Hypnotic The RED Medic leaned against the wall of the respawn, cursing. He felt dizzy. This wasn't unusual, given the nature of the respawn system, but the butterflies and faint blush were not so easily explained. Schiesse, he thought, deise ist schlimm. This may seem an odd concern. Yes, these traits were more commonly associated with schoolgirls, but no-one had noticed Medic's moment of weakness, and he covered any remaining embarrassment with a quick weapons check and a charge back into the fray. But the thoughts lingered. Why had he reacted so strongly? Yes, he was a man among men, far from home and women, but that wasn't an excuse, as- "DOKTOR!" The yell cut through the air and into his turbulent thoughts. Heavy Weapons Guy. Heavy. Liebling. Oh dear. Medic ran to the Russian, and began to heal him in a practised manner. It settled his thoughts, seeing his long-term friend and now... boyfriend, although that was such a juvenile word to his mind, happy and safe, protected. By him. The Ubercharge kicked in, and they stormed the point, capturing it easily. The glow faded, and they smiled at each other happily, enjoying their moment of success... And then Heavy fell to the ground, stabbed by the BLU Spy. Spy. BLU Spy, with his blue eyes and his smirk. Standing there. Over dead Heavy. Holding a knife. Looking at Medic. Gott in Himmel... There was something about that stare, how it seemed to go through him, making his bones weaken, as if the cartilage softened at the man's wordless command... Or maybe it was the heat, searing into his muscles, breaking them. "Monsieur" murmured Spy, stepping forwards, raising the knife, a sway in his step. Medic backed up instinctively, then flinched as he came in to contact with a wall. He felt pinned, by the Spy's gaze, now the free hand that was against the wall above his shoulder, the grin and a smell of cigarettes and something oddly sweet enclosing him... There was a brief noise, the Spy slumped, and a distant Sniper nodded to himself with satisfaction. The Medic stood still, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. It was later that day, after the battle. RED had won, and they were celebrating. The mess hall was full of happy explosions, and the Medic was, against his will, on Heavy's shoulders. This was a practice Heavy had assured him was an integral pert of relationships, and he was probably the expert. After a while, he was allowed down to actually eat some food and Heavy wandered off with Demoman. Sniper slid into the seat next to him. "'ere, doctah. 'ave you been feelin' awright today? You 'ad that bloody wankah of a Spy stab yer, ah, yer big friend right next to ya, and y'just stood there like a bloody deer in the headlights! Y' could've at least clonked him on the head or summat." Medic coughed. He'd been trying not to think about that, primarily because of Heavy, secondarily because he was an enemy, and this was the last thing he needed. "Uh, ja, sorry, I... I was trying to process too many thoughts. The price of intellect, nein?" He laughed a little shakily, and returned to his food. Yeah, thoughts of how... how... how /hot/ the masked man was. Yes, that was the word. He burned, bringing heat to Medic's face-and other parts of his body, just a bit- and drawing him nearer, like a moth to a flame. It wasn't love, he held love in his heart only for the Russian giant whom he had worked with for so long, but it was something. Attraction. Schiesse. --------------------------------------------------------------- Hey look a new writer! I'm going to do this in fairly short chunks, but longer than this. I just want to see if anyone actually has an interest in this. I hope it's okay!
The only problem I have here is the wall of text. You should fix that up, chunk it into paragraphs. It's pretty hard and somewhat annoying to read the way it is. Other than that I'm interested to see where you take this story.
This needs fleshing out. Badly. You've just scribbled down a rapid-fire series of events--no exposition, no description, no deliberation. You haven't taken the time to paint a picture, nor make it clear to us exactly what's going on, nor have you haven't given us time to get into the scene. Everything that happens is come and gone before it has time to develop into anything meaningful. It's as if I'm reading a sparknotes summary of a your story rather than the story itself. For a rough draft, though this isn't a terrible place to start. The plot is solid enough. You just need to take the time to go through it and fill it out with setting, with description, with details and emotions and all of the things that make stories fun to read. Also, please, please leave the phonetic accents and gratuitous foreign languages out. We know what Sniper sounds like. You don't need to mutilate his dialogue with apostrophes and misspelled words--all you've accomplished by doing so is making it hard for us to read. As for the German--you are writing for an English speaking audience. They don't know what "deise ist schlimm" means (incidentally, neither would a native German speaker. I suspect that you were trying to say "das ist schlecht," but used a very poor-quality translator.) so why do you bother writing it out? All that does is make people wonder what the hell he's saying, and wonder if they're supposed to know what the hell he's saying. If somebody is speaking in a language other than English and we need to know what he's saying, then translate to English for us. If somebody is speaking in a language other than English and we don't need to know what he's saying, then don't write it as dialogue to begin with. Just say, "He babbled something in German," and move on. The only time you should write out a foreign language in your stories is if you're only using words and phrases commonly known by English speakers (like "sehr gut" and "ma petite cheri") or phonetically similar cognates that an English speaker can recognise without prior knowledge of the vocabulary (like "das ist falsch") If it's highly unlikely that a monolingual speaker would be able to decipher the things being said in foreign language, then you need to either leave it out or translate it, or make it extremely clear through the context of the story that the readers aren't meant to understand the foreign language.
Alright, no accents, no foreign languages, more enter key, more exposition. Awwww... Well, on to the story proper. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 'June 26th, Medic's log. We won again today, and there was no fighting. The Scout is responding well to his new course of injections, and seems a little saner, although Demoman nearly caught me out yesterday on the way to his room. I must take more care in future. Heavy is well, and happy. He taught me a little more Russian today, and got me some flowers, god knows how. Feelings towards Heavy: Love, affection, worry. Feelings in general: Concern, thoughtfulness. Spy update: Day 7, still attractive, still looking through me, still not regarded with affection. Appears to enjoy taunting me, although this may be my perception. Further study needed,' "Perhaps a physical examination..." said Medic, finishing his sentence, but just stopping himself from writing it down. The journal, which he had kept for over a year, was purely for recording events, experiments, and general feelings. That kind of comment was unnecessary. He lay down on his bed, and stretched, a little tension leaving his muscles. What a week, and it was rounded off by the his weekly visit to the damn support group... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They called it the support group as a weak joke. It was all the support classes, from both teams, meeting up in the nearest town to drink and chat. Nothing about work, just socialising and banter over a drink or several, then a drive back and a free weekend before the next week of battles. The BLU Spy and Sniper didn't turn up half the time, but it wasn't obligatory. Technically anyone could come, but everyone saw it as the support 'thing', and left them to it. Medic's night had been thus. The REDs had reached the bar at the usual time, Sniper had parked up, and they'd sat down at a table in the corner. A short while later the BLUs turned up, except for their Sniper for whatever reason. RED Medic's eyes were immediately on the BLU Spy, then fixed to the table in front of him. 'Just ignore the bastard, chat with their Medic, tell him about your new book or something...' He forced himself to look up, turned to the BLU Medic, and started talking nineteen to the dozen about some treatise or other. Everyone looked a little puzzled, as he usually never started conversations, and Sniper shrugged as if to say 'Beats me.' Then the drinks arrived, and everyone fell into the usual rhythm of gossip and good-natured bickering. The RED Medic was still ill at ease, and his counterpart seemed to notice this. "Say, you look a little... Drawn. Something on your mind?" he asked, a little concerned, mostly just curious. It was unusual to see him so tense. The BLU Spy cut in before Medic could think of a response. "Ah, I know that face... You are having lady-troubles, non?" he smiled, and spread his hands. "Don't worry, I can help. I am... quite an expert with the ladies, especially in certain... areas." Sniper gave him a Look. "Our Doc ain't having any girl problems, mate. Trust me on that one." The Spy chuckled. "Oh, he does not swing that way? Well, I know about men just as well. I am one, of course, and have had my fair share in the past, so..." he shrugged, and lit a cigarette. The RED Medic wanted to reach over and hit him, but his BLU double started talking, and it's rude to interrupt someone by thumping their teammate. "What, no denial? Well well well-" Medic's cruel smirk was cut off by Sniper's icy stare. "Shut up, you pozzer. At least he's got a boyfriend, while you ain't got a snowball's chance in hell of getting laid this side of bloody Christmas!" The other REDs glanced at each other. Sniper often got like this after a few beers, and they were used to it, but this was hardly information that needed to be shouted in a bar on a Friday night. And now everyone was looking at them... Brilliant. BLU Spy grinned at the Sniper's outburst. "Oh, really? Is it another of his teammates? You must tell me, I cannot bear the suspense..." He looked delighted at the news. There was a pause, in which everyone glared at Sniper. And then the BLU Medic, who didn't know quite what a pozzer was but had hazarded a guess from the context, stuck a needle in him. Sniper went face-down on the table, the RED Spy pulled out his knife, and the RED Medic got under the table, because those big lads who'd been downing pints all night didn't look happy about suddenly being disturbed. The sounds of violence echoed throughout the bar for a few minutes, then the bouncers stepped in and ejected all offenders. Medic breathes a sigh of relief, then hit his head on the table when the BLU Spy, who'd had the same idea as him but with cloaking, did the same. "Ach! Gott in Himmel... What the hell are you doing here?" "Staying out of it. I'd rather not get banned from the only place that serves decent drinks around here. Anyway, you were telling me about your lover?" "He's not my lover, that implies our relationship is purely sexual. I do have feelings for him, you know." He looked irate, and refused to look at the Frenchman. Spy leaned in, over Medic's shoulder. "You had my curiosity, now you have my attention. So who is this man you have fallen for?" Medic blushed, then cursed himself for doing so. Damned Spy, breathing down his neck and murmuring in his stupid accent and... "Heavy Weapons Guy..." Spy laughed, and clapped him on the back. "Ah, so you like the bears, eh? Well, I can't blame you, although he's not my type... And I'd bet he's pretty, ahem, well-endowed... Care to spill the beans?" Medic's blush deepened. He was right, but the man was seven feet tall, of course he was rather... large... Which Medic certainly wasn't complaining about, although perhaps he should be... Um... "That is none of your business. Now we should probably get up and head home, as our teammates are probably wondering where we are." He gathered himself up and attempted to sweep out from under the table, although it didn't work very well. "Is the floor comfy, Medicins?" smirked Spy, looking at the face-down German. "Here, get up." Medic gratefully took the hand that was offered, ignored the way those eyes made him want to either kiss him, punch him, or keel over, and pulled himself upright. Spy rocked into him slightly as he stood, only because of the weight difference of course, but nevertheless. The momentary pressing of the Spy's chest to his was electric, and he shot back as if he had indeed been zapped. "Well... It hasn't been the best evening, but it was nice to talk... I'll see you on Monday, I suppose." mumbled Medic, before turning on his heel and striding off without waiting for a response. He gathered up his team and bundled himself into the back of the van. It was a while before his heart rate returned to normal. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Well... Yeah. I'll try and make this make more sense when I'm conscious. I hope this chapter has less suck. And less text-wall. It looked fine on WordPad...