to do.
Medic tried to force his eyes to read the medical text in front of him, but he was too anxious to read. He leaned back on the chair in his office and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t been able to get anything done today. His ability to take pleasure in anything had shut down, and he had no explanation for it. Nothing seemed interesting. Even the aspect of experimenting with his Medigun, which normally never failed to ignite his passion and love for science, left him dull and listless.
He could try to convince one of the others to assist him in some surgery, that is, coax and badger someone into the operating room where he’d be able to cut them open properly and examine their insides, but Engineer was in the middle of something important on his own. And after the last time trying to cure his phobia, Pyro still wouldn’t let him touch him. Medic hadn’t meant for his experiment to fail, but he had thought it was worth a try if it lead to Pyro being more open about medical examinations. In hindsight, the compound wax had been rather excessive. He would have to come up with something else for next time.
He gave a sigh. It would be days until the rest of the team returned. Soldier was always up for a challenge Medic presented, daring for him to find his American blood, bone, and muscles not up to scratch. Then there was Heavy, who was an excellent man to work with. Not only was the Russian cooperative with Medic’s experiments, he seemed intrigued as well by them. His large frame also allowed Medic to seeMessage too long. Click here to view the full text.
A very nice short story, the only problematic thing I can point out is a small extra word:
"and he turned to find had Archimedes had landed on his shoulder."
As yang said, the characterization for Medic was very well done, and I noticed a departure from the typical Heavy-speak that we see in a lot of fiction, instead giving him almost complete mastery of basic English usage. Another thing that I may be over-examining (and it may not have been intentional anyway), slipping Medic's accent into a slightly thicker tone as he became flustered was a good move. I would look forward to more from you in the future!
Hey guys. I’ve wanted to write a fanfic about Team Fortress 2 for some time now, but I’ve never seemed to get enough inspiration to put my words to paper (so to speak). But with all of the hullabaloo about The Hunger Games going around recently, I thought it might be a neat idea to throw our boys into the arena and see what happens. So that’s what I did!
I’ve never really published any sort of fic before, so I’m a little nervous about its reception, but I’m going to go ahead and post it anyway. Since I’m relatively new at this, I would really appreciate any sort of constructive criticism about my writing/plot/characterization etc.
Just a few notes about this crossover fic before we begin.
1) This fic takes place in a world where Katniss Everdeen was either killed in her Hunger Games or didn’t volunteer to save Prim. So not much has changed in the world of Panem. It’s the Fourth Quarter Quell and business as usual when it comes to The Hunger Games.
2) Since it’s a crossover fic, there had to be a little leeway when it came to consistencies within the TF2/Hunger Games worlds. Since it is set in the Hunger Games world, however, most of the sacrifices had to be made on the TF2 end of things. So, for example, TF Industries doesn’t exist in Panem. The team was never assembled and they are all basically strangers from different districts. If they meet at some point in the fic, they will be meeting for the first time. They each have the same personality traits as they do in TF2, but they just don’t know each other and haven’t formed any friendships or anything.
3) To go along with that, since the the team was never assembled, the classes won’t be called ‘Spy’ or ‘Sniper’. Those with in-canon names (Dell Conagher, Tavish Degroot, Mundy) will keep those names, but there may come an occasion where I’ll have to creative and make up a name. I’ll try to avoid that as much as I can, however, since I know most people don’t like it when writers give the Team real names.
4) I took a couple ~artistic freedoms~ here and there that deviates from the strictly canon world of TF2 when it comes to the chaMessage too long. Click here to view the full text.
But...Pyro! That gave me a sad, more so than the rest of the chapter.
But concerning the rest of the chapter, that was fabulous. I was hooked the entire way through.
This is okay, albeit a little interesting, but you need to work on how concise you are with your narration. You say the same thing about two or three times in a paragraph in different was, and it doesn't make the story any better; an example is the scene just after the games started, and Dell got walloped by unidentified man with a club; you repeat the fact that he is about to / is getting clubbed about three times.
You also have a tendency to retcon what had just happened, such as with the clubbing scene where Dell dodges the club by veering out of the way- oh wait, no, he was clipped with the club. You could cut those two paragraphs down to one sentence just by saying that 'Dell saw in the corner of his eye a shadow, and tried to dodge, trading a deathblow to the head for a clip to the shoulder.
Also, consider the pros and cos of adrenaline; if Dell is hyped up on man juices, then surely instead of giving in as first hit and submitting to the cloudy blue skies, he should be using his strategical brain to fight his way to flight?
In an unrelated note, how do you think the Arctus Eth is going to work in the long term? So you have your endothermic enzyme reactions going on on Dell's skin; what reaction is taking place? Enzymes break things down, essentially, so logically the enzymes would be breaking down plant-edible things like complex proteins; unless the plant is a carnivore like a venus fly trap? In that case, the proteins could be a lot like protease, or trypsin (they can dissolve eyeballs in fairly strong concentrations)- I could go on for a long time, but you'd probably get really bored.
TL;DR- this is cool and you should feel cool.
(Here you go. Enjoy some heartbreaking postwar Demosolly (with a chaser of Sollymedic) with no explicit sex whatsoever that may or may not be continued, depending on how it goes over and the whims of the writer.)
Part 1- Sweater
If you want to destroy my sweater
pull this thread as I walk away
watch me unravel, I'll soon be naked
lying on the floor, I've come undone
-Weezer, 'Come Undone (The Sweater Song)'
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Jane Doe was a man of many peculiarities. This had been long understood by everyone on his team- the man was rather mad, after all, and such things were to be expected. So, the lack of an 'indoor voice', the general beligerent attitude, the insistance of running the team (or at least acting like he ran the team) in a strict American Military fashion, and a multitude of other quirks were dealt with with as much grace as the other eight mercenaries on BLU could muster.
And then the WAR happened. For weeks, BLU Team found themselves harped and goaded and generally at the screaming mercy of a tactician whose every battle plan involved focusing full attack on the enemy Demoman, regardless of whether doing so would lead to actual victory. The reason for this sudden frothing animosity was unknown- in fact, several of the BLUs had noticed Jane actually going out of his way to personally avoid the Demoman when he could help it, and the RED Scotsman doing the same. Spy had even said he'd seen them together during ceasefires, trying (and given their very natures, failing) to be discreet- of course, Spy'd been known to lie when it suited or amused him, so the claim had been taken with a grain of salt.Message too long. Click here to view the full text.
Oh my god this is too beautiful! But, would it be too much to ask for some not dead Demo/Solly? Like perhaps another fic, of the adult variety? Such a rare pairing, and you write Soldier so well! I hope this has a happy ending too!
Sweet baby Jesus this is good. Like, really good. Like, really really good.
(That would be a synonym for "keep writing.")
Ow.
Ow ow owowow-!
Right in the heart, God, just-
I'm trying really hard to be somewhat coherent right now and I have a feeling I'm failing miserably cause I can't see the screen very well cause I'm crying and
yeah
tissue
now
So... My first time posting a fic on this chan. Also my first time namefagging on this chan. OH GOD, I'M SO SCARED. WHAT IS FORMATTING. (Srsly, if the formatting doesn't work then I will need assistance. I have no idea what I'm doing.)
Concrit and all that plz.
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Nobody could say that she hadn’t at least tried to live a normal life. She had tried to get on with her life since her release six months ago, but four months of hospital treatment and psychiatry and being a fat, brain damaged orphan was expensive, dammit, which was why, when she found a double-page ad in the 1st issue of “Saxton Hale’s Thrilling Tales” since its gritty reboot she was instantly intrigued. The overly large font superimposed over a picture of a man in leather hot pants fighting a crocodile with an UZI claimed: “MERCENARIES WANTED” for “BIG CA$$$H”. The disclaimer section of the ad was so lengthy that the print had been shrunk to unreadable proportions. Chell couldn’t really bring herself to care. Moon rock poisoning was in her future for sure, not to mention all the blue and orange gel she’d fallen in, had poured on her, swallowed. There was asbestos everywhere in the Enrichment Centre. She could feel her lungs burning in apprehension just from the memory. No, she thought, this could be the way to go. Sure, mercenary work seemed like it could be a bit dangerous, but hospital bills are not cheap, and if she couldn’t get the money to pay them she’d die anyway.
It was this manner of thinking that lead her through the interview with ease, and found her sitting upright in a stuffy train carriage heading out to god-knows-where. She found that she didn’t even care where she was being posted. Her employers had told her that everything about her position was strictly confidential; it’s name, location and layout had never been written on paper, and even if they had, there was no way someone as low down on the corporate ladder as her would be able to get her hands on it.
The sneer attached to that particular feminine pronoun did not escape her, nor did her interviewer’s condescending tone or the thinMessage too long. Click here to view the full text.
I need to find some integrity. Or self-respect. Or writing ability. Urghh.
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After a moment’s silence, Chell opened her eyes from where she’d reflexively cringed. The pack on her back began thrumming and sputtering again, but not as violently as before.
“Cooling fan: Online. Black hole: Restabilising.”
Her face was blank as she gathered herself together. The only thing that stopped the entire world imploding was her freaking out and hitting this piddly cooling fan into submission? I am a GOD. The pack on her back droned on, however, and refused to quieten down. She tried hitting that, but all she got for her efforts was a bruised fist.
“Wait, wait, wait a minute.” The Scout was, naturally, the first to pick his jaw up off the ground. “You’ve got a black hole powerin’ your machine thing there?”
Chell shrugged dispassionately. She’d never thought of the mechanics of her gun before, and never had any reason to turn it on or off. She’d never even known that was possible. Apparently powering up your own personal black hole was dangerous.
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Let me start off by clarifying that this is my first time posting here, I have little to no idea what I'm doing, and frankly, I'm a bit nervous. I'm not sure if I'm doing this right, or putting this in the right place, or if this is a good idea at all, but I figured I'd give it a shot. I'm about halfway done writing this story, "Training," and due to schoolwork I've had to take a bit of a break, but here are the first seven chapters--I'm putting them in separate posts, which I hope is okay--and I'll add the new ones as finished. It's Sniper/Spy, and takes place during a three-week training period at the start of their employment, at which point they have not yet been assigned teams. I am fully aware that the first two chapters are basically shit, but...here goes nothing. I would love some crit, so if you find something, anything here that you don't like, show me no mercy. Again, I have no idea what I'm doing. And that's officially too much introduction. Okay.
-----Chapter 1-----
His eyes flew open.
Damn.
He had trained himself for years to wake up at exactly 5:17 AM, so as to allow the exact amount of time necessary for his morning routine and get him out the door by a quarter to six. Twenty-eight minutes. His eyelids were his own personal alarm clock, twitching apart at just the right moment.
The rest of his body, however, still wanted to sleep. Not wanting his eyes to drift back to the closed position, he blinked a few times and shifted his gaze—WHAT?! Within a moment, he was on his feet, fists raised and knees bent. Where was he?
Oh. Right. He straightened, feeling a bit embarrassed. He had forgotten about the new job. With his eyes scoping the unfamiliar room, he scowled. He would have to slightly alter his morning routine, as there didn't seem to be a bathroom adjoining his sleeping quarters. Sighing, he grabbed his toiletry kit and put his hand on the doorknob. Ever so slowly, he turned and pulled, being sure not to make a sound. There was a bathroom just a few doors down, and the hallway was totally devoid of people. Excellent. He dashed in silenMessage too long. Click here to view the full text.
>>16 Ahh, okay! Thank you! I'll definitely use that in future chapters--I just had no idea how to format here, and I would rather the lines not be italicized than end up with random <i>s everywhere. Thank you for thinking I used italicization well in the past; I'll be sure to keep all future chapters uniform in emphasis.
Reading this was pleasantly surprising. I honestly don't stray from Heavy/Medic that much, but I really enjoyed reading this. And the names aren't that annoying, hahah. This is really impressive and I'm looking forward to reading more.
>>18 Oh wow, thank you so much! I'm really glad the names aren't much of a nuisance, and that you were able to step outside your usual pairing--that's something I need to do myself; everything I've written so far is Sniper/Spy, but I'd like to expand my horizons a bit--after I finish Training, of course. Hopefully, I'll be able to get more written soon...
Until then, if any of you are interested in more Sniper/Spy shit, I just put a few of my oneshots over in afanfic--they're not very good, but they also don't have names? Have fun, or something: http://tf2chan.net/afanfic/res/11054.html
Hey guys...I've been writing fan-fiction for quite sometime and felt like doing a fic with an OC in it for once...the only problem is that OC fics tend to receive lukewarm reviews at best...This is a really rough draft so please don't hate...IDK if I'll ever put it up...
Overall it seemed like quite the average day at the BLU base, everyone was doing what they’d normally be doing on their odd day off ceasefire; Demoman would be gulping down large quantities of rather expensive whiskey, Engineer would be working on his blueprints or tinkering with something, Spy would be reading his French newspaper while sipping on high quality coffee, Heavy and Medic would be playing chess or generally sharing in some sort of group activity, Soldier would be ranting about war regardless of whether any one was there to listen to him or not, nobody knew what Pyro did…not that they’d want to know…and Sniper was probably camping out in his van creepily watching his team-mates through the scope of his rifle.
Scout, as per usual, was running around the base bored out of his mind, looking for people to annoy while he bragged about his various accomplishments. As fate would have it Scout was mindlessly tossing his baseball around when he heard the sound of a bus pull up into the bases’ driveway.
While Scout jogged off in the general direction of the sound, Sniper had already focused his scope on the object, attempting to catch a glimpse of whoever or whatever the vehicle had brought with it.
Surely enough his patience was rewarded. Out of the large BLU bus stepped an unfamiliar figure, quite an unusually one too, so much so that that Australian had to re-adjust his scope’s focus to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.
He zoomed in for a second time, and almost jumped off his seat at what he saw; there was no mistaking it, whoever this was had to be a new type of class, though he wasn’t quite sure actually which class this new team member belonged to, even more shocking however, was the new addition’s unmistakably female appearance.
From what he could make out of her face, she was undeniably beautiful, full pouty red lips and sparklMessage too long. Click here to view the full text.
Death of a Sniper
Written by Ultrabaguette (permission granted to post)
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It was the Heavy they sent.
His footprints shadowed the snowed over marks of the Huntsman.
Darkness consumed the hulking man as he left the grounds of the base, the little point of civilization in the barren, frozen wastes.
The trees brushed his coat as he trod though the wood, his steps light, his demeanor quiet. Thoughtful.
He could feel something leave him, a weight taken off his shoulders as the boundary of Respawn was crossed. A fear settling into him, the reaffirmation of his waning mortality.
The body was only feet away from where the footsteps faltered and became drag marks. Where the Sniper had crawled. Where he had cried and screamed.
Heavy lifted the body from the snow, cradling the corpse with a giant arm as big, clumsy fingers delicately brushed snow from the Sniper’s face.
There was nothing there. Nothing of the man Heavy had known. Black blood froze in the corners of the mouth, ice clung to his open eyes, the wintery world taking the creature of mud and dust back to itself.
Heavy could not close the Sniper’s eyes.Message too long. Click here to view the full text.
I'm confused...
How the heck can somebody (a bushman at that) die of starvation such a short way from his base? Even if Sniper, say, had broken legs or something like that (the story does mention a head injury, but scratches don't sound all that serius) and couldn't get back on his own, did it really take the others two weeks to decide to send somebody out to follow the very obvious trails?
Even if Sniper is the kind of guy who enjoys being alone and disappears once in a while, we are talking about two weeks here, at the very least as an employee he would be supposed to show up for work. The whole "even his close friends never noticed his depression, and took a long time to notice that he was gone" tragedy doesn't work when the guy in question has a highly-paid job and a Big Brother-type employer that would quickly, ruthlessly and efficiently hunt down any potential deserter.
Did Tentaspy kidnap him and keep him prisoner with no food until he starved to death? That would explain why Sniper couldn't get back on his own, but not why it took the others so long to start looking for the missing employee, nor why Tentaspy gave the corpse back when the last line implies that he wanted to keep it.
This fic is moving and beautifully written. But the cause of death makes no sense to me to the point where the distraction keeps me from enjoying the otherwise perfectly-good story.
I think the story would work much, much, much better if the author replaced "death by starvation" with "death by freezing." The much shorter span of time make much more sense (and really, it's still pretty damn sad if a guy's closest friends don't realize that something is very wrong when the proud professional hasn't showed up for work nor sent a notice for a few days), plus the theme of cold is present all over the story (both in mood and in environment) so death by freezing would match it very nicely.
Hi Millia! This is me waving at you.
Honestly, I'm not sure of the specifics of this. Just thought it was a beautifully written passage.
As far as I know, the Sniper was indeed kept captive by the Tentaspy, but I do believe the Sniper in question (an OC, I think) was engineered (by Medics unknown) with bestial traits, including an elevated metabolism.
I want to know more. God, do I want to know more.
So little is said, but what IS said, what IS given-
It makes my innards twist in an aching emotion I can't quite describe.
Brilliant.