TF2 mercs and what to do with them.
Scout - put him in a jar and shake him really hard.
Pyro - turn him inside out like an octopus plushie.
Soldier - into the washing machine he goes.
Demo - bake him at 200°C, don't forget to pre-heat the oven.
Heavy - chew toy.
Engie - put him in the microwave and watch it make lightning.
Medic - place him in a petri dish and study him under a microscope.
Sniper - make him into a wristband or perhaps a hair tie.
Spy - flush him down the toilet.
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🔒 blupjeans? :)
🔒I broke into your car to impress you when you locked your keys in and now I have to construct an elaborate lie to explain myself
“Huh,” Barry says, after Lup breaks into his fucking car. “Thank you, so much, honestly, I mean, I was going to be fucked, the locksmith quoted me like $300-”
“Yeah, no prob,” Lup says, so forcedly casual that she thinks she hears something important pop in her jaw.
“But uh,” Barry looks at his car, a very, very sad blue Honda Civic belovedly named Crunch, and then at Lup, who is struggling with the knowledge that she is blushing hard enough to burn herself at the stake here. “That’s a pretty impressive skill you’ve got there?”
The how the fuck do you know that, and for why, specifically, is implied.
“Thanks,” Lup says, opening her gumball machine mouth and letting a tasty, shiny lie ricochet through the spirals and tubes of her fucking idiot central and right out into the air, where she will now be responsible for it. “I learned it in the circus.”
“The circus?” Barry is wearing his stupid sexy strap on sunglasses, which are tentatively attached to his regular glasses, and thus make his eyes a little harder to see. He is, however, obviously having some kind of reaction to this information. Lup grimaces.
“Yeeep. The circus. You know, the uh, the giraffes loved to steal keys.”
“Giraffes?” Barry is incredulous. “That’s amazing. What for?”
“Oh, they’re mischievous fuckers,” Lup is just fully in it now. “Never trust a giraffe, I’m telling you. Elephants either, they’ll throw your keys right down a storm drain just to get your attention.”
“Golly,” Barry says. With his human fucking mouth. Lup wants to kill him and keep his soul in a jar. She promises she’ll poke holes in the lid. “I have to imagine you’d hide your keys after that happened once or twice, though?”
“The problem is, you see,” Lup is ascending, to live with the angels. Shame they’ll evict her as soon as possible, for all the lust and gluttony and wrath and so on. She can have another thing lined up. It’s fine. “Circus outfits never have pockets.”
“Really? Never?”
“Total design flaw,” Lup says, nodding, and also sweating so hard she’s afraid it might be audible. “Pockets would pull them down. And when you’re just wearing a leotard, you don’t want it gettin’ pulled down, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Barry agrees, looking dreadfully impressed at all this. “But then what about the keys, did you just hold them?” Him and his goddamn followup questions. Lup could grind him into a paste and study him under a microscope.
“Yeah, or put them on a chain around our necks. But mostly we had a key boy.”
“A keyboy?” Barry’s eyes go way up. “One keyboy, to hold all the keys in the circus?”
“It was an illustrious job,” Lup says, with her lying, lying ass. “Everyone wanted to fuck the key boy.”
“Wow,” Barry says. “Because of his access?”
“Because of the jingles, Barr, keep up!” Lup folds her arms. “Also, he was a pretty good juggler. Not as good as me, though.”
“You can juggle?” Barry grins at her. “I’d love to see that.”
“I’ve been banned from juggling forever,” Lup says solemnly. “Because of the incident.”
“The incident?” Jesus, can he just do this all day? Doesn’t he get tired?
“Yeah,” Lup says, and winks, and smacks him congenially on the back. “It’s a curse. Shame, cause I love juggling.” And before Barry can ask her another fucking question, she heads back in to work.
God. It’s been years since she juggled. She cannot fucking believe she’s backed herself into a corner again about this shit. She should have just admitted to being obsessed with lockpicking youtube.
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Man. No wonder Gortash is the way he was if he spent most of his childhood as this dudes captive/slave. It seems Raphael really rubbed off on him as it sounds a lot like the stuff he says in his journal you can find in his parents house, where he talks about how free will only makes things worse, etc, and things very similar to this.
I also think he views his time captive and torture in the HoH to basically be a "stepping stone" for the "greater good" and something that make him better, based on things he says to Karlach ("I never meant to harm you, dear, merely to help you realize your vast potential!" "The greater good, Karlach! Not something I'd expect you to undertsand.")
plus there's him taking the name Gortash, which is implied to be given to him by Raphael (since his original surname was Flymm, but npcs and books in HoH call him 'Gortash')
so in the end... he really internalized all that happened to him, but refuses to actually cope with it, instead trying to justify how it makes him better, how it made him see the 'right' way of doing things (wich parroted raphael's views, and then which lead him to Bane)
and then there's his parents... who he has forced to live a lie of loving and adoring him, of being so so proud of their boy and his accomplishments, and theyre good parents. good parents wouldn't sell their son away....
this asshole has so many issues he refuses to accept as trauma, i want to put him under a microscope and study him. and then put him in a jar and shake it.
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