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. Soldier of course didn’t touch anything remotely feminine, being the epitome of maleness and brutality even when walking through the locker rooms naked as the day she was born, screaming at the men to “keep their hands on their soap and their dicks between their legs.†Demo didn’t appear to care what the men thought of her, and did whatever she pleased to no apparent consequences. As for Heavy, the only man on base brave enough to approach her was Medic, but he was also unanimously accepted as being a twinge bit more insane than anyone else present, so perhaps it was for the best. Sniper took the box of cosmetics and dumped them in the trash bin she kept by the door. She’d toss it all out later. So “beauty†wasn’t her thing. So what? She was more than a woman, more than a body or a face. Sniper was a killer of men, her living made through the death of others. This was something she had taken a note of pride in, putting aside petty things like the condition of her hair or skin for more significant routes to follow. Who cared whether or not the mercenary they were hiring had well-defined and illuminating eyes? All they cared about was if she could put a bullet through a man’s eyeball in a crowd of civilians from five miles away without drawing attention to her location and eliminate the target without taking any unnecessary life. She could. What did it matter then that her hair was coarse, or that her skin was uneven and scarred? She thought it lent credibility to her reputation. Female assassins caught enough flak as it was. Somewhere beyond the fence of chain link a siren sounded. The coffee she’d been about to make was left on the counter, and in its place her hands took up a rifle and a hunting knife as long as a man’s lower arm. The siren meant the day’s work would begin soon; she and eight other assorted men and women would take up arms and murder wantonly for seven or so hours, before the siren would ring again and they’d all return to the base until the next day’s work began. It was monotonous. It was boring. Sometimes it was downright humiliating, if the enemy Spy had anything to say about it. But it was work, and Sniper had been raised to face a day of labor with a smile. So she smiled. With her aviators and hat donned properly she stepped out of her RV, boots crunching the gravel, and aimed her smile at the sky the same way she might have aimed her scope at a BLU’s temple.
Oh look, more. Shorter this time, though. Hm. ~*~ The day was typical, and that more than anything irked Sniper. Even weeks in the Outback had been more lively than the battle she experienced that afternoon, and this came from someone who had watched RED’s Demo slice off BLU Heavy’s head and use it as an over-sized shot put. (Afterward she commented to Demo that she ought to consider the Olympics, if blowing people apart at the seams ever got boring.) A nasty rattlesnake hiding amongst the crates of her nest would have been welcome by the time she’d nearly exhausted her cache of ammunition, having claimed well into the double-digits of kills. There were only a few more minutes left in the day according to her wristwatch but that didn't mean she couldn't try to get in a few more shots before the siren ended everything until tomorrow. The BLU Heavy made for a tempting target, as did his Medic, who was running dutifully behind, her skirts a maelstrom of motion as she fought to keep up. Too simple, Sniper thought. The whole day had been basic--save for when she'd blown out one of the BLU Scout's kneecaps and the cussing, screaming girl had gone toppling off the roof of the bridge, only to meet the RED Pyro shortly after--and now she wanted something a little more interesting to end the day on. She raised her scope, checking her watch simultaneously; only two minutes to find a more difficult shot to make her whole dull day worth the time she'd spent on her rump in the nest. A shimmer of blue and silver in the distance, within one of the windows of the BLU base, caught her eye. Steadying her rifle she zoomed in on the figure of the BLU Spy, who had stopped to reapply lipstick in plain sight, her disguise kit equipped with a tiny handmirror. P'rolly recharging that cloak, she decided, and sure enough a second later the Spy was invisible once more. But she was still there, Sniper knew what to look for and the faint glimmer of improperly refracted sunlight gave her away. Leveling the rifle, Sniper braced her shoulder and stroked the trigger twice before giving it a short, firm tug. Hundreds of yards away a crackle of electricity and a hot gush of blood revealed the BLU Spy before she crumpled into a heap for Respawn to collect. Sniper's scope was trained on her so precisely she actually read "mon dieu" on the Frenchwoman's lips right before she collapsed. A small smirk of victory was her personal reward for such a excellent kill. That, and something the teams had nicknamed "shooting the breeze". She'd consider it a trophy; another achievement to add to the long list she'd racked up over the past four years. "That's one for me, boys," she said, but her words were drowned out by the buzz of the ending siren and the Administrator's booming announcement that the match was over and that RED, for the fifth day in a row, had dominated the battlefield.
Annnnnnd some more. Beware, thar be cliche plot development ahead! ~*~ Two evenings later, after the day's killing, Sniper drove her Land Rover to the side of the base where Engineer had thrown together a workshop in one of the unused garages. "Thrown together" was a devastating understatement however, as the interior looked like a page out of a mechanic's wet dream mashed together with an inventor's edition of Better Homes and Gardens. "Afternoon ma'am," the Texan greeted when she parked her camper in the empty spot reserved purely for the team's vehicles. "The old girl ready for her check-up?" "Well it's not my turn," she grinned, dropping the keys into his outstretched palm. "Heard some nasty clunkin' on the way over, and she hasn't turned over easy in at least a month. Think you can fix her, Truckie?" "I'll certainly do my best," he assured before perogatively tipping his helmet and going off to fetch his tool box. Sniper stood away in the entrance, watching and smoking at a safe distance as her camper's hood was opened and Engie hung his work light on the lip to begin. Occasionally he paused to think or go and rummage up another implement, but other than that the day passed with just the two of them talking while he crawled around in the camper's engine, trading stories and just filling the silence that all the clinking and grating metal couldn't. It wasn't until he had to roll up under the Land Rover that Sniper began to get anxious. They couldn't really hear each other so they both gave off talking until he was done; in the meantime Sniper was left with nothing to do with herself, and she wasn't all that eager to go poking about in Engineer's personal space without him right there to tell her what would or would not beep and shoot at her. Normally she would have just dropped the van off and gone to get something to eat or pop into the rec room to watch the telly until Engie was done, but today Sniper preferred to stay put, even is she couldn't bring herself to go forth with the actual reason she was there. Well, the van had been making some pretty unwelcome noises as of late, that part was true. The motivations though behind finally bringing it in after so long were another story altogether. They were also Demo's fault. Roughly a month prior to that day Demo and Sniper had been out at the single drinking establishment their current base had to offer. It welcomed any of the mercenaries, RED or BLU, and yet the women found themselves alone. Only the bartender was company; he polished glasses and ignored them. This was common behavior from the townspeople, who were happy to take any money that came their way but wouldn't give you the time of day. Sniper attributed it to the fact that both teams spent every hour on the clock viciously murdering the other. 2Fort's civilians knew about what went on up at the base, there was no getting around it, no point in pretending the hired killers were anything but that. That was what ended up bringing the conversation around to marriage. So innocently it had begun with Demo questioning their moral character, then the moral character of civilians in general, then whether or not the bartender would refill her glass if she didn't go up to the bar herself (he didn't), and finally the overall attitude of men who knew nothing about the smell of gunpowder. "Don't follow," Sniper said, not glancing at Demo over the crossword she'd been trying to work her way through for a solid half-an-hour. "I mean, what can ye expect from lads who cannae even hold a gun?" she demanded. "I don't have the vaguest idea what you're on about." A measured sip from her beer, still without looking up. "Don'cha ever think abou'it?" Sniper abandoned the crossword. "About what?" "'Bout a man, fer fook's sake!" she said, slamming her empty glass on the table. Sniper jumped with a start, glaring at the Scot through her tinted lenses after she'd grounded herself again. "Ya can't be serious. Ya just can't." Apparently Demo was, because she didn't let up. Not that night, not the day after, and not the following night, when she got Sniper alone in the kitchen after ceasefire. Short of punching the dark-skinned harpie there was no way out of it, so she sat onto one of the company issued plastic chairs to listen to whatever drivel Demo was drunk enough to think she wanted to hear. "Just hear me oo't, alright? Tis a subject needs addressin, lass." Sniper took off her hat and got comfortable--it was probably going to be a while before she got up again. Right away Demo dove into it, pausing only occasionly to garner a reply from the sharpshooter, or to breathe. "I meself was thinkin' th' other day, about what I'm goin' to be doin' when the job's all done and over with. Ye know, the usual fare: me mum, findin' a new job, and th'like. Also a bit of a thought in there 'bout puttin' an end to me sexual escapades and settlin' down." A smirk graced her lips. "Not that they've been anythin' but incredible." Sniper rolled her eyes, tugging off her aviators so she could rub the bridge of her nose in irritation more properly. "So ya wanna get married. How do I fit into all'a this?" Demo, who until that moment had been standing, slid into a chair and leaned close from across the table. "Wot do ye plan to do when yer done here, eh?" she asked, in a seeming turn of topic. Sniper opened her mouth to retort, but found she had nothing to say. In all honesty, she hadn't really thought about it. Not in the long-term. Her plans for after RED were limited to simple ideas, like going back to see her parents for a stay, then move onto another job. RED was paying them all an absurd amount of money for their service, and Sniper figured it'd be best to put it all aside for retirement and just keep doing what she'd been doing. Maybe a vacation, someplace temperate. Texas seemed nice, from what Engineer told her on the nights they spent out by Sniper's cookfire. It was there Demo interrupted her. "Okay, so, wot about th' long term then?" Sniper paused. Long term? She was only thirty-five, there was a ways yet before worrying about things like that. Demo kept pressing, so she admitted with a shrug, " Beyond retirement? Don't really have any, mate." "So no thoughts on spendin' th'rest of yer life alone?" Sniper's jaw sprung open and slammed shut in quick snap, going from surprised 'o' to a scowl in an impressive number of seconds. "Now see here! Don'cha think that's goin' a bit far? Just because I ain't out chasing after nobody don't mean I haven't--! Ah, bloody hell. Screw this." Her glasses went in her hat and the hat was clutched in a shaking fist. Demo made no move to stop the flustered Aussie's exit, which was wise of her, since Sniper was liable to do just about anything in her haste and anger. The subject wasn't touched upon again for a few days, long enough for Sniper to cool down. It bothered her just how deeply unsettled she was with Demo's observations. Solidarity was never something she'd been at odds with before. She considered being alone a blessing, even. No one to point out your mistakes, no one to harass you or threaten you. Sniper was used to the comfort of knowing there was no judgement in loneliness save how you judged yourself, and she was plenty fine with how she was.
"A man, fer fook's sake!" "and that's all i have to say about that." no. really.
fook. captha: tephlon Pcock
Nothing sexy will ever happen in this story. Other, greater sexy times will be referenced, but they'll obviously never really occur, as this is /fanfic/ and this story isn't really about the sex. It only keeps getting mentioned because Demo is there, and she's an old-fashioned kind of skank. Ya'know, classy. Also, I hate her accent and wish I'd never attempted to write it. ~*~ Everything had been put into a painful light just that morning. "I know what'cher problem is," Demo insisted, digging through the bowl of bar nuts til she found one that still had salt on it. "Yeah? An' what's that?" "Ye think ye know what'choo what, but ye don't. Ye think you're fine, alone off in the desert or th'outback, but wha' it really means is that there ain't a man out there ye found yet to match ya." Real possibility, that, Sniper thought. She'd had a handful of boyfriends over the years and been engaged for over a month, but all that was so long ago. Most of those boys and men were all of the same type--what she believed to be her type--tall, rugged, and thin. More than half sported wild scars, and all of them had taken a life at some point. None of them, however, were professionals. Sniper hated an amateur more than she hated koalas, the grubby little vermin. She told Demo as much, and the Scotswoman nodded sagely, like that was just what she expected to hear. "A lass like you needs a man to suit her," she went on, "and what'choo are is a killer. Ye need a killer. A merc, jus' like yerself." "No shortage a those," she muttered. "Aye. So ye need a killer, who is also a damn good one. Someone what makes a life of death, as it was." She drank a fair portion of her grog and wiped her mouth, a thin veneer of red now decorating her cheek and leaving her lips pale. "Not just any'll do." Sniper propped her head up in her hands, massaging her temples. This whole thing was a fucking mess. A week ago everything had been aces, and now Demo was trying to set her up with some random murderer. Aces, yeah. Fucking aces. "I think the Engineer'd be just perfect for ye, meself." Had she been drinking anything at that moment, the table would have been soaked in it. "Ya daft moron!" she hissed under her breath, reaching across the table to grab at Demo's flak jacket in an effort to silence her, which failed spectacularly. Demo started to laugh, shoving the Aussie off with a shit-eating grin. "Knew it! I knew it! Ye got a'bit of a soft-spot fer the hard-hat, aye?" Sniper fumed at her, silently raging, her nails digging into the heel of her hand; Demo just kept laughing, until it was nothing but stifled, drunken giggles. Grinding her teeth got her nowhere, and her anger had already given her away. Sniper forgot how quick her temper was, since being alone so often didn't offer many oppurtunities for gettting pissed over insignificant emotions she never had to face. Now though? She'd come a guster with nothing to show for it but the truth, and to hell with that. Never wanted it to start. "So what, then? What's it matter? Truckie ain't interested in some skinny ol' gun-toter like me, and I'd just as well not bother thinkin' different." It was too much to think. To dwell for even a second on the possibility that someone like Engineer, so impossibly kind, would see anything beyond her exterior. She'd never call him shallow, not a bit, he was better than that, but . . . Sniper glanced at Demo almost helplessly. "I don't want 'im," she sighed, "but God save me, I do." The desire had always been there, nearly as far back as her first day. Engie had been one of the only members of the team who hadn't thought she was man when she introduced herself (not that it really bothered her, didn't need anyone cracking on her when she'd only just met them, and it did make things easier sometimes) but the fact he'd left it alone. Called her "ma'am", tipped his hat as he always did, and offered to take her things to her room. No offers, no solicitations. Just polite and professional. There was a problem with that as well. She did not, and likely never would, love the Engineer. Desire was all it was, so far as she could tell. Four years, and she'd never once envisioned a band of gold added to the hand that steadied her gun, and certainly not one that came from him. Truckie was a comrade, that was it. Just a comrade she desperately wanted to fuck. And there was nothing wrong with that that she could see. Her sexual appetite was healthy, passionately ignored, and rarely indulged. Her last fling was ages ago, she didn't even remember his name. Just some pencil-pusher who got lucky one night at a bar in Stockholm on one of her long-distance assignments. Demo cleared her throat--Sniper had been daydreaming. About Truckie, and some Swedish office-man. Crikey. "If ye want him," Demo said in a voice too decisive for her level of inebriation, "ye'll have to go and get him, I'd think. And I'm gonnae help ye." Sniper stared at her for a long minute, downed the rest of her drink, and wiped her lips with the back of her glove. "Might as well get this over with," she grimaced. ~*~ And that was why it was Demowoman's fault. Her fault she'd ever even considered her idiotic course of action. Her fault she'd stopped to considered a course of action she hadn't had any prior interest in, but now haunted her every waking minute. Her fault that the next day, while fighting the BLU Spy with nothing but their respective blades, the filthy spook had gotten the chance to drive the decent length of her balisong through one of Sniper's lungs. No tearing to quicken the death, just a puncture. Too weak to slit her own throat and too far from her rifle, Sniper had died drowning in her blood and wondering what sort of fool she was. A great barmy one, she'd decided, thick red foam overflowing at the corners of her mouth, all the erratic shallow breaths making bubbles froth on her tongue. A great bloody barmy one.
I'm loving it. Keep up please
>>7 Holy shit, you like this? This was just... well, not practice, but trying to get over my fear of posting here. I was going to delete it, or at the very least abandon it, but if there's still one person willing to read it, then...
You were going to abandon it right THERE??? Nonono.
Don't! I think it's great. Please continue this!
captcha: Workman. Oh captcha, you so crazy. Welp, I guess people ARE reading this train wreck that I lost control of quite a while ago. For those still reading, thank you. This story is actually quite long, and at the end of RED Fem!Sniper's tale part two is supposed to switch to BLU Fem!Spy's for her own unique history. So again, thank you. Sorry this part is so short, I threw it together at like 4 am. ~*~ It nagged at her on the battlefield, distracting her so much that the BLU Spy made use of it to get her back for that unexpected headshot earlier in the week. Twice. Not to mention the vicious knifing that took an hour to kill her. There was relief at least that the day was over. Trepidation, however, facing the fact that when she was done getting her van looked at she had to go to Demo's room for whatever the woman had in mind to help Sniper bag Engineer. About then she'd rather go skinny dipping with Scout. Or let the doc have a go at exploratory surgery on her. Anything but put herself in the proverbial crosshairs. "That'll about do 'er," came a Texan drawl from her left. Blinking away her thoughts Sniper took her keys back from Engineer, thanking him with a hat-tip of her own. "Much obliged, Truckie," she smiled. The heat of his palm was obvious even through his glove when they shook hands goodbye, and Sniper was tempted to linger a little longer; maybe offer to scavenge some cheap swill that passed for beer, or suggest a game of cards. That'd just make everything worse, though. Engie stood there, thumbs hooked into his pockets, waiting for her to say something. In the end she didn't have the courage, so with an awkward wave she climbed back up into the cab and drove her van to its regular spot by the fence. Once parked she dropped her head onto the steering wheel, gripping it so hard her knuckles were bone white. "Ah, piss."
Here's a nice long piece for you, with, COULD IT BE? I CLIFFHANGER? Oh my god I suck at this. ~*~ She didn't go to Demo's that night. Sniper locked herself in her camper and cleaned her rifle meticulously, flat-out refusing to answer the door when the Scot herself came a'banging. It was harder to block out all the earbashing she had to give. Eventually she gave up, cursing under her rum-scented breath, hopefully all the way back to her castle in the highlands or wherever the bloody hell it was. Sniper wasn't interested. She told herself that, anyway. Same mantra as before: More Than a Woman, Killer of Men, etc. It was repeated in her head like a busted cassette well into the night. It brought little comfort, and less rest. Sniper gave up altogether around midnight and went out walking, tracing a path along the chainlink fence, smoking as she went. The cherry of her cigarette would give away her position to the BLU Sniper were he up and watching that late; she was far enough around the base it was very possible he could have already trained his sight on her. No crack-shots were taken. She kept walking. Desert nights could be frigid, and with autumn creeping ever closer the air felt like ice; by the time she made it back to her camper her teeth were chattering so loud she was certain if BLU Sniper hadn't seen her he'd have at least heard her. A hot shower would have been heaven but that meant going back into the base since the ol' van didn't offer much in the ways of hygiene. Warming up was almost worth dealing with Demo, even if the night ended up with her trussed up and practicing vulgar pick-up lines. "Naw, still not interested," she decided. Her boots were shucked off, her hat and glasses tossed onto the counter. The quilt her mum had sent her was draped over all the other blankets she'd collected, and lastly her vest was hung up over the chair she used as an end-table. Crawling underneath all the layers of cloth, Sniper sighed. This, this right here, was all she needed. Who needed a man, or anyone else, for warmth or comfort? A blanket did the same thing. Talked less, too. ~*~ Unrepentant knocking at her camper door woke Sniper the following morning. It was early, the sun coming through the window grayer than it was gold. Some of the chill from last night was clinging on to her when she dragged herself to the door, tossing it open to startle Scout--possibly the only person on base young enough to be up at that hour without the aid of caffeine or drugs. "Wot?" He didn't say anything, too busy taking in Sniper's bedraggled, half-dressed form. A poorly muffled snort earned him a low, raspy growl. That got him in gear. "Um, yeah, hate tah disturb ya, uh, [i]beauty sleep[i/], but Soldier wants everybody in the meeting room in like, ten minutes." A pause. "Sir." Somehow she gathered the energy to shove him down the three steps her van boasted and slam the door, but not before she told him she'd be there. It was a decision she immediately regretted, since going meant having not only to see Demo, but also having to see the Engineer. She never thought in all her years she'd be terrified of a man in a plastic yellow hat. Showed what she knew. Her discarded things were re-collected, jammed and tugged back onto her person. Her armpit got an experimental sniff--she didn't reek, but she wasn't a daisy, either. Spy often poked fun at her, calling her "filthy jarwoman" if he caught a sniff of her odor any given day, but that French weasel stank of colonge that could strip the varnish off a footlocker, so who was he to talk? Re-affirming last night's promise for a shower she shouldered the case for her kukri and slid the beloved tool into it. A girl never knew when she might need a good knife. Besides, maybe she'd give Soldier a decent stab for waking everyone up so early on a bleedin' Saturday. ~*~ "Maggots." It was a cordial greeting, coming from Soldier. Under the circumstances, anyway. The rest of the team was seated uncomfortably in the "meeting room", which in reality was just the kitchen with all the extra chairs they had pushed really closely to the table. Once upon a time the Intel Room had been used for things like this, but since an argument about how useful a drunk on the battlefield could possibly be had ended with Demo throwing Soldier out the plate glass windows (after blowing them to shards with a sticky bomb) the Administrator had forbade them to ever enter the room outside of battle. Sniper didn't get why she was so upset; wasn't like they weren't [i]not[i/] firing incendiary rounds at one another during battle while around the Intel. Clearly, the woman needed to sort out her priorities. "Today's meeting will entail our current reign of victory over those BLU pansies across the bridge, and how we can NOT screw this up, like we have every other time in the past when we were SO CLOSE to total domination!" There was a chorus of exasperated groans mixed with protests of their past excersions, all of which Soldier had no trouble shouting over. "YOU HEARD ME!" Her huge and calloused fist pounded the table, rattling the scattered dishware from the piss-poor meal someone had tried to pull together at seven in the morning. Everyone went quiet again, not quite as attentive as a minute ago. This part of the speech everyone knew practically by heart, all 'maggots this', and 'maggots that'. Soldier was a fine warrior and a experienced strategist, and a record broken totally in half. Once you'd heard one speech, you'd heard them all. "SCOUT!" she barked. The skinny Bostonian perked up, jumping up out of his seat. "Sup, iron-tits?" he asked with an eager grin. For a reason that was lost on everyone else Scout admired the veteran with an almost suicidal level of worship. Sniper presumed it was because he'd never had a father figure in his life, and Soldier fulfilled everything he thought the ideal father ought to be. "You've proven yourself competent, private! Seven Intel retrievals in one day is a decent number for a scrawny maggot as yourself! CONGRATS!" His face upon hearing this was quite possibly the happiest Sniper had seen it, not since Bonk had gotten a new flavor. "Dismissed, private!" The Scout gave a gracious bow and tossed his bat up, catching it again with a cocky grin to match his cocky salute that followed. Then he was gone in the blink of an eye. "Next is YOU, FRITZ!" Medic, head resting on an up-turned palm, peaked an eyebrow at the screaming woman, and said nothing. His performance report was given and he exited, but not before slipping a piece of folded paper between Heavy's knuckles. So it went, every member being told how well or how pathetic they did, Soldier often referring to specfic scenarios of failure versus exponential grandeur. Sniper was half-asleep by the time it was her turn, Soldier rousing cry of "HIPPIE, YOUR TURN!" Spy laughed softly behind his hand when she twitched awake and banged her knee onto the bottom of the table. She repayed him kindly with a swift kick in the shin as Soldier praised her for her week of flawless head-shots. Glad to depart, Sniper went right to the showers, just as she had promised herself she would. No one else was there; all the others had to have gone back to bed. Just as well to her, since she preferred to bathe alone. It wasn't a matter of being self-conscious, so much as it was a matter of having a little privacy. Years spent in the wild had spoiled her, getting her too accustomed to having a thousand miles all to herself. It was a feeling of liberty incomparable to any other, save perhaps escaping prison or dodging a bullet--both left you invigorated, and ecstatic to be alive. Sniper stripped to her skivvies, leaving all her other clothes and such on one of the benches that ran parallel to the steel lockers. Her bra was unhooked first and tossed atop the pile, her plain white shorts being thrown in such a way as to cover the bra. She started to tug her hair from the tie she kept it in, stopping when she caught her reflection in the mirror. [i]I've become a rather old thirty-five,[i/] she thought, lowering her arm. Her face had changed since the last time she had the luxury of going about a shower slowly. Normally she rushed it as fast as she could to save herself the bother of all the others (and Spy). No one else was there now, the lights bright, illuminating just her, like a garish spotlight. Holding her chin in her hand, she turned her face side to side, up and down, examining it critically. She ignored most everyone, and her reflection was no exception to the rule, and there was no mirror in her van, not since Scout had knocked his ball through her window and smashed the both of them. When she considered it, it'd been a good four months since there had been an oppurtunity to check herself over. First off were the scars. She'd earned a nasty slice through her eyebrow from a poorly executed moment of hand-to-hand with the BLU Medic, as well as the raised welt of scar-tissue on the junction of her neck and shoulder from a BLU sentry she'd nearly triapsed right in front of in her panic to get away from their Pyro. She'd survived both she recalled, and since she'd survived it Respawn didn't fix it. The tip of her pointer-finger worried it while she traced a swath of vertical and horizontal lines that decorated her from chest to pelvis (BLU SPY) that ended and melded with a faint burn scar right below her belly-button (hot coffee). There were dozens more, most older and faded from time. Bites on her ankles and fore-arms from dozens of animals, as well as one incredibly insane cannibal who'd gone for her with his teeth rather than his knife when she'd come to collect on his bounty. There were also the age-lines. Around the corners of her eyelids, and the sides of her mouth. She'd always had a long mouth, so they suited her fine, and with her aviators the wrinkles were invisible. Them, and the bags that had begun to darken the skin beneath her eyes. She looked how she imagined a woman close to forty ought to look after life earned the hard way, out in the sun and from another's blood. "Demo's out of her mind, thinkin' I need to be trussed up," she frowned. If that had indeed been the woman's plan. Whatever it was, she wasn't having any part of it. Her ponytail, slim and long, fell over her hunched shoulder after she bent closer to the mirror. Taking ahold of the end of it, she sighed and tugged it free. When she'd first arrived on base it had been closely cropped to the back of her head. Probably responsible for why half the team had thought her a man. At its longest point it nearly reached her lower back. "Well, maybe I [i]could[i/] use a haircut. Just a trim," she mumbled. The click of a lighter sent her heart into palpitations. "I could 'elp you with zat, you know."
Oh hell. Friggin' italics.
Sniper should punch him. Right in the FACE. I admit, I'm usually disinterested in genderbend versions, but I do like this one. Also, I agree with Sniper; Koalas are horrid, vile, smelly, stickly little beasts.
captcha: perpetually Fuck you, captcha. ~*~ There was no higher thought to her reaction; she pivoted, leapt half a step, and punched Spy right in the center of his face. Or, she thought she did. Her fist met only air, the Spy having stepped out of the way at the last second. "So violent, bushwoman. I was only offering to 'elp." "Don't need any help you could give," she spat. Sniper was furious--at him, and at ehr herself. She had known better than to assume that no one would come in that early, and she had definitely known better than to assume that Spy wouldn't rush over to fuck with her as soon as he'd been given his report. "Au contraire, I've 'elped you many times. Taking out that pesky BLU Sniper for you, since you can never seem to hit 'im." Her face paled and flushed at a startling speed. "That ain't any of your business, spook," she growled at him, lips peeling back from her teeth. And it wasn't, not his or anyone else's. Her and her counterpart had a sort of agreement when it came to killing the other, and she didn't think anyone on either teams had a right to know what it was. Especially Spy. He must have known he'd pressed his luck, because he changed the topic, even as she saw the gears turning in his head: He'd found a weakspot to exploit. "Tell me, are your eyes getting even worse?" "Wot?" "You meant to get undressed and shower, no? Well, you missed somezing." A thin finger pointed to her breasts. No, not her breasts, what dangled between them. It was her necklace, a dog-tag chain with a sniper rifle bullet hanging from the end. Somehow she managed not to grab for it, which probably would have only given the spook more ideas about it, and her. "I was gonna, til you barged in. Mind buggerin' off?" "Why? Ze showers are open to both sexes. Zere is no reason I cannot be here." "There's a not-so-fine line between two people in the same shower room and a bleedin' voyuer watching ya wash yer arse. Now get." Spy did 'get', but only after he made a detour to her pile of belongings. The shorts and bra were picked aside, Spy digging until he'd gotten ahold of her glasses. He was putting them on just as Sniper's paralyzing rage had dissipated, her fist missing his nose by centimeters. "You miss quite a lot for a sniper," he laughed from the exit, dashing out as she made to attack him again. From the bathroom door she watched him jog away, and had to fight the urge to follow after him then and there. It would have been child's play to chase him down and take them back, but even without self-consciousness Sniper still wasn't about to parade through the halls in her birthday suit. And she really wanted that shower. Swearing under her breath she shut the door again, and locked it. Anyone else who wanted a wash could wait. ~*~ More awake and pissed off than she'd been in a month, Sniper went back to her campier without trying to hunt down the Spy. If he wanted her to tag along behind, chasing all over, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. He'd done a lot to tease or make fun in the past, but creeping up on her when she was in the buff felt like going a bit too far. The Enigineer flashed in her mind, she couldn't help thinking he'd never do something like that. He was a true gentleman. The kind of man who opened doors for a lady, and got her seat for her. Never the type to peep at one, even if presented with the chance when they all showered together. And she was one hundred sure that was part of why she'd never love him.
Love genderbends, love Spy, love this - please keep going!
I swear on my mother's well deserved grave that this story isn't all about Sniper's issues with dudes. There will be peril, life or death, and other action-y goodness. I JUST HAVE TO GET TO IT FIRST. HNNNNNNGH. ~*~ She found her sunglasses on the kitchen table the following morning before the day's fighting was to begin. They were folded neatly, sitting squarely in front of the chair she most favored. Turning them over in her hands revealed no evidence of tampering or sabotage. Carefully tucking them into the front of her shirt, Sniper took a moment to contemplate whether or not Spy had an endgame, or if he was just an ass. There was no simple answer to this, not that she could discern, so she put on a pot of coffee. Much easier, and it yielded better results. It seemed like the morning would be off to a pleasant start, but that would have been asking for too much. A shadow fell over her, and it breathed a raspy, whiskey breath. Piss. "Ye been avoidin' me," Demo said. There was little point in lying. Sniper turned in her seat to face the Scot, who stood an impressive height when the Aussie wasn't toe-to-toe with her. "Yeah, I have. Mostly because I don't care for what you have to say." "Ye said you wanted him. Ye did! Change yer mind, lass? Or are them boots makin' yer feet cold?" "Chroist, Demo! You're makin' me sound like some bloody bride." "Whutn't that the idea?" she pointed out with a dejected shrug. "Never said nothin' bout wanting to marry a bloke. Just wanted to have one." This was fact. No matter the implications of her words or Demo's, Sniper herself hadn't let the phrase pass her lips at any point. Not in regards to her self personally. Demo's face cleared, her eyes widening just slightly. Then she laughed a bit, and took a seat beside Sniper so she could wrap an arm around her. "Alright lassie, tha's just fine! But sit a wee bit and have a listen, because I'm much more sober than I was th' other night, and I think I can explain for ye what I was tryin' to say to ye." With the recovery of her aviators and the coffee bubbling just a few feet away, Sniper was in a good enough of a mood to hear Demo out. Just until she'd finished her coffee, anyway. "Shoot, mate. Let's hear it." Demo cleared her throat, dug into her flak jacket for her flask, took a drink, and stowed it away again. "Let's do it like this: I'll ask ye a question, and you agree with me, or ye disagree. And we'll see what comes of it. If ye start to be doin' nothin' but shakin' yer head at all I say, then ye're free ta go." Sniper was frowning, but she nodded. That was reasonable enough. "Are ye lonely?" Oh, so they were just jumping right into it, apparently. This was exactly what she wanted to talk as soon as she wo "...Yes." "Lonely fer a man." "Yes and no." "One or th' other." "S'not a simple answer." "Fine, fine, ferget it. Movin' on. Yer lookin' fer a longterm sort of arrangement, NOT marriage, but not just a roll in th' hay?" "Er... yes. Yes more than no, anyway." "Are you 'appy goin; aboot this with a regular kind of guy?" "No. No, I don't think so. It'd have to be someone like me. Y'know, a master a' the craft." "A professional?" "Yeah, sounds right." "Someone ye know already?" "S'pose. Easier than going out right now and huntin' down other mercs I ain't never seen." Demo's eye got that fiery light that meant the gears were turning again. "And where can ye find a whole bushel of professional mercenaries to take yer pick from lassie?" Sniper went very, very cold. A few days ago it might have been realization, but she'd long since realized Demo's observations in truth. Now it more like acceptance turning her to ice. She wanted someone like her. A professional killer. She wanted a casual relationship with a professional killer, someone she knew. Only the best. There were two people in her base, at the very moment, who fit the parameters of her interest. One she had already pushed aside out of sound judgement and the concern for feelings better left alonce. The other was Spy.
This is really good. I like your characterisation of Sniper here and I think I'm falling in love with Demo. Looking forward to more!
~*~ A bullet pinged off the metal pipes that ran parallel to the walls on Sniper's nest, but she hardly noticed. Bullets, rockets, and baseballs had been flying about the air all morning, one more of any wasn't likely to drag her out of her personal mental circus. "I don't want the Spy," she said with a firm, decisive tone. Her rifle kicked, and down below the BLU Pyro toppled face first to the ground. It had been like this since yesterday--reaffirming her previous thoughts while putting as much lead into another's skull as possible. Because she didn't want the Spy, not in the least. He was a self-absorbed ponce, a nance even, with tastes too-refined and musk too offensive. He smoked needlessly expensive cigarettes, had too high of an opinion of himself, couldn't keep his hands to his person, dressed like a gangster, and worst of all, he was French. There were more things Sniper could have come up with to express her distaste in him, and she would have, gladly, if he hadn't raced right by her scope's view. Following his progress she saw he had the intel under one arm. Their Scout was no where to be seen. Back-tracking a few paces revealed the BLU Scout though, dashing over the uneven ground much better than a snappy dresser in Italian loafers ever could. Spy had about ten seconds at the most before an aluminum bat introduced his skull to the ground. It would have been totally effortless to save him, blow the girl's brains apart into a fine red mist, but Sniper was curious. Spy was a bastard, but he was a smart one, and it wasn't like him to just put himself in danger like that. Why didn't he pull out that overcompensatory gun of his and make short work of his enemy? Her answer came... unexpectedly. Still waiting, still watching, Sniper got to see firsthand what Spy had in mind when he tripped, his speed throwing him out along the dirt. He was on his back getting ready to stand again when the BLU Scout caught up to him at last, raising her back with a triumphant laugh Sniper didn't need to be there to hear. This is it, she thought, teeth grit. Either Spy defended himself or the teenage girl with homicidal tendencies was going to blugdeon his head in and take their intel back. But there was no reaching for his gun or knife, nor an attempt to stand and run. Nothing. He just sat there, breathing hard, waiting for the blow. And then he turned his head, following the trail her laser sight had left on his jacket lapel. She saw his eyes through her scope, and the nervous twitch of a grin his mouth made. He was watching her. Sniper grit her teeth even harder. He'd known she'd see him, that she'd save him. That was why even now he just sat there, the bat getting that much closer to killing him. He was so certain she'd pull the trigger. At that moment she hated him more than any man she'd ever known. But more than that, she hated how well-earned his smugness would be later that night. The sound of her gun's fire echoed in the room longer than she liked. What was left of the BLU Scout's head gushed her opposition's color into the sand, and Spy climbed to his feet, returning to the mission at hand. No mocking salute or sarcastic smirks. He was up and gone long before Sniper stood and kicked her crate across the room with a burst of furious expletives.
Oh man, I am looking forward to more of this story a ridiculous amount.
captcha: base >>18 I have no idea to respond to that, except to put more Demo in this chapter. Everyone else, enjoy at things get ever more ridiculous. I promise you this particular flavor of romance will pass into danger and real interesting shit. In the meantime, have this regular flavored romance. And shit. Also, thanks again to everyone who continues to read this. ~*~ The rest of the day went in a blur, the battle fading in and out of maddening violence that after years had somehow become routine. Spy managed to stay out of Sniper's view for the remainder of the match which suited Sniper fine, since she was certain this time she wouldn't save him; maybe just watch whatever BLU got a hold of him send him to an untimely death and then subtly reference it after dinner when he usually tried to slink off to his room. Maybe that was cruel of her. Then again, Spy had never been particularly kind. He was standoffish at best, and rude at his worst. In the best term possible, he was what the cinema types called a "gentleman rogue". And he was a rogue, no doubt about it. A womanizer to her knowledge, and utterly unrepentent for it. The ending sirens rang. Sniper stood and stretched, cracking her back with a short hiss. Almost two straight hours sitting in that nest, after she'd abandoned the previous where she'd rescued Spy earlier. The BLU Spy had found her shortly after her headshot, and only the loose floor boards had spared her a painful backstab. Beyond dispatching the elegant Spy with a gut full of knife and hiking to another high point, she'd barely moved all day. Her rifle was shouldered in a weary fashion, her kukri carried in her hand just in case any BLUs were still running around. It didn't happen often, but every now and then some decided to break ceasefire. With their victory streak still unbroken it wasn't impossible that one member of the BLU team might finally snap and go after the first RED they saw. After all, it had happened before--that was how everyone had learned the hard way respawn still worked after hours. The stairs were an unwelcome obstacle to get back down from her perch but she made her way back to the base's central building in short time, managing to get back next to last. The other teammate to limp to the finish line was Engineer, lagging behind with his toolbox under one arm and a leftover pile of sheet metal beneath the other. She paused at the entrance to wait for him, gazing at him from the open door with an expression of twisted longing. Engineer really was the only good choice. He was a good man, good for her. She didn't want marriage, but she wanted him, and sensed he was the kind of man who didn't play about outside of wedded bliss. Might not be so bad, she thought with a thin frown, then covered her mouth with the back of her hand, stifling a humorless laugh. Giving in felt like giving up, and that was what Sniper had spent her entire life trying to avoid. Every second of every day had been war, fighting against something, anything, to live exactly the way she wanted without judgement or threat of losing her freedom. It was why she'd spent so many years out in the wilderness, away from people like her father who thought women ought to stay at home. Away from men like any boy she'd ever spent a night alone with who only saw her as a means of pleasure. All that work for so long, only to give it all up to inevitability. Was she really so afraid of going much longer alone that she was about to resort to attempting half-hearted seduction on a teammate she didn't even think she loved? She was, and she knew it one-hundred percent when she caught a glance of Spy within the base, hiding behind a veil and smoke and watching her through the haze. What he was watching for she had no idea, but seeing him only reminded her what her other option was. Her kukri was sheathed in a second, a free hand thrusting forward to grab Engineer, helping him stumble the last few feet of the trek inside before he could fall over the jutting outer lip of the first stair in. Thankfully his goggles were still on, so Sniper was certain he missed the way her hand shook around his arm, maintaining it's grip even after Engineer had righted himself. Looking back down the hall again after letting go she heard the click of what could only have been Spy's cloaking watch. Engineer might not have seen, but Spy had. Something about that didn't sit well with Sniper, a little knot of persistent worry growing in her stomach at the thought of Spy being privy to any of her darker desires, well-intentioned or not. "Ya'll ready for supper tonight?" Engineer said from her side, reminding her of his presense. "Pyro and I are makin' chili, try to fight the chilly nights, ya know?" Sniper smiled to hide her anxiety and nodded. "I'll give it a burl," she said with the best feigned enthusiasm she could offer, but in the back of her mind already knew she wouldn't be eating anything that night. And neither would Demo. ~*~ "So ye want to go through wi'it then?" the Scotswoman asked when Sniper showed up at her door an hour or so after the battle. By then Demo was nice and sauced, and happy to see Sniper coming around, or at least what passed for it. In this case she hardly considered herself reluctant. 'Gun to her head' felt far more accurate to her personal comfort in this situation. "Just get on with it before I change my mind," she sighed, plopping into the chair by Demowoman's desk. Instead of paper's atop it like most people might of used, hers was covered in work-in-progress explosives and schematics for newer, bigger bombs. There were also copious scorch marks paired with scrumpy stains. "I got just th' think in mind," Demo assured her, jumping up to race to her closet, throwing it open with a maniacal laugh. "A skinny lass like ye needs somethin' ta lend her a figure," Demo said, her voice muffled by all the clothes she was sorting through. "And yer classy, too, can't ferget that." Ten seconds or so more of shuffling and tossing produced a dress that Demo held above her head to give Sniper a full view of. When she saw it, Sniper wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. "Chroist." It was red, dark like blood, with a cut all the way to the thigh, with sleeves that only covered her lower arms, leaving her shoulders exposed. It was also viciously slim, with the neckline cut so low it was practically pornographic. Sniper had never wore anything like it, and even briefly envisioning herself in something like it was embarrassing... but also a little thrilling. It was like playing dress-up, and it was sort of funny, since she was about to pretend to be what she was supposed to look like; a woman dressing like a man to dress like a woman. She felt like a trannie. "I hope you're not serious," Sniper smirked. Her smile faded when she realized Demo was not only serious but ferocious; she tossed the dress on the bed and tore away Sniper's hat and glasses before the Aussie had the chance to fight back. Her hairtie was given the same treatment. Even her vest was hastily cast aside. "Crikey, buy a girl a drink before you go strippin' her!" she demanded, shoving Demo off when dark, tricky hands made for the top button of her uniform blouse. "It'll have to come off sooner or later," Demo pointed out with a huff. "Yeah, and when we get to that, I'll do it meself, thanks!" Demo's only reply was to grab a hairbrush and start dragging through Sniper's hair, which fought more mightily than she had. Ten minutes of cursing and spitting later her hair was combed and straight, but her knuckles were white on the chair handles. "An' here I thought ye were a tough lass!" Demo teased, exchanging the hairbrush for what looked like a brand new purse of make-up. The price-tag was still on it, revealing Demo had wasted fifteen dollars on colors to compliment Sniper's blotchy, off-white skin. "Obviously, none'a'mine would have worked for ye," she said when she caught Sniper eyeing the bag distastefully. "You aren't going to... put that stuff on me face, are ya?" "No lass, I was gonna put it on yer arse. A'course I'm gonna put it on yer face, don't be daft." It wasn't that Sniper hated make-up. Only what it did to her, how it made her look. In her mind it had never looked right; she'd always looked like a man in drag, and dressing up in paints and skirts made her feel like that way, too. Anytime she'd catered to her feminine side there was no shortage of men (and women, here and there) who told her she was pretty, gorgeous, sexy, and once, a very long time ago, beautiful. The older she got though the more it just looked like she was some old queen. Nothing would deter Demo though, not now. All Sniper could do was steel herself as the first puff of powder came at her face, and shut her eyes as she was plucked, pinched, and painted into some other woman. Sniper could only pray that when it was all over, she was still herself inside. That she still would hate Spy and hate wanting Truckie and hate the monotony and everything else that hating made her feel more her. And yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, a traitorous hope was growing, and it wanted exactly what she didn't. It wanted to love.
This story is fucking amazing. Right now, i don't have any real crit. Please continue. I love genderbends and i'm curious to everything that's going on. What is and why did the two Snipers make that deal? What's up with Spy? When are you going to update?
>>22 There are many more people that love this story, and thus by not saging, you got everyones hopes up. I guess it's not a bad idea to try and show the author there is still interest in this story, but try not to do this too often. Just in case: Saging is done by putting "sage" in the email field without the quotation marks. I guess now that this is bumped anyway, I'll throw in my begging for more! BlackCatPaper, if you're still here to read all this, we all hope for a new update.
>>22 I...really needed that. Honestly I'm glad you bumped this. I literally came back here for the first time in weeks just to see if someone else had updated and I saw this had and I was expecting insults or something. >>23 I'm working on the next chapter this very moment. I ought to have it up tomorrow morning. I can only hope it's worth the wait. I swear, I still think this is all an elaborate joke because I can't wrap my head around people wanting to read this.
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. Oh no, wait, that's exactly what it did. "Ye said you could do it yerself," Demo said from beside her. "I'll be a gentleman and avert me eyes." A scowl was pointless, and likewise so was violence. No matter how attractive the second option would have been after Demo accidentally jabbed her in the eyeball with a cotton swab. So she went to the dress, approaching it with all the eager energy of a weary coroner about to examine something rotten and very, very dead. The material was soft and hardly worn between her fingers. There was that thrill again, running up her thigh and into her stomach to alert the butterflies it was time to fly. She wondered what it would feel like on her bare skin, hugging her tight, and hated herself intensely even as she was intrigued beyond measure. "Hurry it up, would ye? Haven't got all night, lass!" "Shut ya hole, I'm going, I'm going," she spat back, shucking off as much clothing that was left upon her as quickly as possible. A brief but horrendously intense personal war was fought internally for a few seconds about whether or not to leave her bra and shorts and just tore them off the same as the rest, because if she was going to go through with this idiotic adventure, might as well go full throttle. She never had been the type to look back after a choice, anyway. Once the dress was on she held out a hand. Demo, who had since turned back around, regarded it with a befuddled expression. "Handshake?" she said. "Shoes," Sniper grated. "I'm figuring you aren't gonna let me walk out of here in my boots." "You'd figger right," Demo chirped, and she offered a pair of plain black pumps after they were fished from the abyss of the wardrobe. They were smaller than Sniper's feet and pinched her ankle and her toes, but they only had to serve their irrationally useless purpose for as long as it took to get into Engineer's room. She stared at them for a moment. "I don't even think I recall how to walk in these," she murmured, carefully stepping into them. Four wobbly deer-like steps later had her clinging to the door frame, Demo grasping her by the hips to keep her steady so her face and the floor didn't have an exciting re-acquaintance (she had passed out in Demo's room more than once). A quiet fell between them, until Sniper stepped away, taking once last look in the mirror at herself. She didn't see the lanky Aussie woman who was more dirt than flesh with a rifle for a third arm. She saw in her place a tall, older woman with long, straight brown hair in an average but nicer-than-dungarees dress who, for all intents and purposes, looked as if she had decent idea of what she was doing. So she cursed the mirror a liar and slowly, carefully made her way out into the corridor and to the left, to where she knew Engineer's empty room waited for her. "Good luck, lass," Demo called from behind a slowly closing door. "Ye're goin' ta need it." Wordlessly, Sniper agreed.
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.