The shitty side of me...

Well, here it is. The first bit of a collaboration between myself and my partner in crime, Drea. We decided there weren’t any fanfics out there that suited our deep emotional needs for Spy/Engineer and that we could be the ones to rectify that! I’ll be writing (awfully, mind you, so I apologize in advance to your brain and eyes) and she will be illustrating (beautifully, look at that, unf). So far it is untitled, but as I write more hopefully something clever and interesting will come to me (and maybe I’ll get back into the swing of writing so it’s not as crappy as this, eh? haha). Chapter 1 is next and is currently in the works so be on the lookout for that if you’re interested and I hope you enjoy! Sorry for any formatting mess-ups, I’m trying to figure out the best way to post these…

     Limping across the battlefield and dodging bullets were not in the BLU Spy’s plans for this evening’s battle. And yet, here he was, a gloved hand over a particularly nasty wound in his left thigh, trying to staunch the blood that was escaping from it. His expensive suit (Zut alors that would be a monster to clean later…) absorbed most of the liquid, but being cautious about leaving a trail was vital to survival at any point in a battle where a spy was present. Changing to a slower class in an attempt to make his handicap less obvious, he made his way back to where he hoped their Engineer had set up camp and prayed that he’d not moved the dispenser far from it. 

When he’d passed the invisible line that declared the middle of the battlefield, the Spy removed his disguise and cloaked, walking slowly to preserve the charge. It did not take long for his dress shoes to shuffle upon the site, the clang of wrench on metal being the first clue, the cool glow of the trail from the object of his quest the second. He considered removing the cloak now, as it was safe to do so; all of the REDs and the rest of his own teammates were in the middle of various skirmishes along the field. Then again, the Spy was nothing if not a man who could not turn down the chance to surprise. It helped that the Engineer was so used to being spooked by the opposite team’s Spy. He would already be on the alert. Making his way around the side of the stout American man hunched kneeling over a tele-porter in mid-build, just out of the reach of the dispenser’s healing glow, he shimmered into view, hands folded neatly behind his back for the moment he could afford to do so with the help he required so nearly within reach.

“Dagnabbit daggit! Spy! Why would ya do that to yer own teammate?!” 

If he hadn’t been lower to the Earth as he was now, the Engineer would have likely toppled over from the surprise appearance. However, he merely jumped a bit and managed to catch himself by falling back onto the heels of his boots.

“Apologies. I simply require some healing. The RED Medic is proving difficult to fool this evening and medicine on the field is making itself quite scarce.” The Spy said, as cooly as he could manage while stumbling the rest of the way to the dispenser, wound starting to make him lightheaded and queasy. The creases in his forehead, mostly hidden by the balaclava, were wiped away as the cool, then hot feeling of the glow circled its way around his thigh, reaching to a few other injured parts that had gone unnoticed in the pain of the larger problem. It took him until the hole in the fabric of his pants was being repaired to notice that the Texan was staring at him curiously out of the corner of his eye, hand working no less rhythmically on the tele-porter beneath him, despite the fact that his hits were now accomplishing nothing but noise. The level three tele-porter had reached 100% many moments ago.

Smirking slightly with the side of his mouth that the Engineer could not see, the Spy reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a cigarette from the case. He gave himself the luxury of lighting it and enjoying the first inhale of the expensive, spicy taste before straightening the tie of his bloodstained suit and walking away toward the battle from which he had come. He stopped just short of the doorway, taking a second drag on the cigarette before turning his head to stare somewhere off to the left in his field of vision, just far enough that his peripherals could be trained on the expression of the man behind him. 

“You know,” he began, exhaling smoke with his words “I do not claim to know anything about your trade, but would it not be better to work on building something that requires, well, building? You’re hardly doing your team any good like this, mon ingénieur.”

He heard the wrench stop abruptly before he activated the cloak, the last bit of his form to disappear a small trail of smoke escaping from a grin no unlike that of the Cheshire cat.

The weather was mild and it was nearing dusk; the lights would flicker on if the mission didn’t end soon, casting deep, telltale shadows as the mercenaries walked past on the field. Luckily, a few well-aimed shots by BLU quickly brought the match to a close and the teams headed back to their bases with hopes of a good shower and a warm, celebratory meal before bed. 

The Spy lingered. It would do him no good to show his face and it hardly made sense to shower with his balaclava present. He was not quite sure why the Engineer had taken such an interest in him earlier, perhaps he was wary of the RED Spy, come to sap his precious buildings while disguised as himself. That would be despicable and underhanded. Perfect. He made a mental note to try it if the next battle would allow as he walked carefully along the edge of the hillside, staring out at the quickly dimming horizon line. Respawn was turned off when battles were not taking place and it would do no good to suffer in the void until the next time one was to take place. The night was shaping up to be quite a pleasant one and by the time the rest of the men had made it back, the lights were extinguished, peppering the sky with stars.

a-sexy-tardis:

disimba:

fyeahcreepyshit:

On March 23, 1994 the medical examiner viewed the body of Ronald Opus and concluded that he died from a shotgun wound to the head. Mr. Opus had jumped from the top of a ten story building intending to commit suicide. He left a note to that effect, indicating his despondency. As he fell past the ninth floor his life was interrupted by a shotgun blast passing through a window which killed him instantly.

Neither the shooter nor the descender was aware that a safety net had been installed just below at the eighth floor level to protect some building workers and that Ronald Opus would not have been able to complete his suicide the way he had planned.

“Ordinarily,” Dr. Mills continued, “a person who sets out to commit suicide and ultimately succeeds, even though the mechanism might not be what he intended, is still defined as committing suicide.”

That Mr. Opus was shot on the way to certain death, but probably would not have been successful because of the safety net, caused the medical examiner to feel that he had a homicide on his hands. The room on the ninth floor, whence the shotgun blast emanated, was occupied by an elderly man and his wife. They were arguing vigorously and he was threatening her with a shotgun. The man was so upset that when he pulled the trigger he completely missed his wife and the pellets went through the window, striking Mr. Opus.

When one intends to kill subject A but kills subject B in the attempt, one is guilty of the murder of subject B. When confronted with the murder charge the old man and his wife were both adamant. They both said they thought the shotgun was unloaded. Then old man said it was his long-standing habit to threaten his wife with the unloaded shotgun. He had no intention to murder her. Therefore the killing of Mr. Opus appeared to be an accident; that is, the gun had been accidentally loaded.

The continuing investigation turned up a witness who saw the old couple’s son loading the shotgun about six weeks prior to the fatal accident. It transpired that the old lady had cut off her son’s financial support and the son, knowing the propensity of his father to use the shotgun threateningly, loaded the gun with the expectation that his father would shoot his mother. The case now becomes one of murder on the part of the son for the death of Ronald Opus.

Now comes the exquisite twist. Further investigation revealed that the son was, in fact, Ronald Opus. He had become increasingly despondent over the failure of his attempt to engineer his mother’s murder. This led him to jump off the ten story building on March 23rd, only to be killed by a shotgun blast passing through the ninth story window. The son had actually murdered himself so the medical examiner closed the case as a suicide.

Jesus fucking christ, what a great read.

Did I just read the plot of a Sherlock episode? >_>

Man, I love stories like this

wachtelspinat:

several anons asked me to “OMG plz draw some slickxmspaint *__*_**”

here you go

omajiderp:

Quick and sketchy wip, just an idea of sniper doing spy’s tie. Good night!

I must admit, at first glance it looked like sniper was pulling spy toward him ehehe

This is awesome so far! :D

body types are hard

applenose:

Back to those requests

you also made me want to read that again

Welp hope ya like!

Andrea, you darling precious art slave friend of mine!

This is so wonderful and oh gosh I just love your color choices and the looks in their eyes abubuuuu KEEP ON KEEPIN’ OH GURLFRANN