vorfreudc

[vorfreudc]

Wilhelm gets up close and personal a lot when he’s still in that limbo of himself and being high on medi-gun spice. instead going for kills that maim when his life is in danger so the person who attacks him has a chance to fight for their lives or get picked off on battlements he’ll end going for more brutal finishers. like grabbing their widdle head and grating it across the rocks until what should be covered by skin isn’t and he always leaves their face unrecognizable mush. fortunately, it’s not too out of place from the rest of the carnage that happens on the battlements 

[vorfreudc]

((please do not chomp ass meat

ass meat rations low send a bett er sniper instead please 

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im making this everyone elses problem 

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we’re not at sinday yet but but Wilhelm is 56 when he joins with teufort and can get it like the dude will come back to base from orgies with people that are unfortunate enough to catch his interest after huffing medi-gun spice and having a little snack. the people he decides to remember the faces of are kept as art, adjusted, cherished and loved until they’re not 

He comes back to base with headache looking put together but there’s this lingering scent of sex underneath the heavy duty antiseptic of BLU’s clinic and he lays it all bare -- the bite marks, the hickies, the bruises, a button or two missing from his shirt. he’s not ashamed at of it all. he takes a coffee and gnaws on an unlit pipe for breakfast. he’s full. if you look hard enough there’s the faintest trace of blood under the nails that didn’t quite wash off that wouldn’t be there that his team is at least smart enough to not ask about or notice 

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what if i made wilhelm old when he gets contracted into t.eufort what if i made him old what if i made him old what if i-

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Wilhelm goes into the communal showers early typically at least before half the team is even awake and part of is it is to do his early to rise sleeping habit but a much larger part of is bc he doesn’t want to have to even be in proximity to S.cout when he gets the idea to start snapping asses w/ a wet towel 

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I've done nothing wrong. Except for all the atrocities. Besides that I'm innocent

[vorfreudc]

   @isetheby liked for a starter! 

    There is nothing to be said of skill in the Badlands. Most boast to be the best of their class. The fastest. The smartest. The strongest. The better shot. Hear it enough and it all begins to run together. Words are nothing but blunt weapons half hazardly thrown at each other aimed for cheap digs. Actions speak entirely for themselves. 

   The unspoken conversation between Cecil and himself has been... wanting. Wilhelm is both a Doctor and scientist, knitting together flesh as much as continuously puzzling the world around them. The entire day has been filled with empirical evidence that stacks. As a Sniper bullets are meant to find their targets, and they have. For one team. The sudden lurching feeling of being thrust into respawn from bullet to the brain. Again. And again. Sparing glances to their own Sniper’s nest tells him everything. That the favour could not be returned in kind. 

    As the sun sets and the round is behind them in a loss there is time to sit on rising conclusion that RED’s Sniper could back every spat comment from his nest. While perhaps theirs with his pocketful of words to spare wouldn’t just be bested for this day. Hand held out, Wilhelm looks at Cecil unwavering, expectant for the weight to fill an empty palm. 

   “Your rifle.” 

[vorfreudc]

@blupyrc like for a starter! 

   The dead line the battlements in twisted shapes both whole and in pieces. 

  Birds of carrion wait above. As opportunistic as they are they dawdle at the fringes snap at scraps of flesh. An impatient circle closing in as the Doctor kneels in the center of their rotting meal, the stench of iron filling his nostrils. There’s BLU beneath all of the red. 

  Fingers slip beneath the issued gasmask, careful not to lift it any more than needed to press against carotid. A sliver of exposed flesh. Would it be a comfort to RED and to BLU to know that the monster in the asbestos lined suit wore the same shape as they? He is methodical, could wait as patient as a saint to find what he looks for but he doesn’t have to for long.

   There. 

   Life pushes against his fingertips in a steady thump. The Medic’s hand withdraws, smoothing the mask back into place. Monsters have their place on the battlefield too. Dusting the sand from his knees Wilhelm rises to stand. A flutter of feathers behind him. The barest tap, tap, tap, as the as one from the impatient circle lands, the rest soon taking their chance. The wet sound being of flesh being torn away follows and the shrieks along with it as they snap at one another for their meal. If the vultures were fast enough none of the corpses would leave without missing an eye, a lip, or the softest parts of the body before respawn claimed their meals. One settles near his heel. They always were. 

    Seeing himself reflected in the black pits of the gas mask’s lenses he offers no hand. 

  “Get up.” 

[vorfreudc]

Wilhelm’s only laughed once on this blog and it was to laugh either at or with Bear’s Miss Peebles for having the guts to strike a deal with him and I hope he knows that while he lives in my head rent free I hate him 

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your honor I hate him! 

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ultraviolext​:

A Brutal is rarely a still creature. Though she has long given up the hopes of a Medic finding a way to reverse her condition, it hasn’t stopped her from these late-night visits. 

Perhaps because a Medic’s curiosities were rarely satisfied and do no harm rarely applied in turn. So she allows him to touch her, to quest and search that what he does not understand. The cool of her skin, the strange shifting and glitching that fought against injury, defied death itself.

They stare at one another, Shannon tensed and malleable under his touch. Her chin jerks up, attentive and obedient. It was that way with men like him, those willing to be, to take, what they want. To satiate desire. 

She is nude, her skin prickling with goosebumps in the cold of the medical theatre. He is a doctor, after all, he must see everything. She likes these meetings of theirs, even as his deft fingers brush her hair aside and find the tender scar between brows.

Her expression darkens, but still, she does not move. He sees her. Not at a monster, like so many, but perhaps as some grand culmination. A beautiful anomaly worth his time, his attentions.

Her words come out like his, hushed and reverent of the strange energy buzzing between them.

“I know you do. That’s why I’m here.”

She looks almost vulnerable in her stillness, ready to crack at a brush of the hand. But glass was brittle too until it breaks, then it becomes sharp. 

No uncertainty. No hesitation. No bashful reaction.

 He’s done this countless times before in his own clinic. Bodies laid willing bare waiting for his mark. The cloth of his white coat whispers its hush as Wilhelm begins methodical inspection. With her chin still pinched tight his grip he snaps her head up as far as it goes as she speaks. Reverence requires the devout to worship. A steady knee ready to crash down. She fascinates him, so he is kind. He listens to every word, features say nothing of mind or thoughts as he tilts her head away -- one side then the next. For all of her vast emptiness there is no satiation. Fingertips linger only as long as needed, long leached of their warmth. Life doesn’t push against the pads. It’s hard to ignore the beauty of melancholy tracing every single line already there on the Brutal’s skin. But he withdraws. 

  Each of their late night visits bring the same diagnosis and there’s no evidence that suggests this will be any different. There is no cure. Those words, heard time and time again that he suspects is the only thing that can leave its fresh mark. But this is no disease. Perhaps it’s part of a long suffering game to put to words what she must already know by heart The body recalls it’s sufferings well but it adapts. Wounds repeatedly sliced open became scars, healed into callouses until nothing but the dull memory of an ache was all that was remembered. He wants to mark her, carve into her in a way that she’ll remember but nothing as pedestrian as knives, nothing so dull as to leave an ugly scar forgotten with the rest.

Fingernails scrape her scalp tangling in those dark threads of black. “Tell me what you want.” 

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wilhelm sharing a moment with someone where you can see his lips moving but it’s so low that only the person that’s with him can hear and his his thumb just slowly moving up about to splorch in the other person’s eye socket the very moment he sees they’ve given up on fighting for their life.  thank u 

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   @ultraviolext hee hee hoo hoo 

   Bare fingers trail along delicate features, thumb pad pulling plush lips apart then dragging past. There’s an ease in his touch, a reverence laid bare. When a sculptor works his hands must be bare to feel his work. A creature unable to commit fully to death so there is no other option but to live. Fingers sweeps along her cheek cold, corpse like. That delicate line always toed. 

    But she in all of her beautiful ruin isn’t his doing. He is simply admiring what the Goddess has already provided. A man touching a sculpture long made, careful in his inspection. His eyes cold and surgical sharp run along familiar features latch onto her eyes. Fingers grip her chin, jerks her head up so they meet eye to eye. The command is silent. Stay. Her eyes, meek once, no longer a window to the soul. Not there, no. With his free hand he brushes strands of black hair, and finds the scar that gave her purpose. Broke free the woman he always knew was beneath the mousy assistant. Right between the eyes. Jagged and marred. There soul’s window. 

 The words are breathed out quietly.   

  “I see you.” 

[vorfreudc]

HOO BOY! 

[vorfreudc]

it’s safe to say at this point that my bio will always be perpetually in to be updated mode jdkl so I’m just going to go through my blog, revisit fun memories, annnd tag my hc’s and link those in the bio because I think they’re still good? I think they’re neat, anyways. so people can get a feel of him 

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Cecil: I’m big pee pee energy  Wilhelm: i’m bIG pEe pEE eNERgY.