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neo-my-geo · 1 year ago

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HELLO THERE THIS ASK IS ENABLING YOU TO RAMBLE ABOUT THE DND AU!!!! AA!!!!

Thank you for this wonderful Christmas present, anon! I would love nothing more!

Time for some rapid fire random fun facts about the gang!

1. Scout

- Most of his brothers are full orcs, and the ones that aren't are half-goliath. He's a hard-core runt of the litter.

- He lost his foot after cussing out an incredibly powerful warlock and getting cursed. No healing magic could bring it back, so Dell took it as an opportunity to practice his prosthetics!

- He makes his Bonk himself. It is not sanctioned by the church.

- Scoutma is an orc paladin, and Scout loves her very much.

2. Jane Doe/Merasmus

- The inside of his tome shares an uncanny resemblance with Merasmus' apartment. Merasmus exclusively experiences the world through hearing what Jane says, so he's usually about 40% sure he knows what's going on. Jane can enter and exit at will, but Merasmus is bound to it.

- Going by how Jane describes him, Merasmus is about 89% sure Spy is a raccoon. He keeps a tally chart.

- Jane likes to boost his jumps by pointing his tome directly downward and casting fireball. Yes, this goes about as well as you'd expect.

- When Jane casts a spell with his tome, it's actually Merasmus firing it out of the window of the apartment into the void. They find their way out in around 2-6 seconds.

3. Pyro

- Pyro is often regarded as one of the most powerful sorcerers in the area; the only reason he isn't brought on every mission is because he doesn't use a lot of discretion when casting evocation spells.

- He has attempted (and nearly succeeded) to usurp a red dragon and their hoard before. The only reason he failed was because he had to go home for dinner.

- Dell is his favourite teammate by a long shot and he doesn't usually bother hiding it. He likes his cooking.

4. Heavy

- That is his legal name. He cracked a floor tile when he was born.

- Don't mistake his lack of a weapon for a lack of skill. He doesn't use a sword because he doesn't need to.

- Heavy worships the art of battle, and hasn't quite found a god that exemplifies it to his standards. A handful of dwarven gods have been fighting to have him as their warrior for the last hundred or so years.

5. Ta'Vish "Tafish" Degroot

- It's pronounced 'tah-vish.'

- He's a bit vain about his appearance and takes the longest of anyone to get ready in the morning.

- While he will usually be the first of the group to suggest talking things out over instant aggression, he will shift tracks entirely the second a firebomb is placed in his hands. That's the point of no return.

- Merasmus is still the reason he lost his eye. It was turned into a beholder that stalks the group from a distance and tries to attack them every few weeks, but it's no match for a group with a vampire, dragon(?), and legend-worthy paladin.

6. Dell

- He's the backbone of the guild, other than Pauling. He's very very good at making magically-infused inventions, including his own and Scout's prosthetics.

- His cannons are named Byron, Barnham, Bowie, and Odessa. They each fill their own niche, and Dell loves them all like they're his children.

- Byron is a wild card that will fire at anything he's pointing at. He's great at clearing a room.

- Barnham fires small healing pulses. They aren't a replacement for an actual healer, but they feel a hell of a lot better than being in death saves.

- Bowie is a flamethrower, incredibly patient, and great at standing guard in front of dungeons. He's Pyro and Sniper's favourite.

- Odessa is the largest, oldest, and packs the biggest punch, but she also takes much longer between shots than the others. She likes taking naps by the fireplace.

- Dell invented a self-moving wagon to get the party around. It's called the Subaru (no relation).

7. Dr. Ludwig/Archimedes

- He recently escaped being trapped in a pocket dimension for several hundred years, so he's still getting used to current society. He met another, absurdly dickish vampire while he was there, but he ditched him on his way out.

- He and Heavy are tied as the best hand-to-hand fighters in the guild. Point the two of them at a target and rest assured they'll be reduced to a fine red mist. Just maybe don't send them on bureaucratic missions.

- Whenever the beholder attempts to ambush them at night, Ludwig is happy to fight it off on his own. He sees it as a fun challenge.

- Archimedes is a lich, and Ludwig is his lair.

8. Sniper

- He's BLU, has 125 hit points, and an average walking speed. His loadout is stock, other than swapping his vest for a cloak.

- He still has his rifle, but he uses it sparingly because Dell is still working on mass-producing .30 caliber rounds. He's been aching for his huntsman ever since crossing over.

- He's still getting used to all of this, so be nice to him ok?

9. The Spy

- Yes, he includes the prefix when he introduces himself.

- Being both a soulknife and a changeling, his abilities include telepathy, shape-shifting (as long as it's into a medium-sized biped), invisibility, and the ability to summon knives with his mind.

- He dumped CON, so a light breeze can knock him over.

- Thieves' Cant is his first language, and it sounds suspiciously similar to Parisian French.

Thank you very very kindly to @pinapin for letting me use your sketches because I'm stuck away from my computer! Everyone say thank you pinapin

#ask #neo's got the mic #tf2 au #blink and youll miss the freedom fries #i love asks like these #keep em coming #tf2 #D&D #D&D au

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420thewritersroom · 9 months ago

Text

Got That Cursed Dawg in Him

Whoo-ie, this took slightly longer than intended. I wanted to gift this piece to @averageludwig simply because I LOVE LOVE LOVE their art and their pieces of the Demoman & Soldier makes my heart do backflips AND front flips. This is also highly inspired by @waterwindow art on Twitter that I think about daily, on top of that I love their art and their pieces on Demo & Soldier too.

This is also my first time writing anything involving the TF2 peeps, and I feel like it shows a lot when writing dialogue for the Soldier and Demoman (I didn't bother with doing written accents because...no, not skilled or patient enough to bother with that lol).

Before we continue, just wanted to do a bit of housekeeping, BLU Soldier is named John Doe (full name Johnathan Dodger) and is essentially a BLU Team OC. Same with the BLU Demoman, their name is Harvey (full name Harvey MacLennan). So for those who are confused on why the Soldier is named John instead of Jane, that's why. I also like to interpret the BLU Soldier to be a tad bit smarter (still a massive himbo). Anyway, I hope you enjoy the read!

Characters: RED Demoman (Tavish Finnegan DeGroot), BLU Soldier (John Doe), BLU Demoman (Harvey Maclennan)

Word Count: 2,058

Ships: RED Demoman/BLU Soldier (Boots n Bombs) if you squint

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (it's not too gratuitous, but it's there), Unresolved Tension, mentions of murder, BLU Soldier is too dumb to not escalate situations to worse heights

John strains to keep himself upright, wobbly staying on his feet as he looks at the RED Demoman across from him under his helmet. Pained breaths escape him as he readjusts the grip on his shovel, having lost his rocket launcher in the fight long ago.

"Tavish," it hurts to talk as John forces himself to try to reach his former friend again, "Tavish, you need to snap out of it!"

He has tried, time and time again, since this fight reignited, to get Tavish to stop this bloodshed he was subjecting both teams to. John said he could talk him out of this blood-frenzied stupor that the RED Demoman was under, that there was no need to trap Tavish in the Respawn system. Or worse, cut him off from it completely. He can be reasoned with. He's one of the most reasonable men with both teams combined.

"You have to let go of that sword, Tavish. You can't let whatever commie trickery that thing is plaguing you with take over. For your sake, listen to me!"

The RED Demoman was slumped forward, arms dangling in front of him while holding on tightly to the Eyelander that dripped fresh blood from its blade. Tavish's remaining eye shone with a cursed green, the outcome of constantly feeding the sword the heads of not only the BLU team but RED as well. The usual rogueish charm that the Demolition Man possessed was gone. In its place, a blood-hungry beast that saw neither friend nor foe, but lambs fit for the slaughter. Despite being wholly empowered by the claymore, the body is still flesh and bone. Tavish, or whomever was possessing him, struggled to keep themselves aloft. They have lost too much blood, and Tavish's body protested any further exertion unless treated.

John, however, looked worse for wear. His uniform was ripped and in tatters, revealing the white tanktop below, which was also showing signs of damage. He lost FAR more blood than Tavish ever did, with multiple cuts that ran deep and oozed his essence all over his attire and on the dirt below. Breathing was haggard and painful for the BLU Soldier to do. Hell, existing was riding him up a wall as hours of fighting and dodging were catching up with him. The only reason he was still kicking was thanks to the few health kits and bottles that were littered about, the dispenser that his team Engineer set up for him (that was now destroyed at this point), and their resident nurse giving him a buff before the confrontation. But his resources were running thin. He practically ran this entire battlefield dry of its health kits and ammo, his rocket launcher and shotgun now only having a single shell and maybe two rockets for him to utilize.

"Heads," a ghostly snarl escapes not from the claymore but from Tavish's mouth, dripping like poison in John's weary ears. "Heads…Heads," the body continued to utter as it tried to inch closer to John. Tavish's body, exhausted from the fight, struggled to place one foot after the other, stumbling here and there as every nerve was demanding that this being stop and let it rest.

John can barely think. He tried talking to Tavish, but nothing was getting through to him. Every plea, insult, and statement was greeted with unbridled violence and horrific screams. Any strategy the war veteran could think of was leaking from his ears (or maybe that's just blood now that he's thinking about it). As Tavish's body lumbered closer, John scrambled mentally on what to do. Shooting Tavish will send him to respawn and will provoke the RED team to damn Tavish to whatever fate they opted to do. But he can't fight him either. Should whatever's controlling the Scotsman gain a second wind, John will be sent through the ringer instead, failing in his mission and pushing both teams to definitely kill Tavish.

Tavish was now within arm's length of the Soldier, scrapping the Eyelander beside him on the dirt ground and ready to swing the weapon at John's head. John isn't sure what compelled him to do this. Perhaps he was hinging on the possibility that their past friendship still lingered somewhere in Tavish's mind. Maybe it was a final distraction tactic he opted to pull out from under the possessed Demoman's feet. Regardless of what the reasons were, John pushed himself to get dangerously close to the deranged Demoman.

And he kissed him.

The kiss might as well be two kids on the playground pressing lips together, thinking this is "how adults kiss" or woeful virgins awkwardly "kissing" each other. The sensuality was lost between the two of them; their lips connected, but the desire that usually comes with it was in the other room.

Yet, John couldn't help but feel his heart flutter a bit. He tells himself that it's just the adrenaline and fatigue that caused his heart to skip a beat, kicking away the dawning fear that he might still harbor the same feelings that he felt all those years ago; before their fallout, before the Demoman betrayed his trust. But despite these affirmations he tried to hammer into his head, his lips still lingered far too long than they should have. But it must be doing something; Tavish has yet to raise his Eyelander at him.

John mentally had to rip himself away from the Demoman, quickly stepping back should the RED fiend decide to take a swipe at him. What he saw before him took him aback as the RED Demoman stared at the BLU Soldier with a wide eye. The color of Tavish's remaining eye no longer glowed a misty green, but it wasn't back to the usual brown that it was before. Instead, his eye was a startingly alluring emerald green.

"…Tavish?" John says carefully.

There's a brief moment of silence between the two, and John decides to take further initiative in this temporary standstill. "Tavish, you have to give me the sword. You're out of control, out of line, even for someone of your expertise."

The Demoman remained still, his face filled with foggy confusion as he seemingly was slowly coming to his senses. John took this moment of uncertainty to his advantage as he leisurely reached for the sword.

"If you don't let go of this communist contraption you found, they'll kill you. You hear me? They. Will. Kill. You, Maggot," despite the insult, it held none of the searing bite that it usually conveys. John silently thanks his helmet for shadowing his eyes as he used the concealment to prevent the RED Demoman from seeing him eyeing his sword.

"You may not be a red, white, and blue-blooded American, but I know you can fight whatever has plagued your English-muddled brain." John was so close to the sword that he could taste it. Just a millimeter longer, and he'll end this nightmare once and for all-

Tavish's eye suddenly flares in anger, shoving John away from him and placing extra distance from the BLU Soldier. "Then let them kill me. Maybe Heaven or Hell will have more use for me than this wasteland of a state!"

John stares at Tavish dumbfounded, his helmet slightly ajar to glimpse his blue eyes. "Tavish, you don't know what you're saying-"

"I know EXACTLY what I'm saying. Haven't had a drop of scrumpy since I've started this rampage."

So he was aware? All this time?

"What? You think I'm that ill-willed to just LET a dead son of a bitch take me over without an inch of a fight, eh? I fought the goddamn loche, read a cursed book, and lost me eye for it."

Not a single word was slurred or interrupted by an untimely burp. John was lost for words, unsure of how to respond.

"But, why? You're terrorizing both teams consorting with that weapon, letting it whisper Russian nonsense into your ears!"

"Firstly, this sword isn't from fucking Russia; let's put that through your tin-canned skull first. Secondly, I let it take over because I allowed it."

"But WHY?" Soldier couldn't restrain his growing impatience, his tone resorting back to his usual drill sergeant demeanor.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Don't back sass me, you one-eyed Scot son of a bitch. Your whiskey-drinking life is on the goddamn line."

"See, that right there," the Demoman points at the Soldier accusingly, "Maybe if you'd stop with those demeaning jokes, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Jokes? It's what you are, Tavish! You have one eye, and you drink! What else am I supposed to call-" John stops himself, his mind finally clicking back into gear and understanding where Tavish was coming from. "Ah, so drinking wasn't enough, was it? Gotta bully everyone else, all because of your own damn insecurities, is that it?"

"You shut your bucket-wearing trap," Tavish growled, his remaining eye threatening John with a ghostly mist.

"Maybe if you actually faced your own demons instead of trying to drown them out with whiskey and blood, you'd be half the man you wished you were."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Tavish's eye becomes fully enveloped in the same cursed green color as his fury rises to new heights. "YOU HAVE LITTLE ROOM TO TALK FOR SOMEONE WHO WAS PLACED IN A MENTAL HOSPITAL FOR DECIMATING THEIR WHORE OF A GIRLFRIEND!"

Though this should've struck a cord in John, it instead made his spine and skin run cold as a shiver coursed through him. Nevermind that Tavish screamed to the heavens a secret he wished was left buried in its grave, but John completely lost the plot of what he was supposed to be doing. If anything, he reignited and made worse the Demoman's conviction to fucking kill him.

"T-Tavish, wait," John tried to backpedal, kicking himself mentally for letting his emotions run his mouth. But it was too late. The familiar sounds of Tavish's ungodly screams came rushing at him, and he had little time to run. Hell, he even tripped on himself attempting to run away from the bull that was the RED Demoman.

Thank his stars and garters that the Eyelander clanged against steel instead of his flesh and bone.

John is unsure when the BLU Demoman appeared or where they came from, but he was slightly grateful that the demolitionist stood between him and the willfully possessed Tavish.

"We gave you ten minutes, you took an hour, and we waited, John," Harvey's soft voice pierced through John like a hot knife to butter.

John panics as the possibility of Tavish meeting a fate worse than death becomes a painful inevitability in his mind. He scrambles through his words, thoughts not connecting to his lips, "Harv, please, just give me more time-"

"I gave you all the time in the world, Soldier. But something has to be done," Harvey grunts, and his words felt cold to the touch, but he does not raise his voice. Keeping a steady tone that, to an untrained ear, he might as well be as serene as a monk.

The BLU Demoman ends the standstill between him and his RED counterpart, building distance by kicking Tavish away with amazing strength. A prowess even the BLU Soldier didn't know his BLU companion possessed.

The RED Demoman's back slams against the outer walls of one of the buildings. With that previous stalemate, Tavish's body felt a renewed vigor as it slumped forward, and from his mouth, a familiar, venomous hiss escaped his lips, "Heads."

"If there's anything good that came out of your distraction, most of BLU have convened with RED, and they're plotting what to do with this beast once it's down." Harvey tilts his head to look at John, "Either you join them, or you help me keep this monster down."

John, from under his helmet, lingers between the two Demomen, searching through his mind how he can still salvage this situation. Ultimately, he settles on helping Harvey in the moment, and hopes to contain Tavish should they weaken him again. The BLU Soldier gets back on his feet, shovel in hand and stands with his BLU companion.

"I know you both have history, but that can not hold you back from doing what must be done, Johnathan," the BLU Demoman softly says.

"I know," John answers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey, you made it to the end of the story, congrats :D

My main inspiration for making this piece, aside from Waterwindow's art piece, was because I have yet to see anyone put Demoman in the "unwillingly or willingly becomes possessed by an entity that takes over their body completely and they're so deep in the possession sauce that they require the power of friendship to save them or have to be put down like a dog for the sake of the world" trope, and I decided to clumsily make this a reality.

I can just imagine, especially when he gains the Eyelander and his friendship with the BLU Soldier is broken, that Tavish goes through a spiral of emotions as he questions his self-worth and feels guilty for betraying his friend all for a cursed sword. And his guilt and self-hatred eats up at him and he becomes vulnerable to the influence of the Eyelander and lets the sword put him on auto pilot, allowing the spirit within to go on a mindless rampage against both RED and BLU team.

#Team Fortress 2 #TF2 #TF2 Demoman #TF2 Soldier #Boots n Bombs

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chiis-archive · 2 months ago

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My Opinion on TF2 OG Mercs (Clone Theory)

Feel free to disagree and give reasons as to why my suggestions may be incorrect!! I love learning! :D I have been into TF2 since I was a wee lad, but I am not fully fleshed out on all of its lore. I have also taken the time to input page/video sources to further back up my claims.

Please note that these are just my ideas on something that does not entirely matter. I desire to know the OG mercs out of sheer curiosity regarding the relationship between Spy and Scout, Sniper and his parents, etc. I also wanted to know who the OGs were based on MvM & who was from what team but wearing RED uniforms.

Thank you, & please enjoy!

OG TF2 Mercs:

RED Spy - Unknown. Definitely not Tom Jones. Please stop with the Tom Jones thing.

(RED - Meet the Spy video)

(RED - A Cold Day in Hell, seen with RED clothed Scout's mother.)

(Unlikely) BLU Scout - Jeremy

Jerma985 - Confirmed by Valve News Network interview.

(BLU - Meet the Spy video)

RED Scout - Jeremy

Jerma985 - Confirmed by Valve News Network interview.

(RED - Meets up with Heavy in A Cold Day in Hell comic. Same Scout from Unhappy Returns)

(RED - Unhappy Returns comic shows Scout talking about his mother and RED Spy being proud, then disappointed, in him.)

(RED - RED Spy & RED clothed mother shown with baby scout.)

(RED - RED Spy holds him as he dies - RED Spy pretends to be Scout's dream father as he dies, allowing himself the ability to be his father as his son dies.)

BLU Engie - Dell Conagher

Son of TFC Fred Conagher Engie

Shown in A Cold Day in Hell comic - fat w/ robo legs but alive.

Grandfather is Radigan Conagher.

(BLU - Contracted in (Loose Canon) comic to keep Mann bros alive.)

(BLU - Blood in the Water comic shows him helping Helen.)

BLU Soldier - Mr. Jane Doe/Arthur Blackburn

Jane Doe used instead of John Doe to get enlisted, even if he wasn't enlisted.

"CALL BLACKBURN 1-03113" listed in "Grave Matters" comic - Arthur Blackburn was an IRL (Australian) soldier in WWI & WWII & was a lawyer. Likely the theoretical same person/my headcanon my rules.

(BLU - WAR! comic)

RED Demoman - Tavish Finnegan DeGroot

(RED - WAR! comic)

(RED - Bombinomicon comic - wearing RED outfit as child & retelling story from childhood.)

(RED - Ring of Fired comic; goes home to mother. Demo is not excited when seeing RED Soldier; thus, they are not friends.)

RED Medic - Ludwig Humboldt

Humboldt was from Rottenburg (or maybe Stuttgart, where he ran "Humboldt's Pharmacy. " He was run out of Rottenburg for swapping too many baboon hearts.

Satan refers to Medic as "Mr. Ludwig," possibly his last name.

(RED - The Naked and the Dead comic, Medic momentarily dies and is sent to hell, where Satan interacts with him by name. This shows Medic 100% dying and 100% going to hell, then being brought back; thus, this 100% is the real OG Medic. He's also still wearing RED Med uniform.)

RED Sniper - Mun-dee (Mr. Mundy)

His first name is likely Mun-dee, as shown by the naming style from New Zealand (parents "Bill-Bel" & "Lar-Nah"). Possibly given the first name "Mick"/" Rick" from Australian parents? Unsure.

(RED - Meet the Director comic & Meet the Sniper video; allows outgoing contact w/ parents, thus real.)

(RED - Ring of Fired comic, Sniper is in Australia to find parents.)

(RED - Blood in the Water, shown in Australia in parent's house. Meets bio parents (Bill-Bel & Lar-Nah) in New Zealand.)

(RED - Old Wounds comic, meets parents in heaven. Although it was likely a hallucination from blue whale pineal gland brain stem injection.)

(Unlikely) BLU Heavy - Mikhail (Misha)

(BLU - The Shadow Boxers comic)

RED Heavy - Mikhail (Misha)

(RED - A Cold Day in Hell comic; most likely the OG Heavy due to interactions with family to return to.)

(Unhappy Returns comic; right before A Cold Day in Hell.)

RED Pyro - Likely Unknown/"Beatrice (TFC name)/'Bea' Arthur"

(RED - Ring of Fired -> Unhappy Returns -> A Cold Day in Hell comics.)

(Female - Besides literally everything pointing towards a female Pyro, along with TFC Pyro being female, the TF comic creator of A Cold Day in Hell jokes/hints that Pyro is female and still menstruating, with Soldier talking about honey and menstruating women attracting bears before saying he "always knew" and yells "PYRO" while pointing at Pyro. He then goes on to tell Pyro to move.)

(BLU TFC Pyro shown "Beatrice"; thus, it may not be Pyro's name. Dunno.)

#chiif2 #tf2 #tf2 headcanon #tf2 headcanons #tf2 clone theory #team fortress #team fortress 2 #respawn machine #clone theory #tf2 theory #chat am i crazy #please be kind to me i am mentally ill #and put way too much time into this #but it means a lot to me #and i'd love to explore this more

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hankwritten · 1 year ago

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A Tavern Named Keep [2/6]

Demoman-centric Modern AU

[1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6]

In a small uni-town in New Mexico, DeGroot Keep serves liquor and succor to an eclectic yet loyal group of patrons, and has for many years. The Keep owes its success to its equally colorful owner, who always seems to know what you need—whether that be a stiff beer or a word of advice. But, between setting up his patrons or sifting through his friends’ problems, will Tavish remember to take care of himself?

“I think it’s about time we put our heads together on this, lads,” Tavish says lowly to the three men before him, cleaning out a glass as casually as he can.

Jane, who has no concept of an inside voice and would attempt to fistfight the word ‘discretion’ if given the opportunity, replies, “PUT OUR HEADS TOGETHER FOR WHAT, MAGGOT?”

“For something discreet, Jane. You know, a secret mission?” Tavish says, trying to urge the ranger back into a state that isn’t turning every head at the bar, including the two people he’d been watching very intently before fielding the suggestion. “I think it’s time we all did something about Doc ‘n Mikhail.”

“Yes, I see,” Jane ruminates, thankfully lowering his voice down to his own personal version of a whisper. (Still above speaking volume, but Tavish will take what he can get.) “It is about time we ‘did something’ about the Kraut and the Ruskie, so that they are ‘taken care of’, and ‘the operation can proceed smoothly’.”

“I’m really starting to regret teaching him air quotes,” Jeremy says, one elbow on the bar and the other tilting back his beer.

“If you really need someone taken care of, I’ve got some pretty good rates,” Mick offers.

Jeremy eyes him, suddenly dubious. “…What exactly you doing for work in Teufort again?”

“That’s between me ‘n the blokes that pay me.”

“I really should not have to clarify this, but I did not mean having them killed.” Tavish sets down his glass and leans on the bar. “I mean do something about the two of them. Y’know. Together.”

“Together.” Jeremy’s mouth is a flat line.

“Yes, together together. I mean, just look at ‘em!”

Near the admittance to the auxiliary room (which due to being half a floor below the rest of the bar and grotesquely dominated by the Elephant, is almost never used except on particularly busy nights and when Tavish rents the Keep out for events), the pair of doctors are deaf to the world. It's an amazing sight: Ludwig not the least bit twitchy, not shuffling papers in his hands, not occupied with some experiment. He’s wholly enraptured by whatever Mikhail is saying, watching the way his mouth moves as he gestures one giant hand through the air with ease. A casual acquaintance of Ludwig’s would be flabbergasted to see him interrupt not once during the entire winding conversation, to value the words of another person so highly. When Mikhail says something amusing, Ludwig laughs uproariously, and there’s the barest twinge on the Russian’s face that lets one know he’s pleased about it.

Jeremy turns back to Tavish. “I don’t know man. Doc and the Professor? Kinda a zebras and horses thing there.”

“A wot?” Mick asks.

“A uh…cats and dogs living together you know? Or maybe like pigeons and really bad tempered grizzly bears living together.”

“The nurse keeps doves, not pigeons,” Soldier declares ever so helpfully, slamming his fist down. “Pigeons are a noble species, who risk life and wing to carry messages between their fellow combatants, driving themselves to extinction out of pure patriotism! I will not have you confusing them for that man’s glorified pillow stuffers.”

“Pretty sure they’re the same species,” Mick says.

“Lads,” Tavish stresses. “Can we focus?”

“About them having the hots for each other?” Jeremy looks over his shoulder again. “Really?”

“Dunno,” Mick muses. “I can see it.”

“What do you know, you’ve only been here two weeks.”

“They give each other longing looks sometimes. Oi! Like that!”

Ludwig has reached behind him, taking a beer off the seashell-inlaid standing table. As he takes a sip, Mikhail’s mask of attentiveness slips just for a moment, and he stares at his friend while the other man is distracted. It’s an utterly at peace expression, like nothing in the world quite matters the way they do.

“That was definitely a longing look,” Mick states triumphantly. Tavish gestures at him in vindication.

Jane squints. “…Are they not already dating?”

“Uhg,” Jeremy scoffs. “Fine, I’m out-freaking-voted. But that doesn’t mean it’s our job to get them together.”

“Oh come on, they’ve been dancing around each other for ages,” Tavish protests. “At the very least do it for your own sanity, if it’ll stop them making moon eyes at each other.”

“Ages?” Mick raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t Doc just get divorced?”

“Aye, but they’ve been separated for four years now. And if I’m being honest, I think he’s been in love with Mikhail for at least three of those.”

“Scout’s point still stands!” Jane says. “If they cannot tell each other how they feel then that is their own failing.”

“Oh c’mon Doe.” Tavish leans over the bar, gently nudging his friend in the side. “This is for the sake of true love. Don’t tell me there’s a more noble, patriotic cause than that.”

The omnipresent, wide-brimmed hat that’s already covering a good portion of Jane’s eyes is pulled even farther down his face. “Hrmm. Fine. You make a good point. Consider me drafted into your inane scheme.”

“Like you don’t love an inane scheme.”

“So we’re just skipping from longing looks to straight up ‘true love’?” Jeremy asks. “Y’know what, I don’t care, shenanigans or whatever. Just promise me this won’t take too long, Pyro has this gay-ass club thing that they want us to go to tonight.”

“A gay club?” Tavish more betrayed than surprised, though there’s certainly that too. “You’re stepping out on the Keep, boyo?”

“No! Not like a clubbing club, like a school club. Mumbles is like, vice chair or something, and I’m supposed to be there for support.”

“So it’s…what?” Mick asks. “A GSA?”

Jeremy's oncoming distress plays acutely across his face. “Aw man, c’mon there’s already so many letters, I can’t memorize any more.”

“GSA?” Jane rubs his chin. “Goose Savant Academy? Generous Squid Association? Gyration Saves America?”

“You’ll get to your club just fine, Scout,” Tavish assures. “This shouldn’t take long after all, they’re practically making out with their eyes whenever they look at each other. All they need is a little nudge.”

With his kill squad assembled (to ‘kill’ the awkwardness that has haunted DeGroot Keep for nearly half a decade, that is), Tavish shuffles behind the bar and pulls out an assortment of utensils, spare stock in case the usual table-fare runs out, but now being put to good use. He puts a ketchup bottle on one side and a mustard on the other, then splits up the silverware into pairs of two.

“Mundy and I will talk to Mikhail, try to get him see reason. Scout ‘n Jane, you handle Ludwig. I have a feeling he hasn’t even admitted to himself yet, so what you have to do is persuade him there’s a get-together tonight at the Keep. When we convince them both to show, we all amscray, and force them to face their newly realized feelings for each other. Eh? What do you think?”

“Why’re Misha and Doc matching things but the four ‘a us are a knife, a fork, a spoon, and a pepper shaker?” Jeremy swirls his finger at the assembled objects.

“Well there isn’t a fourth silverware, now is there?”

“Spork,” Jane, Mick, and Jeremy all say at once.

“Screw the lot of you,” Tavish says. “Are you in or no?”

“Eh, why not.”

“Fine. Sure.”

“Affirmative!”

“Fantastic! Mundy, let’s go try to pin Mikhail before he heads to his next class.”

“Godspeed soldiers,” Jane salutes as the bartender slides out. “Do your duty, and should you fail, make sure your end is glorious! Preferably also bloody: such as detonating a hand grenade and taking out several doves with you, bringing them along to the cold, unforgiving grave. I want this to be a closed casket twenty-one gun salute, maggots!”

Tavish smiles. No matter his penchant for getting things off track, Tavish finds it hard to stay mad at Jane. “Aye aye, sir.”

As the pairs split, Jeremy and Jane breaking away to pursue Ludwig out the Keep’s front door, Mick watches them depart thoughtfully. “He wasn’t really in the army, was he?”

“That’s his business, and I wouldn’t dishonor him by talking behind his back,” Tavish says firmly. “Though, do yourself a favor and don’t ask which wars he’s fought in. You’ll catch a headache, right then and there.”

“Fine,” Mick holds up his hands in surrender. “Won’t hear a word from me. Though that’s not a military uniform in the first place, is it?”

“The one he always wears? Nah. For all the things Jane may or may not be, he is employed by the forestry service. He’s a park ranger up at Valles Caldera Preserve.”

“Really. Huh. Where’d you even find a bloke like him?”

“It was more like he found me.” Tavish rubs his neck. “It’s…complicated. But we’ve got a mission to do, so why don’t we stay focused, eh?”

It’s apparent Mick’s noticed the obvious change in subject, but thankfully he doesn’t press it this time around. And a good thing too, Mikhail is slipping books into a satchel that looks like it’s straight out of a 1950s boarding school novel, complete with a brass button he closes with a satisfying snap.

“Oi, wait a moment there professor,” Tavish says. “Wanted to chat with you before you headed out for the morning. You ‘n Mundy here never got properly introduced.”

“Were introduced,” Mikhail grumbles, knocked out of a morning routine that is all but sacred to him. He wakes up, he buys coffee and a sticky bun from the shop down the street, he brings it to the bar (which Tavish allows because. C’mon. You try telling Mikhail “Heavy” Zakharov he’s not allowed to bring carry-ins) and then he converses with Dr. Ludwig until it’s time to head for TFU. To be broken from this lockstep onsets a bad mood. “Mikhail gives his name. Is all you need to know.”

“Oh there’s more to you than that big guy.” Tavish pats him on the arm, which comes up to about the bartender’s head. “I think Mick’s proving himself to be a decent fellow to have around, aye? You don’t have to avoid him.”

“Mikhail does not avoid,” Mikhail says, clearly avoiding Mick’s eyes.

The Australian, uncomfortable with his whole place in this charade, gives Tavish a look of where the bloody hell is this going?

Just stick with me, Tavish’s own look shoots back. To Mikhail he says, “c’mon lad, open up a little. Why don’t you tell us both how you got your teaching job, eh? That’s a nice little ice breaker.”

Mikhail eyes him as though, somewhere, deep in the animal part of his brain that lets us all know that someone is trying to scam us out of our portion of the kill, that this is about to lead somewhere he would not like. However, proving that is going to be difficult with how earnestly Tavish is looking at him.

He sighs. “Fine. Mikhail tells.” To Mick he says, “in Teufort. There is university. Mikhail is tired of looking for many jobs in many places, so he walks in and says ‘you will give me this’. Hale says he likes Mikhail’s gumption.” A rumble that might be a slightly mellowing laugh washes from the back of his throat. “Tried to fire Mikhail once, and Mikhail tells him that is good office, is good job. If he wants Mikhail gone, will have to remove him. Tried to. Mikhail won. Hale amused by this.” Mikhail thinks on this a moment. “Hale is strange man.”

“…What do you teach?” Mick asks, as customarily perplexed as people are when they find out Mikhail earned tenure by winning a wrestling match with his dean.

“Eighteenth to Modern Russian Literature,” Mikhail replies.

“They offer that? At Teufort? I’m pretty sure they don’t even offer calculus.”

“Do now. When Mikhail demand job, he say, ‘you will have this, and Mikhail will teach’. So class is taught. Not big surprise.”

“Ah mate,” Tavish butts in, vibrating from the anticipation of the undirected tale. “You skipped the best part! After all, how’s a bright lad like you end up in a place like this? You could’ve gone anywhere, but you stayed in Teufort.”

Discomfort rises in Mikhail’s shoulders once again. “Like said. Was tired of looking.”

“Oh dunnae try to pull that on me,” Tavish says. “Before you were busting down Hale’s office door, you strolled into this town on a whim. When you wandered into my bar, you said you were just passing through, and it was only a few drinks in before you were in love.”

The empty coffee cup just about shoots out of Mikhail’s hand as he jerks, squeezing it like a Bug Out Bob. “W-what? What is little man talking about?”

“With the Keep!” Tavish says proudly, both superficially oblivious and acutely aware of Mikhail’s reaction. “The tavern’s an alluring mistress, I can understand how she convinced a wayward traveler to stay, even when he had better prospects elsewhere. Even I’m a bit in love with her.”

Tavish pats a nearby support beam proudly, so covered in years of black paint it’s gone smooth.

“…Da. Keep is good place.” The awkwardness is practically sweltering. “Maybe...was part of staying.”

“I still remember that day you know,” Tavish grasps the distant memory with his eye turned heavenward, in a rigorous performance of reverie that Mick can’t help but think he’s laying it on a little thick. “So shy you were, ‘t was almost funny. Doc didn’t notice though. Just struck up a conversation with you right away, the two of you chatting away for hours over in the lower bar area.”

“Everyone is equally ‘shy’ to Doktor,” Mikhail admits. “He talks, expects people to listen.”

“Ah, but good company is the keystone of the Keep’s charm,” Tavish says. “After all, it takes a truly special place to make a man give up the hunt and decide this backwater town is worth sticking around for.”

Mikhail opens his mouth, hesitates, then closes it again. “Da.”

“Ah, but you have to get to morning classes. Sorry we kept you so long professor. Glad you ‘n Mick got more acquainted.”

With that, Tavish wraps a firm hand around Mick’s upper arm and frog-marches him away from the slightly bewildered Russian. You can practically see the gears turning in the man’s head, his flimsy paper cup now a crumple in his palm as his concentration is elsewhere. As the pair watch discreetly over their shoulders, Mikhail shakes himself, quickly disposes of his breakfast remains, and flees.

“That’s it?” Mick asks. “I thought we were going to confront him about confessing his feelings or something.”

“That’ll be enough,” Tavish assures, still watching the door. “Mikhail’s a smart man. And the thing about smart men is that once they get something into their head, they think on it until it drives them crazy, like a mutt with a chew toy. He’ll be back.”

“D’ya not consider yourself a smart man?”

“Goodness no! I, lad, am a worldly man, much more practical. I’ll give you this advice: never date a man who’s insane enough to go back for an advanced degree.”

“I don’t really date.”

“Ah, then maybe you’re wiser than all of us.”

“Still not so sure that’s going to get him to do anything,” Mick says. “It honestly sounded like you were negging him.”

“Trust me on this, alright?” The chiming of the bell brings Tavish to the reality that there are still many pressing concerns to be handled before tonight. “And while you’re trusting me, excuse me as well. My Most Valued Customer just walked in.”

She is not, by most definitions of the word, the customer Tavish values most, but it’s an indubitably good idea to treat her like she is. Helen steps cleanly over to the bar, placing herself upon a stool with just barely enough time for Tavish to slip into his usual position himself. They arrange themselves to their spots, like actors before the curtain rises.

“Miss Helen,” he greets studiously.

“Mister DeGroot,” she sniffs coolly back. “Gin on the rocks, if you would.”

“Daring today, aren’t we?”

“I pay for you to serve me drinks, DeGroot, not for your glib tongue.”

“The glibness is free o’ charge.” With a flourish, he finishes pouring her usual, sliding it away to be snatched by a well-manicured claw. He sets about to business with, “your star employee fell asleep at me bar again yesterday.”

“I am unsurprised. She once told me that she finds mattresses overly soft, and that they must be ‘up to something’.”

“Is that something getting people to sleep?”

“I assume so. Miss Pauling is not fond of the activity.”

“She might not have such anxiety about falling asleep if her boss wasn’t putting the load of ten assistants on her,” Tavish says. “Cannae ye lay off the girl, just a tad? You know she’d jump off a cliff if you told her to.”

“If I did, it would be for good reason.” Helen’s already quite narrow face sharpens to a point keen enough to draw blood. “Miss Pauling is aware of our duty, and what is at stake if we fail. The Facility must persevere, even as we burn ourselves out to keep it alight.”

An eye roll seems the least that spiel deserves. The Facility, in the Proper Noun of it all, is mostly known around Teufort as TF, in reverance to its complete inscrutability of purpose. Helen likes it that way. She’s very gloat-y when she knows something you don’t.

“Don’t start torching all your employees in the street, lassie,” he says dourly. “Think of the smell.”

“We must all make sacrifices, DeGroot.” And oh boy, here we go. “I, more than anyone. There are games that are played, behind the scenes, above the clouds, games of power and money that you cannot even fathom the rules of, and it is our job that you never have to. It may not be moral, or right, but it is necessary, and you should thank Miss Pauling for what she does so that you all can keep living your pitiful little lives.”

“Pitiful little lives?” Tavish raises a brow. “The kind where one has a gin on the rocks at eleven in the morning?”

Helen purses her lips at him. He refills her glass.

“Pretend all you like, you’re just as mortal as the rest of us,” he goes on. “Pauling too. She thinks the world of you, you know.”

“I treasure her for her loyalty.”

“I mean on a personal level, Helen,” Tavish says. “Whatever goes on in The Facility I won’t hazard to know, but Pauling believes in it because you do. Just make sure her devotion isn’t misplaced, aye? That’s all I ask.”

Helen doesn’t respond, but nor does she go off on another dismissive rant about the unwashed masses or whatever, so Tavish will take this as a win. Another comes thirty minutes later when Jane returns and relates that Dr. Ludwig will ‘report for duty’ at nineteen hundred hours. There’s plenty of time but also plenty to do, and Tavish sets to work on making the best ‘get these sorry excuses for lovebirds together’ bash he can strangle a chicken about. Jane isn’t on duty today and keeps him company, a complimentary beer to thank him for his troubles while he moseyes on about how the true American way to confess your feelings is to do so while crossing the Chesapeake while your foot is raised majestically on the bow in total disregard for boat safety. Tavish tries to tell him that’s not what that painting is about, but he’s having none of it. The ambiance continues in comfortable companionship as Tavish pulls out all the stops: streamers, tiny umbrellas, everything he needs for when the Keep hosts a special event. By the time Ludwig comes through the door with the evening slithering on his heels, he is not the first patron to be struck by the tavern’s transformation.

“Why is everything so…moody?” he immediately asks of the new lighting.

“National Candle Appreciation Day,” Tavish says stoically. “Doe assures it’s a very important American holiday. I wouldn’t want to offend any ‘o my customers by not dressing her up for the occasion.”

It speaks volumes that Ludwig doesn’t immediately pounce on the bald-faced dishonesty of this, first and foremost the fact never has the holiday come up in all the other years Tavish has kept DeGroot Keep on its wheels. Ludwig merely shakes his head, as though clearing his ears of buzzing jingoistic bees, and takes a seat at the bar. Whatever Jane and Jeremy said to him must have taken a real number. He’s practically jittery as Tavish mixes a few teaspoons of honey into his drink, not noticing what’s right in front of him.

“For courage,” Tavish says as he sets it forward.

“Courage?” Ludwig gapes at it, then lifts his eyes to his bartender. His mind calls back to his mysterious encounter earlier today, and for the first time wonders who could have put those two idiots up to it. “Are you-?”

Whatever threads of suspicion he was about to pull on will go uninvestigated, as the moment is heralded by Mikhail banging open the door. Ludwig turns, the silhouette of the Russian glowing slightly as a light rain follows him inside, the sunset setting the backdrop afire. Mikhail is equally nervous, his eyes scanning the bar for whom Tavish could reasonably guess.

“Gott,” Ludwig gulps. He swings around, downs his drink with several fearsome chugs, then rises while wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Doktor,” Mikhail says, locating where the doctor has been milking that courage to the best of his abilities, like the bartender has the key to salvation. “I have been looking for-”

“Misha there is something I need to talk to y-”

They both cut off abruptly.

“Doktor can say what he wants to say.”

“No, no you can go first I just-”

“Something Mikhail should have said long time ago-”

Sputtering into silence once more, Tavish looks on and summarizes that he’s never seen two men more terrified of each other. They’re now hopelessly caught in a veritable web of indecision, candlelight flicking around them, once again unaware of anything else as they stand paralyzed by the full recognition of the thing that they’ve been unknowingly cultivating between for years.

“…Could I steal you away for a moment, my friend?” Ludwig says sheepishly, finally, blessedly breaking the awkward silence.

“Yes. Can…Yes. Is good idea.”

And they part from the bar, pulling aside down the half-stair for a long awaited conversation.

The rest of the revelry spins on. Some—like Tavish—spare a glance at the pair of old friends hashing out something clearly of import and leave them to their business. Others don’t notice at all so weirded out are they by the sudden change in décor. Pyro is in the second camp, wandering about like a Dalmatian puppy during its first snow. Jeremy is oddly disinclined, having shown up with Pyro and promptly slunk to a corner, an uncharacteristic glumness about him. Before Tavish can even wonder at that, Dell appears for the impromptu party.

“They’re getting along even better than usual,” Dell says as Tavish passes him a Blu Streak, indicating the two men forgotten by the revels. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say-”

With no grace, no planning, no care, Ludwig lunges upward and kisses Mikhail on the mouth.

“-Oh,” is all that comes from Dell’s mouth, (so apparently that’s what he’d say if he didn’t know any better.) “I guess…heh…I guess they’re really getting along then- oh.” His jaw works silently for a moment as the vigor of the kissing increases. “Oh. Really getting along…over……there.”

Tavish pops an elbow on the bar and puts a chin in his hand. “Ah, isn’t love wonderful?”

Dell’s face has gone completely red, but despite himself he can’t look away. Tavish does not have this problem, and when he’s satisfied with a job well done, he peels himself from the engineer and heads further down the bar to congratulate his fellow conspirators. However, Mick’s on a job tonight, and it appears Jeremy’s slipped out between now and the last time Tavish saw him. He’s checking around some of the tables near the restrooms when he feels a slap on the back.

“You did good work tonight, sergeant!” Jane greets him warmly.

“Thanks lad,” Tavish says as he pats the hand that’s moved to his shoulder.

To his surprise, it doesn’t leave. After a moment, where Jane’s brow is furrowed in concentration, he rumbles out, “no, I mean it. This was a good thing you did. You’ve made your comrades…very happy.”

Tavish locks eyes with him, what that he can with the brim of the ranger hat in the way.

“I do try,” he says slowly. “I’d do the same for everyone if I could. Barkeep’s job is to make sure you’re all as well off as you can be.”

There is a brief, indescribably odd second (that hours later Tavish will still not be sure how to describe and therefore will put out of his mind entirely) where Jane looks like he’ll say something different than what he does.

What he ends up with is this: “that is the spirit! Now! I recommend you return to your friends and bask in this glorious victory. And maybe also keep your chef from putting their fingers in the ambient lighting.”

“Aw shite.” Tavish turns to see Jane’s sizing of the situation is correct. “Really should have known that would happen.”

“You cannot be perfect Tavish. No one expects you to be.”

But Tavish is already rejoining his customers, taking Pyro’s hand out of the nearest candle and being regaled with various drink orders. Jane sighs. He goes to join him.

#tf2 fanfiction #heavymedic #red oktoberfest

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littlebunnyman · 1 year ago

Text

Fair's for fools

He doesn’t have to stew in his thoughts for long before Billy knocks at his door and enters, flushed and loose-limbed. His scent should fill the room, still sweetened by his waning heat, but it is covered by the overpowering stench of Captain Strongjaw.

---

Billy spent his heat with another alpha. Flint isn't pleased.

featuring omegaverse, possessive Flint, and not enough biting

Read on Ao3

Beginning under the cut

It is pure coincidence that he is on deck when Billy returns. Pure coincidence he sees Captain Strongjaw helping Billy into the dinghy as if he couldn’t do it himself. Pure coincidence he sees the hands lingering on Billy’s waist, how Billy leans into them. Pure coincidence he sees just how small Billy looks next to Captain Strongjaw’s hulking figure, how Billy tilts his head up to smile at him. He clenches his jaw and turns away.

“Send him to my cabin when he arrives,” he says to Mr. DeGroot and nods towards the beach. He doesn’t look back and he doesn’t wait for an answer before he goes to his cabin and sits down at his desk. He looks over his notes again, the information about their next price, the route he mapped out. They’ll set sail tomorrow and all preparations have been made. There is nothing left to distract him from the thoughts of Captain Strongjaw’s hands on Billy. He doesn’t understand why Billy keeps seeking him out. James won’t deny that he is able to overwhelm anyone with his sheer size but he is too stupid to distinguish a lucrative price from a waste of time and resources, his success the result of sheer luck and a not completely useless crew. And still he is the first Billy seeks out every time they land in Nassau and he is relieved from his duties.

He wrinkles his nose and balls his hand into a fist. He regards Billy until he is fidgeting in place. “You took your time.”

The blush on Billy’s cheeks deepens, shoulders tensing up. “My alpha didn’t think it wise to let me leave too early.”

His alpha. How insolent of Billy to allow Strongjaw that position.

He glares and Billy crosses his arms. It shifts the collar of his shirt, revealing a bruise on the nape of his neck, too close to his mating gland.

“You know the whores say this to keep you longer and earn more money?”

Something flashes over Billy’s face, too quick to read, and he lifts his chin. James’ eyes drift to the damned bruise again. Strongjaw must have given it Billy while his knot filled him. Did Billy beg for his bite? Did he encourage Strongjaw? Where else did Strongjaw leave his marks? His nails dig into the palm of his hand and he forces his hand to relax.

“I didn’t go to the brothel. Grog- Captain Strongjaw took care of me.”

Continue on Ao3

#black sails #billyflint #blint #billy bones #james flint #omegaverse #words: 2k+#rating: e #i warned y'all that i would write omegaverse billyflint #and here we are #this is just the beginning #considering i've been working on a captain grog wip since the beginning of this year i shouldn't be surprised #that he found his way into my black sails fanfic hafskla #but he's only getting mentioned (for now) so no worries if you don't know him #all you need to know is in the fic #my writing

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fornassau · 2 years ago

Text

It actually was a heartwarming thing that the man still had the simple ribbon. He even had it on him at the time, which was all the more impressive. It certainly made him content as he saw it, and that little wink of his nearly set him off in a blush. At least he was sober and had a bit more control of himself.

“ They’re pirates. Control is a foreign concept. “ Flint jested and led the way to the Walrus. Tide was coming in quickly now, the behemoth creaking as it started to tilt from its ropes. It didn’t take long at all for the beauty to begin shifting. But when several ropes accidentally snapped and the ship took a hard lean, he’d extended his arm in front of Jaime, keeping him from getting closer. It was the first protective move he had made and it came without thinking. No matter who had stood near him he wouldn’t have let them pass, but seeing as it was Jaime there was a bit more to it:

She uprighted finally, Flint being able to breathe then. Being in that shallow water that was rising had his men working quickly to get everything they needed on board. Within a short amount of time, all hands were on deck. And Flint, as he classically did, began a bit of a speech to get the men going.

“ This is Captain Jaime Rivers. You will treat him with the respect earned of a fellow Captain. As you have seen, we have a few working guests with our crew. They’re from Westeros, do not know our tongue, but the Captain will assist. And by god if you lot fuck with them you fuck with me. “ Inspiration and a threat all at once.

“ We’re hunting down the tyrannical Captain Parrish, boys. We take his vessel, we take his men, we take his hold. And trust me, it’ll be a hell of a prize. “ He smirked a bit and the men cheered. They hadn’t been getting much as of late and were frustrated, so a rallying cry like this damn sure pushed them. Gates knew what he wanted. All of the leads and ships he’d tracked down all depended on this. If he could get that logbook, they had a good chance of getting the Urca, the greatest prize of all.

“ Mr. Gates! Hoist the sails. Let’s get on our way. “ Simple order has the men on board scrambling, Flint shouting a few things, which passed down the line, to Gates, to DeGroot, to Bones. He moved up on the main deck to get a view of the horizon. If he was wrong, if this failed, he had invested so much time and resources. It could bring him down as a Captain.

fornassau:

tooxldtorememxer:

fornassau:

Flint only smirked as he made his remarks, but that laugh of his had been playful enough to reassure him that Jaime would eventually teach him a bit of the language. It could come in very handy some day, and he imagined Jaime wouldn’t mind having a conversation in his own language instead of English.

“ You know me, I’ll at least keep my mouth shut if you are shit talking. “ Flint had led them to the Walrus where his men were rushing about, preparing soon to release the ropes on the ship as the tide was coming in. Some of them were busy with that task and others had been gathering barrels and stores, ready to bring them aboard as soon as she was upright. Flint had informed the men of a possible upcoming partnership with the men of Westeros. But even his men didn’t know what exactly he was searching for except Gates at the moment. It would come out eventually, but for the time being the few who knew about the Urca, the better.

Once his men had been gathered again he would make proper introductions, but not until the ship was upright. He’d at least introduce the captain that now stood at his side, and make damn sure his men didn’t try to fuck with any of the guests on his ship.

But all of those men were distracted at the moment. And the question of how he slept might have brought the tiniest of tugs to to the corners of his mouth. “ Better than I have in ages. “ He answered honestly. “ I actually slept in really. “ He shook his head a bit and chuckled. “ Then came the questions from Miranda. She was asleep but she just knew. I think she might be a damned witch after all. “

Usually, Jaime was the one to sleep in. Actually, he would sleep until the last possible minute before he had to be up and still arrive on time. This morning he’d been up surprisingly early for being him, and eager to get going. He hadn’t known why but maybe the current company was it.

He chuckled softly at the fact that Miranda seemed to know. What did she know, exactly? That Flint had found someone and decided over a few drinks and a night that this man was someone he could be vulnerable with and not feel bad? Because that’s exactly what Jaime thought it was. “Somehow women always know when it comes to matters of the heart,” he shook his head slowly with a smile. It wasn’t unusual to see Jaime sporting various different smiles, so his men hadn’t said anything, but they weren’t stupid and they too had noticed a shift in their captain from one day to the next.

“I still don’t believe it,” he said with a smirk. They were women, they would probably never understand, they just had to accept it. “So what did she have to say about it, your woman?” was it important to him to be approved? Not really, but judging by Flint’s mood he didn’t think she’d had anything bad to say. “You have to introduce me when we get back,” she was someone that meant a great deal to him so of course they should at least meet one another at some point.

It was a rare thing to see Captain bloody Flint smiling. Sure, he had the occasional laugh here and there but the outward impression was simply that of an angry and tough son of a bitch that should not be crossed. But he did care about his men, that was sure enough. Unlike other pirates, he actually paid them wages. It made them more civilized, even when raiding a vessel. It limited casualties: he wasn’t Charles Vane after all.

But it wasn’t just the smile that came across his face just then. There was a bit of change in how he carried himself. His steps seemed lighter and those teary eyes seemed more shining than sad. He had gotten a lot off his shoulders last night for the first time. And in Jaime, he had hope for something better. He’d found life wasn’t exactly worth living without love. He couldn’t say he was in love yet. Gods no, they’d only just met. But he was taken with him in a way he had never been since Thomas.

“ She said it was about time. “ James might have actually grinned at that. “ Proclaimed I had even been humming as I got dressed but I call bullshit on that. “ He might have been. He didn’t know. “ And she demanded she meet the man that actually made me smile, so yes an introduction is in order. “

He turned to him a bit, something dawning on him. But his interpretation was it was a sweet thing. Jaime had been toying with it so much the night before. They may have had plenty to drink, but this was different. “ Still have my ribbon? “ The bit of silk he’d wrapped his hair in. Hell, it could have been equivalent to a lady giving a knight her kerchief. And the warm look on his face certainly showed he didn’t want it back, and this was how he saw it.

He chuckled trying to imagine Flint humming anything. Sure, he had only just scratched the surface with him, there were a lot of things he couldn’t imagine him doing yet, but humming was on a far higher level. He couldn’t see it, but it was fun trying to imagine even if it so miserably failed. “Good, then hopefully I’m still making you smile when we return,” there was always the risk of that. Had they not been in public like this Jaime might even have touched him in a more than friendly way, but they still had to keep face. And with Miranda already wanting to meet him and Flint being on board with that, it meant Jaime didn’t have to go over there now that he knew where he lived and introduce himself.

That may or may not have gone terribly wrong.

“Hm?” he looked a little confused by the question. The ribbon? Was that really a concern? What might actually be a concern was that after Jaime’d downed his finished meal he’d seen it still on the table. He’d licked it up and looked at it for a while before it was time to leave and when he did - Jaime suddenly laughed softly and put his hand into his pocket. When he pulled it out his hand was closed around something and when he held it in between them he opened his hand to reveal the ribbon in his palm. “I think I do,” he chuckled before he closed his hand around it again and put it back into his pocket,

He gave Flint a small wink before he turned his head to look at the ship. “The tide’s coming in, let’s go make sure your ship is safe and sound, and everyone’s behaving themselves,” he said and lightly bumped his arm with his golden hand like he was giving him a shoulder pat before he started walking.

#tooxldtorememxer #black sails #captain flint

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blood-feathers · 5 months ago

Note

The journal flips open, as if a phantom hand has gone to read it.

(You flip through the journal, reading through the spy's notes.)

[transcription below]

Notes from Reese's machine

----------------------------------

Went through machine logs:

Transcripts accurately translate foreign languages

Gabe sucks at keeping secrets as always

Machine takes snapshots from camera instead of recording video (saves storage?)

"Askers" are pushy

Machine creates solid holograms to represent some askers---capable of physically interacting for a moment.

Askers capable of low-level magic---illusions??? Still physical like the "avatars". Imitates taste? Gabe at e a bag of seeds from an asker/didn't note odd taste

Gabe speaks Latin too. Add to list later.

Machine transcribes sensory details other than auditory---i.e. texture

Time passes faster in their reality, unknown how much.

Some askers have name or icon attached to question, others listed as "anonymous"

Machine lists details it should not be aware of in transcripts (self-consciousness, other team) Ask Reese about this

Gabe understands birds? Fucking polyglot

"Ship"=relationship Stupid slang

Gabe/Ray are still sickeningly in love

Askers are very affectionate

"Bushman" = Sniper Aussie slang

They like men in dresses???

Askers like to pick on Gabriel

High emotion interferes with the camera?

Ask for definition of:

Fandom Tumblr Website Internet Feed Baldur's Gate 3

Gabe suspects my fear of doctors

Animals can be askers?

Machine generated correct context to a vague answer---an image of a dog mauling a bird

Gabe fears being eaten---trauma from the mauling?

"Magic anons" are capable of restraining us with manifestations

"Their" RED team:

Scout -- Jeremy

Loud, obnoxious New Yorker Bostonian Possible radiation poisoning from irradiated drink Spy's son, implied drama

Demoman -- Tavish <Finnegan> DeGroot

Scottish alcoholic cyclops Functional while drunk Haunted sword? Chemist Produces alcohol in his body?

Heavy -- Mikhail

Giant russian man Obsessed with gun, "Natasha" "Sasha"

Medic -- (Fritz) Ludwig (?)

Sadistic tendencies ("Funny") Lost medical license Bones their heavy (Implied)

Sniper -- <Michael/Mickey> Mundee Mundee y

Kidney problems---implied jarate pills "Professional", reserved Australian (born NZ)

Spy -- no known name

French cutthroat Apparently has no concept of work clothes Same guy from Vegas???

Engineer -- Dell Conagher

Radigan's grandson? 11 degrees Nice until paid not to be (how familiar) Shortest, not specified how short Trustworthy

Pyro (No specified name)

Subject of the "pyrovision" experiment Identity unknown Never removes suit

Soldier -- "Jane Doe"

They took a man that was too mentally unfit for the trenches and gave him a rocket launcher Fixation on raccoons (don't let meet Mark) Uses a shovel as a bludgeoning tool Friends with their demoman Knows a wizard (Same wizard?)

Askers prone to saying cryptic shit without elaborating

I think they enjoy schadenfreude a troubling amount---turn it off if they get rowdy

We're all fiction to them, may lead to crueler "asks"

#the handwriting is shaky because i was using the magnifier tool to write this #also because my handwriting is Not in all caps #this took ages to transcribe #i don't think there's even anyone on my blog that uses a screen reader or anything but I hope it helps someone ahahah #tf2 ocs #tf2 ask blog #tf2 rp blog #ask #anon

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dorenarox · 2 years ago

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You know, I wish they would tell you what happens in those Misc alternative game modes, because I am WAY too chicken to queue up for something I don't even KNOW!

#TF2 #I THINK Degroot keep is Medieval which is melee weapons only???#Anyways I have put Payload race into my queue for today though I probably wont find a match as I am also still queuing for the usual stuff #Baby steps...

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simplych4i · 3 years ago

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Name headcanons cause I'm bored!

Disclamer: This is a combination of canon and headcanon! If something doesn't seem canon to their names, it probably isn't!

Scout: Jeremy Smith.

He really dislikes being called Jeremy however, his mum told him the name was influenced by his father, and he can never get a clear answer where that guy went. If you call him Jeremy and you're a friend, he'll just avoid you for a lil. If you're an enemy or smth though? He will straight up demolish you and make sure you /know/ 'Jeremy is dead. I'm the Scout.'

This isn't to say Jeremy doesn't feel like his name! Moreso just that he really doesn't want people calling him that. Smith, if you /need/ a name.

Soldier: Jane Doe.

He has no bad feelings towards his name! That's just it! However, you best put some sort of honorific in front of or behind it, private! Or else he'll take that as real rude and condemn you to a ton of pushups!

Examples: Sir, Jane! Jane, Sir! Mister Doe!

Treat his name with respect or don't say it at all, nobody's gonna get you out of those burpees you earned yourself.

Pyro: Unknown.

Not really much to say about this one! Instead, I'll focus on nicknames! They love em~! Call them any cute thing under the sun, it's great

Yet another reason why they enjoy time with Engie, because he has a tendency to call his friends little nicknames like Pal and Bud and such. Nothing special, but still!

Heavy: Mikhail Volkov.

His name is a good name, he gets a cute little nickname from all of his loved ones because of it. Of course, he has to give you permission to call him Misha. Don't worry if you don't know if you have it, he's pretty blunt! Just ask him what you're supposed to call him, and he'll just straight up say it. 'Call me Heavy/Mikhail/Misha'

Too be honest, if you know his name is Mikhail, you can probably just call him Misha. Like, nobody calls him Mikhail except maybe his mumma.

Engineer: Dell Conagher.

He has some mixed feelings about his name, quite honestly! Its a nice name, and he feels very comfortable with it, but it's also a bit of a 'cute' name. And growing up in Texas of all places, he may have some internalized issues to work out. Either way, if someone calls him Dell, it's enough to get him to smile a little. Conagher on the other hand, he just looks like he got caught stealing from the cookie jar.

Demoman: Tavish Finnegan Degroot.

Extremely comfy with his name! Hell, does he seem like a man who's ever uncomfy with his identity? Not to me, so far at least. I need to analyze him a little more. Doesn't mind being called by his name, but nicknames formed off of his name will make him melt. Tavvy, Fin, all that jazz just makes his insides warm and fuzzy. Maybe that's the scrumpy though.

Medic: Fynn Ludwig.

No you may not know his first name, and no you may not call him it if you find it out! Doctor Ludwig only, if names are necessary. Fynn makes him feel like he's a kid again, in a bad way. Like everyone's staring down at him, just wanting to get him to the next stage of his life, and never caring. He hates being called Fynn. There will probably only ever be one exception. If him and his s/o are extremely close and very very much trust each other, he'll listen to them list off little things about his name they like. They can't call him it in public! But maybe when he's falling asleep in their arms it'll do.

Sniper: Mick Mundy.

Mister Mundy please, that is all. Mick is so.. Cute, and unprofessional. No thank you. He'd prefer stupid nicknames like Snipes and Bushman over /Mick/. However, he doesn't hate it. These are just requests and preferences. If someone he's close to keeps calling him Mick he may toss an empty threat, but later circle back and ask if they actually like it.

Spy: Aimée Daizome.

No you do not know his name no you don't. The thing about his name though? It's pronounced as "Aimer Des Hommes", which translates roughly to 'Love Men/Love Some Men/. I actually did a little research, this is based on a children's game! It's basically asking a question. Mister/Miss (Last Name) have a kid, what's the kids name? The first name basically changes the meaning of the last name. Much like the English, 'Ben Dover'. I doubt his parents were sober when this happened. Even more reason why he does /not/ want his name known.

#tf2 #tf2 headcanons #tf2 spy #tf2 scout #tf2 medic #tf2 soldier #tf2 sniper #tf2 pyro #tf2 heavy #tf2 demoman #Enjoy my little rambles

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quazarrising · 4 months ago

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I've already written a response about weather or not Demoman's mum is abusive so since you want to talk about Demo, I'll talk about one of my headcanons

Demoman has broken the Degroot Curse

Here's the idea, The Degroot Curse is as follows;

1) An genetic obsession with bombs and explosions but not necessarily the ability to handle them correctly or with enough care,

This leads to Children often killing their relatives, People loosing limbs, or going blind or deaf or straight up dying pretty regularly,

This is why "Demo's parents gave him up for adoption and then took him back when he explodes his first set of parents" weather this is a Degroot tradition or not, it and does show that seeing Family members dying is kinda normal for the Degroot line, which traumatized the shit outta them, leading to more reakless behaviour perpetuating the cycle leading to the end result of the curse

2) Family member will have at least 1 horrendous accident that almost kills them usually more than one

This results in the family believing that Every Degroot (who survives) will become disabled in some capacity that removes them from the workforce (at least their line of work) by the time they are 30

Does this lead to them to focus even more on high paying high risk jobs and overworking themselves to earn enough money for both themselves and their Disability care (from the ages of 30-80) and possibly their parents and their disability care? Absolutely!

It's partially a self furfilling prophesy, The curse only states that the degroot's will love explosives and not garentee being good at it, but the environmental forces make each generation worse and worse as they experience truama and overwork and then contend with their own mortality at like age 12 when they first learn that they are gonna be either dead or severely disabled by 30 (imagine being 20 and thinking your life is almost over, knowing that your parents blood is on your own hands)

Anyways so how does Demoman break the curse? Truthfully it's by the events that we've already seen, He looses his eye. But who does he look his eye too? The bombinomicon, or the ultimate book of bomb making. My headcanon is that the bombinomicon gives supernatural ability at bombs but at the cost of trying to take over your body (mostly body parts) typical evil book stuff,

but it does in fact give Demo a supernatural ability over bombs, In fact what little else we see of Adult Demo in comics (as it's the only joke they do with Demo) is that fact that he's perpetuating Drunk, so drunk he can't even function without not being 2/10ths liquor by volume. Granted this might be because Medic/ the respawn system keep Demo's liver intact and functioning no matter what he does to it but it does indicate that Demo is on the battlefield *Always drunk off his ass* Voice lines in game are often slurred and such,

So no matter how drunk Demoman is, he is still the a Merc equal in power to "my grandpappy gave me a portable telapoter design" Engineer and "I can cannonically bring people back from the dead (somewhat because I made a deal with the devil)" Medic, and say that is partially because the Fact that Demo has supernatural bomb sense,

This means that since he is able to bypass the second part of the Degroot Curse, that being exploding themselves (and others) and getting maimed in a way that takes them out of the workforce, as his own carelessness is offset by magic bomb knowledge

Sorry for rambling hope it was interesting

would it be a bit far to say that demoman’s parents are abusive? like they’re very clearly heavily overbearing but if you take into account that his mom was forcing him to get a job at like 9 years old, and his possibly retconned backstory of him accidently killing his adoptive parents which is apparently tradition in the degroot family in order to prove yourself? like am i just being a white boy or?

#owl speaks #tf2

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inkbotsjunkyard · 2 years ago

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ALRIGHT STRAP IN. LETS START WITH THE MERCS SINCE THAT WAS SPECIFICALLY WHAT THAT POST WAS ABOUT

God alright so this would have been back in like [googles] oh fuck 2011/2010 I guess because for some godforsaken reason I was absolutely utterly obsessed with TF2. A game I have maybe played a collective four hours of in total. Something about the character archetypes the art style and uh. The fanfics of one author in particular. Y'know. Normal stuff.

Keep reading

I don't remember what the specific start of this idea was because while I can find ATTEMPT on ATTEMPT on ATTEMPT to start this damn fic I cant find the kernel. If I remember right I think it probably started with an overactive imagination and finding what nine? Nine archetypes (well, 8 archetypes and fucking Tavish Degroot ) that as a young writer just starting to figure out my style worked REALLY absurdly well as bases for writing exercises. Also we didn't know anything about the pyro at the time. What I do remember was discussing with a friend I had at the time the nature of the respawn system. Was it clones? Was it just wave after wave of title only mercs feeding the machine? No, Ink age 15 decided, its a respawn mechanic. They clearly have character traits in mind for these guys. So what if we shut it off.

What if every so often the contract ended. And in order to get that contract re-upped you just had to survive. Now that backstory is important because another thing this fic got me started on was team dynamics and synergy. And trauma bonding. If the respawn system was shut off every so often and you had some teammates who you'd cycle through absurdly quickly how would that change the way the mercs treated one another as coworkers. Would a pseudo leadership roll go to someone who had been there the longest and understood the expectations of the job? Or would it just be the nastiest dog in the scrapyard?

So I spent a good amount of time on determining that for each of the teams. Focusing mainly on the Tufort map as a base idea for a setting because I don't know, it made the most sense for me at the time.

So lets start this off with my protag squad. The Boys of Reliable Excavation and Demolition.

Full transparency I don't have art for these that I can easily get too, anyway but my REDS for the most part just. Look like their character art.

Looking back on it I'm realizing that my RED team actually has a solid survival rate. Which makes a lot of sense, considering their dynamic as a group. My RED's were lead by the team medic. Medic is a Sadist, we know this. He is a mad scientist who may or may not have done some very bad things in his time before becoming a mercenary surgeon. We've all seen the takes. Anton was a sadist. He would treat grievous but non life threatening wounds without anesthesia and relished in keeping tabs on which of his men would faint at the site of blood. But the manic mad science aspect of his job was lost long ago. When we meet Anton its been three days since the last "respawn shut off". He's Cataloging injuries, equipment, height and weights as though it was a shipping manifest and not a series of several autopsies. He can't even put their names down on the forms because they aren't supposed to know them. Very difficult to still believe you are making Gods when the divine has been dissected, pulled apart and sewn back together so often you could barely discern your own face from the blur of them all constantly running through your head. He was not an unkind man. Well, no he definitely was but he understood that even if he was at one time attempting to make gods out of these men they were still men and made an effort to not treat them as so much cattle like their employers seemed too. He had his men use eachothers names as opposed to only their titles. Would leave the door to his office unlocked when he worked because while Psychiatric medicine was very obviously not a field he was well versed in he knew it would aid no one if his men took to diagnosing themselves with a lead prescription to be applied between the eyes. And at the very least it was more efficient than giving a bunch of addicts free access to the medicine cabinet. Ivan Korovsky was my heavy, and he was another big part of Anton getting his humanity back now that I think about it. I love a smart Heavy who just happens to not know a ton of english. Ivan was that. He had the emotional intelligence of someone who in another life probably would have studied literature and read those complicated Russian bricks where everyone dies at the end. Imagine if your therapist was able to suplex you into taking care of yourself. Thats Ivan. I have less to say about him but that speaks a lot to his roll in that monster of a fic at the time. Yes he and anton were fucking was that even a question. Naturally my soldier was Jane Doe, as is traditional. Jane thought he was in charge and Anton had decided a very long time ago not to argue with him about it anymore. It helped that for the most part Jane's "war room councils" would only happen if they lost and would only last until he directed his attention away from the room at large to yell at someone specific for long enough that everyone could slip away. Jane's delusions were always tricky for me to write but I was also a highschooler who hadn't taken that many abpysc classes yet. I don't remember if the shovel had a name in the game but his did. Her name was Doris, and he fully believed she was a human being and his wife. Who wanted him to kill the unamerican enemy. Any unamerican enemy, she evidently wasn't picky on which one. My main interest in Jane comes from the epilogue stuff but THAT needs more context that we don't have yet so moving on. Russel "Doc" Cunningham was my engineer. Doc was the epitome of "a guy you'd have a beer with." Give you the shirt off his back, but would lecture you into next week and down the road some ways as he was unbuttoning it. A southern charmer, almost folksy at times. If you heard him talking to any of the younger mercs you'd think he was talking to a couple of rambunctious teenagers, and might even think "there's a man who'd be a good father" You would be wrong in thinking this. Well, no you wouldn't be wrong. Doc loves his girls. His girls who are all semi-autonomous military sentry units and several "creative" tools for his coworkers. The way he talks about him you're almost glad he doesn't carry a wallet because otherwise you know he'd have pictures. But if, hypothetically, he had a son or something outside of his assignment. You wouldn't hear him talk about it. Doc self identifies as a bachelor. He did get married once because its what you did. But he didn't love her, and his ex wife very much was aware of it and made his life hell when they were still married. Doc probably was incredibly young when he was married, and I don't think he was fully ready to accept who he was enough to have been a good parent even if he had been around. But rules were different on the field and no one seemed much bothered by what he chose to occupy his personal time with as long as it wasn't causing a gas leak in the basement (again) which let him relax into himself a bit more. He still doesn't care that much for the "fritterin" his coworkers are always distracting themselves with. Something his younger coworkers give him constant hell about but he figures maybe he's just...well old fashions isn't quite the word. (Asexual/somewhat Demi Engineer? Its more likely than you think.....) Sniper (Richard "Slim" Mundy) Middle aged assassin who sleeps in a camper van. Drinks too much coffee, and Anton has him come in weekly for wellness checks. In the canon of this monster he was spending a good amount of time coming to terms with a relationship he'd had with a teammate who had died in the previous contract fight. A teammate who was much younger than him. (Not young enough to be a crime mind you but for a guy who is very specific about how not sick in the head he is you can imagine the slight crisis that would come from that) . Aggressively anti-social nowadays unless he's coerced with whiskey.

Daniel O'Sullivan Was my scout and the youngest of my mercs at eighteen years old. Joined up because it was either this or juvie, and while his mom still worries about him at least she can sleep easy about him working private security instead of being gunned down in some jungle overseas. (Dan was very nonspecific about what he does for a living.) Danny-Boy was quick tempered and pugnacious, and now that I think about it I probably actively wrote him with ADHD. Constantly fidgeting and constantly "messin around" with a pen and paper during meetings. Danny specifically slept on the breakroom couch instead of in a bunk. I handwaved this at the time but I think it was probably because he grew up fidgety and restless and its much easier to get up constantly in the middle of the night to wander around if you don't have to worry about getting cussed out for it. Danny also has a soft spot when it comes to his family. He misses them, and talked about them constantly. Now I joked that Dan was aggressively heterosexual, but I think this is partly because he's an Irish Catholic and any sexual thoughts at all are a sin so forget unpacking any sort of weird gay ass thoughts he has about his best friend Vic. TURNS OUT THERES A CHARACTER LIMIT lemme know if you want me to keep going rip

#asked and answered #inkbot process

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