!! FIRST TIME SKETCHING MUSCLES !!
It's very fun
And it's the 11th time snipes got a nosebleed
!! FIRST TIME SKETCHING MUSCLES !!
It's very fun
And it's the 11th time snipes got a nosebleed
I saw this stock photo and immediately thought of these two, I knew i had to do it XD
warning: horse ☞sniepr⊙
I have a headcanon that Sniper likes to sing but is shy about it. Often times, he'll mumble old Johnny Cash and Elvis Presley sons under his breath when he's hunkering down in the nest. One time, Spy snuck up behind him and caught him cooing Can't Help Falling In Love to himself. He still stabbed him in the back but he was kind enough to let him to finish first.
I live for Sniper's animal cosmetics
I've been seeing aimbots named OneTrick and they always have My Little Pony avatars. You can easily spot them so don't hesitate to report and votekick them. I wonder if they're from the same bitch that hosted [VALVE] Twilight Sparkle or it's just a coincidence. I don't think bronies deserved this humiliation.
If you run into any players with botpolice link in their nickname, get them out of the game as well. Anti-bot bots are only adding fuel to the fire that is the bot crisis.
Omegatronic... I'm sure you know this one. Always spamming the chat...
And then there are the far less annoying but still bots - Scouts with Crazy Frog related nicknames. They also make weird movements.
But also pay attention when there's a votekick going on: yesterday I saw the OneTrick bots successfully kicking innocent players, myself included.
pizza time :)
guys the swordvan was so strong in that new Requiem for a Pizza video yall
in the summer of 2019 i met sniper from tf2 at an indoor pool in tokyo😶
I'm thinking about having another warning tag I can put on reblogs so people can block the tag and not see any of it
I want to make this blog a safe place for people who are really uncomfortable with Sniper x Spy. I know it's a sore spot for all of us sniperscout fans. I also know that a lot of people, myself included, are just uncomfortable with the nearly two decades age gap between the two.
But, I have seen quite a bit of interesting and, if I'm being honest, inspiring artwork that features sniperspy. A while ago I saw an abstract piece about it feels to yearn and be touch starved for so long. It featured Spy and Sniper. But it was such a beautiful piece and I would've loved to reblog it. But, I knew that it might've made some of my followers uncomfortable. So I saved it to drafts instead (which is what I do when I find a piece of artwork that I love but I know it would make others uncomfortable if I reblogged it).
I think I might start tagging sniperspy stuff as "scouts dad is really kind of rad" because of that one song. The Stacy's dad song that is just hysterical and honestly that song's vibes gives me the same vibes as sniperspy. Because.. well, Spy is Scout's dad.. and Scout is canonically friends with Sniper... You get the picture.
Aaaand I am back with a new Sniper/Spy story!
It’s called “Un-alone” and can be found here!
Hope you enjoy! :D
"I need a minute, if that is possible." The French accent would have sounded pleasant and exotic if not for the circumstances.
"Of course. If you need a drink, help yourself. I will be back to give you more details."
The man in the suit nodded and the notary left the room. He waited for the door to click shut before sighing and loosening his tie. He looked around him, the wooden and serious walls seemed to close on him, as the walls of his skull pressed painfully on his brain. He lowered his head and held his hair in his hands.
After a sigh, he slid on the sofa to the table at the corner of the room. He pushed the flower vase aside and looked at the tray with bottles and glasses. Water? Wine? Non, he needed something stronger. That whiskey would do. The glass cap yielded with a pop and he poured some in the glass. He didn't add any of the ice cubes. Non, he felt cold enough.
The bitter whiskey burnt the back of his throat down to his knotted stomach. The Frenchman held his head low. What should he do? Cry? Punch? Destroy?
Not yet. The notary gave a short knock before entering the room again. His eyebrows jumped when he realised that he had left a proper and prim man, to come back to what he could tell was a man barely holding himself back, to protect his dignity. He was used to being the bearer of bad news, he was used to seeing people cry, shout, get in all sorts of states. But experience also taught him that those who remain like marble are the most dangerous to themselves.
"You mentioned details?" The French accent asked.
The notary nodded, a distraught expression on his face, before he sat back at his desk.
"She left a letter for you." He put his glasses on. "I understand you were married?"
The man sitting on the sofa took another quick yet generous swig of his whiskey, the burning liquid making him almost gag.
“Oui.” He simply answered after taking a deep breath to soothe himself, his fingers only ending up clenching harder on the glass he was holding.
“But you were not living together, if what I heard is correct.”
The man on the sofa nodded, his head still lowered, his grey front tuft of hair waved in the air.
“I also understand that only her family was at her side in the end.” The notary said and the poor man frowned. “They were surprised to learn that all along she was actually married. They did not know of this union.”
“Non, they did not.”
The notary knew he was dealing with no ordinary man but this…? This added up to the exception.
“The ceremony will take place tomorrow. Her family will be there.”
The Frenchman nodded and stored this somewhere in his mind before asking what he had been burning to.
“May I see the letter?” A shaking voice asked before the man lit up a cigarette, his gaze still evading the notary’s.
“Of course. Here is a copy.”
“Do you have the original?”
“Yes but I cannot let you see it, it is-”
The notary’s voice stopped when the man sitting on the sofa finally raised his eyes to him. His face was dark, furious, boiling. His light blue eyes sliced the shadow cast by his front tuft, a menacing curtain falling on his forehead, and the tip of his cigarette shone in a more fierce shade of orange.
He handed him the original.
Instantly the man took it to his nose and smelt it. Tears came to his eyes that he prudely closed for a moment. Rose water and a hint of jasmine. Oui, that was her. Thank God the perfume hadn’t faded yet! He smiled, but his body and his face were screaming bittersweetness, nostalgia and deeper down, something he hated to show, like a weakness.
He loved her with all the fibres of his body. There wasn’t a sight more pleasant than her smile, a song more melodious than her voice, a taste more forbidden than her lips’.
He raised a shaking gloved hand to his forehead and opened his eyes to read the will. The handwriting was unmistakingly hers. He recognised it. It was a bit more shaky than when he last saw it, but it was hers.
“My sweetheart Lulu,”
The man clenched his jaw further, feeling the strain on his cheeks and grinding his teeth to hold back what he would let out later, in his own private time.
“I am sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier. I didn’t know how to, I didn’t know where you were, how you were. But I knew you never forgot about me. As long as I received the flowers, the gifts for Jay, the chocolates and sometimes, the cassettes, I knew you were alive and well.
The last letter I received from you dates back to my birthday and I kept it under my pillow until the very end. If you are reading this, my family then knows about you, they must be wondering about a million things. But I didn’t answer anything. I couldn't tell them that Jeremy’s father is a French spy, that we got married in secret more than twenty years ago, that when Jeremy came into our lives, we decided to live separately with as little contact as possible to protect the boy, now a man. I couldn’t tell my family that I miss you everyday, yet I love you more by the day.
My Lulu, I am not leaving you at all. I might even be closer to you now than before, who knows? Maybe the warmth you feel in your cheeks now is my touch? Maybe the tears you are hiding right now, I will dry, when you finally let them go.
My love, everything I have, I have left it to our son. It isn’t much and I am afraid it is more debt than help…
I ask of you two things, please, my sweetest of hearts. The first is to help Jeremy. Help him with a job, please. He still doesn’t know you, I never told him who you were. I think it is your call to make. If you ever decide to know him, I know you will see how much he got from you...
The second is please, never stop singing. Promise me to sing more, I want to hear you now, more than ever.
Je t’aime and goodbye,
Your little flower, Marie.”
The Frenchman’s heart was in his throat. He was on the sofa, in this wooden room where the sun didn’t shine, where the flowers in the vase next to him where fake, where he wished he could bite in his glass of whiskey and chew on the glass shards, crush them and let them slice through him, let the pain be physical, anywhere on his body, his face, anything but this. It was harder to bear with each second.
He didn’t realise it but his hands were trembling on the letter. He stared at it a bit more and cleanly folded it before putting it in his inner pocket.
Again, the sheen of the light blue eyes left very little room for discussion.
“I am sorry but I must ask you to give me back the original, it is an official document for this procedure and I can hardly-argh!”
In the blink of an eye, the Frenchman had leapt in the air from the sofa to the desk, overlooking it. His face was less than an inch away from the notary’s astonished one.
“I will keep her letter.” The French accent threateningly said, his teeth clenched like a furious panther’s.
Something cold was against the notary’s throat. Something cold and pointy. It was pressing against his fragile column of air.
“A-Alright, y-you can keep it…”
The Frenchman backed off from the desk and the notary watched him flick some sort of blade between his fingers before he dropped it in one of his pockets. His jaw dropped. He had just been threatened with a knife.
“I was not asking.”
“W-well…” The notary pulled on his collar to have a bit more air come to his lungs. He wiped the sweat off his brow. “W-why threaten me then?”
The Frenchman took his jacket again and put it on before heading to the door. He left without adding a word.
It was still the afternoon of that late September day and in Boston, the weather started to get colder but was still very bearable.
Lucien took a deep breath and sighed when he was finally out of the notary’s practice and into the street. The light breeze did not help get more oxygen to his lungs. Or maybe it did, but no amount of air could help. He slipped back into the taxi and the driver took him back to his hotel.
As soon as he set foot in the five-star establishment, a young man in a red and golden uniform came to him.
“Sir, there has been a phone call for you, they said it was urgent and you should call back, here is the number.” He was holding a tray on which was a card. Lucien took it and read the number that he recognised only too well. He nodded and headed to the elevator.
As it took off and hovered higher and higher, Lucien could see more and more of the city underneath him through the windows. He saw it all. The restaurant they had met in, while undercover as a singer, the park he had taken her to, the movie theatre he had invited her to, where they had shared their first kiss, the streets of her city, the roads, streets, avenues that were once so familiar. They now looked like grey, narrow valleys dug in the concrete of buildings, slithering like the bed of dead rivers.
The jingle of the bell in the elevator broke his train of thought.
“Here we are, Sir.”
Lucien turned away from the windows to face the doors that slid open. He entered the carpeted corridor and soon found his door. The keys jangled as they exited his pocket and the next thing he knew, he was inside.
He had rented an en-suite room with a double bed - habits die hard - and went straight to the minibar to help himself to some more strong alcohol. He didn't mind the taste and just wanted the burn and bitterness; anything really to move his pain from his heart to his body.
He grabbed a bottle of God knows what and poured some before drinking, chugging the entire glass down his throat in one go, before the glass hit the counter again loudly. He hissed under the unpleasant feeling of the alcohol scorching as it glided through his oesophagus and stomach.
Lucien removed his jacket and threw it on the coathanger before he undid his tie. He only fished out the letter and slipped it in his trousers' pocket.
He grabbed the bottle and the glass, and headed to the sofa. On his way, he kicked his shoes off and frowned. He hated seeing people do that - remove their shoes with their feet, damaging the leather. But he couldn't be asked to do it properly with his hands. For all he knew, those shoes could go to hell.
He flopped down on the sofa and poured himself some more whiskey. The glass and the bottle shone under the flames of the fireplace opposite him. It caught his eye for an instant and blinded him. He grumbled and looked away, to his left and - oh, the bedroom door.
His eyes hung there for a while, the bottle and glass hanging in mid-air.
From where he was sitting, he could only see the bed, large and empty, cold even, he could feel it.
He would have killed for one more night with her. He would have…
Lucien sighed and drank some more before lighting another cigarette and sucking his anger away at it.
His eyes came back in front of him, and he saw the letter. His mind rolled back more than two decades ago. Meeting Marie, falling in love with her, falling in love for the first time.
But his job as a spy was way too dangerous for her, for him, and soon, for the little boy that Lucien was delighted to hold in his arms for the first time. And it was soon decided. A wedding, in secret, just him, her and two witnesses, people who happened to be in the church praying that day. They didn't even know them. They got married and Lucien stayed long enough for baby Jérémy to have a vague souvenir of his father.
He loved them. Lucien loved Marie and Jérémy. He loved them so much that he left them, and it broke his heart. Everyday he wished he could hold them in his heart. But he was too good at his job and wanted to keep it. It paid him a fortune and he could send some money to help.
Another sigh that failed to take his frustration and his guilt out of him.
Lucien stood up and walked to the window that he opened wide. He looked at the tiny city, busy underneath him. To all these people, today was a normal day. Some of them might even be happy…
But for him, today felt awful.
His eyes swept across the streets as he walked back in time to where he had met her. Mary, his Marie. It had been a busy night in the restaurant he was working at. He was undercover, a singer, trying to get closer to a frequent client. He had worked hard for months to approach his target. But that night wasn’t the one he managed to sit and dine with that shady nobody. Instead, an angel crossed his path.
She wasn’t shy and he liked her boldness. He thought it was very American of her to be this way, to think that she could get whatever she wanted, if only she worked hard enough for it. Mon Dieu… She had come to his changing room, backstage, with her blue dress and matching headband, her lips were glossy red and her eyelashes, more beautiful than a butterfly’s wings in summer, fluttering to half hide the deep blue irises that he saw too vividly now.
She had knocked at his door and the moment he had opened it, the sight of her seized him like a hand to the throat. She raised her eyes to him and gave him a smile that still burnt his insides. Without hesitation, she started talking as if they had known each other for a long time, asking him a million questions.
Of course, back in those days, Lucien was quite valued on the market of love. Tall and slim, his hair still all black and combed back, light blue, almost grey eyes that looked in the deepest corners of one’s mind, impeccable manners, a smirk that weakened the knees of any woman in sight and a French accent that made them fall in his arms effortlessly…
He remembered that she kept coming to listen to him night after night. They would enjoy something to eat together. She had tried to invite him but he always insisted.
Une aussi jolie fleur que toi ne paie pas.
Such a beautiful flower as you are does not pay.
It had started as a distraction, a pleasant surprise in his life. But soon, Lucien found himself waiting for those knocks at his door, in the changing room backstage. He realised that on the few nights she wouldn’t come, he would feel uncomfortable. Something was odd, something wasn’t right, like a pebble in his shoe, something he could live with but…
And looking inside him he understood that in fact, he was missing her. Him, the man with more love conquests than there were stars in the night sky. He had fallen. In love oui, but he had fallen. Fallen under those eyes, fallen on his knees for her, always looking for her when he sang now. His eyes would frantically scan his audience, the crowd who came to applaud him, he did not hear them! Of course not! Oh! There she was! Ah, Marie…
His eyes would stop on her and from the moment he found her, his secret flower, he would sing and dance for her. Oui, he would even stand up from his piano and dance, make a fool of himself in front of a full room of guests. He would smile only after he would see her grin and wished oh so dearly the whole room would fall silent to hear only her beautiful laughter...
Oh he remembered how they stayed so late in the restaurant that countless times, they had to be pushed out of it. It had happened a few times before Lucien one night asked her to stay.
“Yeah?” She raised her round eyes to him.
“Stay, please. Don’t walk back home so soon.”
“It… It’s very late, Lucien.” She chuckled and wrapped her arms around herself tighter against the cold.
Oui, with Marie, he had given her his real name straight ahead. Something in his guts had told him that it was safe to do so. He knew it was wrong and dangerous, foolish even! But non, with Marie, it felt wrong to lie.
“Please, ma petite fleur.”
[my little flower]
She had blushed. He could barely see it in the darkness of the night, but the street light was enough and he did see it!
“Fine,” She yielded and Lucien never knew, but of course she wanted to stay. “What is it?” She asked.
“Let us wait for a few minutes. Are you cold?”
“A bit, yeah.”
“Here.” Lucien removed his coat and wrapped her in it.
“Aren’t you cold?” She asked and he smiled.
“Jamais quand tu es près de moi.”
[Never when you are near me.]
“You know I don’t get French, right?”
“Oui, I do.”
“Then say it in English.”
“Non.” He chuckled and blushed, turning slightly away to hide himself.
“Come on…! It’s unfair!” She pulled him back from the panes of his jacket.
“I cannot.” He confessed, still looking away from her.
“Why not? I’m sure you know the words and all. Your English is perfect, c’mon!”
“Non, Marie, please, don’t make me say it…” He looked down and his front tuft of hair, the same one that is grey now, it fell on his forehead.
The Frenchman closed his eyes when he felt her cold hand on his cheek. He raised his eyes to her.
And for the first time in his life he understood what it felt like to be the one who is in love, to be the one who feels ill when the other one isn’t here, and to feel blessed when they were together.
“My little flower, I’m never cold when you are near me.” He yielded eventually and to his greatest delight, her grin widened before she hugged him, like that, unexpectedly. She had just leapt to him and held on to the panes of his jacket dearly, with her head and her black hair right below his chin. He wrapped his arms around her and kept her close. He was freezing but he didn’t feel it. All he knew was that he held in his arms the first and only person he ever loved.
Offense | Defense | Support
Medic is extremely excited to have a child. He's read every child development book he could get his hands on...and promptly threw them away in favor of doing things his own way. He's the kind of parent who keeps a record of every first; videos of their first steps, lock of hair from their first hair cut, first lost tooth, etc. and cherishes it to no end. He'll take any opportunity to whip out his wallet and show off the pictures of his child(ren), boasting about them as if they were a another successful experiment or procedure. Medic talks shop to them as if they were a merc or a colleague in his field. He does this so much so infact, that his kid(s) does infact start to pick up some of the terminology and is able to follow along with their dad's stories pretty well. If it wasn't for the fact that his kid(s) was almost immediately escorted out of his lab upon discovery, every day would be "Take your Kid to Work Day" for Medic.
Mundy is a bit of a hands off parent. That isn’t to say he’s unloving, cold or lazy, but he is a firm believer of learning through experience. He’ll take his kid(s) on hunting trips and hikes and will let them roam a bit, never letting them out of his site and always prepared to jump into action should he need to, but he wants to give his them the freedom to explore. He want his kid(s) to figure things out on their own. To Sniper, scraped knees and grass stains are a necessary part of childhood. He isn't the type to harp on mistakes his child(ren) makes, but he'll always talk through it with them and show them ways to correct their behavior and be better.
He keeps his kid(s) FAR away from the mercs since the last thing he'd want to do is mix his personal life with his work life. They might not even know he has a kid with how tight lipped he is about them. Really Mundy just wants his life with his kid(s) to be a peaceful one without having to totally shelter them.
Given the opportunity to actually be around to raise a child, he'd absolutely do everything in his power to just make them a mini Spy. This child will go to the best private school, will learn as many languages as possible at a young age, get enrolled in dance classes and any other art related extra curricular; they will be as spoiled and bougie as can be. Spy will be ensure that his kid(s) is as cultured and refined as he is. He wouldn't necessarily be a stern father but he'd have high expectations of his kid(s). He'd be the king of gassing them to a fault, often telling them that they're "too good this place" and better than the rest. His kid(s) will definitely have a bit of a stuck up demeanor, but Spy would see it as them simply being "refined". He'd be the type to use those "my child is an honor student at ____" bumper stickers.
-Medic was exiled from the Icewing tribe for obvious reasons. -Sniper has an Australian accent instead of a British one because he hatched and grew up in the rainforest with the rainwings. -Spy tries to conceal the emotion in his scales, but occasionally a little orange/red (Annoyance/anger) will slip out. Mostly because of Scout. -Spy disguises himself by changing his scales to look like dragons from different tribes. In his kit he has other stuff to look more authentic, For example: A fake scorpion tail for a sandwing look, Fake Icewing spikes, fake gills, and so on. -Sniper is slightly insecure about not having any special Nightwing powers. He gets annoyed when someone asks if he can read their mind. He doesn’t know that Nightwing powers are actually uncommon, and there are actually a lot of other Nightwings like him. -Scout, because he’s an idiot, hasn’t figured out he’s a hybrid yet. He thinks the multicolored scales along his neck are just there and don’t mean anything. Meanwhile all the other Mercs know he’s a hybrid. Along with the scales, there are some less obvious signs he’s part rainwing: He’s very skilled with his tail, and he has a long neck. (But then again, Skywings have very long necks, too.) He can’t shoot venom. -Medic is VERY interested in the Nightwing he works with, but even more so in the Rainwing-Skywing hybrid. He doesn’t have anything against the Nightwings, so he has nothing personal against Sniper. -Sniper does his sniping usually hanging from his tail. -Demoman is a little water-deprived from his work, so don’t be alarmed is you see him dumping a tub of water over himself. As a seawing, he needs more water to survive than the others. -Demo also has a slight fear of Animus-related things, ever since the eye incident. -Soldier lost his wings from an accident with the rocket launcher. He occasionally forgets he has no wings and will try to launch himself into the air, only to come tumbling down again. -Heavy is the Bigwings among his sisters. (Not that I needed to say that) And also the Bigwings to the team. (Found family go brrrr) -Spy and Sniper are both from the Rainforest, though they have never interacted prior to joining the team. -Nobody in the team is used to seeing so many different dragons from so many different tribes at the same time. It takes a while for them to adapt to eachother’s different customs and lifestyles. -Spy rarely gets any sun time other than the sunlight he gets when on the battlefield, so his colors are a little dull. This may also be an explanation for his bad mood. And yes, he only eats the Ripest fruit. Not one brown spot on his bananas. -They also have to get used to the different diets (Spy especially). For example; Demo eating raw fish, Spy eating fruit, Sniper eating whatever, Scout eating bird, Engineer eating camel, and heavy eating a motherfucking alligator. -Sniper lacks the superiority complex some Nightwings have. -Sniper has adopted a lot of Rainwing behaviors, like hanging from his tail. -Engineer is still the smallest, smaller than the average Sandwing. And Heavy may be the biggest Mudwing any of them have ever seen. -Engineer isn’t used to having to actually be careful with his tail barb, because other Sandwings know naturally to avoid it. -Instead of doves, Medic just has a bunch of Scavengers running around. (I’ll get more ideas eventually)
My TF2 worms have come back and it’s starting with me wanting to wife up sniper
something something the implication of more than just friends