The inner machinations of my mind are an enigma.
...NO JK THEY'RE A TUMBLR BLOG
Click for About me :D.
ALSO, ASK ME SHIT, PLEASE! ^_^
![rossoalchermes:
excellentforcleaning:
snakelinksonic:
kicksterflixter:
caesars-legion:
notsopioulixis:
stridersexual:
happyexplosionday:
Chell and Medic/Scout/Pyro (I played them all last time).
… OKAY.
Um.
Chell and Scout/Pyro/Spy [the last people I played as.]
Chell and Ezio
i’m 0k with this
My Fem!Shep and Heavy
NOPE. NOPE.
Gordon Freeman and John Marston.
goddammit-
Welp, I guess Ashley Riot is fucking Chibiterasu in the ass.
Nick Nickolas and Garcia Hotspur?
Very, very okay with this.
Uhhh Nick from L4D2 and Heavy? I uhm. I don’t know about that.
THE BEATLES AND SOLDIER?EW EW EW GET THESE HORRIBLE THOUGHTS OFF OF ME “HIPPIES”](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_legfi1ma6u1qc5w6io1_500.jpg)
Chell and Medic/Scout/Pyro (I played them all last time).
… OKAY.
Um.
Chell and Scout/Pyro/Spy [the last people I played as.]
Chell and Ezio
i’m 0k with this
My Fem!Shep and Heavy
NOPE. NOPE.
Gordon Freeman and John Marston.
goddammit-
Welp, I guess Ashley Riot is fucking Chibiterasu in the ass.
Nick Nickolas and Garcia Hotspur?
Very, very okay with this.
Uhhh Nick from L4D2 and Heavy? I uhm. I don’t know about that.
THE BEATLES AND SOLDIER?
EW EW EW GET THESE HORRIBLE THOUGHTS OFF OF ME “HIPPIES”
I don’t know how to put this, but I’m kind of a big deal.
“It’s a thing, it does stuff.”
omg
“Some people are born on third base and go through life thinking they hit a triple.” —Barry Switzer (1937 - )
This is really accurate. GODDAMNIT I NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT MY LIFE LIKE THIS —
(Source: memethings)
![thisismouseface:
annethecatdetective:
kittenball:
knightspendid:
raideo:
thisismouseface:
catbountry:
hunterv:
Requested during live stream by RibbonKrazeKiru. [But I’ma call ‘em Zeetee ‘cause I can and that was their name on the stream]
.u. This was really fun to draw.
Hon hon hon.
OuO
SLKHGFKSJDHFG
The Sniper hated his birthday. When he was little, he’d loved it, yeah—he got presents and parties and he would play outside with his friends, but now…His mum sent him something each year, but it always came a few days late because the Administrator had their mail searched thoroughly and he’d never had the heart to tell her it hadn’t come on time. He had friends, or close enough to it, sure, but he was a grown man now, and parties were out of the question. Too juvenile, and too silly, especially for a fellow who wasn’t particularly pleased to be getting another year older, and especially considering that they were in the middle of a war. He supposed he did get to play outside, in a way, he thought with an unamused huff, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant, seeing as he spent most of the day alone, dying horribly. Not to mention the fact that the Sniper’s birthday was in the dead of winter. He couldn’t even sleep in his van, what with how cold it got out here… He produced something between a shiver and a sigh as he opened the door to the room he had to bunk in during the winter months. It was quite bare, Spartan almost, because the Sniper hated the enclosed little room and refused to make it seem anything like home. He gave it a glare as he stepped in, ignoring the shouts from outside—the Soldier seemed to be raving about a…”mom fret”? The gunman shook his head in confusion and shut the door to the noise, supposing their Spy must have gone after the other team’s mum again. He didn’t care to participate in that argument. If the frenchman was going to see his lover, then good on him. The Sniper almost envied the mother BLU; his own masked lovebird hadn’t come to see him at all today, not that he had ever told the enemy Spy that today was his birthday…besides, they’d only been romantically involved for a few weeks now. Still, the roguish little spook usually came to visit him in his nest during the battle at least once a day, and today—nothing. Just his rotten luck. Just another reason to hate his birthday. He began unpacking from the day’s battle, removing his weapons from his person and placing them carefully on the ground—the room didn’t even have a table, just a bed and a chest for his belongings. He had just set the sniper rifle down when he heard an odd noise—familiar, but entirely out of place. It sounded like…Carefully, he withdrew his hands from the weapon and straightened. His jaw nearly hit the ground. “Joyeux anniversaire, mon cheri.” The Sniper couldn’t stop gaping. The noise had indeed been the sound of the BLU Spy uncloaking—uncloaking on his bed, relaxed as if it was the most natural thing in the world to suddenly appear in an enemy based dressed the way he was, that is to say, not dressed very much at all. With his brain still incapable of forming words, the RED ordered his eyes to do a bit of reconnaissance: they swept over the sly face he knew too well, hungrily drunk in the exposed chest, stopped tenderly at the rose held delicately in a gloved hand, ran hopefully over the blue leather on the fingers, jumped to the surprisingly arousing sock garters and then finally, hesitantly, drifted to petal-covered crotch. There they lingered for quite awhile—their relationship was still fairly new and the Sniper was not at all used to seeing him in things like that. God, the spook was a sight, and it was all he could do to choke out a few syllables, which, unsurprisingly, ended up being the wrong ones: “B-but…my team, they’ll—you should leave!” Thankfully, the Spy had already learned that his lover didn’t exactly have a way with words, and he made no move to leave; he only grinned. “Your team? Oh, please, bushman, they’re all outside wondering where you are and why the base hasn’t exploded yet.” Exploded? But why would…When he figured it out, he could have hit himself. “Bomb threat,” he groaned. That was what the Soldier had been screaming about, of course, not “mom fret,” how could he have been so stupid? “You called in a bomb threat?” The Spy just let out a melodramatic sigh in response. “Is that really important? It is your birthday, cher.” “Wh—but—how did you know that?” The Sniper spluttered. Just a smirk and a word, “Spy.” That was all the explanation that was needed. “So, you…you called in a bomb threat so that my team wouldn’t catch you visiting me on my birthday?” The Australian drawl was full of hope; did the spook really care about him that much? The Spy’s grin just grew more devilish, and his reply sent a chill down his lover’s spine that stopped the stopped the heart on the way and landed right between his legs. “I called in a bomb threat so that your team wouldn’t hear us fucking on your birthday.” Finding his partner entirely unable to respond, the BLU continued: “Now, come, aren’t you going to open your present?” “S-seems like you did most of that for me already,” managed the Sniper with a weak chuckle and a half-step forward. “Oui, I did get a bit impatient,” the barely-clothed frenchman responded with a shrug, “but I left the best part for you, so come here.” Still in shock, the birthday boy staggered towards his blue-wrapped gift. He was shaking; they had barely gotten this far, and now things were moving so quickly—he would have liked to take this one slow, but he supposed his team could decide at any moment that the bomb threat was bogus, so—when he finally reached the bed, he sank to his knees, bringing his hands to grip the Spy right above the hips, rubbing gently as he draped his torso awkwardly over the still-crossed leg and let his head approach the scanty undergarments, aiming with his mouth to remove them and find what was hidden beneath the dark cloth. “Tsk, now, what are you doing?” The Spy’s voice stopped him, as well as the Spy’s finger under his jaw, tilting his gaze up. “You’ll get the scent much better from the flower itself than you ever would from a few petals.” He held the rose towards the Sniper’s face, and the gunman blinked in confusion. “The best part?” Surely the Spy in front of him, nearly entirely exposed and ready, apparently, for a good fuck, would be the highlight of the evening? “But of course,” the frenchman growled, waving the flower. “This is your birthday present. The rest—” he let the rose drag over his neck, down his chest, circling a nipple— “the rest of this is yours any day.” He held the rose out to the entranced bushman once again, and an ungloved hand plucked it carefully from the leather grasp. The Australian gave it an appreciatory sniff. “Red,” he noted faintly, glancing back up. “My favourite colour,” purred the spook. The Sniper smiled widely, letting the rose fall and reaching a hand towards the masked face so he could pull himself up to plant a kiss on smug, stubble-surrounded lips. “How long do we have?” He murmured, placing his knees on either side of the BLU, straddling him. “Mmm…” The Spy took his time thinking as those leather-clad fingers wrapped around his lover’s waist, tickling and exploring and tugging at clothing. “Well, I left them a little message outside—a nonsensical riddle of sorts that ought to lead them on a wild goose chase until, hmm…” He nuzzled the other man’s unshaven cheek, leaning close to one ear to whisper, “We have at least until morning.” The Sniper would forever be grateful that the other man never said a word to anyone about the excited noise he let out at those words, but his lover’s next utterance was even more exhilarating. “Perhaps I shall let you unwrap me all the way,” the Spy mused teasingly, bringing those huge Australian hands to his mask, where they immediately started touching and stroking. It was then that the Sniper lost total control of his body and fell forward, bringing the both of them tumbling onto the mattress and bumping the Sniper’s head against the wall. Normally he would have cursed the barren room and its narrow cot for his new injury, but at the moment all of his cursing capabilities were allocated elsewhere, slipping breathily out in response to the spook’s tender touches—and with the writhing body beneath him, the steady stream of french in his ear, and the smell of roses still lingering in his nose, the little room was beginning to feel more and more like home. This, thought the Sniper as his hands slipped under the balaclava and began feeling unexplored aspects of his lover, was the best birthday he had ever had. Holy mother fuck this is long yeesh probably because it isn’t about food *SHRUG*
*FLAILS*
agasdfgkljkdsfkl;aAAH! YES! BEAUTIFUL!
OH ME OH MY
DAT FIC
DOES ANYONE REALIZE MY BIRTHDAY IS TOMORROWHOLY SHIT I LOVE THIS WORLD](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m221njUVBt1qepok7o1_1280.png)
The Sniper hated his birthday. When he was little, he’d loved it, yeah—he got presents and parties and he would play outside with his friends, but now…His mum sent him something each year, but it always came a few days late because the Administrator had their mail searched thoroughly and he’d never had the heart to tell her it hadn’t come on time. He had friends, or close enough to it, sure, but he was a grown man now, and parties were out of the question. Too juvenile, and too silly, especially for a fellow who wasn’t particularly pleased to be getting another year older, and especially considering that they were in the middle of a war. He supposed he did get to play outside, in a way, he thought with an unamused huff, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant, seeing as he spent most of the day alone, dying horribly. Not to mention the fact that the Sniper’s birthday was in the dead of winter. He couldn’t even sleep in his van, what with how cold it got out here…Requested during live stream by RibbonKrazeKiru. [But I’ma call ‘em Zeetee ‘cause I can and that was their name on the stream]
.u. This was really fun to draw.
Hon hon hon.
OuO
SLKHGFKSJDHFG
He produced something between a shiver and a sigh as he opened the door to the room he had to bunk in during the winter months. It was quite bare, Spartan almost, because the Sniper hated the enclosed little room and refused to make it seem anything like home. He gave it a glare as he stepped in, ignoring the shouts from outside—the Soldier seemed to be raving about a…”mom fret”? The gunman shook his head in confusion and shut the door to the noise, supposing their Spy must have gone after the other team’s mum again. He didn’t care to participate in that argument. If the frenchman was going to see his lover, then good on him. The Sniper almost envied the mother BLU; his own masked lovebird hadn’t come to see him at all today, not that he had ever told the enemy Spy that today was his birthday…besides, they’d only been romantically involved for a few weeks now. Still, the roguish little spook usually came to visit him in his nest during the battle at least once a day, and today—nothing. Just his rotten luck. Just another reason to hate his birthday.
He began unpacking from the day’s battle, removing his weapons from his person and placing them carefully on the ground—the room didn’t even have a table, just a bed and a chest for his belongings. He had just set the sniper rifle down when he heard an odd noise—familiar, but entirely out of place. It sounded like…Carefully, he withdrew his hands from the weapon and straightened. His jaw nearly hit the ground.
“Joyeux anniversaire, mon cheri.”
The Sniper couldn’t stop gaping. The noise had indeed been the sound of the BLU Spy uncloaking—uncloaking on his bed, relaxed as if it was the most natural thing in the world to suddenly appear in an enemy based dressed the way he was, that is to say, not dressed very much at all. With his brain still incapable of forming words, the RED ordered his eyes to do a bit of reconnaissance: they swept over the sly face he knew too well, hungrily drunk in the exposed chest, stopped tenderly at the rose held delicately in a gloved hand, ran hopefully over the blue leather on the fingers, jumped to the surprisingly arousing sock garters and then finally, hesitantly, drifted to petal-covered crotch. There they lingered for quite awhile—their relationship was still fairly new and the Sniper was not at all used to seeing him in things like that. God, the spook was a sight, and it was all he could do to choke out a few syllables, which, unsurprisingly, ended up being the wrong ones:
“B-but…my team, they’ll—you should leave!”
Thankfully, the Spy had already learned that his lover didn’t exactly have a way with words, and he made no move to leave; he only grinned. “Your team? Oh, please, bushman, they’re all outside wondering where you are and why the base hasn’t exploded yet.”
Exploded? But why would…When he figured it out, he could have hit himself. “Bomb threat,” he groaned. That was what the Soldier had been screaming about, of course, not “mom fret,” how could he have been so stupid? “You called in a bomb threat?”
The Spy just let out a melodramatic sigh in response. “Is that really important? It is your birthday, cher.”
“Wh—but—how did you know that?” The Sniper spluttered.
Just a smirk and a word, “Spy.” That was all the explanation that was needed.
“So, you…you called in a bomb threat so that my team wouldn’t catch you visiting me on my birthday?” The Australian drawl was full of hope; did the spook really care about him that much?
The Spy’s grin just grew more devilish, and his reply sent a chill down his lover’s spine that stopped the stopped the heart on the way and landed right between his legs. “I called in a bomb threat so that your team wouldn’t hear us fucking on your birthday.” Finding his partner entirely unable to respond, the BLU continued: “Now, come, aren’t you going to open your present?”
“S-seems like you did most of that for me already,” managed the Sniper with a weak chuckle and a half-step forward.
“Oui, I did get a bit impatient,” the barely-clothed frenchman responded with a shrug, “but I left the best part for you, so come here.”
Still in shock, the birthday boy staggered towards his blue-wrapped gift. He was shaking; they had barely gotten this far, and now things were moving so quickly—he would have liked to take this one slow, but he supposed his team could decide at any moment that the bomb threat was bogus, so—when he finally reached the bed, he sank to his knees, bringing his hands to grip the Spy right above the hips, rubbing gently as he draped his torso awkwardly over the still-crossed leg and let his head approach the scanty undergarments, aiming with his mouth to remove them and find what was hidden beneath the dark cloth.
“Tsk, now, what are you doing?” The Spy’s voice stopped him, as well as the Spy’s finger under his jaw, tilting his gaze up. “You’ll get the scent much better from the flower itself than you ever would from a few petals.” He held the rose towards the Sniper’s face, and the gunman blinked in confusion.
“The best part?” Surely the Spy in front of him, nearly entirely exposed and ready, apparently, for a good fuck, would be the highlight of the evening?
“But of course,” the frenchman growled, waving the flower. “This is your birthday present. The rest—” he let the rose drag over his neck, down his chest, circling a nipple— “the rest of this is yours any day.” He held the rose out to the entranced bushman once again, and an ungloved hand plucked it carefully from the leather grasp.
The Australian gave it an appreciatory sniff. “Red,” he noted faintly, glancing back up.
“My favourite colour,” purred the spook.
The Sniper smiled widely, letting the rose fall and reaching a hand towards the masked face so he could pull himself up to plant a kiss on smug, stubble-surrounded lips. “How long do we have?” He murmured, placing his knees on either side of the BLU, straddling him.
“Mmm…” The Spy took his time thinking as those leather-clad fingers wrapped around his lover’s waist, tickling and exploring and tugging at clothing. “Well, I left them a little message outside—a nonsensical riddle of sorts that ought to lead them on a wild goose chase until, hmm…” He nuzzled the other man’s unshaven cheek, leaning close to one ear to whisper, “We have at least until morning.”
The Sniper would forever be grateful that the other man never said a word to anyone about the excited noise he let out at those words, but his lover’s next utterance was even more exhilarating.
“Perhaps I shall let you unwrap me all the way,” the Spy mused teasingly, bringing those huge Australian hands to his mask, where they immediately started touching and stroking. It was then that the Sniper lost total control of his body and fell forward, bringing the both of them tumbling onto the mattress and bumping the Sniper’s head against the wall.
Normally he would have cursed the barren room and its narrow cot for his new injury, but at the moment all of his cursing capabilities were allocated elsewhere, slipping breathily out in response to the spook’s tender touches—and with the writhing body beneath him, the steady stream of french in his ear, and the smell of roses still lingering in his nose, the little room was beginning to feel more and more like home. This, thought the Sniper as his hands slipped under the balaclava and began feeling unexplored aspects of his lover, was the best birthday he had ever had.Holy mother fuck this is long yeesh probably because it isn’t about food *SHRUG**FLAILS*
agasdfgkljkdsfkl;aAAH! YES! BEAUTIFUL!
OH ME OH MY
DAT FIC
DOES ANYONE REALIZE MY BIRTHDAY IS TOMORROW
HOLY SHIT I LOVE THIS WORLD
A quick, shameless sketch of the most adorable version of a TF2 character I’ve ever seen. :Dit’s not half bad considering my severe scarcity of coloring materials
