I know it's been a LONG time since I've posted anything here. To be honest, the last couple of years have been a bit hard for me in terms of creativity. It's a thing we all run into, I'm sure. Work got the better of me, there was that whole 2020 thing, and all that pretty much left me without much energy to devote to writing. But I want to change that!
I've recently returned to a draft of a story I wrote for NaNoWriMo back when it was still a respectable way to spend a November and liked it. It's a story that my sister, @erikonil has always been a fan of and she encouraged me to return to it. And the good news is that the revision is actually coming along well! And that brings me to what I really want to talk about today.
I've pretty much only done fanfiction here on Tumblr, but I want to focus on my original fiction. It's not that I'll never return to fanfiction, but right now I want to push myself as a writer because I have SO MANY stories that have built up in my head over the years. So that's where I'm going to pivot.
For anyone who would like to join me on this journey, I'm going to be starting to post chapters for what I hope will be a novella or short novel here in the next few weeks. My goal will be to post something every other week or so, maybe with a few posts in between about my other writing projects. I hope you enjoy it as much as you did my TF2 fanfiction, and I look forward to creating something special for you all.
Thank you for tagging me! It was on my main blog @thewaltzrio, but @unpickingthetangles is my writeblr blog (well, now it is, haha).
Which five should I answer? Hmm.
3. Do you want to take writing as a career or something ‘on the side’?
I would love for it to become a career! It is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to be. I’ve based a huge part of my identity around being a writer (which I am sure will never have any damaging psychological backlashes in the long run.)
While I would like to write one huge, wildly successful bestseller and retire to an island community to spend the rest of my days doing nothing in particular, I know that isn’t exactly realistic.
So my current plan is to finish this one WIP and then coast on the success of my wife’s series of books for the rest of my life.
4. Do you prefer to read series or standalone novels (and which was the last one you read)?
I love series! Although I feel that happened accidentally. Most of my favorite authors write in series formats. I end up reading their series just because I want to write everything they write. I would mention the last series I read, however, I feel like I shouldn’t. For the first time in years I had to put a book down midway through because it was practically unreadable. I mean… it was so bad. I don’t want it to come off as a callout post (or whatever you kids are calling it these days.)
6. How long have you had a writeblr?
I did an official introduction last night! I’ve only had a writeblr for less than a month. I was uncomfortable talking about my WIP until recently. Then I was encouraged to try, and the positive feedback has really helped me believe in the work I was doing. Thank you so much @coveofmadness and @queerloveandspaceships!! You have both been so supportive!
8. Coffee or tea?
I’ve tried to cut back on caffeine. It’s been murder, let me tell you. One way I’ve done this is by switching to tea during the day. If I am awake during the day. Because, you know, cutting back on caffeine.
10. do you write in a book or just type on a laptop/computer?
I do both! I have to have an outline or else I get nothing done. I start my hand-writing everything in an outline format a notebook (8x11′’ spiral bound FOR LIFE) and then transfer that into a word document. There is something about handwriting it that makes the process seem both tangible but also impermanent. In front of me is psychical proof that I am slowly chipping away at this large, complex story. I’ve got ideas that strike me in the moment jotted along the margins and idle character doodles.
I feel like it breathes more in paper form that in a word document. When its lifted from there and put into a word doc…. I don’t know? I have a compulsion to make that copy perfect. Which, as we all know, is what kills a MS dead. Eventually I need to write on a laptop and use that format to send out into the world for people to read. Because the good Lord knows that my handwriting gives off a hostile air to anyone who tries to decipher it.
I recently followed a whole mess of writing blogs thanks to the @originalficfest event that is coming up! I am going to tag all the new people. If I am being too forward here, I apologize!
To the squad:
@coveofmadness, @drderange, @queerloveandspaceships, @mortalmab
To the new people I followed and hope to get to know better:
@steakfryday, @alittle-writer, @fatal-blow, @writin-gale, @shimiwrites, @tumblinbean
I feel like I missing a bunch of you! Just let me know if you want to be tagged in future posts!
Ahhh! Thanks for the tag and nice to meet you! Here we go.
1. If you have a WIP, approximately when did you first start working on it?
1997 or thereabouts. Why So can buy its own alcohol now. It began as one-shot comics in sketchbooks with the focus on Morgan pranking James. Other characters rarely featured, but crossovers with friends’ OCs happened. That year or maybe in 1998 @oddport-emporium and I drafted the first few episodes, which have since been completely redone for the current incarnation. Up through episode 17 of Why So: Golden Age were originally drafted in 1997-1998. A since-destroyed screenplay re-imagining the first episode was also written in 1998 for a scriptwriting class. An alternate universe story brought in Racquel and Kirei. Oliver appeared first in a 1998 sketchbook. Naida and Suny also appeared then. Todd and Kody might have as well, but I don’t call. The sketches and short stories ended abruptly on February 17, 2001, for reasons explored briefly in Golden Age and Silver Age and then fully in Bronze Age. Nonetheless, I held onto everything.
Towards the end of graduate school in 2006, I started playing with the series again, but through an as-yet realized different lens. My friends had all been bitten by the webcomic bug and I wanted to do it as well. So, Why So was restarted again but with major changes. It was done as a prose comic or illustrated storybook; the original images are still with me and all the prose is now in Silver Age as the “The Astrid Omnibus.” The webcomic ran for 20 pages from September 2006 - summer 2007. I then got a full-time lecturer job at my university and Why So was shelved once more.
In 2010 I was starting to look around at other teaching jobs and my mind also wandered back to Why So, so I wrote a few attempts at rebooting it and/or continuing it; those became one-offs or early episodes of Silver Age. I couldn’t get the momentum to continue then. This happened on and off over the next several years.
In 2015 I wrote what’s now episodes 35-103 of Golden Age, and while it is way overdue for a revision to fit the rest of the series thematically and character development-wise, it did do a good job of establishing a lot of significant locations for the first time. Despite creating Subconscious City almost two decades earlier I’d yet to really write about it. I also had to finally confront a bugaboo of a retconned character. These episodes were beta-read with mixed reviews and though I was happy to get that much writing done, I wasn’t satisfied. So in early 2016, as I was embarking on a therapy again and an upcoming return to Japan for work, I tackled the one part of my life I hadn’t yet minimized or purged. I re-read everything at that time. I reviewed all of my old art and comics. And I noticed patterns. And deviations. I was struck by how my tone and my characters’ tones had changed, matured, and darkened between the late 90s and from 2006-on. Even the webcomic attempts at lighter tones weren’t so light. What had happened? February 17, 2001 happened and not only had it obliterated me, it had also completely upended my imagination and its inhabitants and our shared, parallel narratives. The therapy sessions I had over the following weeks in early 2016 brought it all together and that spring I went back to the original 17 episodes from high school and continued the series in the episodic chapter format. From then until October 29, 2017, I drafted every single idea and posted it serially on Tumblr @whyso96. It’s 379 episodes. Add side stories, one-offs, and my memoir parallels, it’s over 500 chapters.
So, tl;dr: 1997, 2006, 2010, 2015, 2016.
7. If you have a WIP, can you explain the world that it is set in?
The majority of it takes place in Godley One’s mind, or the Imagination. It has countless towns and every landscape possible. Subconscious City, Memory City, and Souzou are where the characters primarily dwell at one or another. Hemisphere City and Dream City are referenced occasionally. Far Reaches is a small town where James is exiled for five years. The Chamber is known for explosions and battles. Before the Imagination, everyone “co-exists” in Godley One’s world (later referred to as the Previous Place) in either her bedroom or her high school. There is a trans-dimensional locker, which is kind of a misnomer because it’s really just a locker with the Tardis Effect. It has a foosball table!
I’m most fascinated by the structure and logic of Memory City. For Original Fic Fest’s “Free Day” I might talk about it more. It’s also described here.
8. Coffee or tea?
Both! Coffee in the morning (dark roast with coconut syrup and soymilk), decaf tea in the afternoon/evening. I’m pretty much a nut for all the bottled teas here in Japan, especially anything Ito En or Sokenbicha makes.
9. Do you have a pre-writing ritual?
Not really, but if I’m in a rut or unmotivated to do a scene, I’ll try and take a long walk, listen to music, and mentally work through it. When it’s not obscenely hot or raining or I walk home from work some days and that’s also a time for idea development/deconstruction.
10. Do you write in a book or just type on a laptop/computer?
The first 17 episodes of Golden Age and some variations were done in notebooks; episodes 5-176 of Bronze Age were also done in notebooks when I got really stuck typing episode 5. Handwriting them was amazing and cathartic. Retyping them, not so much. Everything else, though, was just typed in Google Docs. I am all for handwriting drafts and in hindsight wish I’d done for everything.
Tagging: @oddport-emporium, @naturesstudents, @dawnashleywrites, and others who haven’t been tagged for this yet. I see many mutual writeblrs are already tagged.
3. Do you want to take writing as a career or something ‘on the side’?
I’d love to eventually make it a career, or at the very least a nice little side income. I’ll be starting on that process once I get my current WIPs finished.
4. Do you prefer to read series or standalone novels (and which was the last one you read)?
I go back and forth a little. Right now I prefer stand alone novels, and the last one I read was Persuasion by Jane Austen (I’m totally on a Regency kick at the moment). If I do read series, I prefer them to be something I can read in any order. Agatha Christie mysteries are pretty good for that. Hercule Poirot books can be pretty much pulled off a shelf at random and enjoyed.
7. If you have a WIP, can you explain the world that it is set in?
8. Coffee or tea?
Generally coffee, but I’m starting to experiment more with tea. I’ve got some lovely cinnamon spice black tea that’s just lovely. My preferred coffee is a light roast with a dash of half-and-half and some sweetener.
9. Do you have a pre-writing ritual?
My favorite routine is to walk over to my local Barnes & Nobel and have a light breakfast/lunch before hunkering down and writing. If the cafe is busy, I’ll go to the library, meander around the stacks for a while to get rid of any excess energy.
10. do you write in a book or just type on a laptop/computer?
Before it’s mostly been on my computer, but I’ve recently discovered fountain pens and writing with them is SO much nicer than ballpoint pens! For my next work, I’m going to try writing the initial rough draft by hand to keep me from editing too much as I go.
I’m still here!
Hey all! Sorry about the lack of fic of late. I’ve been working on some original writing, and I have a hard time easily switching back and forth. But I’m going to be making a concerted effort to get back into the fanfic swing of things, and to kick things off, here’s a little Science Party as requested by @darlingreaper
A sliver of light cut through the near pitch darkness of the bedroom. It wasn’t much, but then again, it never had taken much to get Engineer up and ready for the day. He stirred, wiggling his toes and pushing out through his heels as carefully as he could to avoid making too much of a disturbance.
“Liebe…”
Not that he was ever successful at it.
“Time to rise and shine, sleepyhead.” Engineer reached across the pillow to tousle the dark head of hair that was currently splayed in all directions in an entirely undignified way. “It’s already late by farm standards.”
“But ve are not on a farm.” Medic’s muffled accent a little thicker as he seemed as determined to avoid the morning as Engineer was to enjoy it. “Normal people are still in bed.”
A small grin tugged at the corner of Engineer’s mouth. “Normal folks don’t have a respawn system that’s in need of a good tunin’.”
“Ach… Left and right, right and left… Scout had two arms and two legs. Why should he mind if they were on the odd side? It corrected itself soon enough.”
“Think he might like it better if they were the right way around the first time, darlin’. Then he wouldn’t have to go and get himself killed again to get it sorted.”
Medic snorted into his pillow. “It always happens sooner rather than later. The boy has no patience.”
“Keep up that mindset, and you ain’t gonna have no patients.”
…
“Ach! It is too early for verdammt English wordplay!” Medic’s foot kicked into Engineer’s leg beneath the covers as he raised his head just enough so that Engineer could see his blurry blue eyes. “You are lucky that you are *yawn* gut aussehend. It is the only reason I keep you around, you know.”
“Not my stunning intellect?”
“Nein.”
“Not my seven PhDs?”
“Degrees. Licenses. Purely artificial measures of worth. I see no sense in them.”
“Just because you lost yours…”
Medic twisted around onto his side and crawled closer until he was able to hook his leg around one of the Texan’s. A moment later an arm slipped across his chest, and Engineer found himself pinned, however slightly, back to the mattress.
“Tsk! Nein, meine Liebe. I am afraid it is purely carnal.”
Half turning, half dragging himself farther over, Medic rolled the rest of the way over to drape himself across Engineer. An amused smile looked over at him, along with the faintest hint of resignation that, respawn failure or no, they weren’t getting out of bed anytime soon.
“We could get a lot of science done this early in the morning, you know. You like science.”
It was Medic’s turn to chuckle at the token resistance as he leaned over to press a light kiss to a scar on Engineer’s forehead. It was an old thing that predated either of their days in the gravel pits, but that seemed to hold a particular fascination for the doctor.
“Biology is science, ja?”
Medic changed his angle to slowly kiss the hard edge of Engineer’s jaw that might as well have been drawn with the same precision as any one of the man’s blueprints.
“Yeah…”
They shifted again, Medic slipping astride Engineer and looking down with eyes that were now far less blurry and far warmer with something else entirely. Leaning down, Medic kissed him again along the jaw, the corner of his mouth, before lazily claiming his lips.
Engineer sighed into the kiss, his one good hand lightly squeezing Medic’s thigh when the doctor finally pulled away.
“That’s some good science.” He murmured.
Medic’s mouth quirked into a wry smile.
“And as the resident expert in the field, it is my opinion that any additional science is best continued in the appropriate environment. Namely, this bed.”
Engineer blinked slowly, then shook his head before pulling Medic back down into another kiss.
“Can’t argue with that, darlin’. Can’t argue with that at all.”
Can you write ScienceParty fluff please? Like both of them in bed, talking about Science and medic don't want to get out of bed, instead he's just want to cuddle with Engineer. Oh! Can you put a kiss scene plz? Thank you.
Tagged by @sinuswave
Rules: tag 9 people you want to know better
Relationship status: Single. Open to a relationship, and might start actively looking soon.
Chapstick or lipstick: Chapstick, if I use it at all.
Favorite colors: Spring green, gray,white, and orange is my current favorite combination.
Last movie I saw: Proud Mary was the last one in theaters. A pretty decent little action flick.
Top 3 TV shows: Forensic Files, Star Trek: TOS, and Agatha Christie's Poirot.
Top 3 Bands/Artists: On a Frank Sinatra kick right now (Thank you, Kingsman: The Golden Circle for getting My Way stuck in my head). George Frideric Handel‘s Water Music is a favorite of mine, and Adele.
Books I’m currently reading: Right now I’m reading a bunch of Hurcule Poirot short stories/novellas by Agatha Christie. I’ve been feeling classic cozy mysteries as of late.
I tag: @markingatlightspeed, @malpractician, @kitt-hawke and anyone else who wants to!
Pyro likes the idea of touch, but doesn’t know how to go about getting it...
There was nothing remarkable about chairs. Generally speaking, they were quite utilitarian and thus rather boring things that didn’t really catch Pyro’s attention. As far as they were concerned, a crate was as good as anything when it came to the general function of sitting, and it really did take quite a lot to make them pay attention.
Couches, on the other hand…Couches were different. Couches weren’t meant for the sitting of one person. No. They were meant for the sitting of people.
The new couch had been delivered to the base just a few days before, and it was an odd little thing, barely big enough for two people if Heavy or Soldier were your yardsticks, but a Spy and a Sniper… or a Scout and a Pyro could nestle in very neatly together.
Engineer had called it a loveseat with a chuckle as he’d scooted it into place in front of the television. Pyro tried to push the blush down that they felt creeping up their neck.
Loveseat.
That seemed… intimate.
Beside them, Scout squirmed a little in his seat causing Pyro to bounce a little on the other end. As the pale light of the television flickered B-movie illumination into the darkened recreation room, he drew his feet up beneath him as the weekly tale of weird science played out on the screen. What appeared to be an oversized iguana chased down the square jawed hero across the desert with almost comedic slowness, although it didn’t seem to bother Scout’s enjoyment one bit.
Pyro glanced over shyly, their gloved hands worrying at their fingertips as they watched Scout, who was completely absorbed by the movie. A Mann Co. woolen blanket had been drug out from his room and now covered his half of the loveseat, caccooning him in its undoubtedly slightly itchy embrace. With their own suit, Pyro didn’t really have much use for blankets to keep the slight chill that always permeated the base at night at bay, but that was really the least of their thoughts. They weren’t cold, but they wanted to be under that blanket all the same.
Their skin… well, it didn’t itch, but it sometimes crawled. It crawled mostly at night when they were alone. But it crawled even more when they weren’t. And Scout was so very close.
They squeezed the fingers of one hand tightly with the other. It helped, just a little. If they closed their eyes they could almost imagine that it was someone else’s hand holding theirs. That someone else’s thumb was lazily rubbing small circles against their palm. The illusion was nice for a moment. The idea of contact. Of touch. Of the warmth from someone else easing into their bones like it belonged there. Like they belonged there. More than once the idea had crept up on them completely unbidden, and now, perched on the loveseat, they felt it seeping into them again.
A roar from the television caused Scout to jump, his legs kicking out before being pulled back onto the loveseat. This time he drew them to his side as he slouched down into the corner of the loveseat, pulling the blanket up to his chin. Sock clad feet attached to gangly legs slipped across the cushions until they lightly pressed into Pyro’s thigh, and causing them to jerk in surprise.
“Hey, Mumbles,” Scout sounded a little nervous from behind his blanket, his eyes flicking back to the TV before returning back to Pyro, “movie’s not too much for ya, is it?”
Pyro shook their head even as everything else seemed to go still. The movie? Completely forgotten. Glancing down, they stared at Scout’s feet as they pressed into the thick fabric of their suit. The pressure gentle and constant, and for a moment that feeling of longing faded. It wasn’t much of a touch. Barely anything, really. A pair of old gym socks with stinky feet - which didn’t bother them through their mask, but when Scout started to pull them away they couldn’t help but let out a deflated little whine.
The sound seemed to light something in Scout’s expression and he raised his arm to lift the blanket. “I mean, ‘cause if it’s… ya know, scary… Not that I’m scared of a stupid movie… But if you were scared, there’s space under the blanket…”
Beneath their mask, Pyro slowly blinked before they timidly crept over to Scout’s side of the loveseat. It was a bit awkward. They might have been shorter, but Scout was slighter and it took them a few minutes to get situated to where they were comfortably intertwined with Scout’s legs carelessly tossed across their lap as their shoulders were pressed together in the corner. He covered them like a second blanket, leaning into them with what almost sounded like a happy sigh as he squirmed even closer to them. Through the thickness of their suit, Pyro could feel him. The weight of his legs over their own, the wiry frame pressing up against their stocky one.It was warm. It was comfort.
It was perfect.
Scout wrapped the blanket around them both, and as the movie played on, his head rolled to the side. His cheek resting on Pyro’s shoulder until they both fell asleep in front of the flickering screen.
Hey! Could I get some touch-starved Pyro interacting with the team and trying to get cuddles? Or like, he just wants someone to hold him or pet him and he’s shy about it? Thank You!
Hiiiii.... Sure can! Keep your eyes open for it tonight!
I’m a new grad in the U.S. working in public education with a retail job and a few other under-the-table gigs on the side while at the same time trying to get my Masters Degree and pay off loans. On top of all of that, I really, really need to move out of my parents house.
As such, I’d like to announce that I am currently open for writing commissions.
Here’s the post containing information about that if you are interested. If you would like to support me but do not wish to actually commission a work, I also have a kofi account and am more than happy to accept donations.
I’m not gonna give you a sob story- that’s not why I’m here. I’d just like a bit of help in achieving a dream that I’ve been clinging to since who-knows-when about being secure in my job and where I end up calling home. I’m already working my ass off to achieve it, but hey, any little bit helps, right?
Hence this.
Writing is my passion, and damn it, I’m good at it. I promise you, if you commission me, I will do my utmost to give you something that you and others will love. I’m a very easy person to work with and, if you have any questions whatsoever, feel free to contact me through my tumblr or email me at [email protected]. 9/10, I will get back to you within the day.
(And don’t feel bad if you can’t commission me or donate- a reblog is just as helpful. Keeps the spirits up, you know? Thanks <3)
Heya! First fic of the new year! A little Sword Van for you all!
Tavish Finnegan DeGroot was not a man who liked to admit defeat. It just wasn’t in his blood to roll over and give in to the whims of fate. Sure, he might beat a temporary retreat into the bottom of a bottle from time to time, but that wasn’t the same thing as giving in. No matter how many times he’d been beaten down, he’d always clawed his way back, and done it mostly in one piece. It didn’t matter if it was a rocket screaming at him from the heavens, or the powers of hell itself, Tavish Finnegan DeGroot didn’t just meet danger head on. No. He laughed in the face of it.
And that was why he had jimmied the lock on the camper of one Michael Mundy, Professional Assassin and Sniper Extraordinaire, who had a penchant for hiding himself away for far too long after a mission went pear shaped on him. It wasn’t often that Demo was able to get the drop on the Australian, but this time he had. And that’s how they had wound up at the only place that passed for a local watering hole.
Dubious of sanitation and cheap of booze, the Teufort Saloon offered the only place where a couple of mercenaries could get away from base for a few hours other than the local library, and the library had quit selling beer. However, getting away from base still meant that there were people around, which explained the sullen expression that was still plastered on Sniper’s face.
“Cheer up, Mundy. Ye look like someone hired ye te kill a puppy.” Demo grinned as he knocked back what was either the third or fourth beer of the evening.
Sniper turned his head a fraction of an inch, just enough to give him the stinkiest of stink eyes. “Sorry, mate. For some surprising reason, I don’t care much for having me head bagged and gettin’ hog tied to be dragged out to this shit hole.”
“A wee bit of kidnappin’ here and there is good for the soul. Keeps ye humble.” Demo nudged his mug back towards the bartender with a nod to fill it up yet again. American beer was horrifically watery shit, but it did mean it took six or seven before there was any real effect. “Anyway, ye’ve been too much a hermit these past few weeks. Ye’d think ye were a bloody monk instead of a mercenary.”
“Company’s overrated.” Is the muttered response as Sniper finally took a sip of his now room-temperature beer.
Those words from any other lips would be wounding, but from Sniper they’re just a normal part of the game. Demo chuckled and spun around on the barstool to look back across the room. The saloon, with its walls covered in the kitch of the old American west, was sparsely populated compared to the livelier halls of Edinburgh, Berlin, and even bloody Bucharest. Local boys kept to their corners, having learned long ago that the mercenaries of RED and BLU were best avoided in the interest of keeping mass property damage to a respectable - and insurable - minimum.
He really should have dropped a note to Jane Doe over at BLU. Would have made things a bit more interesting. Nothing like high grade artillery to liven up a place.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that Sniper’s beer was already half gone. Good progress, then. He leaned back into the bar to rest on one elbow while becoming to the bartender with the other. Another beer would be waiting once Sniper finished his first. One for every two of Demo’s, so they were relatively on the same pace.
“Company’s overrated, the beer is shite, and the atmosphere is lacking.” Demo finally agreed, but with none of Sniper’s sourness.
Sniper grunted in response as he reached for his second beer.
It was well past midnight by the time they finally left the saloon. The bar had been littered with mugs that had been drained to the dregs, and the bartender’s till stuffed full with the kind of cash only highly paid mercenaries could provide. Out in the parking lot the local men had split up into groups and gave wide berth to the REDs as they exited.
Demo’s pace was uneven, but he put that down to the worn boards of the saloon’s porch more than inebriation. American beer wasn’t worth getting shitfaced on, after all.
“Told ya it was a shithole.” Sniper muttered.
“Aye, ye did. But the beer was cheap.”
“Ya mean the water was expensive.”
He laughed. “Ach, but ye’re a containckerous bint.”
Sniper snorted as they made their way back towards the truck Engineer had so kindly lent Demo for this little excursion. Gravel crunched lightly beneath their boots and Demo enjoyed the feeling of the cool night air against his skin. Beside him there was a slight umph and he suddenly felt the warmth of Sniper’s shoulder pressing into his as they both slowly ambled across the lot. He glanced over and a little up to see a slight flush in Sniper’s cheeks that might be the alcohol, or maybe just the light from the bar’s neon sign, because a deadly assassin wouldn’t blush. But the weight didn’t leave, and the beer or the unevenness of the ground were both as good a reason as any as to why the lanky man was leaning into his friend as they walked in silence.
The smile that had been playing on Demo’s lips the entire night spread just a little bit wider as he dug the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the doors.
“Ye want me te take ye back to the camper?”
There was a sigh as Sniper finally pulled away and hauled himself into the truck. “Nah. Suppose I should make an attempt to be social after all the trouble ya went through to bloody kidnap me.” The words were spat out like a petulant child, and the scowl on his face only deepened when Demo’s laugh filled the cab.
“I see ye’re still in need of cheerin’. So how ‘bout we head on back to yer camp, and I’ll keep workin’ on that mood until yer fit for polite company again?”
And for the first time that night, a ghost of a smile flickered across Sniper’s face.
Hi folks! Sorry for the lack of fic of late, but I’ve been finishing up my Christmas knitting, and whooo, that was a lot! But tonight I’m happy to present @shadowenza with her Secret Santa present! If you’re not familiar with her work, be sure to check her out. She does some phenomenal SFM art, one of which was my inspiration for this story.
Happy Holidays to you!
Viaduct Base wasn’t the worst place to be stationed in winter. That dubious honor still belonged to the bone chilling cold of Coldfort. Even now, two years after that tour, Scout still felt the occasional chill in his bones. Compared to that, Viaduct was downright pleasant.
Or at least that had been his thought up until about three hours ago.
After one too many fatal slips during the last match, Engineer had declared that the concrete drive in front of respawn had to be shoveled, even as Soldier argued for its merit of separating the strong mercenaries from the weak.
“Of course he wants to keep it.” Scout had joked before even thinking (not an entirely uncommon occurrence), “He ain’t got a brain to bash in!”
And so with a quick pat on the back from Engineer and a thank-you-for-volunteering-your-time-Scout, he’d wound up with snow shovel duty while the rest of the team was sitting snug and warm inside by the fire. Looking up, Scout could see their silhouettes against the drawn curtains of the recreation room as well as the thin wisp of smoke that was drifting up from the chimney. A shiver ran through him as if his body had suddenly become aware of the fact that he was standing in shin deep snow.
“God damn, it’s cold.” The words seemed to hang in the air, crystallizing into a shimmering cloud of ice that slowly floated away into the darkened sky. Scout cupped his hands to his mouth, breathing over them as if his warm breath would stave off the ever-encroaching cold. A pair of gloves hung on a peg back in the cloak room, but had been poo-pooed out of a stubborn sense of Boston pride. Winters back home were cold. There was no way that a little snow in the mountains was going to be that bad. Especially since they weren’t in Coldfort.
Stupid Boston pride.
Tugging his knit cap down further over his ears, Scout got back to work. That same stupid pride that let him convince himself that he was as well suited to baring the cold as Heavy also preventing him from heading inside until the job was not just done, but done to a level of perfection that Engineer would be proud of. Even if it cost him a few fingers from frostbite.
The cutting edge of the metal snow shovel slowly chipped away at the ice as brightly colored Smissmas lights twinkled where they were hung from the rafters above. Their festive cheeriness had been enough to sustain Scout during the first hour of his labor, but whatever warmth the upcoming holiday might have nurtured in his heart was now just as cold as the rest of him. His sweater clung to his skin as the sweat he’d worked up through his labor chilled in the cold night air, sending shivers down his spine. His breaths were short as his lungs vehemently stated their staunch opposition to having to handle one more gasp of frigid air. Snow had soaked through his sneakers and into his socks, and he had to wiggle his toes periodically to make sure all ten were still attached. It was a rather miserable state of affairs, made all the worse knowing that he had it all to himself.
“Stupid snow.” Scout growled as best he could through chattering teeth. “Stupid ice. Stupid cold. Stupid… Smissmas lights.” He spat out to round out his insults to the world.
“What’s wrong with the lights?”
“Shit!” Scout clutched at the snow shovel as he spun around. “Pyro?”
Pyro shyly waved a gloved hand. “Hi.” The softly spoken word, completely unmuffled without the heavy gas mask that they normally wore, sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet of the winter night. Snow crunched under their boots as they shifted slightly, and for the briefest of moments Scout wondered how he’d completely missed their approach.
“What are you doing out here?” He asked instead.
“Thought you might be lonely.” Pyro shrugged. “It’s quiet out here, but I know you don’t like quiet as much as I do. Didn’t think it was going to be so bad that you’d insult the poor Smissmas lights, though. Engineer put a lot of hard work into hanging those.”
They gave him a look that was probably supposed to be scolding. A tut-tut for taking the piss out of poor Engie’s work. The overall effect was more like a puppy trying its best to be ferocious though. There was just something about Pyro’s actual eyes, big brown things that probably didn’t know how to be properly cross, that could never quite get away from being adorable. Especially while wearing a cap with a pom-pom at the top. It’s a thought that sent a sudden flood of warmth through him, but the emotional type, not the type that’s going to keep him from dying of hypothermia.
“Yeah, well, fine. They look pretty.” He finally answered as Pyro’s tut-tutt-ing face shifted into something else.
“Are you shivering?” Worry crept into their voice. Closing the space between them, Pyro took Scout’s hands between their thick gloves.
For a moment, Scout considered making a joke about them being able to feel anything through the insulated gear that covered them from neck to toe, but held it back when he realized that his hands were shaking hard enough that Pyro had to clasp them between theirs.
“Guess I shudda grabbed gloves.”
Pyro’s eyes slowly looked him over from tip to tail. “Gloves. Boots. Scarf. Snowsuit.”
With a surge of that same stupid pride, Scout scoffed. “It ain’t that cold.”
“You are shivering.” Pryo accused. “And you’re probably soaked through. You should come inside.”
Scout tugged his hand away. “The job’s not done. I ain’t gonna let Engie give me grief for half-assing this.”
“You let me take care of Engie.” Pryo snatched his hand back. “We need to get you next to a fire to warm up.”
They stood there for a long minute. Maybe two. Maybe ten. Pyro kept their hold on Scout’s hand, clasping it between theirs as if they could will warmth back into it through the thick insulation.
Snowflakes started falling from the sky. Large and fluffy, they stuck to the rough wool of their caps and the wisps of brown hair that stuck out at odd angles from beneath Pyro’s. Fuckin’ romantic. Or as romantic as things ever got at base. Not like he and Pyro were in one of those chick movies where two lovers would be standing in the snow before someone would get swept up in someone’s arms or something equally as sappy. Nope. They were mercenaries. Men’s men who ate nails for breakfast and laughed in the face of freezing to death…
Scout yelped as he suddenly found himself scooped into Pyro’s arms. Rough lips pressed against the edge of his cap, just bushing his forehead as Pyro started trudging back towards the main building. For a moment he thought to be insulted with how easily they seemed to be carrying him, but there was warmth. Not much, the thickness of their suit kept nearly everything held tightly within, but either there was just enough extra effort involved in carrying Scout, or they’d managed to get him folded in just the right way that his teeth chattered a little less.
“I had a fire started in the rec room. Medic was supposed to watch it while I kept you company, but I don’t know…” Pyro rambled as they made their way across the yard. “Demo had something warming on the stove. Cider, I think. He seemed to be enjoying it. I’ll make you some coca, though.I think it warms you better.”
Their voice was still quiet, and warm breath ghosted past Scout’s ear. Even without the fire, Scout felt himself finally starting to thaw. The ice slowly melting from the inside out as he sat cradled in Pyro’s arms. Maybe there was something to those romance movies after all.
Of course, wasn’t it usually the dame who was swept off her feet?
“Wait, I’m the chick?” He blurted out.
Pyro looked down at him, confused. “What?”
Scout opened his mouth, but shut it just as quickly. Instead, he used the energy he had left to curl into Pyro’s arms, nestling his head against their shoulder. “Nothin’, Sparky. You’re right. A warm fire and coca is sounding really good about now.”
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