As Rare As Australium

Prompts || FAQ || Rules || Disqualified Ships

[tf2rarepairevents]

Are you guys coming back this year? :0

Ahhhh probably not :( idk how much of an interest there is for more events like this but also I just don't enjoy interacting with the tf2 community for the most part anymore. I've offered to give other people a chance to host this blog before, but no one seemed interested, thus why it's been kind of sitting here

[tf2rarepairevents]

I know I don't keep up with this blog much but I just wanted to throw a little shout out to the self shippers who participated - as well as those who didnt but still self ship. Yall are so fucking cool. The ultimate rare pair. I hope yall keep having fun because you all are the realist people out there ❤️

[tf2rarepairevents]

any plans on doing more events in the future?

Assuming there is enough interest, the next event probably won't be until January at the earliest.

[maledicmanny-deactivated2025111]

Kitchen Chaos

Demo and Scout try making a meal together, but their relationship may not survive it.

@tf2rarepairevents

Scout hated when it was his turn to cook dinner. He’d traded in as many favors as he could to get out of it, but eventually, the time came.

The runner had just put an apple pie into the oven, mumbling something about how ridiculous it was that the mercs had to do their own cooking, when he looked up to see Demo leaning against the counter, a cheeky smile on his face.

“Demo! What’re you doin’ here?” Scout asked, shock written all over his face as he closed the oven door. Demo walked over to him and put his arms around Scout’s waist.

“Ach, lad, I knew ya dinnae like to cook, so I thought I’d help ya,” came the reply, along with a quick kiss to the forehead. Scout shut his eyes and smiled. With Demo there to help, and a recipe from his ma she said was simple to make, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

“All right, let’s do it, then,” Scout said, heading immediately for the grill on the oven’s hob. He knew it would have to preheat first, so he turned the knob counter clockwise as far as it could go, listening to the flames poof to life. Scout turned back to Demo.

“We, uh, we need a salad,” was all he had to say before Demo exuberantly headed to the fridge.

“Aye, I’m on it!”

Before long, Demo was merrily chopping away at vegetables in between swigs of scrumpy, and Scout was putting on a large pot of water to boil for the pasta. He happened to look over at Demo, and frowned.

“Hey, uh, I’m no expert, but I think you’re cuttin’ that tomato wrong.”

Demo looked up from what he was doing. “What’s that? I dinnae kin what you’re talkin’ about.”’

Scout walked over to where Demo was stood at the counter. “Here, lemme show ya.”

Demo yanked the knife away from him. “Not to worry, lad, I can handle it.”

“But you’re doin’ it wrong, Demo!” Scout insisted, making a grab for the knife as Demo pushed it into the ripe tomato. In a flash, it had all gone wrong.

“AHH!” screamed Demo, lunging backwards from the counter and holding up a bleeding finger. “Me finger’s all bloody bloody!”

Scout was immediately ashamed, so much so that he could already feel himself tearing up. “Ah, gee, Demo, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to …”

Shaking his head, Demo headed to the First Aid kit hanging on the wall. “Ach, it’s a’right. Jus’ an accident.” Demo began to bandage up his injured finger. Fortunately, the cut wasn’t deep.

Not feeling confident in his apology, but not knowing what else to do, Scout turned back to the counter and grabbed some peppers to slice for the salad. They were funny-looking peppers, small and thin, but hey, peppers were peppers, Scout figured. He sliced into them, carefully removing the seeds with his fingers. He snuck a quick glance at Demo, who was finishing up with his bandaging. Scout really did feel bad about it, and he felt a tear threatening to spill over. He quickly wiped his eye, and resumed cutting. Suddenly, his eye began to burn.

“What the –“

Scout put down the knife and turned around, his eye squeezed tightly shut. He watched as Demo made his way over.

“Ach, what’s gotten into you, lad?”

Scout thought quickly. “What the hell kinda peppers were you usin’, Demo?”

Demo had to think on it, then realized he’d been about to cut jalapeños. He stared at Scout as the younger man came to the same conclusion. With his one good eye, Scout glared at Demo, who shrugged and tried to smile apologetically.

“Now you know how it feels to have only one good eye, eh?” was all Demo could manage to say.

“Why I oughtta –“

Scout’s angry advance towards Demo was halted by the Scot holding up his bandaged finger, reminding Scout of what he’d done. The runner backed off.

“Yeah, yeah, all right. We’re even, then.”

Scout’s attention was suddenly diverted to the pot of water on the stove, boiling over. Scout ran to it, calling to Demo over his shoulder.

“Could you put the steaks on the grill? I gotta take care of this.”

“Aye, laddie!” Demo replied. He grabbed the plate of meat from the counter, and headed over to the grill. He pulled up the lid, only to be met with flames flaring up, lapping at his face. Demo screamed, dropping the plate as he quickly backed off. It shattered into several pieces as it hit the floor, getting the meat everywhere.

Demo swung his narrow-eyed gaze at Scout, smoke rising up from his eyebrows where they’d been singed. Scout was in the midst of pulling the large pot of water off the stove as Demo pointed at him, accusingly.

“Just how high did ye’ set the temperature, ya bleedin’ radge?!”

“What’d ya just call me?” was all Scout had time to say before losing his balance on the slick tile floor. He went crashing down, along with the pot he was carrying. Thankfully, the hot water splashed out forward and missed Scout, as the pot hit the tile with a resounding clang. Scout winced in pain, grabbing the knee he’d landed on. Demo rushed over, and helped Scout to his feet, but immediately began sniffing.

“Is somethin’ burnin’?”

Scout made sure he had his feet solidly under him before sniffing the air himself. His eyes went wide in hasty recollection.

“The pie!”

Scout and Demo rushed as one to the oven, yanking the door open and waving away the billowing smoke that poured out of it. Both of them were coughing like mad, but Demo recovered first and grabbed a pair of oven mitts. Putting them on, he reached into the oven to pull out a hardened, black mass that had once been dessert. He let it fall onto the hob, ignoring the loud clatter it made, and looked over at Scout, who was just staring at it. Neither of them spoke for a moment, as Scout looked at the pie, then at the meat on the floor, the half-cut jalapeños, and the spilled water with its steam still rising from the tile. He looked back at the pie, defeated.

“Well … at least Pyro’ll eat it.”

Demo looked at Scout.

“No one’ll eat that, lad.”

Scout heard himself snort, a short, sudden sound that surprised him as much as Demo, who giggled in return. Scout looked over, and started to chuckle. Demo began to laugh out right, and soon, the two of them were in tears.

After they’d finally calmed down, Demo draped an arm around Scout’s shoulders, wiping a tear from his eye. They’d both had a hearty laugh over their unfortunate situation, and they’d badly needed one.

“Well, lad … what do we do, now?”

Scout looked back at Demo, and pulled him into an embrace.

“Let’s order pizza.”

Demo agreed.  

[maledicmanny-deactivated2025111]

The Party

Pyro tries to plan the perfect birthday for Miss Pauling

@tf2rarepairevents

Pyro had been planning for months. Nothing could go wrong.

It was Miss Pauling’s birthday, and Pyro knew she had forgotten all about mentioning it. Which made the opportunity for a surprise party all the more enticing. Sadly, Miss Pauling’s birthday didn’t fall on the one day a year she had off, as the Administrator saw no point in celebrating these kinds of things, but Pyro had a plan. The firebug had convinced Medic to come up with an excuse to get Miss Pauling to the base for a few hours that evening, and that would be enough.

Pyro had enlisted the help of every mercenary, not just Medic. Engie and Heavy were in charge of the food, and Demo and Soldier were handling decorations. Sniper was already off base with his camper van, running errands and getting what they would need for the party. Scout volunteered to be in charge of the music, and Pyro had even convinced Spy to contribute, even if it was only to bring a bottle or two of nice wine. Pyro would plan the games that would be used for entertainment.

Yes, everything was going according to plan, Pyro thought as they made their way through the base and to the rec room. They could just picture it in their head, now: Miss Pauling would arrive on base, Medic would find some excuse to lead her to the darkened rec room, the lights would come up, the mercs all pop out, and the love of Pyro’s life would have the birthday celebration she deserved. Under the mask, Pyro was smiling to themself. It was perfect.

That is, until Pyro actually entered the rec room. To their dismay, Sniper had only picked up a single bag of supplies, sitting in a sad-looking paper bag on the poker table. With the food, decorations, and the rest of it, there should have been much, much more. Pyro ran over to the bag, and looked inside. A bottle of soda, a bag of chips, and a package of balloons were all that was inside.

Pyro smacked their forehead in disgust. They knew the Aussie was a minimalist, but this was ridiculous. It was at that moment that Demo entered the room, a bottle of scrumpy in one hand, and his other arm draped around Soldier’s shoulders.

“Aye, mate! We’re here to decorate!” Demo exclaimed a little too loudly for Pyro’s comfort.

“Hey, that rhymed!” Soldier pointed out, and the two shared a laugh. Pyro didn’t know how to react, and simply pulled out the package of balloons before mutely holding them out to Soldier.

“Is that all?” Demo asked, incredulous. Pyro nodded, sadly.

“They are not even red, white, or blue!” yelled Soldier. Pyro shrugged.

Demo slapped a sloppy, yet reassuring hand onto Pyro’s shoulder. “Ach, dinnae you worry, we’ll do the best we can. Especially for – hic – Miss Pauling.”

Pyro did feel a little better hearing that, even if they were concerned about Demo’s state of inebriation. That is, until a sudden outburst from the kitchen startled them to attention.

Running in, Pyro saw Engie and Heavy in front of the stove, which was on fire. Rather than making any moves to put out the flames, the two men, usually the calmest ones on the team, were arguing over who had started it. Ignoring them both, Pyro grabbed an extinguisher from the wall, and expertly put out the fire in seconds. Heavy and Engie stared for a moment, then resumed arguing.

“Dagnabbit, it ain’t my fault, Heavy!”

“Nyet! Engineer sets temperature too high!”

Pyro rushed to get in between them, holding up their gloved hands to signify the both of them to be quiet. Heavy and Engie fell silent, as Pyro pointed to each of them, then to the fridge. The message was clear: work together, and get some food on the table. Engie sighed.

“All right, Pyro, we’re on it.” He looked pointedly at Heavy. “We’ll finish this discussion later, son.”

Heavy narrowed his eyes, but said nothing in return. Before Pyro could admonish either one of them any further, Spy suddenly decloaked next to them. Jumping a mile, Pyro stepped back and looked the agent up and down. He was not carrying anything, but instead stood there, calmly lighting a cigarette.

“Mmph!” Pyro exclaimed, looking behind Spy’s back, as if the Frenchman were hiding a bottle of wine back there. Spy shook his head in response.

“I am sorry, Pyro, but you must understand. I cannot waste my supply of good wine on such company as … this.”

Pyro narrowed their eyes behind the mask. They were just about fed up with Spy’s attitude. Reaching into their pocket, they pulled out a much-creased photo of Miss Pauling, and held it up to Spy’s face, pointing. The agent sighed, and rolled his eyes.

“Fine. For Miss Pauling, then.”

Pyro nodded as Spy cloaked once again, presumably off to choose one of the less expensive bottles in his collection. Pyro felt a tap on their shoulder, and turned to face Scout, who was holding up a pair of records.

“Hey, pally, gotta know which Tom Jones album you prefer – She’s a Lady, or A-Tom-ic Jones?”

Pyro clasped both hands to their head in exasperation. Was that all Scout had for music? Pyro shook their head adamantly, and pointed in the direction of Scout’s room.

“Okay, okay! I’ll pick somethin’ else, geez,” Scout muttered, turning and heading back to his room. Pyro followed him out of the kitchen to see how Demo and Soldier were coming along with the decorations.

It wasn’t pretty.

Soldier had apparently been taking swigs of Demo’s scrumpy, because the place was littered with newspaper streamers all hanging from the ceiling at odd angles, and balloons of different sizes all over the floor. Demo was wearing a lampshade on his head. Soldier was laughing at him.

“HUDDAH!”

Soldier and Demo both stopped, mid-laugh, to look at their enraged teammate. Just before Pyro could really lay into them, however, Medic burst into the room.

“She is here!” he announced to Pyro. “She came early! I told her there was something for her in the rec room when she was done picking up my paperwork, and she is on her way!”

Medic looked around at the sorry excuse for a rec room, and his eyes went wide.

“Oh, scheisse.”

Pyro became frantic. They couldn’t decide what to do first in the scant minute or two they had left. Should they rip down the streamers? Open the lone bag of chips? Call Scout back to put on some music? Pyro never got the chance to do any of those things, as the door to the rec room suddenly swung open behind them. Everyone turned to see Miss Pauling, eyes down at a stack of manila envelopes in her head, enter the room.

“Well, Medic, this all seems to be in order. Now what did you –“

Miss Pauling abruptly stopped talking and walking at the same time when she looked up to see the room in its current state. Soldier and Demo were drunkenly stumbling around, Heavy and Engie were just coming in with a large plate of charred food, Scout and Sniper were still off somewhere, and Spy chose that exact moment to decloak in the middle of it all, still empty-handed. Miss Pauling took in the sight as best she could, realized what day it was, and looked over at Pyro.

The poor firebug’s shoulders were slumped in defeat, and they were staring at the ground. All of their efforts, all the hard work, for nothing. Miss Pauling wasn’t going to have the birthday she deserved, after all. In that moment, Pyro felt so small they could have sat on a piece of paper and swung their legs over the side.

Ignoring the state of chaos around her, as she so often did, Miss Pauling walked with deliberation over to Pyro, gently lifting their head to look at her.

“Pyro,” she began, “Did you do all of this for me? For my birthday?”

Pyro nodded, ashamed that their best efforts hadn’t been good enough. Until they saw Miss Pauling start to smile. Until they felt her lightly kiss the forehead of their mask. Until they saw the light shining through her eyes.

“I love it. And I love you.”

Pyro’s heart nearly burst out of their chest. If Miss Pauling was happy, then everything was going to be all right. Sure enough, it was unanimously agreed that everyone should order in, and the evening was saved by an energetic game of Gravel and Gargoyles.

And a good time was had by all.

[maledicmanny-deactivated2025111]

Trouble in Paradise

I'm only about six weeks late for TF2 Rare Pair Mini-Week ... oops

Anyway, here's Medic and Soldier on vacation. Things don't go as planned.

@tf2rarepairevents

The flight to Fiji had been long and hard, especially when traveling with a rabid raccoon and a flock of birds, but Medic and Soldier had finally made it to their dream vacation destination. Medic had had a difficult time of convincing Soldier to holiday anywhere outside of the US, but he could tell by the look on Soldier’s face that he was happy to have been talked into it.

It won’t be long now, Medic thought with a grin as they walked into their resort. Soon they would be all checked in, and he and Soldier could rest in the room for a while before hitting the beach. The storm clouds off in the horizon, however, went amiss – in more ways than one.

Medic strode up to the counter, bird cage in hand, as Soldier struggled behind him with the numerous pieces of luggage and a raccoon in a pet carrier. The clerk looked up with a smile that quickly dissipated once she got a glance at what the pair were carrying. Ignoring the strange look, Medic forged ahead.

“Hallo, Fraulein! We have a reservation for a Presidential suite,” he began, carefully setting the dove cage onto the counter. He didn’t see her cringe, or least, pretended not to.

“Sir, I’m afraid we don’t allow … animals … at this hotel,” she informed him, eyes going wide as Soldier walked up with a hissing raccoon under his arm. Medic’s brow furrowed in concern.

“Your website says you are pet-friendly,” he countered.

“Yes, for dogs, and the occasional cat, but not … that,” she said, pointing at Lieutenant Bites. “Or those.” She indicated the bird cage.

Medic was incensed. How dare she refer to his doves in such a manner! He squared his shoulders, puffed up his chest, and put on his most authoritative voice.

“Your establishment did not specify what kind of animals, only that they be pets. And these ...” he said, indicating the doves and Lieutenant Bites, “… happen to be ours.”

The concerned clerk excused herself, only to return a moment later with a middle-aged man wearing a ‘Manager’ name tag, who looked very shocked to see what had just walked into his hotel. After much arguing, bargaining, and Soldier being very confused about the entire situation, Medic managed to talk his way into staying at the hotel with their pets – but the manager flat out refused to rent them the Presidential suite. The best he could do for them under the circumstances, he said, was a first-floor single bed room with few accommodations. Medic was livid.

“We booked a suite! I expect to get one!”

It was not to be. Ten minutes later, the two men and their pets were wrangling their luggage down the hall to their new room, which was only slightly larger than a walk-in closet. With no window, a closet was exactly what it felt like, too. Medic allowed his suitcase to drop out of his hand and to the floor with a disappointed sag of his shoulders.

“Do not worry, Pookums,” spoke up Soldier, setting down Lieutenant Bites, who immediately ran underneath the bed. “There is still the beach to enjoy.”

Medic sighed. He supposed Soldier was right. There were in paradise, after all, and what was a hotel room, anyway, but just a place to shower and sleep?

“This is true, mein leibling,” he said, a softer tone creeping into his voice. “Let us unpack, then go to the beach.”

A short time later, the two were headed out the door, dressed in their swimsuits with sandals on their feet, and towels slung over their shoulders. Medic smiled. Maybe the room wasn’t so bad after all. Some time relaxing on the beach and listening to the waves crashing against the shore would do him good. He opened the door to the hotel, Soldier right behind him, and stepped outside.

It was pouring rain.

The first tropical storm to hit Fiji in over fifty years, the locals said. We cannot account for Mother Nature, the hotel management said. We’re closed due to the weather, the café owner said.

With no other options of anything to do, the soaking wet pair of Soldier and Medic trudged back to their hotel room. Soldier was yapping on about how bad weather made a man out of you, but Medic was in no mood to listen. They had only been in country for a few hours, and already, he was exhausted, exasperated, and thoroughly frustrated. All he wanted to do was collapse into bed and sleep. Maybe things would be better when he woke up.

Unfortunately, things were about to get much, much worse.

Upon opening the door, the sight that greeted Medic’s eyes was one of utter chaos. The room was a complete mess, with the bed sheets spread all over the floor and deep scratches cut into the mattress. The pictures hanging on the wall were askew, and feathers were flying through the air as the doves, who had evidently escaped from their cage, desperately tried to steer clear of an obviously frenetic Lieutenant Bites. In their fear, they had also left … deposits … all over the room.

Medic stood there for a moment, watching the bedlam unfold in front of him. Soldier rushed into the room, tackling and wrestling Lieutenant Bites back into his cage. Medic, stone-faced, walked slowly into the room and sat on the bed, resting his head on his hands. He was trying very, very hard to remain calm. He was so focused on trying to simply breathe, that he didn’t notice his birds settling down. He didn’t notice the bed sag as Soldier sat next to him. He didn’t notice the hand placed soothingly on his shoulder. He was only shook from his trance-like reverie when Soldier spoke.

“What is the matter, Muffin?”

Medic looked up at his partner, incredulously.

“What is the matter? What is the matter?! EVERYTHING is the matter!”

Medic stood and began to pace, what little he could in the small space made even smaller by the mess, and gesticulate wildly with his hands.

“It took us hours to get here! It took us almost as long to get through customs! We finally arrive, only to find that the hotel will not honor our reservation! Our room is a closet! We cannot even enjoy the beach! And now, NOW, we will have to pay for all the damages caused by that wretched raccoon!”

Medic flung himself onto the bed in a huff as Soldier processed everything he had just heard. He was silent for a moment, thinking, and then turned to face Medic, who was burying his face into what was left of a pillow.

“But we are together, Private. And as long as I am with you, I will enjoy myself.”

Medic considered the sweetness of Soldier’s words, and looked up, entreatingly. Soldier gave a small but reassuring smile, and Medic found himself smiling back at him. Soldier was right, once again. As long as they were together, the rest didn’t matter. The rain couldn’t last forever, and they made more than enough money to cover the expense of a trashed hotel room. There was nothing wrong that couldn’t be made right.

Medic straightened himself up, and allowed Soldier to put his arm around him, and draw him close. Medic put his head on his lover’s shoulder. They stayed like that for a while, birds flying about, feathers still floating in the air, and a hissing raccoon at their feet.

This is perfect, thought Medic.

[just-mebs]

Day 3: Party | Music | Games

This took me SO long to make and render, but god was it worth it. I was almost afraid that this wasn't going to render how I wanted it to but I think it still came out as well as I had hoped it would! A little game day, Mann vs Machine style!

[tf2rarepairevents]

Thank You!

And that marks the end of this summer’s rare pair event!

These past three days have been so fun seeing everyone come together to make such amazing content for such a wide spread of ships! It was really fun seeing people from last year’s event participate again, as well as seeing all the new people who decided to join this year! Echoing my thoughts from last year: I hope that even though the event is over, people will continue to make art of their ships and share it throughout the fandom. There were a few ships this year that I personally hadn’t seen before – or at least hadn’t seen much of – and I’m so glad people were able to show them off!

Signing off with a few reminders about the event:

I will still be reblogging late submissions for the foreseeable future if anyone plans on submitting late. I might be slow checking the tag, but like I’ve said previously, feel free to @ the blog to ensure I see it!

For those of you who wrote fic for the event: reminder to add your works to the AO3 Collection (if you want to)!

And finally, assuming there is still interest for more rare pair events in the future, keep an eye out on this blog for future updates.

Thank you to everyone again for participating, and good luck to everyone doing artfight and the big bang event this year + any other events in the future. I hope you all have a great rest of your summer!

Mebs 👋

P.S.: Want to give me feedback? Feel free to fill out this Feedback Survey if you have any feedback to give on the event this year!

[tf2rarepairevents]

Thank You!

And that marks the end of this summer’s rare pair event!

These past three days have been so fun seeing everyone come together to make such amazing content for such a wide spread of ships! It was really fun seeing people from last year’s event participate again, as well as seeing all the new people who decided to join this year! Echoing my thoughts from last year: I hope that even though the event is over, people will continue to make art of their ships and share it throughout the fandom. There were a few ships this year that I personally hadn’t seen before – or at least hadn’t seen much of – and I’m so glad people were able to show them off!

Signing off with a few reminders about the event:

I will still be reblogging late submissions for the foreseeable future if anyone plans on submitting late. I might be slow checking the tag, but like I’ve said previously, feel free to @ the blog to ensure I see it!

For those of you who wrote fic for the event: reminder to add your works to the AO3 Collection (if you want to)!

And finally, assuming there is still interest for more rare pair events in the future, keep an eye out on this blog for future updates.

Thank you to everyone again for participating, and good luck to everyone doing artfight and the big bang event this year + any other events in the future. I hope you all have a great rest of your summer!

Mebs 👋

P.S.: Want to give me feedback? Feel free to fill out this Feedback Survey if you have any feedback to give on the event this year!

[gay-gay-crochet]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Solly and Medic listen to a record while fixing Medic’s doves’ enclosure. They both hate music.

Thissun’s short, silly, and fluffy. Also a thinly veiled excuse to let out two of the many headcanons I have about each mercs’ opinions on opera. I can be autistic about more than one thing.

[spuggathy]

PyroPauling dancing to TV girl

(#1 bgf stands for number one Boygirlfriend)

And Bushmed playing Life the game

@tf2rarepairevents

[verchielmarch]

Mediscout for party prompt :)

[reptil-enjoyer]

Hi im late

(The two other days are below cut)

Literally forgot this event existed so i kinda rushed it, liked the result anyways x)

[hankwritten]

Slake Her Thirst

Pauling/Pyro, 2k Warnings: binge drinking

Sunday (July 9) : Party | Music | Games

Escape was before her. A thin band of light under a closed door. And just as easily, that chance was whisked away by being a second too late to leap on it.

“You’re not staying for the party?” Demo asked, a lager in each hand.

Pauling groaned internally, her hand on the doorknob now as useless as an ice screw left lying on the ground. She drew it back and tried rustle up a smile.

“I didn’t want to impose…” she said.

Which was a bad start because Demo immediately replied with, “Ach! It’s no imposition. We hardly ever see ye lass, it’s good to have you come every now and then.”

Damn. She’d walked right into that. “Seriously, I’m kind of don’t do well at parties, just going to bring the mood down…”

“What’s the matter? Ye got somewhere to be or something?”

There. No way out of this one, not when she’d already tipped her hand and let slip this was her day off. Her palm glumly fell from the doorknob.

“…No. I guess not.”

Demo took this opportunity to shove one of the lagers into her now unoccupied hands.

“Good!” he boomed. “Drinks on the house lassie, so start throwing ‘em back!”

Actually drinks were on TF Industries, and the generous salaries it was doling out to these guys, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She tipped it back and drained it in one, long-running gulp (much to Demo’s enthusiasm as he cheered her on) and wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve when she was done. She was probably going to need several of these to make it through tonight.

Because mercenary parties were nothing to sneeze at. Pauling wasn’t a fan of normal parties—of their prying, incessant purpose to crack you open and get you to spill yourself onto confetti and barely trustworthy acquaintances—and the mercs of 2Fort didn’t stop at too loud music and a lot of beer. No, a lot didn’t even begin to cover it. It was a stupid amount of beer. A disaster-waiting-to-happen amount of beer. And she was right there in the middle of it.

Sniper had brought his family’s moonshine. Heavy, as she watched, hauled a truly massive keg into the base common room. Even Pyro was drinking a beer through a curly straw.

That last one was pretty adorable, actually.

“Ah, so you decided to stay after all!”

The sudden appearance of the team’s Medic made her jump, and if there were still beer in her mug she certainly would have sloshed it over herself. Medic, immediately categorizing this as a deficiency, replaced her lager with a full one.

“Oktoberfest!” he cheered warmly.

“It’s July,” Pauling said.

“Not if you find the spirit of the season in your heart,” he said.

She shrugged, and began to imbue from the new one as well. Still, her eyes kept finding her way back to the Pyro, even as she hid it behind glass and glasses. Medic, of course noticed.

“He was very much hoping you would stay,” Medic said. “It was his idea to do the briefcase pre-check, thought you would be more inclined if we did so.”

That had been a welcome surprise when she’d first stopped on base, saving her the hassle of going through the checks herself.

“I should go say thanks then,” she said honestly. “Maybe try to get him to itemize my other classified documents too.”

It was a joke, but one not too far from the truth; she trusted with secrets, and that trust went both ways. Namely, the fact that ‘he’ wasn’t an accurate descriptor.

Or at least, that’s what the Administrator said. She hadn’t really provided any proof, or what Pyro might look like under that suit—that was left to Pauling’s imagination and it was something she really shouldn’t be thinking about while drunk and approaching Pyro’s sofa. She waved the thoughts away.

It wasn’t hard to guess the reason for the deception. This was a man’s job, and no one was going to let you forget it. Every other person in this room was showboating and getting hopped on testosterone, and even if they’d always treated her kindly, she’d never be treated the same. The Administrator wasn’t immune to either—to work for Helen you did assassinations in heels and you negotiated weapons contracts in a skirt, and if you couldn’t do that you went home. Even now, she could feel Scout’s eyes on her, desperate to come over and wind up another ill-fated schmooze on her, only screened by the Engineer trying to convince him of something.

So no, she didn’t begrudge the Pyro for being private. And she certainly wasn’t going to be the one to blab to the guys.

“Heyyy buddyyy~” she said upon reaching Pyro and wow was she drunk if her voice was already doing that thing.

Pyro didn’t mind, immediately sweeping her up into a bone-crushing hug.

“Good to see you too. Thanks for um…the um…briefcase thing.”

Though, maybe if she’d still been stuck in the intelligence room, she would have had a valid excuse to skip the party. Oh well. She was actually starting to enjoy herself.

And becoming a little afraid of what that meant. Quashing the little part of herself that hated losing composure, hated becoming uninhibited.

“Hudda huh?” Pyro asked, setting Pauling down.

“Noooo…I’ve only had like. Two.” Within the span of ten minutes.

“Mmph,” Pyro said, tapping her own straw.

“Contest? Oh hell yeah. You’re on.” Then Pauling’s brain caught up with her words. “I mean, actually, I probably shouldn’t stay for too long…”

“Pssy.”

“Oh fuck you! You’re the pussy.”

So Pauling chugged the party down thoroughly, Pyro by her side and matching her drink for drink. Until the straw proved to be too much of a limiter, and Pauling started taking on extra drinks while waiting, taunting Pyro to catch up.

She found herself on the dance floor, maybe being a bit too clingy to her ‘favorite buddy’. But she quickly soothed that spike of worry—they guys were taking notice, and maybe having a bit of a laugh as Pyro and Pauling made clumsy fools of themselves to the overly sugary music, but as far as they knew there was nothing wrong with it. Sure Scout was oddly put out, but that was a blessing really, and the whole situation became almost comforting. That for one night, maybe things would go well.

“Huddah huh!”

“Keg stand? I can’t do a keg stand! I’m in a skirt!”

“Hudd mmrr huh.”

“Pantyhose don’t count as pants. They’re underwear, Pyro.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh!”

Somehow, maybe a testament to her level of inebriation and a sign that she should stop this, Pyro convinced her to do a keg stand under the conditions she would hold up her skirt while she did it. The nearest mercenaries cheered when she finished, and she put both fists up in victory.

“Wooo!”

“Mmmm!” Pyro echoed.

“This is great! I’m having so much fun. I can’t even remember why I didn’t want to have fun in the first place.”

“Great to hear it, lass,” Demo said.

“You guys are my best friends! I feel like my skin is on fire. I could kill every person in this room and no one would even care. I’m holding together the world’s most expensive corporate conspiracy with packing wire and multicolored sticky notes and I can’t even get a government mandated sick day! Isn’t that funny? Ha. Haha. HAHA.”

It wasn’t that funny.

“Pmmph hudd?”

“I’M HAVING SO MUCH FUN.”

She doubled over laughing. She tried to wrap her arms around her stomach to keep the fun inside her, but it wasn’t helping. The laughter was shaking every cell in her body, threatening to tear her apart at the seams.

The mercenaries were milling about in concern, and it was only Pyro holding up a hand that kept them back.

She found herself in Pyro’s room. Minutes blurred by or when on achingly slowly with no rhyme or reason, and the hysteria only started to lessen when the thrum of the party was applied through several layers of base walls.

“This,” she said, still trying to hold herself with arms and elbows. “This is why I can’t. Can’t let it go for even a second.”

“Mmm hurr?” Pyro sat by her on the bed.

“It’s like molecules in a solid. Stress is keeping you together. But then you start bombarding them with energy and they bounce off each other and then the whole structure goes bleh and leaks like goo out of the edges.”

Pyro was rubbing her back. Pauling’s hands found her shoulders, her neck, the edge where the suit met the mask. She was barely thinking, here whole structure, her whole all of her leaking over the edges and on to Pyro.

“And I just…I can’t let my guard down for even a second…”

Except for now maybe. When her lips were bumping against rubber mask that was just close enough to skin it could trick her brain into believing something else.

What was she doing? What was doing? They other guys might know Pyro was a woman, but Pyro knew was a woman, and here she was now doing something that definitely couldn’t be brushed off as being too drunk or too out of her mind…

But Pyro wasn’t pushing her away. Even as Pauling straddled her, gloves came up the back of Pauling’s neck, undoing her chignon and letting her hair fall black and cascading around them. They were suddenly kissing in a tent of darkness, and Pauling was here, on pushing her flat onto the bed, her finger’s searching for the zipper of the chemsuit-

“Prrmmng.”

It had to be here, somewhere along the neckline-

“Prrmmng,” Pyro said more firmly, guiding them back into a sitting position.

“What?”

“Hudda mur hhrm.”

Pauling tried to follow the finger as it moved from one side of her face to the other. She really did. But suddenly one finger became six, then down to two, and then her eyes started to hurt for no reason as the scrutiny of the blank lenses kept her pinned. Pyro shook her head, and gently moved Pauling off her lap.

“Shit. Shit, Pyro I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Pyro silenced her wish a shake of her head, and gently cupped Pauling’s cheek with a gloved palm. An assurance that everything was alright.

It didn’t feel alright. But she was suddenly so, so tired, and didn’t have it in her to fight anymore. She could only manage one last surrender, obeying when Pyro told her to get some rest. Collapsing unfamiliar pillow, her hair spread out in an absolute mess, she let the mercenary take off her kitten heels and pull a thin blanket over her shoulders.

The rim a plastic filter nudged her temple, a kiss goodnight.

[dinoburger-deactivated20250110]

2nd day of @tf2rarepairevents : Spicy | Savory | Sweet

a bit late, but this one got away from me OTL

now that's what I call fruity

[distorted-graffiti]

Sunday (July 9) : Party | Music | Games

oughhhh… music… theyre dancing ooough

i listened to champagne on repeat while drawing this btw 👍 it is such a spy/pyro song (to me). and it is what inspired this drawing! if i could ever make an animatic for them with this song, i would

[kellanved-ammanas]

Rarepair Weekend Day 3: Engie/Demo - Party | Music | Games

For @tf2rarepairevents mini weekend event!

~

“You work too much.”

Engie looked up to see Demo in the doorway, leaning into the workshop. “I suppose I do sometimes.” He couldn’t exactly deny that assessment. Once excited by a project, he had a tendency to think about nothing but it until it was finished, proven a failure, or a new idea came to him to monopolize his thoughts, leaving the previous idea unfinished and abandoned most of the time. “Why you bringing it up?”

“I’ve decided you need a break. We’re throwing a party… or I guess I’m throwing a party and inviting you to attend and help me with it. There’s gonna be music, drinking games, and all that stuff.”

“An excuse to get drunk.” Though perhaps Engie pointing that out was unfair.

“Yep. And an excuse to get you drunk with me. If ya want anyway. I can’t make ya do nothing. You can just keep sitting here working if you prefer. It don’t matter to me none. Or it does but…” Demo’s face scrunched up a bit. “Look you wanna have a party and drink with me or what?”

Engie couldn’t deny he should probably take more breaks from work, especially when officially off duty as they currently were. And well, the idea of drinking specifically with Demo wasn’t unpleasant. They’d worked together on several projects in the past and had accidentally gotten drunk together during a couple times while doing so, always resulting in a good, if sometimes barely remembered, time. Doing so intentionally Could only provide for an even better good time, right? So…

He stood up from his desk. “I suppose it can’t hurt. Why specifically a party though?”

Demo shrugged as Engie joined him at the door. “I got lots of alcohol and I’m trying to be better ‘bout sharing it so maybe I could start drinking a bit less sometimes. And parties are fun, ‘specially when they’re just for getting drunk and not trying to celebrate this or that holiday or whatever.”

“All righty then, I guess a party it is then.” Engie could get back to work tomorrow… if he wasn’t too hungover anyway. If he was too hungover though then well, Demo should know a way to help with that, right? A way that might even be fun.