The Scout and the Crab chp.23Chapter 23 - Then there were two
The Spycrab noticed an unusual change in the weather as the week went on. It stopped snowing and the cloud cover cleared up, allowing the field to warm up a bit for the fighters. It made him feel uneasy when he noticed how the snow was slowing thinning day after day. Eventually it got to the point where he could even see patches of the ground beneath the snow. That just made things worse when the REDs would return from the battle, practically covered from head to toe in mud. Particularly the Scout, due to all his running and jumping.
One of the Spycrab's newest 'hobbies' to keep himself entertained while the Scout was out. Attempting to, at least, make the Scout's space somewhat liveable for both him and the young Bostonian. While difficult, due to his size, it was helping him slim down some due to all the scuttling, pulling, pushing, and folding. The Spycrab nearly had a heart attack when the Scout arrived covered in the mud and began tra
TF2: DefectEasing the door to the infirmary open, Heavy grinned, and set down the tray he held carefully, before sighing. Maybe he'd given Medic too much of his own sedative. He slipped a hand over Medic's cheek, and blinked when Medic's own eyes opened.
"I was wondering vhen you would return." Medic's voice was soft and strained. "I would like to be untied, bitte."
Heavy sighed. "I cannot, Doktor." He moved a stool to sit next to Medic's makeshift bed, and retrieved a bowl and spoon. "I feel bad. Honest." He carefully spooned a small amount of the oatmeal he'd made up, and let it hover next to Medic's mouth. He wasn't going to forcefeed the man, if he didn't want to eat. Medic's lips parted, and he stared up at Heavy, before opening his mouth wider. Heavy grinned, and placed the spoon inside his mouth. Medic swallowed, and the spoon was removed.
Heavy settled properly on the stool, grinning as he prepared another spoonful of oatmeal. Progress.
Medic swallowed again, and licked his lips as Heavy
Vanilla ch. 16Vanilla
"Isn't he beautiful when he's upset?"
"You're fuckin' sick! You know that?!"
"So I've been told... You know... You're a quick little bunny... But... I'm quicker..."
"O-oh, God.... P-please, man! All those jokes I cracked... They're just for fun... P-please don't... N-no!"
Dieter sat in Gerald's room, scribbling away at the note pad. He was casually doodling a stick person, frowning at his own lack of artistic ability. He jumped, nearly out of his skin, when he heard the door unlock, then open. He sighed when the BLU Spy walked in, mask in his hands.
"Did I scare you, Dieter? I'm sorry! It's late... Why are you still awake?'
"I vas drawing! Or.... Trying to draw...." The man frowned, looking at the stick figure he drew. He ripped it out, crumbling it up and throwing it onto the floor. There, it joined many other pieces of paper, all bearing the RED Team logo, and containing other failed attempts at art.
Gerald laughed, bending down and picking up one of the balls an
By Accident 3-Tentaspy X ReaderBy Accident 3
Tentaspy X Reader
The hazy afternoon sunlight streamed across the blood soaked battle grounds, a few limbs and bodies scattered about in painful and nasty positions. Just from where he watched, it looked rather gruesome to Acelin, staying low in the waters for safety. He didn’t like the smell and decided to stay as far away as he could.
Slipping to the other side shore, he crawled partially out, feeling the warm baked sand and rock beneath his skin. He liked it, since it didn’t burn and felt good. Letting his extra limbs slid up out of the water for a quick sun tanning, he relaxed back, sighing softly before closing his eyes.
“AAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!” Acelin screamed loudly, before slamming his hand over his mouth. Too much noise would attract too much attention. But what the hell bit him!? It hurt like a mother!
Yanking out the remaining tentacle in the water, he shook his head sadly. Never had he liked fishing, he thought
GivingIt is Christmas Eve, 1935, and eight-year-old Renaud Corbet is not waiting for Père Noël. As the clock strikes two, he is still huddled next to the empty fireplace, waiting for his mother. She is working tonight, working for the promise she gave him of presents and a nice Christmas dinner. He wasn't able to tell her that he didn't need a special meal or a useless bauble, wasn't able to say that he wanted her to stay home. So now he waits, shivering in his threadbare pajamas, the tips of his ears and his nose bright red, as the clock strikes three, four, five. Finally, the door creaks open, and he leaps to his feet.
"Joyeux Noël, Maman!" He chirps. The weary woman in the doorway blinks in surprise. Her cheeks are bright red and her lips are cracked, but her bright blue eyes seem unaffected by the cold.
"Renaud, mon cher, tu ne m'as pas attendue tout le soir? Pourquoi n'as-tu pas dormi?" Her voice is full of genuine concern as she asks if he waited for her all night, and w