Okay, I've Been Thinking On A Weird Scenary

This looks like some situation that Caesar and Joseph would be

Lawful Himbo & Chaotic Himbo

I don't know, but now I want to see more of fem okuyasu

I challenged myself with some genderbends, depending on how popular this will be I make the next 4 parts too :)

Actually, you can see Demoman doing something like that too, but Scout is more cute

Omigoodness.. So I watched the Mann VS Machine trailer again (because i need my daily dose of multiple tf2 videos)

And I just love it when the Mercs are getting ready to fight the robots, and Scout is just wiggling there like a lil’ impatient puppy dog. 

I get a mental picture of him going “Can I get em’ Heavy? Can I get em’? C'mon lemme get em!!!”         WIGGLE

Yo doc, are you ok man?

medic crouching down to talk to engie just to spite him and then engie kicks him in the nuts

I already read this 2 times, but I can't just stop to read is so bloody beautiful 💓

Another sniperspy hc! Hope you lije this one too! (if u wanna write it ofc dont wanna pressure u!). Spy has anxiety, a little, but still has it; and it mostly shows when he is touchstarved. He gets nervous and a little overwhelmed but he hides it trying to play it cool. He stays in his room in the ceasefires all alone but that just makes things worse. He needs cuddles, but he'll neer admit it, never asks for them. And it gets worse. And Spy breaks, just a little, but Snipes notices and helps❤️🐑

Here we go! Sorry about the delay, I have to juggle with work and my long fic at the same time. I hope you’ll like it :)

"Oh, Scout, please, go fuck yourself." 

The young man insisted. 

"Spy, c'mon man, you-"

"I said: go fuck yourself."

"You can't just say that?!"

Spy was in his room. All the lights were off, only the dancing flames of the fireplace lit his smoking room. The Frenchman was sitting on his armchair, a glass of wine in his hand and an annoyed look on his face. 

"Scout if you stand behind my door one more second, I will push every single blade I have into you, in places where you couldn't possibly pull them out." 

He answered, his teeth gritted and his jaw clenched angrily. 

"Jeez, fine…!" 

The Frenchman was pissed off. He had played his part very poorly that day and even though his colleagues respected him enough to not mention it, he could see it in their eyes. He had disappointed them, and he could hardly look at himself in the mirror for it. 

There was one pair of eyes that was stuck in his mind. Those lagoon blue eyes had dwelled on him for the entire duration of his dinner, they had spoken louder thatn any voice.

What Spy needed was red wine, a strong, almost bitter château. Ah, some cheap Spanish one would do. There were very few occasions the Frenchman would betray his country: when he needed the alcohol to sting his soul from the inside was one of them. He just needed something to hurt him physically, something that transferred the pain from his soul to somewhere he could point at, on his body. 

Spy emptied the glass and poured more, grunting. The strong sourness hurt the back of his throat. Good. He threw his gloves away and undid his tie. It flew straight to the floor. He had removed his jacket and his vest and was now undoing the first couple of buttons on his shirt. 

The Frenchman was sitting on the edge of his armchair, his elbows planted on his thighs and his head hanging low. He wasn't proud of himself and he didn't have the energy to pretend that he was in front of his colleagues, so his isolation in the deafening silence and darkness of his lonely room was the best course of action. 

He put a hand on his face and let it sink from his brow down to his chin. A knock interrupted him. 

"Scout, no respawn will fix what I am about to do to you." He said angrily.

"It's not Scout." A muffled voice answered across the door. 

"Leave me alone." He answered, as if he didn't know who it was, as if he hadn't recognised that voice. 

"C'mon, open the door."

"Non, go away."

"I won't." 

Spy heard a thud and rolled his eyes. He knew the man behind that door could be awfully patient. He could picture him, sat down on the Frenchman's doormat, his back against the wall. That was the thud, he had dropped himself on the other side of the door with the knife symbol. And Spy knew he could wait there for hours.

"I am not up for games. Go back to your van." 

"Neither am I. I didn't come to play anythin' with you." 

Silence fell. Spy wondered while his visitor pulled his hat in front of his face to block the light from the corridor and rest his eyes more comfortably. He had all his time. He knew his own patience could match Spy's ego. So he waited, sat there, like a homeless man would find shelter under the front facade of a shop when it rains. He waited, his eyes closed and his hat on his eyes.

The man with the absurdly long legs let them flow in front of him. He didn't know how long he had been waiting but the base had gone totally silent. The light in the corridor had switched off a long time ago now. 

Inside the room, the Frenchman had stopped drinking since his visitor had sat there. 

Spy grumbled and stood up. He went to the door, making sure that his footsteps could be heard. The visitor opened his eyes and unstuck his back from the door. The footsteps stopped. There was a moment of hesitation before the doorknob twisted and the door opened. 

Spy looked down. 

"Come in. Don't stay sat there."

The man under the hat stood up and straightened his back before entering. Spy quickly shut the door after him. 

"What do you want?" The Frenchman asked. 

"To not let you get pissed alone. And on cheap wine at that…" 

Sniper had gone next to the sofa and took the bottle of wine in his hand to read the label. The Frenchman almost regretted the wine tasting lessons to his colleague.

"This is shite wine, Spy, what's your problem?"

Spy sat on the sofa. 

"None of your concern." 

Sniper sat down next to him.

"Yeah, it's none of anyone's business but yours, you're right. So what is it?"

The Frenchman put his fingers on his temples. Now that they were both facing the flames, Sniper could see him better. He looked disheveled, his shirt open, without a tie and a miserable look on his face. Had it not been for the taylor-made shirt and trousers, the Australian would have looked better dressed.

"I know you did shit today. And I also know it doesn't look like you. You're better than that, I know it and you do too. So what's special about today?"

The Frenchman sighed. 

"Again, none of your concern."

"Is it your birthday or somethin'?"

Spy shot him a murderous glance. He was nowhere near the point where he could appreciate any joke. His icy blue eyes split the dark room sharply, like the sheen of the short blades he liked so much. 

"You don't want to say, eh?"

"Non, I don't."

"So why did you let me in?"

"To not let you rot on my doormat."

"Pfff, even Scout could lie better than that." Sniper answered and it did strike a nerve. The Frenchman clenched his jaw. 

"If you didn't let me in to talk, it's cause you need somethin' else."

Sniper stood up and headed to the small kitchen area in his colleague's flat. 

"Now, I'm gonna make us some herbal tea. It won't make you talk but it'll help your nerves." 

The Australian kept the lights off. He filled a kettle with water and put in on the stove to heat up. When the water boiled, he poured it in 2 mugs and took 2 tea bags out of his pocket. Spy's eyebrows jumped. Those teabags showed that Sniper had prepared himself and hadn't come by chance or politeness. His mind was set to help the bitter Frenchman. 

A minute later, he brought the two mugs. He handed one to his colleague and that's when he realised that Spy wasn't wearing his gloves. Sniper's brow furrowed for a short instant. Observant as he was, Spy saw it. 

They both took a sip. 

"Something's the matter, Sniper?"

"Well that's cheeky. You're the one who has a problem obviously and you ask me if something's the matter?" 

"You frowned. I'm just curious." 

"I'll tell you what made me frown if you tell me what's pissin' you off like that."

Spy sighed. 

"Today is not a good day for personal reasons." He answered. 

"That doesn't tell me anythin', Spook." 

"Well, too bad, I will not disclose more of it." 

And silence fell again, that was only interrupted by their sips. But they soon finished their drink. Sniper leaned back on the sofa. 

"So that's what you do when you're pissed off? Get drunk on shit wine, alone, in the dark?" 

Spy didn't want to react but of course it affected him. He knew he looked miserable and hearing it being said aloud did not help. Sniper sat up and put his hand on Spy's thigh, right above his knee. 

"You're not wearin' yer gloves. That's why I frowned." 

The Frenchman double-checked and yes indeed. He didn't even think about his gloves when he opened the door. It hurt him even more. 

Sniper took Spy's hand in his and opened its palm. 

"Bushman!"

"Oh c'mon, it's only yer hand! I just want to see it better." 

He tilted it such that he could  see it well.

"Y'know I can read the lines there. Wanna know what they say?" 

The Frenchman didn't answer. 

"Well, they say that it doesn't matter if you don't tell me what your problem is." 

Sniper moved closer to his friend. 

"You need someone to help, because you're not making it out of this on yer own. And shit alcohol won't do either." 

Spy raised his eyes to finally look at his colleague with something else in his eyes than blind rage. The way that Sniper traced the lines on his hand, how he delicately handle his palm, it all surprised him. The man lived in a van, in the most rustic way, yet he was holding his hand like he would a delicate flower. The tickling of his index tracing the lines through Spy's palm was almost poetic.  

The Frenchman hid his face with his other hand. 

"Hey…" 

Sniper got even closer. Now their thighs were touching and Spy felt an arm wrap around his back, pulling him to his friend. Without a second thought, he bent on his side and leaned on Sniper's side, his head below the Australian's chin, closing his eyes. 

The marksman got surprised by the suddenness but didn't question it and hugged his friend, lacing his other arm on his left shoulder.

"I don't care why you're annoyed. I just want it to stop. No one wants to see you like that. I watched you during dinner. You were fumin' with rage and you didn't eat much. 's not good."

The vibrations of Sniper's voice travelled through the Frenchman and made his insides relax. There was something about his voice and the embrace. Spy needed more of it. He wrapped his arms around Sniper and buried his head deeper in his friend's chest. He wanted to say something, anything! But the words failed him. 

"So that's what you needed all along? A good hug?" 

Of course, Spy stayed mute. Was his clinging to his friend's polo shirt not enough of an answer? 

But suddenly Spy felt Sniper moving, pulling him. His eyes snapped open as he followed his friend's movements, not really understanding what he was doing. Sniper kept him close all along and soon stopped moving, when he was laying on his back, on the sofa, his feet dangling off of it. Spy was on top of him, his arms still around Sniper's sides and his head below his chin. That way, the Australian couldn't see how hard he was frowning… 

The Frenchman would never admit how much he loved the embrace. And Sniper's hand brushing his back and his other one behind his head... Non, Sniper had understood what Spy needed and wordlessly obliged, without the grumpy one even having to ask. 

There was a blanket on the nearby armchair. The Australian extended his arm and took it. The next thing Spy knew, he was sandwiched between the softness of the duvet and the warmth of Sniper's body.

He squeezed Sniper tighter for an instant. 

"You're welcome. Now, try and get some sleep, will ya?" 

Spy raised his head of his friend's chest and looked him in the eye. 

"Merci." [Thank you.] 

Sniper was looking at him with a smile. He cupped Spy's head and left a silent kiss on his forehead, on the fabric of the mask. Spy's eyes opened wide. With one hand he swiftly removed the mask and threw it away, and ignoring Sniper's total shock, he looked up at him and asked him with his eyes… 

The Australian took a second to process what had just happened and he devoured his friend's face with his eyes. He put his palms on the Frenchman's naked cheeks and slid his fingers up through his hair. Spy closed his eyes, focusing on the touch on his face. He was really just thanking that one man whose patience was infinite with him. 

Sniper pulled him and kissed, not his forehead.

UuuuMmmMM-

D I O

female characters that stand like THIS 💦💦💦

I spent a bit of time learning lighting setups, and I thought I would practice some expressions too!

Feel free to use these for whatever you want!

Hello tf2 fandom I offer you father and son bonding (?)

Hehehehehehe, bread

We should be fine as long as we do not reblog bread.

Again bc I want b a l a n c e

THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN ON TUMBLR BUT