Hope I’m Not Too Late With This Bday Image! I Wanted To Add Gman Too...

Click the link. This is a threat.

You guys just have to trust me on this one and click here okay?

Late night post but that’s okay. This is sort of a comfort(?) post based on a fic I read that made me think about this.

The night out in the desert can get chilly at times, and incredibly dark. Walking out there, shoes crunching against gravel as the crickets sing, the one place you’ll usually find light is Sniper’s van.

Usually he takes his time later into the evening and night to himself, away from the other mercs to sharpen his weapons, listen to the radio, engage in hobbies or just stare at the wall, relax.

If you were to knock and enter, friend or s/o- he’d allow you in seeing as you’re there rather late, perfectly fine with spending a quiet bit of time with you to just... be there with each other, maybe with you leaning on his shoulder or side for comfort.

That’s not what this headcanon is about though, it’s the fact that the light in his van is definitely incredibly yellow in contrast to the outside, not white but yellow. The orangey, warm tones that wrap around the inside of the van make for the ideal place to rest, think, sleep... not to mention compared to the outside chill, it’s slightly heated, not quite stuffy, but warm and nice to sit inside. Not toasty, but not normal room temperature either.

Being a camper van, there’s not loads of space inside, but it’s not quite cramped either. Storage is off to the sides, there’s a mini fridge, a small area to cook food... the bed is a nest of worn blankets, old pillows and maybe an item or two, such as the smaller kukri he has hidden between the mattress and the wall facing the front of the van.

Basically, it’s like a light at night during a camping trip, the blankets feel almost akin to a very well built sleeping bag (mega comfy ykno), everything there is distinctly his...

Wow ok am I touch starved or what?

i am

Extra stuff in the tags. I’m normal about this image. Totally.

snipertism. sniper autism. :-)

How would Spy react to not being able to find his knife, only to see some little kid messing with it?

LET ME SEE WHAT YOU HAVE,

A KNIFE!

NO!

SMALL CHILD WIELDS SHARP OBJECT, LOCAL SPY CONFOUNDED!

His first feelings would likely be of confusion, anger, followed by seething rage when he noticed his knife was missing. After all, he was the Spy, no filthy pickpocket could simply take it. There was no way he had forgotten it either, as he triple checked his belongings and kept them on his person at all times. Being in public, there was no way for Spy to necessarily do much about it. He couldn’t just shout “WHERE IS MY KNIFE?!” To the world, and so he forces a deep breath and begins to search, splitting off from the team and looking about without garnering attention, as if he were merely a tourist.

At first, he had expected to be looking for any suspicious individuals, not anyone barely up to his middle in height. Yet, after a minute or two of scanning the room, there had been no other options, and right there. A lone child, holding a knife.

They were practically begging to be yelled at, dragged by the ear and taken to their guardians for such a bold defiance of all things he held dear, yet… It seemed the child had no parents in their midst. They were enthralled by the blade, flicking it between their fingers and trying to get the butterfly knife to do a trick or two, the light metal clattering far less satisfyingly in their smaller hands. Yet, while not masterful, the little kid treated the weapon with respectful caution, lacking precision but aware that their plaything was dangerous and sharp.

Spy found himself staring, rather than doing anything about it. Nothing about their appearance resembled his son, it wasn’t as if he had reason to not snatch it away and be done with it, yet here he was. Perhaps he saw a bit of his younger self in their eyes, or in the way they had healthy caution for the unknown, yet played with it anyway. 

Eventually, he exhaled and wandered over to the child, unsure what angle with which to approach the situation. Putting out his cigarette and kneeling down to get to eye level, he left a hand outstretched for them to return the knife, frowning.

“This is mine, mon petit, may I have it back…?

The child seems afraid, immediately shocked that they were caught. They shake their head, mumbling a “noo…”

“And why is that?” He has to force himself to be patient. Interacting with children is not his forte, but perhaps it feels like a second chance.

 Reminding himself this is a stranger, but unwilling to walk away without at least getting his knife back, and giving the child reason not to do such a thing again.

They blink, looking down at the butterfly knife. “Cause it’s pretty and feels good to use… Whus your accent from? S’all sounds pretty...”

Spy, shocked by the answer, goes silent, before sighing.

“Well, it is unwise to play with dangerous objects, mon ami. And… It is French. Do you know French?”

“My momma was from France! I knew I recognized th’ talking…”

“And where is she now..?”

The child’s expression immediately falls, and Spy needs no verbal answer to know what may have happened.

“Have you any other guardians?”

They shake their head, pointing down the road towards the old orphanage, shrugging sadly.

“Don’ matter, s'alright…”

There was the anger again, but now tenfold. Not at this child, but at himself. Of course he had to converse with the child, feel protective, now look at him. He had a job to do, he should have just grabbed the knife and went on with his day. 

When they finished talking, and Spy had left, there was a hollow feeling in his chest. Guilt, was it? Insecurity? Knowing the effect of not being present, it felt as if perhaps he was being given a second chance, yet he wasn’t sure how willing he was to throw it away.

Returning to the base, there were quite a few phone calls made to Miss Pauling, then the Administrator herself. Paperwork, negotiations, how in gods name would he work this out- Convincing Miss Pauling to allow a child into the base-- so long as battles were separate and hidden from their view, had been a breeze, but it was the Administrator, a cold, cruel hag of a woman whom he knew would take issue with the idea. It was to the point that he had been conversing through the night, even just in his white button up and suit pants, but he continued to talk.

What would his teammates think? He dreaded to find out, he merely hoped none of them would question it or tease him, but he knew he would come under fire, if only because he was the Spy, an uncaring, cold, emotionless figure.

At the very least, he knew he had time to pass, since the time in which it would take to get the paperwork in order, a new room built, etcetera, would give him ample time to learn more about who it is he was about to bring to the base.

That next day, a child wakes up to a gift by an unknown donator, all they know is it was a man with a vest and tie, with salt and pepper hair, inside of which is the materials to make the popsicle stick butterfly knife, a soft rabbit plushie, and a note written in a very simple cipher for them to solve.

“Pack your things in two weeks, If you see a woman in purple, she is your friend.”

@pigeonperch

Trivia fact #8

In a recent poll Demoman was voted most kissable tf2 character

This could go two ways:

Internal organ rearrangement speedrun

or

Internal organ addition speedrun

you’re stuck living with your icon for a month have fun

MAN DO I FEEL IT!!!

random inspiration to draw tf2 suggest rp chains vs the need to finish the engiespyweek pieces fight!!!!

How would medic react if i'd steal his bonesaw? Just wanna know because of several reasons-

He’d laugh it off, probably. Just make sure to keep one eye open next time you visit, especially if you plan on sleeping... He has plenty of bonesaws to spare. I mean, why have one when you have the possibility of losing it! Multiple is always the better option, right?

Anyways, enjoy the new organs sewn into you anon!

makin my way downtown

it’s friday, post the dancing demoman

👀 signal boosting his blog over here… If there’s any interest in talking to mr. Calhoun?

Of course, now everyone’s sending me emails about not being able to properly… Email… How does that even work?!

I can’t answer their questions and they shouldn’t even be able to to send em in! What kinda weird unfair bull—what kinda weird unfair shenanigans are going on?