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year2000electronics · 3 months

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Ok so what’s shimmer relationship like with the main cast like in the brotherhood au?

RUBS HANDS TOGETHER EVILLY. I ACTUALLY HAVE SOMETHING I WROTE A WHILE BACK ABT SHIM AND THE BROTHERS. HEHEHEHEHEEEE

i havent gotten to the outcasts Yet but. one day. i'll put it below the cut!!

“You probably don’t remember me, but-”

That was the first thing Shimmer had decided to say to baby Branch- no, it was just Branch now, wasn’t it? No matter how hard she looked at him, she could still only see the hopeful, gleaming eyes and the sweet smile as that kid she had come to briefly know so many years ago. It was a tough habit to kick- and the other members of the village clearly had a leg up on her with that.

“No, I remember you!” He replied, swinging his hands back and forth as the two of them walked through the village together. “Johnny doesn’t talk about you anymore, not really, but I remember going over to your pod!”

Shimmer tried her best not to seem too desperate for knowledge. Johnny? Her Johnny? Well- formerly hers. Not anymore? She knew it, he hated her, dammit, why did she come here-

“Oh, yeah? That so?” She laughed quietly. “Gosh, you’d make a mess of the place… you were so cute.”

“Yeah…” Branch said, looking off to the side. He was clearly quite a bit surprised, hearing someone talk about him through their sole memories of him being a baby. “It’s… been a long time since then, though.”

“I know, I know,” Shimmer assured quickly. “You’re all grown up now. And it makes me feel… very old.” She gave a laugh to shrug it off, but… it was true. Staring her in the face was the very sobering realization that it had been nearly two decades… Two decades since she had seen any of these people. And yet, somehow, despite Branch going from a baby to an adult…

…It felt like he had changed the least.

“Well- you don’t look very old,” Branch chirped. “Not to me.”

Shimmer looked back at him with a sort of sad smile, combing her hair out of her face.

“...You’re sweet, kid,” She mumbled.

“No, really! You look Johnny’s age, and he’s not old, so… you’re not old either, right?” Branch grinned. He thought his logic was flawless, clearly.

Shimmer snorted. “Is that how you see it?”

“Yup.”

Shimmer laughed, and decided to leave it at that. Branch’s peculiar little sense of humor did amuse her, to be sure.

“So-” Shimmer asks after a bit of silence. “Do you mind if I ask you something, ah… a bit personal, kid?”

“Depends,” Branch said with a shrug. “What is it?”

“What was it like? Growing up here, I mean,” Shimmer asked.

Branch paused for a moment, to think about it. He looked up at the sky, down at the ground, every which way, except at her.

“Normal, I guess?” He shrugged. “We’re safe here, and I had my brothers. I don’t know what else a guy could want.”

Shimmer supposed she should have expected an answer like that. Of course Branch would see everything as deceptively normal. From the time she spent at the village, she didn’t exactly discover any blood sacrifices or chaos magic rituals happening behind closed doors or anything, and even though John and his brothers had morphed into slightly mythic figures, they weren’t referred to as His Holiness or anything.

“Guess so,” Shimmer replied. “I was just… gone for so long, I’ve been curious, I suppose. About all the changes.”

“There aren’t that many,” Branch mumbled.

“No?”

“No.”

That’s what Branch’s mouth said. But his eyes told a different story.

—----------------------

Shimmer sat down in Bruce’s pod, staring him down.

His hand automatically moved to grab some matchmaker’s tarot cards when Shimmer lowered it before he could.

He glanced up at her, confused.

“Don’t,” She grunted. “I’m not here for that. I don’t even want to know.” The sooner she could stop Bruce from doing the matchmaking thing, the better. There was a whole nest of hornets there- and whatever he said about her “potential prospects” would just remind her that a part of her never moved on from John Dory.

“Then-” Bruce furrowed his brow, leaning back. “What are you here for?”

Shimmer gave him a surprised glance. “For you. Is that so hard to believe?”

Bruce scoffed, leaning on one of his hands as he pressed his elbow onto the table. “Usually people come to the matchmaker’s pod because they want their match made, miss Shimmer. And yet, here you are, asking for me and not even wanting a match while you’re here! I think that makes you the strange one.”

Shimmer groaned. “Neither of us are strange, Bruce, don’t play this game with me-”

Bruce laughed. “Oh, man- I did miss this. How is it that I’m always able to get under your skin?”

“I don’t know, you little devil-” Shimmer snorted. She cleared her throat, combing some hair out of her face. “But- that’s the only part that feels like it hasn’t changed, after all this time. What’s someone like you doing with a job like… this?”

Bruce frowned. “Are you trying to imply this isn’t a real job? The village won’t like that.”

Shimmer furrowed her brow, putting a hand up. “That’s not what I said. I mean- this job feels so prestigious. And everyone I asked about you immediately followed ‘Bruce’ up with ‘The matchmaker’. Doesn’t that… bother you at all?”

“Would it really matter if it did?” Bruce said with a shrug.

“I mean-!” Shimmer gave an exasperated sigh. “I… I just want to understand. Everyone here is used to this, used to you all being leaders, I was just…” She shrugged. “I guess I was just hoping an old friend might be able to help me stop sticking out like a sore thumb.”

Bruce frowned, studying Shimmer’s face and body language. She seemed to be sincere, though her pride clearly held her back from just straight-up begging. And he did feel quite a bit bad for her… it was true that Bruce and Shimmer had been pretty close back when he was Spruce, and back when Shimmer was “JD’s girl”. They got on each others’ nerves endlessly, but that was almost part of the charm.

…He could use something like that again, perhaps. Nowadays, the only teasing he could get away with was either to Baby Branch or doing something so subtle to JD and Floyd that most other people shouldn’t be able to notice.

“...Being a matchmaker is fine,” Bruce began to speak. “I’m rarely ever wrong, I’ll have you know. People trust me, and I like that. It feels… good to be trusted, I guess.”

He took out a tarot card from his deck, studying it. “I mean- I’m trusted for manners of romance, friendship, intimacy… But nobody is puttin’ pressure onto me to be a leader. In a way, I guess… I’ve got the best job in town.”

“Still,” Shimmer said quietly. “I wouldn’t mind hanging out with Bruce-the-man instead of Bruce-the-matchmaker. If you can bear taking some time off your busy schedule.”

Bruce tilted his head noncommittally. “I’ll think about it. Gotta keep up appearances, y’know. That’s a big part of everything.”

“I guess,” Shimmer half heartedly agreed. “Not that I’d know.”

“It’s good that you don’t,” Bruce replied, an oddly soft tone in his voice. So soft that Shimmer dare not toe the line and ask him to elaborate on that. Her absence of a question, though, left the two of them sitting in the candlelit room in silence.

“...So what’s the story behind the new name?” Shimmer asked to break it.

“Eh,” Bruce waved a hand casually. “I wanted a reinvention.”

Shimmer paused, mulling that over. “It suits you,” She said, finally.

“Thanks,” Bruce smirked. He held up a hand, tilting it towards her. Between his fingers was a tarot card.

“Hey! I thought I told you not to do the matchmaking thing!” Shimmer protested with a frown.

“Relax, miss Shimmer,” Bruce replied coyly. “This one’s just about your social standing.”

She took the card from him, studying it- oh. It was The Star.

“It means renewal,” Bruce said simply.

—--------------------------

“Morning, Floyd. I’d apologize for interrupting but I feel like that ship’s sailed already,” Shimmer grunted, going to sit on a mat near where Floyd was meditating.

He cracked an eye open, glancing over at her. “...Shimmer,” He said with a simple nod.

She began stretching her legs, grunting every so often- this type of stuff didn’t come as easy to her as she wanted it to.

“...Why did you come back?” Floyd asked bluntly. That made Shimmer stop in her tracks, glancing over at the younger troll with a befuddled look on her face.

Floyd put his hands up in a gesture of false surrender. “I don’t mean it like that! Don’t misunderstand! It’s just… one doesn’t just wander back into a place like this without reason.”

“Well- it’s home,” Shimmer admitted, bending down to touch her toes. “I was feeling… disoriented. Like I had lost myself. I didn’t know where else to go, so… I came back home.”

“Yeah, sure, but… you said it yourself. This place has changed. So, I guess, a better question would be… what made you stay?” Floyd asked as he bent himself into a different position. His tone was casual and calm, but there was a certain hunger in his eyes that let Shimmer know that he was very invested in this line of conversation.

Shimmer’s mouth went dry. That… that was a good question. Especially since Floyd was playing a bit of a dangerous game, where she would make a major social faux pas if she wasn’t careful- Floyd was implying that someone coming to the village and staying there was strange. Of course, it was a perfectly safe place, but Shimmer knew she and Floyd both could feel the gated-community vibe of the village where nobody ever comes in and nobody ever comes out. She counted herself damn lucky that they even let her in at all.

“...I suppose I’d say- it’s because some part of this place didn’t change,” Shimmer mumbled.

“Really?” Floyd asked, stretching one of his legs to the sky.

“Really. That’s what keeps me here… I think. It’s all very confusing, this new village stuff, but when I look at all my old friends here… I guess I can’t help but see the boys I used to know,” Shimmer bashfully said as if she was admitting a crime.

“So you really believe that…” Floyd said quietly. “And- is it the same with me?”

“Sure it is,” Shimmer said, rolling over to be on her stomach as she grabbed one of her legs. “You were always the one who sat in the back, weren’t you? Just… watching. Soaking it all in. I still see a lot of that in you today. With Branch and Bruce, too, the more I talk to them, the more I realize there’s still parts of you I’ve met before.”

She sighed. “Stupid, I know.”

“No, I don’t think it’s stupid at all…” Floyd replied. “I… I think it’s kinda nice, actually.”

He smiled, looking up at the roof of the large cave they called home. He let the moment sit for a bit.

“Sometimes… I don’t really feel like that boy anymore. I don’t feel like I was ever him at all. It’s… confusing, I guess,” Floyd said at last.

“Ugh, tell me about it-” Shimmer grunted, stretching out another one of her joints. “I was looking at an old poster of myself yesterday, and it was like- who WAS she?”

Floyd gave a gentle little laugh. “I guess we’re more alike than we thought, then. It’s… nice.”

“I don’t get to talk to people much about this stuff,” Floyd continued. “Me, Johnny and the others try to be strong… for the village. So- it just… doesn’t come up.”

Shimmer gave him a nervous glance. “I’m not stepping over a line, am I? You’d tell me if I broke some sort of village rule. You would. Right?”

“Calm down,” Floyd squeaked desperately. “You’re fine.”

Shimmer sighed. “Sorry… sorry. It’s just-”

“A lot, yeah,” Floyd finished. “That’s the village for you.”

—-------------------------

Shimmer was never sure if it was her place to mourn Clay or not. She had known him once, but at the same time, that was a long time ago. Was it illogical that she felt like she didn’t deserve to mourn him like his brothers did? Maybe. But she couldn’t change how she felt.

Still, that wouldn’t stop her from leaving some lily-of-the-valleys near his memorial spot every now and again.

“Sorry I missed you, Clay,” She murmured. “I would have liked to have gotten to know who you grew into.”

—---------------

Shimmer wasn’t looking forward to this. She wasn’t looking forward to any of this. In fact, she had taken extreme, deliberate steps to avoid this from happening.

But what she hadn’t accounted for was bumping into John Dory on his stupid shitty morning walk, DAMMIT-

He dusted himself off, clearly taking on a facial expression that was preparing for an apology, only for him to realize exactly who it was he had bumped into. Right- the troll he hadn’t talked to since he initially told the village to let her in.

Oh, yeah.

Also, his ex.

“...Shimmer,” He was the first one to cut through the silence as he looked up at her, adjusting his scarf. “You look… well.”

Shimmer scoffed, looking away. “You and I both know that’s a gross exaggeration.”

John frowned as she looked away. That caught her eye. She coughed, immediately trying to steer the ship of a conversation back on topic. Much as this was her old flame… this guy was also someone she clearly didn’t want to get on the bad side of. Best not to get… too testy.

“But- other than looking like I rolled out of bed basically every day, I’ve been-” She sighed. “Fine. How about… you? How- uh- how have you been?”

John Dory blinked once or twice, not expecting her to turn the question back on him. “Me? Oh, yes, I’ve been great, as usual. Never a bad day here in the village. Heh. You haven’t… been having any trouble, have you? I know the villagers can get a bit testy with… ‘new’ people.”

Shimmer shook her head no, folding her arms. “No, it’s been fine. Just… just fine.”

“Good… and you’ve been behaving too… right?” He said- although his tone was light as a feather, he knew the underlying meaning in what he said- here was a girl he had been close with before she disappeared- She could drag him back down to feeling mortality, be so casual with him in a way he hadn’t felt from anyone besides his brothers in years- and if she wanted to disprove his lie, he’d have to put whatever feelings he still had for her aside. For the sake of the village.

“You think so low of me, John,” Shimmer scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yes, I’ve been behaving. I’m a guest here- guests follow the host’s policies, and they’re thankful. That’s how I was raised.”

“Good!” JD chirped. “I wasn’t too worried about that,” He lied. It slipped naturally off his tongue as smooth as butter.

Shimmer paused, looking him up and down some more. He looked at her looking at him, waiting to see her reaction and cautiously preparing for it.

“...It’s a bit of a different look for you, I’ll admit, but… I don’t hate it,” Shimmer spoke with a shrug. “The red looks nice.”

John laughed, flicking an earring. “Ahhh- thank you. It does, doesn’t it? I’ll admit, your look was a bit surprising, too. You’ve really changed, I almost didn’t-”

He paused, not wanting to finish the sentence… but Shimmer knew what he was going to say.

I almost didn’t recognize you.

She knew that’s what he wanted to say, because she thought it when she first saw him.

Jeez, what were they? They used to be a teen hot couple, the poster boy and poster girl for puppy-love… But here she was, a disgraced pop troll who couldn’t sing… and there he was. The hero and saviour of an entire village.

It was more obvious to her now than it was to her than that him even noticing her at all was… nothing but a stroke of luck. A fluke. There he was, brilliant, important, in control… And then there was her. A total mess. A flop. She felt like an intruder in the village, and now, being face-to-face with JD only made things worse. In every other brother, she saw that past part of them she once knew, but with John, she felt like she was only reminded of her own insecurities, her own failings.

She swerved past him, eyes firmly trained onto the ground.

“I’ll get out of your way, John,” She mumbled half-heartedly, trying to just put a miserable end to the conversation and stop her mind from attacking herself so loudly. But as soon as she started walking, she found herself unable to keep going. Locked around her arm was none other than JD’s hand. She glanced back, looking at him in confusion.

“Wait,” He started. “...Come over to my pod sometime. You, ah, need to update me more on how you’re settling in. Yes. As the village leader… it’s part of my responsibilities, y’know? So- don’t leave me hanging.”

Shimmer’s breath caught in her throat. She hated the idea of seeing him more, and yet, the fact that he had requested her presence specifically… It made her heart skip a beat.

“...Sure, yes,” She replied quietly.

She expected John to let her go at this point, but he kinda just kept staring at her in silence for a while. Somehow, she found herself staring back.

“...I’ve missed you,” He confessed with a breathy whisper.

Shimmer tried to muster back a reply, but words failed her. She tried again, and again-

“I didn’t even think that was possible,” She finally said back.

#mothra answers #trolls #brotherhood au #shimmer #DANCES.

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unbidden-yidden · 2 years

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Okay so I feel like I may be swinging a bat at a hornets nest here, but please hear me out. I'm asking this genuinely and hoping for an actual discussion on this.

This is an excellent and insightful thread that I'd ask you to read in full first because I am writing this after reading it; however, this is definitely part of a larger conversation on tumblr so it's not a direct response to just this post. Also that thread is so long already and OP seems pretty done with it, so I don't want to blow it up (again.)

---

At what point does someone stop being culturally Xtian? Is there a threshold past which someone has actually done enough unpacking of Xtian ideas and assumptions to ever escape it? Do you have to literally join another culture to overwrite Xtian culture? Does that, by itself, actually even fix it?

I guess what I'm struggling with here is this: are we talking about a behavior that people engage in, and can therefore escape by not doing that behavior or thinking in that way anymore? Or are we talking about a set of privileges that one cannot ever truly leave behind?

If it's the former, then I think it would be more appropriate, more accurate, and more respectful (especially to survivors of Xtian religious abuse) to describe the behavior rather than the person. Because at the end of the day, this person, no matter how obnoxious - and trust me when I say I've been on the receiving end of this obnoxiousness and sometimes outright antisemitism plenty - isn't a Xtian* and isn't necessarily defined by this behavior. It's one thing if they define themselves by a bigoted behavior - a self-identified t//erf is a transphobe by their own definition, for example - but people whose identity is otherwise neutral are not, as a person, a/an [x] based on this particular example of their behavior. So if this is the case, perhaps saying "[x] thing you said comes from [y] culturally Xtian idea that is antisemitic," (for example) would be more productive and lead to a better conversation than simply saying "you're culturally Xtian and need to stop speaking over us on [x] issue."

This is also important because anyone can make culturally Xtian assumptions, even if they've never once been Xtian in their lives. Do you know how many Jewish-from-birth folks I've had to help unpack culturally Xtian ideas and internalized antisemitism that they were putting out into Jewish spaces? Especially (but far from only) assimilated Jews? It's not only a non-zero amount, but it comes up frequently. Because I've spent the last several years unpacking my own cultural Xtianity and intentionally assimilating into Jewish culture, thought, and religious ideas, I am hypersensitive to the intrusion of Xtian normative ideas and am able to explain the difference from personal experience in these conversations.

On the other hand, though, that brings me to possibility #2, which is that this is a privilege that is being described. If we're talking about the set of circumstances that one grew up with and the cultural assumptions one has baked into their emerging personality from birth, then I'm still, as a person who is now Jewish, more culturally Xtian than someone who was raised an atheist by atheists. My hard work over the last several years does not change where I came from, no matter how much I sometimes wish I could overwrite my past. I not only grew up as part of the privileged religious majority (and since I am white and was part of a mainline protestant denomination, I really was at the top of that pile) I still, to this day, know Xtian texts and religious practice and assumptions from the inside and can therefore speak to people who are coming from that place in a way that others without that privilege typically cannot.

That is still true, years after I finished converting, never mind started the process of de-Xtianizing my culture and worldview. Yet, I've never been accused of being culturally Xtian in discourse on here, and I feel like anyone who would do more than say, "hey - [x] particular thing you said seems to be coming from [y] Xtian assumption about the world. Can you clarify what you mean and/or maybe this is something you need to address?" is likely to get yelled at for how they are othering me as a ger. Even if what they're saying is true! Because it would be disrespectful to point it out by just flatly telling me I'm coming from a culturally Xtian place and need to put a lid on it.

So I guess I'll end by posing some questions for discussion. I am genuinely interested in people's different responses to this.

Is it possible for someone who has left Xtianity to no longer be considered culturally Xtian?

If so, what would it take for someone to reach that?

If not, why not?

Does the answer change if the person is an atheist/areligious/non-religious full stop, versus someone who has replaced it with another religion?

Does it matter what that new religion is? Must it have longstanding culture behind it, such as Judaism or Hinduism, or can it be a new and/or eclectic religion, such as many neo-pagan religions, Satanism, new age religions, etc.

What do our answers to these questions say about how we view and treat atheists, followers of new religions, and gerim?

Part of my concern with how we talk about this besides just the interfaith piece, is that it also gives Xtianity a whole lot more space and power to control the conversation about religion and interfaith discourse than it necessarily needs to, as well as sometimes starting a weird purity rabbit hole to try and get away from the "taint" of Xtian ideas. I'm just not sure we want to cede that much control, but obviously at the same time we need to be able to name Xtian privilege and the thoughts, behaviors, assumptions, and discourse that flow from it, so I'm not sure what the right balance here is.

(*For purposes of this thread I'm only talking about people who are not religiously Xtian, even though obviously Xtians engage in this behavior plenty and are the privileged religious group in the US.)

#interfaith #every hour is theology hour around here apparently #jumblr discourse #jumblr

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seductivejellyfish · 1 year

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gonna take a bit of a swing at a hornets nest here but: whenever you have in mind to write a post about, or you read a post about, "amatonormativity," I really suggest stepping back and asking "how would this post change if I replaced 'amatonormativity' with 'heteronormativity'/'compulsive heterosexuality'? Are the societal pressures or privileges described actually applied to homosexual relationships at all, or in a way resembling how they are applied to heterosexual relationships?"

A lot of us live in relatively wonderful pockets of the world where it can be easy to feel like gay relationships are thought about in a way that is close to equivalent to straight ones, but the fact is I have never once seen any discussion of 'amatonormativity' that was not a discussion of heteronormativity. It is true that there are immense societal pressures that seem to enforce 'romantic' relationships, but in reality they enforce heterosexual relationships of a particular sort, and we flatted our ability for meaningful critique when we act like the forces at work are a societal prioritization of romantic love, and not the patriarchal structure of compulsory heterosexuality and all its implications for maintenance of the patriarchy.

#original #yeah maybe your friends and people in your immediate social circles #seem to prioritize 'romance' over other forms of relationships #but it is not out of some societal idea of the primacy of romantic love emerging in some kind of genderless vacuum #when gay relationships do end up grouped in with straight ones its just a bit of conditional assimilation towards ultimately still exstant #and harmful systems #the coining of a new term implies that it is possible or even ideal to construe of and fight 'amatonormativity' outside of the context of #heteronormativity #and mayyyybe some day it will be #but it is not today #and i doubt it will ever be because i think if we ever reach a point where #we actually manage to deconstruct compulsory heterosexuality #it will not be replaced with the prioritization of romantic relationships as a whole #rather you will see what you already see in a lot of very queer spaces which is the reexamination of relationships as a whole #and the broader acceptance of all different modes of human connection

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bat-zilla · 2 years

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idk what characters are coming back for spider-man: across the spiderverse but I really hope if Peni comes back that they un-weebify her design

#marvel #peni parker #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #swinging at the hornets nest here #but it's true and I'm gonna say it

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lunartearrose · 3 years

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Asushin is just bakudeku for straight people

#neon genisis evangelion #my hero academia #nge #mha #bnha #swinging a bat at a hornet's nest here #nobody will see it im a small blog that doesnt post abt nge or mha that much lol #dont take this too seriously im just bein funny #even if its true 😔

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gyldensternn · 4 years

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self care is unfollowing billy jensen on instagram but saving this particular photo before you go

#goth hockey player turned true crime writer is in theory my type with frightening accuracy #but in practice...#also might be swinging a bat at a hornets nest here #who knows

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popcornsalty · 3 years

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*kicks down door* HELLO IN THIS ESSAY I WILL BE ONLY TALKING ABOUT RWBY OKAY ON TO THE ESSAY (all dsmp folks referenced is talking about there character) okay SO, im actually gonna start with is this life is mine (by jeff williams feat casey lee williams) because its a fantastic song for all four manipulated minors (tm), plus some other characters. so basic premise of the song: the singer is monologing to/about an unheard antagonist, talking about what the antag has done to them, how theyve made their life suck and made them feel powerless and taken their autonomy and stuff like that. this song is pretty much the singer/narrator saying no more, ive had it, im down, this is where the bullshit youve done to me ends, im my own person and you cannot take that from me anymore. hence the name, this life is mine. so, from that, you can already guess the first character id slap this song onto. our beloved protagonist, c!tommyinnit. and it works really well for him. HOWEVER i did say it works for all the manipulated minors, not just tommy; so now, im gonna actually bring out just like a little bit of the lyrics! (important thing about most of the songs ill be talking about: alot of it is designed as fight scene music, which is pretty cool, but like none of these are like super sad and slow for very long if at all. just wanted to note that) 1.{There’s a part of me that’s desperate for changes; Tired of being treated like a pawn; But there’s a part of me that stares back; From inside the mirror; Part of me that’s scared I might be wrong; That I can’t be strong} 1. this first (second stanza?) bit i like to think of as like, tommys thoughts when he was in exile and starting to realize that it was fuck and he needed to leave but was still super unsure, cause yknow, emotional abuse, innit.

2. {I’ve been afraid, never standing on my own; I let you be the keeper of my pride; Believed you when you told me I was nothing on my own; Listen when I say; I swear it here today; I will not surrender, this life is mine} 2. now this second bit (third stanza? idk) can either go to tommy OR tubbo. clingy duo russian roulette. which ones gotta dependency issues, had his power taken and abilities ridiculed? YOU DECIDED. haha, but yeah this is sorta where you can start to see what i mean that it can apply to many characters.

3. {Amazing how you conquered me; Chained me in servility and made me see; The world the way you told me to; But I was young and didn’t have a way to know the truth; Born to live your legacy; Existing just to fill your needs, a casualty Of this so-called family that you have turned into a travesty} 3. alright so, this is where i put myself on a silly little hill and swing a bat at a hornet nest: this bit can, not only be taken as tubbo talking to the ghost of the past presidents of lmanburg, tommy telling dream to go eat shit, but also tommy telling technoblade and wilbur off. yeah yeah vilburs a cringe headcanon yada yada. HOWEVER its very canon that wilbur was not the best role model for tommy, as 1. wilburs spiral after the pressure of his presidency and the election being the straw that breaks the camels back lead to him having a worsening mental state that, really, tommy shouldnt have felt responsible for trying to fix him (you cant fix him besty hes an adult, he shouldnt be relying on you in the first place, thats not healthy) AND 2 tommys statement about wilbur getting into peoples heads and making it hard to actually think about stuff and instead just going along with wilburs whims and stuff because of proverbial rose colored lenses, is kinda true. does this automatically villianize wilbur, in my opinion, no. its just something tommy realized and doesnt feel comfortable having to go through again, considering he already had all of his autonomy violently stripped from him before. and also tommy probably just not wanting to follow wilbur around again like his little loyal sheep. we should really consider the effects of exile on how tommy interacts with other characters a lot more. MOVING ON 4. this next bit can pretty much be slapped with any of the four manipulated minors, although ranboo less so, cause hes just like that.

4. {I’m not your pet, not another thing you own; I was not born guilty of your crimes; Your riches and your influence can’t hold me anymore; I won’t be possessed; Burdened by your royal test; I will not surrender, this life is mine} i shall end this one here. in my next correspondence i shall present a different song. till then!

Yo i got nothing to add except yo thats dope af and very :00 and i want to hear more. Also the analysis-like parts are *chefs kiss*

#poke post #ask #long post #feralfens

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skinks · 3 years

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re: what you said about twitter fanon richie SO TRUE. i also see a lot of drawings of him in lingerie which just .

idk if it’s exclusive to twitter, but I do think the proliferation of smAU characterisation has certainly had a major hand in shaping generally accepted fanon on that site. Especially when, as I’ve mentioned, it’s a fairly common thing for people in this fandom to have never seen the source material. It’s no wonder that so much characterisation feels like OCs because essentially... they are!

And like, I’m not trying to kick any hornets’ nests here, FAR be it from me to dictate how anyone creates or has fun or engages in fandom. Tumblr often swings way back around in the opposite characterisation direction; post-ch1 you couldn’t move for the “bad boy emo teen Richie with horribly abusive parents” type fanon, which I’m also not interested in reading, along with twitter’s current iteration of “woobie manbaby Richie who acts like a gen z memelord”

Obviously it’s all down to personal preference! I have my own trauma-related reasons that go way beyond ~characterisation~ for not liking certain headcanons, but I’m not gonna kick up a fuss and stop people enjoying themselves if they get something out of putting Richie in drag or lingerie or whatever.

It’s up there with parents!reddie kidfic in my No Thanks column, but as ever, the key to having a good time in fandom is to find your little niche with the people who like the shit you like, and just keep making the shit you wanna make.

This is why my head is so full of A) gross visceral themes about injuries and bodily fluids and paranoia and temporal weirdness and B) sports AUs

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himbowelsh · 4 years

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Hi! I loooooved your drunk band of brothers hc's so much, could you elaborate more on the pacific and saving private ryan boys? 🥰

oooooohhh dude if you insist

The Pacific

Robert Leckie: The Messy Drunk. Giving Leckie booze is highkey like disco dancing beside a hornet’s nest. You’re going to get stung, and it’s going to be severely unpleasant, you just don’t know how or when. Drunk Leckie... is that friend. He really can’t be left alone; when out partying, he’s probably fine, but his moods swing from reckless highs to terrifying lows. All his guards are lower, and pent up emotions are quicker to bleed through --- because he can’t be assed to hold them back. He’ll drunk-dial his ex and leave a dozen voicemails, or call his mom to tell her how he really feels about his fourteenth birthday party... and when friends try to step in, suddenly he’s shouting at them. Why? They didn’t do anything... but Leckie is a mess, and it bleeds all over everything. Safest range for him is comfortably drunk. When he crosses the border into hammered territory, he’s a hazard to himself and others.

Runner Conley: The Energetic Drunk. No one knows what drugs Drunk Runner is on, but he needs to share. Whoa, is he wired. Alcohol is a suppressant, but no one ever bothered to inform him; he gains energy when he’s drunk. He’s the one on the dance floor for hours, busting a move and trying to convince his friends to join in; he’s the one shouting song suggestions and hollering about how it’s his friend’s birthday, hell yeah, pour it out (it’s not actually Leckie’s birthday, but if it gets them free drinks he’ll roll with it). Runner is very inclined to drunk gymnastics, but should not under any circumstances be allowed to. Other than that, excellent guy to have on a night out.

Chuckler Juergens: The Ladies’ Man. Don’t worry, he’s having a great night. Chuckler’s got a very high tolerance, so he actually keeps his head pretty well; this is good, because he’s got to keep an eye on everyone else, before Runner cartwheels out a plate glass window. He isn’t the Mom Friend Drunk, however... oh no, Chuckler’s got other things on his mind. Namely, flirting with every cutie in the bar. He’s great at flirting sober, but Drunk Chuckler is absolutely gifted. He’s suave, charming, funny, and no one on earth could tell he’s already had three vodka-and-limes. He spends most of his evening chatting girls up and dancing with them; his friends have to actively drag him away at the end of the night, otherwise he will end up going home with someone. He’s never drunk enough that it’s a bad idea, just drunk enough that he can’t think of a reason not to. After a night out, he finds numbers written on multiple places on his body. Once, someone wrote their number on his abs.

Hoosier Smith: The Dr. Jekyll. Give Hoosier a bottle of whiskey, and he turns into a different person, okay. He’s still... like, he’s still Hoosier, but this Hoosier grins. With his teeth. This Hoosier will actually dance; he’ll flirt with people for the hell of it (”for the hell of it” is Drunk Hoosier’s philosophy), he’ll try to talk Runner into gymnastics just so he can film it... he got a job drunk once. He literally made one phone call, ended up having a twenty-minute conversation, and came back to tell everyone he just got hired as a finance manager. Drunk Hoosier is impressively cool in the face of a crisis; there’s nothing messy about him (he observes Leckie’s swaying and slurring with disdain). He could probably be coached through first-aid drunk. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t be able to tell he’s drunk at all, you’d think he’s just like that.

Sid Phillips: The Impatient Drunk. Does not have time for anyone’s shit, and no longer cares to pretend he does. No one knows why Sid gets so short-tempered when he’s drunk. He’s not like that sober, so the going theory is he just has a lot of pent-up frustration. Now, when buzzed, Sid is a delight. He’s talkative, bubbly, and overall a treat to be around. This is where he should stay. The more he drinks, the progressively less fun the party gets, until he’s glowering at people across the room and shouting at someone for bumping into him. He will not win a bar fight, but he will start one, and not remember a damn thing about it in the morning. By the time Sid’s reached his limit, most of his friends are still just starting, so they’re usually sober enough to cut him off before he gets to that point.

Eugene Sledge: The Snuggly Drunk. He just gets lonely, okay? Liquor makes him morose, and he prefers not to be alone whenever he does choose to indulge. He needs someone there, just to keep him from getting lost in his own thoughts. When out with friends, Drunk Sledge is docile, pretty sweet, but unabashedly clingy. He wants to touch people; he’ll touch their faces, their hair, lean against their shoulders, hug them (”someone help me,” Drunk Leyden says in abject terror, with Sledge wrapped around his waist)... he’s just fine as long as there’s someone there to keep him entertained all night. Tell him a story and he’ll listen in silent rapture; give him a phone and let him watch videos, and he’ll be entertained for hours.

Snafu Shelton: The Possessive Drunk. Snafu... is not a fun drunk to be around. He’s a funny drunk, but this does not make him fun. Drunk Snafu’s idea of fun is not dancing in the club, it’s setting a dumpster on fire. He’s never gotten arrested drunk, but whoa has he come close. So long as he has a more responsible friend to keep him in line, he’s going to “behave” (and Snafu has a very strict rule that he does not drink alone, for his own good, so there’s usually someone). However, he... latches onto this person. Like, he acquires them like a $1,000 watch, and refuses to let anyone else near them for the rest of the night. Since Burgie wouldn’t put up with it, this behavior only becomes really apparent with Sledge, because Snafu is fiercely protective of Drunk Sledge. (Drunk Sledge needs to be protected tbh.) He looks after him all night, steals drinks for him, makes sure he’s drinking water and not hugging strange men... if Drunk Snafu doesn’t have a project, he’s going to commit a felony. Drunk Sledge is a godsend to his criminal record.

RV Burgin: The Hyperfocused Drunk. It’s not safe for him to get drunk, because he has to be the mom friend! He has to keep everyone else from burning the bar down! He knows this, but somehow his friends always end up pushing drinks on him, and next thing he knows, he’s five shots in wondering where rainbows come from. Drunk Burgie has a very one-track mind, and little patience for anything else. He’s not looking after his friends, because he can’t understand why dogs don’t have twins. He’ll discuss this out loud; he’ll crowdsource opinions. Drunk Burgie is actually very outgoing, but no one knows what the hell he’s talking about. His brain goes off in directions no one can follow, and next thing you know he’s trying to get to the library at midnight to see if they have any books about crayfish. (God forbid if he decides he wants fast food; he’ll talk about it for an hour, until someone’s annoyed enough to get it for him.)

Jay De L’Eau: The Giggly Drunk pt deux. He’s such a nice drunk. Everything is funny, and he’s constantly laughing at the dumb jokes and antics of everyone else; he’s less inclined to do the crazy shit, happier just to watch. He’ll stop and ask a stranger if they’re doing okay, or give his last few dollars away just because someone else needed it --- he’s an angel and everyone’s thrilled that he’s here.

Andrew Haldane: The Bemused Drunk. Okay, he doesn’t drink too much as a rule, because he’s a responsible person, okay... but Andy is weak to peer-pressure coming from his friends, so when he goes out, he’ll probably end up having a few. Liquor makes him thoughtful, and he’s a placid drunk overall. His reflexes are a lot slower, but he’s content to just sit there, observing everyone or lost in his own thoughts. He’s just... not totally there. If he puts something down, he will misplace it. If he’s talking to someone, he’ll lose track of the threads of conversation halfway through, and need to be stared back on topic. He doesn’t remember what bar he’s in, what street he’s on, where he lives --- he can rattle off sports history facts like he’s reading from a mental wikipedia page, but god help him if he knows where he put his wallet.

Hillbilly Jones: The Responsible Drunk. He doesn’t know how he always ends up looking after everyone else during a night out. It’s not a responsibility he wants. There are at least two people in the group better suited for it. But Andy’s been staring out the window for ten minutes humming to himself, and Burgie is trying to remember what his brother said to him years ago, and Jay is about to give his wallet to a homeless man, damn it --- Hillbilly isn’t a big drinker, but liquor lends him a bit more patience. This is a godsend, because somehow he ends up wrangling the whole crew. He makes a good mom friend, keeping them from wandering off and reminding them to drink water, making sure they don’t go too wild... Hillbilly’s night isn’t over until everyone else has gotten home safe. No, he’s not thrilled he’s gotta be the one to do it, but someone has to.

Gunny Haney: The Stripper. I’m sorry.

John Basilone: The ‘And I’ll Do It Again’ Drunk. He pretends he has a rule where he’d never do anything drunk that he wouldn’t do sober. This is... almost true. John wouldn’t not start a barfight sober, if given a damn good reason, but he’d think it through a lot more. Drunk John... does not think things through. Not for a second. He does things without considering the consequences. There’s a thin line with John, between “fun to have at parties” and “needs to be asked to leave”. Usually, he knows better than to drink enough to cross that valley, but when he does... let’s just say, JP and Manny are banned from a few bars by sheer association.

Lena Riggi: The Careful Drunk. Lena does not have control issues. I’ll say it again, because she needs everyone to know: Lena does not have control issues. But if she’s going to be out of control, it’s no one’s business but her own. She hates the idea of really letting her hair down in front of strangers --- or worse, casual acquaintances. Which isn’t to say she’s not fun at parties, she just... minds her alcohol intake. She’s very aware of when she’s getting tipsy, and knows when to stop. She also keeps up with her friends, and is an expert at keeping an eye on them, wrangling them when they wander off or get into trouble. (Basically, she’s the perfect person to rein in Drunk John’s self-destructive tendencies.)

Saving Private Ryan

John Miller: The Depressed Drunk. No, really, this man shouldn’t be allowed to drink. He tries not to, as a rule. He knows his limits. Only on rare occasions does he actually get drunk, and once he does, everyone regret it. He’s... not fun. He’s not responsible. He’s just sad. He’s got a lot of thoughts, and is clearly working through them right here at the table. He’s been staring at his hands for the past half hour, he won’t talk to anyone, and looks like he’s going to cry. Someone needs to take him home.

Mike Horvath: The Drunk With A Lot of Opinions. He’s a very social drinker, and doesn’t need to know anybody else at the party to have a good time. Mike will talk to anyone. More specifically, he’ll talk at anyone. He’s got a lot to say about the Black Rhino crisis, the 1998 Superbowl, sitcoms that ended 20 years ago... he feels very strongly about these things, and is not accepting dissenting opinions at this time. He won’t pick arguments with people, really, but he won’t shy away from them. Mike’s one rule on a night out is that he Will Not Dance, so he has to do something with his time.

Richard Reiben: The Shouty Drunk. He’s not even shouting at anyone. Reiben isn’t an angry drunk, he’s just loud. His entire drinking philosophy is “turn down for what” and the answer is: nothing. He’s not going to turn down, he doesn’t feel inclined. He doesn’t really dance, just gets excited and fistpumps the air a lot; he thinks drunk sports are a great idea; he’s nicer to people, for some reason, but will also talk their ear off if allowed. If he’s a pain in the ass sober, he’s even worse drunk, because he’s got twice as much to say and no indoor voice to say it with.

Daniel Jackson: The “Dude, Watch This” Drunk. He really doesn’t change that much when drunk, to be honest. Jackson’s got a lot of self-control, and doesn’t overindulge often. When he does drink, he gets a bit chattier, but that’s about it. He prefers not to dance, and will responsibly stop his friends from doing things likely to get them killed... only to do those things himself, just because he can. He’s drunk vodka out of a broken lightblub; he jumped from an upstairs window into a frozen swimming pool; he stole Horvath’s wallet. The question is not “what won’t he do”, it’s “why would he do this”? He’s not that drunk. He’s never drunk enough to justify anything; he just uses liquor as an excuse to do all the things his sober friends would dissuade him from.

Stanley Mellish: The Karaoke Drunk. He’s actually so much fun to go out drinking with, because he’s having a good time, having a good time --- he’s the life of the party. He’s the one standing on tables and riling the bar up; he’s got the best drunk jokes; he always knows when someone needs another drink, and finds one for them. (He made it a special project to get Upham drunk the first time they went out, and was thrilled with the result.) Loves to drunk-sing. If the bar does not have a karaoke stage, Mellish will simply create one.

Adrian Caparzo: The Drunk White Girl. My man completely forgets that he’s over six feet tall and has a pair of brass knuckles in his pocket. Caparzo doesn’t remember exactly why he came out tonight, but he’s out, and he’s had so much vodka, and he just threw up into a potted plant, and his shoes hurt, and now his shoes are off, and he lost a shoe, and where’s Fish, oh my god, they lost Fish --- (Mellish is right behind him, laughing his ass off.) Things get messy. He’s very sweet, however, very liberal with compliments, extremely supportive, and really craving fast food.

Irwin Wade: The Tragic Backstory Drunk. Wade gets a lot more upbeat after he’s had a few drinks; he talks louder, smiles brighter, and really comes out of his shell a lot more. Unfortunately, he’s a talker. Drunk Wade has not learned the virtues of shutting the fuck up. He doesn’t need to talk about everything, he just occasionally starts blabbing about really personal shit, like the time his grandmother died of cancer or the first time he saw his mother cry, and it’s like... are you okay, buddy? Do you need to talk to someone? He says it so casually, too, like the liquor has numbed whatever obviously raw emotions are tied to these memories. His friends always know Wade a lot better after a night out, in plenty of ways they didn’t need to. They’ve learned to be smart about it; anytime Wade starts rambling, Reiben pushes some pretzels in his mouth, just so he’ll happily shush.

Timothy Upham: The Enthusiastic Drunk. He’s having a great time, even if no one else is. Drunk Upham comes out of his shell a lot more, which would be great if the liquor gave him any extra social skills. It doesn’t. Honestly, he just gets... more oblivious to everyone else, and cares less about what other people are doing. He’s just vibing, and having fun doing it. Will bop along to music even if no one else is dancing with him, will ramble even if nobody’s listening... oh god, and he loves to be on the dance floor. Like, the best way to keep an eye on him is to just drag him out and plant him in the middle of a dancing crowd, because he’s just happy to be there. 10/10 pleasant drunk, doesn’t know what the hell is going on. What language is he speaking? Who knows.

James Ryan: The Fun-Time Drunk. No, really, the rest of these guys are disasters, here’s the dude you want to go drinking with. He never goes alone, always with a group of buddies; he comes out solely to have a good time, and will not accept alternatives. This man has done body shots before. He loves loud music, crowded bars, and lively people. Yes, he can be a little obnoxious when drunk, but no more than your average well-intentioned dumb kid. He’s such an emotionally supportive drunk friend; he’s very physically affectionate, and will hug people while trying to coax them out of their sour moods. Anything can be solved with a trip to the dance floor. By the end of the night, he’ll probably end up passing out on someone’s shoulder, probably on the ride home, but he’s just worn out from a great party.

#saving private ryan #the pacific #headcanons #this got SO LONG

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faerielleart · 3 years

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I know I prolly shouldn't pay attention to twt, but I've seen people get very angry saying eru**ri is canon, and I was wondering is that true? I didn't see anything in the manga itself suggesting that, so? Has Isayama said something? I'm sorry if this is an odd question.

oh dear anon LOL questions like these and their answers are like a big big metaphorical baseball bat swinging very fast and hard and a big big metaphorical hornet’s nest-

however! every shipper says their ship is canon and they have all rights to do so, as we are all for the “fuck canon i make my own canon” philosophy here, especially myself as 99% of my ships across all my fandoms ain’t canon so more power to fans for doing whatever the fuck they want with fandom content, god knows i do it a LOT 🙌

but if we’re going strictly manga-canon, then nope: according to the manga, it is explicitly said they are “sworn friends”

#answered asks

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hunnybadgerv · 4 years

Text

Pear-Shaped | Far Cry 5 | Tayen Quick

Summary: Deputy Tayen Quick finds herself thrust into the middle of a cult uprising and at a crossroads of conscience and self-preservation. It turns out to be a defining moment for her and the citizens of this picturesque part of Montana.

a/n: The first in a series of one-shots that piece together Deputy Tayen Quick’s responses and adventures in Hope County and the Holland Valley—before, during, and after the Reaping by the Project of Eden’s Gate and the Seed Family. It is fairly canon-typical, but knowing how I tend to do things, it is not unlikely for there to be canon divergence and rewriting.

AO3 LINK

Pear-Shaped

-1-

Warrant service. Helicopter crash. Shoot outs and a car chase. Driving off a bridge into the river. Deputy Tayen Quick’s head was still spinning even though the adrenaline had stopped pumping and the world seemed not to be gunning specifically for her for a few seconds. A radio broadcast told her she was still on the minds of the group from Eden’s Gate—after all their preacher, Joseph Seed, had started the Reaping, whatever that was, and now he had them looking for her, presumably to add her to his collection of law enforcement prisoners. It made her head pound worse.

Dutch had proved convincing enough to trust, but it was more than that. She couldn’t get it out of her head. That voice, Joseph’s singing. Even as she stripped out of her uniform, the glint of the star she’d worn on her chest gleaming in the low light of the bunker caught her eye. Her thumb ran over the flag on the shoulder. She’d been wearing that for nearly 15 years before she took this job—12 years in the service and 3 on the force back home.

Sinking to the floor, she leaned against the cold lockers. The sensation grounded her. She laid her head back against the metal and closed her eyes. “You came out here because it was supposed to be quiet.”

Dutch’s voice carried down the hall. “This place was never quiet.”

Her head snapped toward the sound, but he wasn’t anywhere near her. She sat and listened.

“That’s just an illusion city folk have about the country. They think all this space, big sky, mountains, and wilderness makes for a quiet, pastoral existence. It’s not really true. On the surface, it might look like that. But most of the time, the only difference is that people are just too far away to see the real shit.”

He sighed. “That’s what happened with those Eden Gate people. No one batted an eye when they built their church. Or their commune. They kept to themselves mostly. Sure, they held their revivals, but there’s not a church in 300 miles that doesn’t do that. No one realized anything was askew until it was too late.”

“Then the marshal came in with his warrant and we kicked the shit out of the hornet’s nest,” she added.

“Yeah,” he said. There was accusation in the tone of his voice, but that wasn’t all. She couldn’t put her finger on what else she thought she heard.

“Yeah, well. I told you I’d help as best I can.”

“And if that’s not enough?” he asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She didn’t get an answer. His boot falls moved down the hall, leaving her to imagine all on her own.

His bunker reminded her too much of her own place—bare, sparse furnishings, pictures of old friends all in uniform, a few plaques and commendations. It was almost like looking into her own future, and it gave Tayen the chills. Turning her back on the decor, she stared into the locker. She stripped down and traded her uniform pants for a pair of standard issue camo trousers. Of course, they were not her size, but she used her own belt to cinch them up. She pulled on a black tank top and slid into a red and black flannel shirt which she left unbuttoned and untucked.

Stepping back into her boots, Deputy Quick shuffled down the hall, leaving behind the trappings of her position—for now. Dutch was right, wandering around the county in her uniform was going to paint a bigger bolder target on her back, and she didn’t need that. Not if she was going to get help.

“Hey,” Tayen said, as she stopped in the doorway. Her eyes darted around the room, taking it all in. The bank of ham and CB radios, the map with photos and pins galore, sparsely populated shelves, a gun safe—this guy was prepared for some next level shit to go down. She’d heard of prepper types, but this felt extreme. “Um,” she said when he didn’t answer, “you got anything down here to eat.”

Dutch, staring at the radios that only belched out static, turned his head and sighed. “Next door down. Start with the cans first.”

She gave him a nod, pushing a hand through her chin length inky black hair before she moved. The events of the night before drained her, physically and emotionally. In the kitchen/living area, she found a can of stew easy enough and a can opener. Once the smell hit her, her stomach rumbled and twisted into knots at the same time as a dilemma formed in her addled mind—eat it cold or warm it up.

“You can wait two fricken minutes, Tayen,” she told herself, opting for a bowl and sticking it in the microwave. Dutch checked on her a little later, as she was inhaling the calories needed to refuel her.

He said nothing and just walked over and tapped the button under a blinking light on his answering machine. A woman’s voice, frantic and afraid filled the room. It stopped the deputy’s scarfing and she stared at the device, clearly affected by what she was hearing. She might not know Rae-Rae, but it was clear by that message that something was off.

“People here could use your help here, deputy.”

She let go of her spoon and leaned back against the counter. “Don’t you think the best way I can help them is to let people know what’s going on?”

“Before the radio signals went to shit, I heard dozens of calls saying that the tunnel out of the valley was blocked. And three maydays from local pilots saying they’d been shot at and were going down.”

The bowl rested against the side of her thigh, as she pressed her fingers over her forehead.

“You know what I’m saying, girl.” His eyes flicked from her face to the black ink peeking out from beneath her rolled up sleeve. “You’ve been there before.”

“Yeah, I have, old man.” She straightened, tension rolling her shoulders back. “That part of my life is over.” Her feet carried her to the sink where she deposited the half-eaten bowl of stew. Both her palms pressed against the counter as she leaned there. “And I got no intention of going back into hell,” she muttered.

“Might be too late for that.”

Deep down, she knew he was right. She’d seen that compound, seen Joseph riling his forces and setting them loose. She’d been shot at and nearly killed a dozen times the night before. Somehow, she managed to not wind up captured or dead. Yeah, this was as deep as any other hell she had ever known.

She let out a long exhale and leaned on her elbows. Dutch just patted her on the shoulder and left her with her thoughts. Time seemed to stand still as she stared at the rust gathering at the edge of the sink where it met the countertop. It took her longer than she would ever own up to, but eventually, she came around, but she was determined to do it right.

Whatever that meant. She was an officer of the peace, not a soldier under orders. Her job was to protect these people. Of course, she didn’t know precisely what that meant or how it would have to look. With her decision made, Tayen grabbed her bowl and wandered down the hall back to Dutch’s control room, as she deemed it.

“All right. Fill me in.”

Dutch turned and gave her a grim nod. “This is what I’ve been able to piece together so far,” he began.

The deputy listened intently, occasionally jotting notes on the pad she always carried when she was on shift. Something told her this was going to be the never-ending shift from hell.

-2-

Less than 300 yards from the door of Dutch’s bunker, Tayen got to see traces of the Peggie’s Reaping.

“No, don’t!”

She froze at the scream. It was followed by the telltale sound of flesh on flesh, a punch more likely. The groaning resounded through the trees. She crept forward as quietly as she could manage.

“You will repent,” a wild haired, bearded man told a captive who was kneeling in the mud with his hands behind his back.

“I didn’t do anything to deserve this,” the man replied.

Her hand went to her sidearm, well, Dutch’s pistol really. Her teeth ground together as she considered it. The cult members were both armed. Even if she shot first, one of them could still get lucky and get a shot off. With a slow exhale, she looked around her on the ground. Finding a weighty limb with a good bit of heft to it, she moved through the brush as the man and his prisoner continued to argue.

She knew she would have to move fast. At the edge of the high grass, she darted at the woman, whose back was to her and bashed her with a two-handed swing of the branch she’d found. Then she took two steps and sprang at the man. He dropped his pistol when she got her arm around his neck.

The captive threw himself backward to avoid the pair.

Using her body against his in a way to facilitate leverage on her hold, his clawing soon turned toward patting. Then his hands slid away from her arm as his knees buckled. Tayen Quick didn’t release him until they were both on the ground. Once the man was down, she finally loosened her grip and checked his pulse. The slow thud under her fingertips was a relief.

“Is he—?” the captive asked.

“Breathing,” she replied.

“Christ.”

Her hands frisked over the man’s back, pulling extra clips from a pocket of his cargo pants. She also stripped him of a pocketknife and a pair of flex cuffs, which she tightened around the unconscious man’s wrists before flipping him over. She inspected the knife; it was rusty and dull and probably couldn’t cut through room temperature butter. “Who the hell goes into the woods without a knife?” she muttered at his complete ridiculousness.

She moved to the man in khaki and sawed at the duct tape around his wrists with the shitty pocketknife she’d found on the captor.

“Thank God you were out here,” the captive said. He rubbed at his wrists once she finally got him free. He just stared at her as she moved away from him.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“Where’d you come from?” she asked.

“Working at the park observatory up on the hill. They just came out of nowhere.”

“How many?” Her questions and her tone were curt as she moved to the other cult member. Her fingers searched for a pulse first. Her shoulders shrank when she didn’t find one. This wasn’t what her job was supposed to look like, she recalled as she crouched over the body. Her gaze flicked back to the unconscious one. She couldn’t leave him anything he could use to hurt anyone.

“Dozen. They were just suddenly there. I never saw them coming.” The man shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Not that I ever thought to look,” he muttered.

“And why would you?” she asked, glancing up at him with her hands in the dead woman’s pockets.

He huffed, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Look, I have … well, had some supplies up there. You’re welcome to anything you might need. Anything the Peggies didn’t already take.”

“Appreciate it,” Tayen said with a genuine smile.

“Least I could do,” he replied.

She laughed wryly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my job.”

Grabbing the pistols, the two had been carrying, she offered one to the ranger as they hiked up the hill. “You know how to use one of these?” she asked.

“C’mon, miss. I’m from these parts. Grew up shooting.”

“Well, then here you go, but try to keep your head down.”

He nodded. “For sure.” They continued on in silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you leave that guy tied up back there?”

Tayen’s smooth gait stuttered. And the first answer that came to mind, because I’m not a murderer, was immediately countered by the realization that she had, not seconds before choking that guy out, killed his backup. “I just …” She searched her mind for a reasonable response. “I’m with the Sheriff’s office,” she finally said like it was a perfectly valid explanation.

While he nodded, the knit of his brow told her it didn’t really make sense to him either.

“I’m supposed to protect and serve, not kill with impunity,” she added.

“Don’t think I’m not grateful, because I am. Really. I’d be dead or who knows where if you hadn’t come along. I was just … curious.”

Quick nodded. “Yeah, I get it.” And while she understood the impetus for the question; her answer to it still left her a little stumped, even if it felt right. She wasn’t an executioner, wasn’t a soldier anymore, she was a cop—meant to protect the people not be their executioner. She rubbed at the back of her neck and mounted the stairs once they reached the station.

#Far Cry 5 #Dutch Roosevelt #Tayen Quick #Pear-Shaped #Badger Scribbles

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mentalmimosa · 6 years

Text

my favorite kind

Prompt: Accidental Marriage. Prompt from this generator.

The look on Banner’s face is priceless. “How do you accidentally get married? Don’t you at least have to say I do?”

“Tsk,” Tony says, flippant, trying his best to ignore the serious aura of embarrassment he’s gotta be casting, “how very Earth-er of you to assume everybody does things the same way.”

Bruce’s eyes pinball from Tony to Cap and back. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Cap says, “that if some of us had been paying attention and not leapt directly into the middle of a situation without considering the possible consequences--”

“Oh, come on! You can’t tell me you had ‘we’ll accidentally get married’ anywhere on your might-happen radar, Rogers.”

Cap spreads his hands in Bruce’s direction as if to say see? “--then we wouldn’t be in this goddamn bullshit hornets’ nest of a problem, would we, Tony?”

Ok, that stings. “I can think of a lot worse things that could’ve happened than us ending up married.”

“Yeah?” Cap says with a sour smile, reaching for his chin strap, “name one.”

Which Tony can’t but only because Cap turns on his heel and marches straight out of the hanger like he’s got a Howitzer on his heels.

A beat. “So I guess you guys aren’t hitting Niagara, huh?”

“Nah,” Tony says, a little deflated, if he’s honest. “Looks like I’m sleeping on the metaphorical couch tonight. Maybe tonight and for the rest of my life.”

*****

Steve won’t look at him for a week.

Which is inconvenient, rude, and also seriously disappointing because one of Tony’s great joys in life--up and until the Great Whoops Nuptials Fiasco--was having the chance to stare at Steve’s beautiful face. For all that the man brings out the pugilist in Tony, the stubborn desire to be right, he is also without question one of the hottest people Tony’s ever met; it’s a goddamn paradox, some day. Some days, before Tony Screwed Up (™), it was struggle to get through a briefing or an after-action review or a ridiculous competitive game of Scrabble without getting distracted by the set of Cap’s mouth, the way it curved when he had a point to make or a solid Triple Word Score set to play. There were days when he had to leave a team dinner early because he was so distracted by the sight of Steve laughing, by the soft tilt of his shoulders when Nat leaned over and whispered something especially snarky in his ear, by the way his face fell so open when he was happy, a burst of sun like somebody’d snuck in and snapped up the blinds. And he was so gorgeous like that, so goddamn delicious, that Tony would have to find some bullshit reason to get out of the room lest he try to climb the man like a tree and lick that smile, that stupid dazzling smile, right off of Steve’s mouth.

It felt vaguely dirty, jerking off to the thought of that smile, to the way it would look crowning between Tony’s legs or around the swell of his cock--but truth be told, that made it even better. God, Tony’d thought once, rounding the bases for home, Steve’d be so disappointed in me, and the thought of that disapproving stare had him spurting into the air so hard that he could not fucking breathe.

....so he may have come back to that idea more than once: Steve watching with that rock-jaw scowl, arms crossed and khakis tented--always those stupid granddad khakis--saying, Really, Tony? I thought you knew better than this.

Me, too, Tony would think, fist pumping fast on his shaft. Oh, fuck, Cap. Me, too.

Because if there's one member of their motley crew Tony can't see going for him in one phase, shape, multiverse or another, it's Steven Grant Rogers. They're just too different and yet too much alike, like twin gears too closely ground, and even though Tony knows Steve well enough now to understand that Howard's tales of Mr. Straight Laced and Tidy were just myths, there's still so much of him that seems untouchable to Tony, more grounded, more serious, than Tony's ever known how to be.

And being alien-married to the guy does not help. It does not help one bit at all.

Mainly because they aren’t married, not really; not according to any law down here on Earth. Yes, there is the small, completely technical matter of the rings they can’t take off--as in, are actually physically unable, long story--but other than that, there’s nothing holding them to each other. No reason that anybody outside of the team has to know exactly how an attempt to help Thor do a solid on the other side of galaxy had been a success because a) no one told Tony not to touch the big shiny goblet the frankly dazzling L’aln princess held out to them and b) he wouldn’t have touched said shiny and then touched Cap if he’d known what the results of said chain of touching would be.

“Well,” Thor had said, after, as the warring armies put down their weapons and started planning a wedding party, “it could be worse. You could’ve touched Loki.”

Maybe worse in the moment, worse for a while, but Loki, at least, would’ve gotten bored with being ‘married’ and moved the fuck on.

Steve, though? Steve was clinging to it. And with a serious grudge.

“Like, was he planning a big church wedding? Has he had it sketched out in his head since he was a kid?”

“No,” Nat says from her perch on the workbench behind him. “That’s not it.”

Tony sets down his laser torch and rubs at his eyes, luckily in that order. “So what the hell is it, then?”

“Why aren’t you talking to him about this?”

“Nat.”

“What?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our fair captain won’t even look me in the face.”

“Pah,” Nat says, swinging her legs like a kid on a swing, “it’s only been a few days.”

“It’s been a fucking week.”

“So?” She tilts her head. “It’s a big deal to him, Tony, the idea of marriage. It’s not just an idle concept to him.”

Tony frowns. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning, even though to you it’s a joke, there’s some part of him that’s taking it seriously.”

“It’s not a joke to me. It’s a goddamn thorn in my side.”

That gets her gaze narrowed. Like she’s staring at him through a scope. “And why is that, exactly?”

Tony’s cheeks go hot. “Um, for the good of the team, we have to--”

“Bullshit. Try again.”

“Come on, Nat, the Avengers only work when we--”

“Stark,” she says, sarcastic steel, “don’t make me come down there.”

Damn it. He looks away for a second, sucks in a quick, self-deprecating breath. “Because part of me kinda likes the idea, ok?”

There’s a swift silence. And then:

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Nat says, rolling her eyes from here to eternity. “I swear. You two.”

“What?"

She hops down like a cat and pats him on the back. “Congratulations,” she deadpans. “You deserve each other.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The pat turns into a smack. “Tch. It means talk to your husband, придурок. Unless you like being miserable, in which case, please, by all means, keeping moping around in here with your machines in the dark.”

“Nat--”

“Talk to him, Tony. That’s not a suggestion. It’s a goddamn gold-plated plea.” Her expression softens a little. “Because Steve’s not going to make the first move on this one. I don’t think that he can.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Talk to him,” she says again, turning on her heel and heading towards the door. “And you’ll see.”

*****

By the time that Tony gets his courage up and two stiff drinks down, it’s after midnight.

He should wait until the morning, probably. He should wait until the sun is out and the streets out there are humming and he can belly up to the bar while Cap’s eating his breakfast and bring this up breezy like a goddamn adult: This is broken. Let’s fix it. It’ll be fine.

But he can’t sleep on this crap again, can’t wake up and see that damn ring first thing and start the day off with another oh fucking shit . So protocol be damned; screw Roberts’ Rules of Order--he’s going to see Cap right the fuck now. And if he wakes the man up, rouses him out of bed and makes him answer the door in some thin, low-slung boxers that the light goes straight through--unf--then so be it. This shit is getting settled tonight.

Except Steve doesn’t come to the door in his jammies or semi-naked. When it opens, he’s wearing no shirt, no shoes, and those stupid khakis.

“Um,” Tony says, staring, not staring, “hi.”

Steve blinks. “Hi, Tony.”

“Can I, uh. Can I come in for a second? I know that it’s late.”

Much to Tony’s surprise, Steve moves aside and gives him a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, sure. Come on in.”

It’s only when he’s carried himself over the threshold (ha) that Tony realizes he’s never actually been in here, in Steve’s room, at least not since Cap moved in. He walked every inch of the place while it was under construction, of course, and then again as modifications were made, but he’s never seen what Steve did with the place. There’s an easel in one corner, by the windows. A spread of armchairs and a small sofa with a clean, modern air. A big, soft-looking bed with dark sheets and a panoply of pillows that Tony is not looking at, nope, not gonna be looking, thanks.

“This is,” he says, “this is nice.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, “what is it they say? This place had good bones. So a lot of it’s thanks to you.”

“Uh huh. Ah--thanks.”

“Do you want to sit down?”

“No! No, I mean. This’ll just take a sec.”

He can see a frown flit between Steve’s eyebrows. “Ok.”

“I wanted to talk to you about, you know.” Tony holds up his right hand and pokes the ring with his left. “This.”

“Ah,” Steve says. “Um. Yes. We probably should talk about that.”

“Yeah, we--”

Cap cuts him off. “Look, I owe you an apology.”

That brings Tony up short. “For what?”

“For treating you like a pariah. For not talking to you. For acting like, quote unquote, a fucking martyr.”

“Who told you that?”

Steve’s mouth twitches. “Today? Or do you want the full list?”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, because it’s true, because it’s what he should’ve said right away. “You were right; I blundered into things without thinking. I should’ve waited for Thor to make the first move--at least he speaks their language. I was just acting on instinct.”

“You thought you were doing the right thing, like you always do. I get that.”

Tony squints at him. “You do?”

Cap looks taken aback, his wide eyes making him looking impossibly young. “Yeah. I always know your heart’s in the right place, Tony, even if we don’t agree about how to get there. I never, every question that.”

"Oh," Tony says, because seriously? "Huh. Well.”

“And honestly, no harm was done, right? In fact, a lot of good came from it. You stopped the fighting, didn't you, all in one stroke.” Steve smiles, an honest-to-god grin that makes Tony’s heart turn right the fuck over. “Who knew that marriage was more important to them those folks than war?”

“Gotta say, I like their priorities.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “me, too.”

They’re looking at each other, full-on eye contact for the first time in days, and Tony feels that tiny, insistent pull that is desire, that is stupid, unrequited, you’re gonna get your heart stomped on want.

“Ok,” Tony says, “so. Glad we got that cleared up. I’m, ah. I’m gonna go.”

“You know,” Steve says, his voice halting Tony at the door, “there’s one thing I wish we’d done differently. Did I mention that?”

“No.”

“I know everybody’s traditions aren’t the same,” Steve says, “but where I come from, when you get married, you seal it with a kiss.”

“Oh, well,” Tony says with a half-laugh, with his hand on the door, “I guess it’s lucky we didn’t do that, huh? Or else you’d really be stuck with me.”

Two steps, a split second, and Steve is right there, jammed up in Tony’s personal space with his bare skin and his dad pants and his seriously lit-up blue eyes. “You promise?” Steve says.

Jesus. Tony's knees turn to hot water. “Why? You offering?”

Steve--beautiful, exasperating, stars and stripes Steve--lifts his hands and cups Tony’s face. “One-time only, Stark. Take it or leave it.”

Tony makes a low, hot sound and tips up towards Steve’s mouth. “Oh, I’ll take it. You better believe it. I do.”

*****

"Nat said you wouldn't make the first move," Tony says later, in the depths of Steve's bed.

Steve snuffles and plants a kiss low on Tony's neck. "Did she?"

"Mmmm. Yeah. Oh, god, keep doing that."

"I mean, Nat is rarely wrong about these things." A suck, a brush of a bite. "Almost never."

Tony gets a hand in Steve's gloriously fucked-up hair and arches his back, aims to expose more of his throat to that talented tongue. "Well," he manages, "first time for everything."

"Eh," Steve says. He shifts, presses Tony flat out on his back. "Technically, though, you came to me."

"Did I?"

"Uh huh. And in the middle of the night, too, when you knew we'd be alone. Tsk tsk. Shame on you."

That tease, that scolding tone, shit, it makes Tony want to fucking purr. "Are you saying I came here to seduce you, husband of mine?"

Steve grins and crawls over him, smothers Tony's body in muscle and sweet, sticky heat. "I don't know. Did you?"

"Not intentionally."

"Well," Steve hums , nudging the words against Tony's cheek, his knee between Tony's thighs, "it was a happy accident, then."

"Yep," Tony says, turning his face for a kiss. "My favorite kind."

#stony #accidental marriage #fantasizing #first time

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