[𝘢𝘱] poison && dagger.

Independent & semi-selective RP blog for a canon divergent && headcanon-based BLU Spy of Team Fortress 2. Based on game / comic lore and with various AUs. Crossover & OC-friendly. Penned by Kit.  

[zweiherzen]

      ❝  —  i want to break you…  cutting out                       my heart ‘til there’s NOTHING inside . ❞                     

Independent && semi-selective RED MEDIC of TEAM FORTRESS 2.

[poisonsculpted]

i hit 305 followers here?? and i don’t do anything??? guess i must be doing something right but i’ll write for spy sometime. love u all fools

[poisonsculpted]

Jean-Noël was raised in a little town by the shore of the sea, and so the ocean holds not so much a huge significance for him as it does a comfort and reassurance that he can’t get anywhere else — he prefers to be by the water when he can help it, so living and fighting in the New Mexico desert isn’t exactly ideal for him. You do what you need to do to earn a living and to survive, though; but after Mann Co, once he’s freed from all responsibility and let go (he probably leaves after the robot attack, having the opportunity to work with some of RED to fight off Grey Mann’s forces), he probably travels consistently.

Doesn’t really pause to think of where he’s going or where he’s going to end up. He keeps in constant movement, not unlike sea he finds himself by a lot, whenever he finds it convenient to travel nearby. He’s a man of ceaseless motion, and, even at a young age, finds himself alienated and unsure of where he ought to be in the world. Born as the illegitimate son of a young French girl (younger than 20 when she bore her first child) and an Italian soldier who, shortly after the end of the war, disappeared never to be seen again, it’s tough to tell where one ought to belong sometimes. He had no strong male role model in his childhood — those he was involved with were poor characters, ones that he never found any more than plainly detestable. His mother did her best to support them, to make money and to build them a home. He loved her (still does), but has never felt welcome in their fragile state of survival.

She was an often absent mother, young and afraid, too quickly finding herself in the arms of men who showed any promise of stability for both herself and her son. When she was not with the men who always proved too meek or too cruel to be fathers or husbands, she was at work, away with friends, doing this or that — trying as hard as she could to make the best of their situation, and yet it was doubly and excuse for how restless she was, how fearful she was of her child. In her unwillingness to face the boy she was raising, too afraid of what skewed path that what she saw as her failing motherhood might set him upon, forced her into unavailability. She, in an effort to rationalise the inkling of worry that wedged itself beneath all this, did not think she was absent. The boy chose to help his mother believe this.

Young Jean-Noël was raised, too often alone, beside the ocean raised in some ways by it. He would face brutal violence at a young age, would grow tainted by it and inclined to follow the shred of power he had felt in his first killing (though one with some justification). And he was inspired, when he turned of age, to set out across that ocean and to find a place where he could anchor himself and build something new, something that could support his ageing mother and provide a new adventure that would quiet his loud and worried mind.

The wanderlust was not so much wanderlust, however, as it was youthful ambition to mask just how fearful he was that this great, wide world held no home for him. 

It was TF Industries that he found himself moored to soon enough; there he found himself working constantly, throwing himself to tasks and contracts and jobs that test his boundaries and push him beyond what he’s capable of, build the basis for a workaholic lifestyle that serves as a shaky foundation to cover the various fears and concerns beneath. Concern that he won’t really feel anywhere at home, concern that he’ll live life attached to nothing and tossed about like a piece of driftwood. But still, there’s more comfort in being a free piece of driftwood than one moored to the same shore forever.

At Builders League United, there is routine. There is comfort in uniform shades of faded blue, in paperwork and order forms and in assembling and managing a team so unstable and poorly composed that they could fall apart at any moment; handling, micromanaging, keep busy all throughout the day, fastened to BLU by a contract that could indefinitely last — until the end of the war. Who knew if the brothers’ battles would ever come to a head?

Life here is easy, almost frightfully so.

He misses the sea. But almost as much, he’s terrified of being once more cast out onto it, to be thrown relentlessly about until he’s lost the small semblance of comfort he’s managed to find. A home, if you could call it — a stretch, but not an impossible one.

[poisonsculpted]

Hi are you dead

—— ANONYMOUS USER  //  kinda maybe been yes

“ i wish. But it isn’t as easy as you’d think — unfortunately. ”  The way BLU’s rate of success is going, however, Spy might one of these days be motivated enough to finally find that way to circumvent Respawn that he’s been looking for.

[poisonsculpted]

Alright, you slippery sonuva sidewinder- I have had it from here to the church steeple with ya and I cain't take no more. Come noon tomorrow I'm makin' a real pretty little planter for my rosemary outta yer skull. Y'all might wanna git to RUNNING.

—— ANONYMOUS USER  //  some rather unintimidating threats .

“ running is not among the preferred of my solutions. ”  Not for Spy, at least, though that seems to be the insinuation … and especially not in response to nasty attempts at intimidation from the youth. The only response earnt from him is a look askance, an irritated one at that, and an unhurried drag of his cigarette. Less than half’s the speech made its way into one ear, and whatever isn’t crushed beneath the heel of already-tested patience goes straight out the other.

“ I find such cowardice more suited to types like your sort. ”  And with his final reply comes the end of his cigarette. He finishes off his smoking, drawing out a spare wrapper and tucking the burnt out cigarette into it — the mess is balled up and deposited into the case of his disguise kit before he turns away, mind already elsewhere. 

Interest lost completely before his challenger had even the chance to snatch it up.

[poisonsculpted]

Im sorry if you have this answered somewhere, im on mobile; do you do crossover rps?

—— ANONYMOUS USER  //  blog questions !

Indeed I do write crossover RPs and enjoy them much of the time! It would just depend on what the verse is and what we can come up with to make it work for both our muses, but I’m flexible when it comes to time and genre, and I’ve been meaning to do write up a deity AU even, which is. outside of the TF2 rpc. not sure how big it is? 

Sorry for the late response, as I’m no longer often on here. I’m almost exclusively focused on my RED MEDIC and my LUCIUS MALFOY, and I’m really sorry it’s this way since a few people seem keen to interact with Jean-Noël. But if you want to reach me whilst I’m not here, I’m on those blogs!

Ngl, I largely interact through crossover RPs on Medic bc he’s super suited for it, so I absolutely don’t mind crossovers. I just haven’t invested enough time into Spy to come up with alternate universes that work for him. Maybe I should pop on here once in a while and try to do stuff.

[poisonsculpted]

Sensei teach me how to run a writing blogs. 👀👄👀

@ask-spy  ||  - blog creation talk -  ||  ALWAYS ACCEPTING.

( ooc )  —  Heck yeah. Well, I run about 5 or so of them, if I remembe rcorrectly – not that I’m ever on all of them – so hopefully your local RED medic / BLU spy writer can be of help. yes haha i’m always gonna plug my medic blog.

RP TECHNICALITIES

I mean, it really depends on what you’re down to do and what you want to focus on. There’s a bit of lingo to get your head around, but I’m a primarily multiparagraph / novella writer. AKA I like my long replies. Some people aren’t so much into that – I’m pretty sure the term here is “para” (whereas multi-para denotes around 5 para? not sure). There are quite a few RP styles out there, and plenty of people focusing on said various styles, so you’ll find people you click with if you’re vigilant.

Here’s some stuff to get you started off:

Some independent/indie RP blog lingo. (Indie as opposed to affiliated, which is where you’re part of a group and follow their rules. All my blogs are indie.) Knowing these terms will help you out when figuring out how blogs operate, for example – if they tell you they’re selective and private. The heck is that? Well, that’s what that link is there to tell you!

Tumblr shortcuts for formatting. The one most useful to me, upon sight, is “ctrl + shift + -” to get small text (what I’m using rn as opposed to normal size), which I find that some people aren’t aware of but would like to use if they knew. 

XKit guide to trim your threads and to highly customise your Tumblr experience, but I’ll talk about this later.

Anyway, as said – I’m highly focused on character development and usually am super invested in highly plotted threads that will help me develop further or at least show off what development that I already have. You’re not necessarily required to do this, as there are various styles that support a less lengthy style of writing if you’ve not got hours to spend at the computer writing mini novels or if that’s simply not your type of RP! You’re not obligated to stick to one style, anyway: you might write primarily para with a dash of multi-para or novella, or primarily multi-para / novella with a dash of para. You’re not limited, bro.

Above all, RP is an interactive activity, which means that you will be working with someone else, so it’ll take a little time to get adjusted to compared to if you’ve been exclusively an ask blog or fanfiction writer, which is all mostly independent, I believe? I know ask blogs do get some questions from the community, but I’m unsure to what extent it’s interactive, whereas RPers are sending pieces of a narrative back and forth at each other and constantly building a story together.

BLOG TECHNICALITIES

If you mean how to run a writing blog as in blog technicalities and not writing technicalities, the tips that I can give you are these:

Have a rules page, a detailed about page. Doesn’t matter if you’re OC or canon – canons should also have a decently detailed page about your character to help other people understand how to work with them, especially if you’re going to write AUs (alternate universe) or crossover with other fandoms. You can add pages by going into your blog, “Edit theme,” and scrolling to the bottom of your editor to “Add pages.”

And rules are where you lay out your conditions of what you want to see from another person when writing with them, what you’re ok with, what you’re not ok with, and is also a place to denote if you’re 18+ or not (most RPers want to see this to make sure they don’t RP NSFW or uncomfortable themes with a minor, and no one should ever lie about this), etc…

Read other people’s rules!! Always! I hate to see people go “Ah, I don’t need to read these rules,” or “I can’t read these rules, I’m on mobile” – try to search for a mobile navigation at the top to read their pages, if they’ve provided a link for mobile navigation, or wait until you’re on desktop!

Yeah, I know some people don’t have a Rules or About, but those aren’t writers I personally tend to follow back because I like organisation, information, and knowing what I’m working with. This is a personal choice, however.

TRIM YOUR THREADS. No one wants to see a 50-post reblog on their dash, unless they don’t know how to trim themselves and just think this is normal. Especially for multipara RP, though, this gets bad quick. My rules will send you to a guide for XKIT – the link to the google doc is the title, which may have been unclear on the theme. You can trim and also add a hot TF2 extension that turns the reblog icon at the top of your posts to TF2 kill icons, and I think that’s reason enough to use it.

Once you’ve made a blog, reach out first! Peoples’ promos exist for a reason. Like them, reblog them! If someone follows you back, reach out to them via DMs or ask to plot – to come up with details about how your muses will interact in threads!

Some more information here pertaining to basic character development and advertising yourself! I also wrote this at some point in time.

GENERAL ADVICE

If you need more specific advice, I’m available through my DMs. My first advice, however, will always be to select your muse and to build them up for a bit. Make sure you’ve got a good bit of history and information, a basic working foundation, before you bring them to Tumblr.

Very often I see people who aren’t quite sure where to take their muses after freshly joining Tumblr either because they haven’t fleshed out their muse concept enough, or they haven’t spent enough time investing in their muse to know that the type of character and writing wont’ click with them. It’s always safer to have spent some time with your character before you put them out there.

I’m also that loser who spends 20% of his life on graphics and on RP stuff, so I consider myself decently knowledgeable and I always welcome asks or DMs on the stuff! If you’re aiming to write an RP blog soon, good luck, my dude. 1) You’ll need it, lol, but 2) It’s great fun and we always welcome new writers to the TF2 community!

[feixing02]

Time to chill and share some ambrosia.

@poisonsculpted @refiinedrogue @zweiherzen

[poisonsculpted]

@almaluna @itsd4tboi @thiccmintz @doctahsawbones @galacticgunk @poinsio @crownmekingthing @drwowthathurt @moove-bitchudadah 

hey since y’all aren’t RP blogs and I’ve been trying to solve this mystery since the beginning of time, thought I’d ask if there’s any reason why you liked my starter call? I don’t mind that you did, I’m just curious since. y’know it’s impossible for me to write starters for u guys.

[poisonsculpted]

@southieswinger liked for a STARTER !

❝ STOP THAT. ❞  — IT REALLY DOESN’T TAKE much of a genius to catch the annoyance creeping into the demand, the brief hint of threat flashing in the curling of a deep scowl.  ( Though that’s still setting a rather high bar for Scout, Spy thinks. )  ❝ And what exactly do you think you’re doing... ? ❞ 

[poisonsculpted]

waheeeey follow me on my canon RED medic bc my attention is all there for him but i’m still thinking about Jean-Noël and will get his deity au verse up soon!! i might even write a fanfic about the story i have btw the two of them because it’s awful and cruel but also lowkey gay 

[zweiherzen]

      ❝  —  i want to break you…  cutting out                       my heart ‘til there’s NOTHING inside . ❞                     

Independent && semi-selective RED MEDIC of TEAM FORTRESS 2.

➛  Crossover and OC-friendly, open to non-mutuals & all ! ➛  Primarily novella / multi-para, open to others ! ➛  Multiverse and multi-ship and non-exclusive ! ➛  LIKE or REBLOG for me to have a look at your blog (reblogs preferred) !

[poisonsculpted]

( ooc )  —  oh boy i have no idea what i was doing on this blog previously and now i dont know where any of my drafts are

[poisonsculpted]

medikrieg.

Medic grinned. Like a satisfied cat having caught its prey – a feeling that Medic didn’t have often with the enemy Spy in battle, unfortunately – despite the current ceasefire. Cocking his head, standing tall, Medic mockingly asked,  “What’s with the face? Still upset after yesterday’s humiliation round?”  Medic clicked his tongue, pursing his lips with a mocking pitying expression on his face. “Aw…I know it must be difficult to deal with the humiliation, but I assure you, that ugly look on your face is doing you no favors.”  Then, with a mean spirited smile and a too sharp grin, Medic couldn’t help but deliver one final jab to his enemy, petty as it was (but satisfying nonetheless).  “ — Though I suppose it goes well with your hat.” A pause, and then, acting as if what he was saying wasn’t obvious, he finished, “As in, your hat is ugly.”

@poisonsculpted· | liked for a starter!

THE NEW MEXICO SUN IS TOO OFTEN UNKIND, accustomed to being thoroughly weather-beaten as the spy might have been throughout his youth.  ( Lovely as the notion of a life by the seashore may be, it has left its mark. )  But he finds that the desert is another sort of monster altogether; and so a simple grey plaid newsboy cap finds itself perched on Spy’s head, clinging nugly to the fabric of his mask as he privately skulks throughout rocky terrain. Protection for his eyes... though it is with the greatest despair that he finds they would not at all protect his ears from the lilt of the RED Medic’s nerve-grinding, unbearably smug mockery.

He can’t quite tell if the sickness in his stomach is from the sight of Medic or if it’s the smoke he swallowed at the startlement of his unexpected company.

He raises his cigarette again to his lips, drinking in ash and nicotine to calm the jitter that Medic’s presence has surfaced. Nervousness, however, has never been enough to quell a clever tongue.  ❝ It’s a shame you would compare something like my hat with words for something as unfortunate as that face you were born with, docteur.  — if I can even call you that. Truly a humiliation to the medical field, as... self-assured in your brilliance as you may be. 

❝ I might note as well that such a constitution as yours denotes psychopathy more so than any claim of talent. So forgive me if I forgo any medical titles whilst addressing you. ❞

[poisonsculpted]

( ooc )  —  hmm it’s been a while since i’ve worked on jean-noël. like for a small starter. i’ll catch up on old things in some time.

[poisonsculpted]

doesharm.

He’s going to die, that much he knows, from the dull ache from a horrible pain he can no longer feel. Numb, if anything, waiting for the adrenaline to subside and the world around him to fade to black. Nothing that hadn’t been done before, and if anything, was probably deserved in the eyes of the blu team. He especially- once his precious trophy on display, now on his own two feet once more. His suit clean pressed, the scent of the cigarette that hung between his lips making him crave a smoke, as he watched the blade in his hands twirl with such grace and skill.

If anything, it made him grin, knowing well that after all that time away from his body, he still managed to surpass his expectations. Still capable of taking him down, body full of stab wounds, yet somehow he still managed to hold on. Hands soaked in blood, he took a careful step towards him, arms outstretched, as if awaiting some sort of embrace he could never receive. Proud of what he’d become, it left him in a fit of laughter, his shuffling steps unsettling as he attempted to close the space between them both. 

“After all this time being apart- here I thought you might have shown me kindness- did our time mean so little to you? How I’ve missed you, mein liebster Spion...”

BLOOD. CHEMICALS. THE STENCH OF SICKLINESS AND HOSPITALS  —  a stench he’s grown too accustomed to in past months, that which he struggled for countless nights with such vigour to scrub from his skin. The mask he wore when the RED medic’s laboratories were all he was permitted of the world, along with any clothing and weapons returned to him, have long been thrown into the fires of the common room he used to take often to smoking in. Turned to ashes; and though he loathes to admit it, he had hoped that forgetting would come easily if only he erased every relic of his time spent in Medic’s possession.

But, in all his attempts to wash that smell from his skin and to rid himself of what was left behind from his time away from BLU, he had failed to account for one thing he could not strip from his body: his own flesh and the head which sat upon his shoulders. That awful head, a thing too clever for its own good and all too adept at remembering. It is his own head and the mind within which mocks him in the dead of night, bringing phantom whiffs of that place and the flash of bright blues behind spectacles.

It only serves as proof: No amount of cleanliness, of purging, nor death could remove the spy from the pathetic display of a man who had surrendered everything there in that lab – the man who had let dignity and pride slip through metaphorical fingers, one who had the pitiful audacity to plead for death.

So fixated had he been on the process of recovery and of forgetting that he never once considered what might happen if he were given a reason to remember. Maybe it’s something he hoped to ignore, a possibility he’s wanted to deny since his return. But a leave from the battlefield can hardly last long for men of his profession.  ( Especially when his team consider his absence already a break too long from his work. )  But throughout it all, he never once considered that all of his work would come crashing down when that scent returned to him in the thick of battle and when he found himself cornered and alone with the RED medic.

Even Spy’s not quite sure what’s happened. He remembers hazy bits. The clench of his fingers around the handle of his knife as the medic advanced; the pounding of his heartbeat thunderous in his ears and his body growing cold as if it were withering away once more into a corpse  ( if not for the sweat that dampened his shirt telling him he is still very much alive ); any and every thought in his mind ceasing, leaving only the growing panic of danger, he is coming for you again, danger, DANGER—

The open arms that greet him when at last he surfaces from the dizzying blackness of half-consciousness, a hand planted on his knee as he struggles for breath, are a mockery. Though thoughts and emotion feel muffled still in his cold panic, anger and fury surface like a tempest all-consuming at Klause’s sickening grin and that laughter.

Away the knife’s tucked and out comes the revolver from the inside of his jacket. One bullet to the leg to bring the medic tumbling down from where he stands – despite Spy’s efforts thus far, a knife is yet too personal for comfort.

❝ To ask a man to have sympathy or kindness for a devil is the task of a fool. Don’t you think so? Apologies if I disappointed you, docteur. ❞

The words, hoarse and heavy, leave a taste of something bitter on his tongue. Perhaps regret. Or perhaps loathing at the thought that, as he spoke those words, Jean-Noël might have realised he did not – for just a moment – even believe himself. And yet he finds himself drawn to the monster he felled, feet carrying him until he comes just a step short of the medic. Were he more inclined to get his shoes dirty, he might crush the medic’s head into the ground and under his foot. But all he can bring himself to do, instead, is to wait. 

For what, he’s not quite sure. A sense of closure? An apology that would never come?

[poisonsculpted]

( OOC )  — I’LL GET BACK ON HERE SOON i have a theme in the works but school is fucking killing me, and Ludwig is as well if I don’t pay attention to him