tf2maelgwyn:

Cold

Maelgwyn
Medic x Soldier

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MASON!

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tf2maelgwyn:

Wow shit eh?

I have done some writing.

Tiny untitled drabble ho!

Medic x Engineer

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The reason Im posting these? Because I have no idea if I will finish them… at least in the short term…

Anyway. Helmets. All emo da

Edited by Mus

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tf2maelgwyn:

ultrabaguette:

WHAT ARE COLOURS.


 MAEL.

MAEL LOOK.

HEY MAEL.

 

 fjkadb vracbgvrkjawecbvrkaweyvngraejkerxnvcb frawghgjbvfebvfsjkbvhrjklsa

BAGUETTE

The Heavy snored in the Scouts ear as he lay there.
Maelgwyn: The word Wow was the only thing he could say as he smoothed over his hair, puffing off a liberated cigarette
Maelgwyn: “Tiny man, will you sleep?” the Heavy grumbled, a protective hand slumped over the smaller man’s chest
Maelgwyn: “No way man, that was awesome,” the Scout said slowly, calmly, uncharacteristically
Maelgwyn: The Heavy grumbled as he twisted slightly, “Little man, put out cigarette and sleep. I am tired. You must be too da?”
Maelgwyn: “Look brudda,” his now understandable speech was interrupted by drags on the cigarette, “I could go for another round, you up for it?”
Maelgwyn: “Little man,” the Heavy pressed on the Scouts chest, prematurily ejecting the tobacco from his nose with a strangled cough, “sleep or I will punch till sleep”
Burgers Andres: pffffffffttttttttt))))
Maelgwyn: “Alright, alright,” he argued weakly as he stubbed out the last of the cigarette.  He curled into the Heavy, working out where he wanted to be warm and wrapping himself into the sweaty Russian.  He inhaled that funk, the combination of sweat and the haunting touch of pine as he mumbled, clacking his teeth together.  He slotted his head into the Heavy’s neck as the larger man started to rumble again, his eyes finally closing as he engulfed into a quiet sleep.
Burgers Andres: NYAW
Burgers Andres: NYAAAAWWWWWWW
Maelgwyn: I see them being all cuddly and cute but Scout would be a fidgeter normally
Maelgwyn: Toss and turn
Maelgwyn: Instead he would be all cuddled into Heavy
Maelgwyn: Letting the Russian drape over him like a bear blanket
Burgers Andres: Scout like, sleeping, really deeply sleeping, with his big Heavy bear blanket
Burgers Andres: IS GOOD
Maelgwyn: Oooh I know right
Maelgwyn: And he’d kinda cat into the Heavy’s curves

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tf2maelgwyn:

Weakness

Maelgwyn

Spy / Heavy

For Desole,

To see weakness is to see a man without his mask. And you are the one who gifts to them the shadows. So I wish to give you the gift of stripping them back, to bring out the core that always glimmers tantalisingly in your paintings.

Maelgwyn

My…

Taken from Carole King song with the same name. Im 27 turning 58 I know…

Its Too Late
Maelgwyn
Sniper/Engineer 

(Time Started: 9:38pm. Finished 11:03pm)

~~

It was broken.  The pad was sitting haphazardly on the Engineer, his bare chest warmed by the sun streaming in from the now dwindling resource.  He hadn’t moved, the chill from the day had encouraged his lethargy.  The plan was simple, his numbers was to optimise the feed speed of his level one sentry.  But his heart wasn’t in it, his love of numbers couldn’t stop the hurt.

Of losing him.

The Sniper was not his first choice.  Hell, it wasn’t his choice at all.  It came from a friendship that had mutated into something far more romantic than he had liked.  Well at the time anyway.  His advances were shunned, he wanted to protect that fragile friendship that they had.  They sucked down beer after battles, smoked a pilfered cigar or two, laughed at each others terrible jokes and worse accents.

But he couldn’t resist his wiles.  That long face that was so animated when he talked, when he smiled.  God, the Engineer thought, his pencil clacking onto the paper, that smile.  It was warm,  genuine, and always for him.  Those horrid teeth that shone under his stubble only accentuated his roguish charm.  The way he would laugh when he was chastised about correct machinery maintenance, the way he smeared the grease on the Engineers chin, always as if he was the only person that could do that work.

Shit.

What happened then, the Engineer didn’t know.  Over the last few months, they had bunked together, their bodies entwined of a night, at war with each other during the day.  He always felt his jaw clench when the sentry would lock onto him, the spew of missiles that vaporised him into a mist of blood and gore.  He felt the sting as his chest blew apart, his lover’s kiss from the rifle as bittersweet.  But of a night, he felt the kiss from Sniper’s lips as they traced over the Engineer’s stocky form, tongue tracing over his barely defined muscles, Sniper’s hands as they gripped his…

He shook his head, clearing the image like smoke that hung in the air.  Their relationship was complex, incidental.  It only started because the Sniper had found the Engineer’s resting place, his special retreat after battle.  The battle had finished hours ago, uniforms rolled up, replaced by civilian clothes that clung to his body awkwardly.  He felt more at home within his RED shirt and overalls these days than his black tee and jeans, but he couldn’t be the job all the time.  His boots, scuffed from years of neglect rested on his toolbox as he stared at the sunset, the cold beer rested in a gloved hand.

“Hey mate, mind some company?” the Sniper had said, his clothes as foreign to him as to the Engineer.  His check shirt was grey, his normally brown hipsters replaced with a far baggier olive slacks, almost reminiscent of military issue.  He had opened up later about that, his battlefield was Korea, his skills invaluable in Operation Commando, and the holding of Seoul. Engineer was amazed by these stories, his brogue making them sound… illicit…

But war was hell, as the Engineer found later, his buddy would cry as he slept, names of fallen comrades would whimper from his mouth, the words coarse, pleading.  The Engineer could only try to soothe those demons, his thick fingers and calming southern drawl able to get them to rest again.  His sweat covered head would be buried so tenderly into the Engineers neck, something that mere hours earlier was worshipped as perfection…

He bit his lip.  The memories hurt, he realised as he folded the pad, fine smudges where tears had fallen obscured equations.  But the room had darkened, the tossed notepad was quickly engulfed by shadow. Dishevelled sheets proved his inactivity, his resistance to waking.  His boots still sat in the corner, this time lacking the Snipers winkle pickers that always sat beside.  His cupboard was open, the RED uniforms missing their BLU counterpart.

The fight was hell.  They had yelled, screamed at each other.  Words changed to fists as they lay into each other, the bruises that had welted on the Sniper were obscene as he grabbed his things.  That lithe body that had once squirmed delightfully on top of him was broken, the spirit that he had tenuously tried to keep alight finally snuffed by the Engineers damn fool pride.

The Engineer rolled over, his body betraying him by reminding him of the Snipers touch, wafts of his odour as he rolled onto his pillows.  The tears welled in the Engineer’s eyes, the flood gates of emotions that he tried to keep in check finally breaking.  His body heaved as he remembered those blue eyes, the spark extinguished.

And it was his fault.  He could have been different, he knew it.  The Engineer wailed, burying his head into the pillow, wallowing in that musk that he had left behind.  And now, he wanted him.

But its too late.

amwatchingyou:

ultrabaguette:

Herpaderpderp

SADDEST OF SAD STORIES.

Finish it up on Tuesday perhaps.

maelgwyn:

Day 5. Audio Recording.  The Heavy looked peaceful on the gurney.  He was at peace. I had to allow myself that. The idea oh him not being here was something I could not bear. *sobbing intesperces on tape* I will make sure Pyro gives him an appropriate funeral, I can not bear to leave him out here.  It was not good science, I agree, but I cannot leave him in the cold.  The Engineer, he must pay for his arrogance, and the Scout as well.  Both of them are responsible for the death of my leibe

 Day 7. Audio Recording. The Engineer has perished by my hand.  I feel dirty, hypocritical of the oath I took to do no harm.  The bone saw has been disposed of, the filthy item buried under the barren earth.

 Day 12. Video Recording. Notes are from observer. The Soldier had cornered the Medic.  His stance was aggressive.  He spoke loudly, camera pickup garbled.  Word cowards and maggot discernable.  He brandishes shovel, blood evident on the blade.  He lands it down, his words still decipherable however possibly just a scream as it falls repeatedly.  Blood spray evident on the wall. End of shot, Soldier turns with salute, covered in what appears to be Medic’s blood.  marches away, composed.  Medic is left in corner

Day 25.  Rescue team enters base.  Base is immaculate at start.  As team enters, true massacre begins.  Words scrawled on walls ‘Die Scum’ in appears to be blood *see photo*.  Smell becomes worse as Medic is found, decay consistant with conditions and video time stamp.  Blood has congealed, concrete surfaces will require cleaning.  Next was soldier, Scout has performed ritual with corpse, hung askew on light fitting. Has been in pain, possible electrocution.  Entered data centre second level, no damage found apart from respawn.  Some salvagable parts - will inform comp. to send tech. Picture on wall of Spy, hastily drawn, probably scout’s work.  No evidence of Pyro or Demo on level, consistent with access codes used.

Dormitories show disarray, damage from gun fire will require builder to attend.  Pyro in room, asphyxiation consistent with hose around neck.  Dangerous fumes noted - possible leak from backpack based accellerant.  Caution taken.

Supply Respawn shows most damage, Demo found, blunt force trauma consistent with Scout modus operandi

Scout committed suicide, head forward at rear of room, force-a-nature nearby.  Evidence of gun used by pellets scattered on wall behind possible entry height, blood spray consistent with head forward.

 Overall assessment, two clean up teams and one hazmat for possible accellerants will mean base back to full operation within month.  Advise progress forward?

maelgwyn: ~~

maelgwyn: Ehhh

maelgwyn: *screws up nose*

maelgwyn: Ooooh

maelgwyn: ~~

Personell missing:

 Sniper plus van not present.  Place alert out for grey winnabago, license plate SNI 034.  Person still armed, lack of muntions and clothing indicates possible escape to remote area. From records, consistent with Mundy, however all caution must be taken as man will not hesistate to attack persons whom do not display correct identification.

Moare, you’re a bad influence.

I need to write a mastubatory scene.  Yeah maybe…

~~

The Spy flipped through the mail nonchalantly.  He noted the catalogues for Soldier were for discount food and guns.  He grinned when he saw the letter from Scout’s mother, discreetly sniffing the envelope for her signature perfume.  He then set his eyes on the small manila envelope at the bottom.  His heart jumped a beat.

The address was neatly typed in the corner of the envelope.  The postmark had it originating from a small shop in Paris. Putain de Chausseurs.  He opened the envelope with his butterfly knife in one deft stroke, releasing the animalistic odour of leather and polish.  He felt dizzy, hedonistic.  He dropped the remaining mail on the communal table as he snuck into his small dormitory, closing the door deftly.

His room was sparse, the militaristic theme that the base had carried through even to his living area.  The only furnishings that he had were a large mirror that dominated one side and a wardrobe that held his bulging collection of clothes.  He sat on his cot, staring intently as he inverted the envelope onto his bed.  Three small swatches of leather dropped quickly onto the crisp white sheets.  A small bound book fell nearby, its pages ruffling as it tried to resist gravity.  The Spy smirked, his eyes soaking in the imagery.

He gingerly picked up the topmost swatch, turning the soft leather in his hands.  It was a standard black swatch, its glossy shine glinting in the fading light of day streaming in his room.  He cupped it in his hands as he placed it over his nose.  He smirked as he breathed in its heady odour.  The smell of leather and polish quickly made the Spy close his eyes.  He ran his thumb absentmindedly over the smooth finish, feeling the slight imperfections that the leather had.

As he opened his eyes, he grabbed the small book.  He thumbed open to the first page.  The French was neatly typed onto an off white rag stock, the crisp pages yielding under his gloves.  He shuddered in anticipation as his fingers turned to the first picture.  It was a pair of simple oxfords, their clean lines and snub toe looked dainty on the page.  The French below called on their simplicity and suppleness.  The Spy lazily eyed it as he turned the page; the half brogue slipping through his thumb, as well as the current trends in moccasins… but one pair was interesting…

Winkle pickers. Their toe was long, almost verging onto the obscene.  The brown was a shade lighter, he mused.  The model wore a pair of neatly cut brown trousers, the hem flared ever so slightly.  The heel was a little flat for his liking, but then again, he would probably still look just as good.

Inspiration at work. Should see notepad here… it goes from reasonable to scrawl

To Momma Tentaspy, your idea of something cute may be here… Iunno

Chess
Maelgwyn
Heavy / Engineer 

~~

Heavy toyed with the queen, his fingers running over the smooth ebony surface.  The game was not finished, each piece frozen in place, a reminder.  Back when he was happy.  The Medic had boasted that he could beat him in twenty moves as they sat, laughing at one of Heavy’s stories.  But, they could only reach move nineteen.  The pieces were scattered around the board, threatening their opponents.  Like the teams, he mused.

Two burly police burst in, the Medic smiling as he moved in for the kill, brushing the bone and ebony pieces with his rubber gloves.  They called his name, his real name.  The Medic looked concerned as he stood, turning to them.  They called him again as he approached.  When he responded positively, they slammed him into the wall, putting the steel cuffs around his wrists.  They said he had illegally experimented on humans.  Heavy wanted to stand.  But the Medic told him to stay where he was, that it wouldn’t help.  Instead, he watched as they manhandled the Medic out of the room.

He could have taken them.  They were babies.  He could have snapped them in half as easily as moving the chess pieces, he mused darkly, sneering at his incompetence.  He could not protect his team.  His Medic.  He was not a credit to the team.  So he sat, wallowing in the regret and disgust.

“I’ll be back, Herr Heavy, we will finish this game!” the Medic had called.  So the pieces sat.  And they would sit still for even longer.  The Medic was found guilty, or so the American justice system had deemed him guilty, and sent him to some gulag.  Even knowing that he would probably never return, Heavy could not move a single piece, even to admit overwhelming defeat.  The clack of a set of boots and the scrape of a chair was the only thing he noticed as he stared despondently at the board.

“Hey partner, mind if I pull up a pew?” the Engineer asked, noting his consternation as if he was inspecting a errant dispenser.  The Heavy waved his free hand.  The Engineer sat, his body emitting a few pops and a couple of choked groans, his yellow hardhat tucked onto his lap.  He grinned as his hand waved over the board, “Chess eh? Didn’t think you were one for this game’

“Why?” the Heavy quipped, his distain of breaking his reverie evident, “Is good game for strong men, da?”

“Oh, I’m not disagreein’ with ya partner,” the Engineer chuckled, hopefully disarming the moody Heavy.  He waved his gloved hand over the board.  The Heavy growled, guttural and animalistic at the thought of someone of anyone but the Medic touching the pieces, diluting his memory.  The Engineer quickly retreated the hand, holding them both in surrender.

“Whoa, easy there buddy,” his voice soft, trying to placate him, “you know he’s not coming back.”

“Maybe,” the response was curt as the Heavy picked up a captured pawn, enjoying how he pictured the Medic curl his fingers over it, tilting it as he slid the base along the board, letting it drop again without a sound.  He remembered the quiet laughs, the unintentional touches that ended with a swift kick, or even a brush of his boot, depending on his mood, and the game’s progress.  Sometimes, Heavy would let him win, just for the attention he got.

“You know, it has to end sometime,” the Engineer reached out, grasping the pawn that he clutched with fervent desperation, “but that doesn’t mean that you can’t start another.”

“Nyet!” the Heavy yelled, his want to end the pain was almost too much for the Engineer to bear.  So the Engineer had to solve the problem in the only way he knew.  The king, stoic yielded to the Engineer’s glove, collapsing onto the board.  It rolled on its side several times before it fell still, nestled next to the queen.  The echo of its fall reverberated through the room.

“Let it go, partner,” the Engineer said, trying to defuse the Heavy as he stood, the rough scratching of the chair against the concrete ominous. “It doesn’t mean you forget,” he added as the Heavy crossed the small gap between the chairs, glowering at the Engineer, his anger painted on his face so plainly.  The Engineer stood quickly, knocking his chair over, hands out in front of his body, palms up.

“I told you, do not touch,” the Heavy gambled, his gravelly voice cold, “little baby did not listen.”

The Engineer looked nervous as the Heavy grabbed his shirt, dragging him away from the table, his boots scraping along the floor.  He closed his eyes as he saw the massive brute raise his hand, fist tight.  Instead of the punch he expected, he was lifted off his feet as Heavy wrapped his arms around him, shuddering as the tears fell onto his shoulder.  The Engineer wrapped his arms around the brute as best he could, patting him on the back.

“Shh, let er all out,” he whispered as they stood, the game finally over.