#That's like breaking some sort of law I bet

[nina-ya]

Law Helping You Relax

Pairing: Law x Reader CW: None WC: ~750 A/N: gasp 2 posts in one day?? Who am I??? LMAO anyways I've been drowning in work lately and I just want Law to pull me away and help me relax sooooo thats where this came from :) Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

“You look like you can use a breather,” Law’s voice breaks your focus as you feel calloused hands gliding over your shoulders. Despite the disruption, you persist, continuing the work you’ve been immersed in for hours now. 

The raven-haired man sighs audibly, shifting behind you. He leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he insists, “That’s not a suggestion. You need a break.” One of his hands clasps yours, halting your work, while the other hand starts massaging your shoulder, easing the tension that has built up over the hours. 

Succumbing to the allure of relaxation, you sigh in contentment. “Since when are you one to advocate for a break? I always see you working nonstop.” You ask, locking eyes with him.

“Do as I say, not as I do.” Law retorts, voice laced with a playful undertone. 

“Fine, but only for 5 minutes,” you concede, allowing the sensation of relaxation to envelop you completely. 

Law continues the motion of massaging your shoulder, the tension relieving with each touch of his. He then pauses somewhat abruptly, as if struck with an idea. Without warning, he firmly grasps your arm and hoists you up from where you were sitting.

“Huh? What are you–” Your protest was cut off as he began to pull you out of the room. “Wait, but I’m not done yet,” you continue, lightly resisting his pull.

“Last time I checked, I still have 3 minutes of your time, so come on,” he retorts, a determination evident in his voice as he guides you onto the deck of the submarine. He leads you towards the railings before sitting down. He taps the spot next to him, silently urging you to join him.

You hesitate for a moment before complying, sitting down next to him. He immediately pulls you into his side, his warmth enveloping you. 

As if he can sense your thoughts, he speaks up, his voice low. “You needed a change of scenery. You’ve been cooped up in there all day. I bet you didn’t even know it was nighttime until I dragged you out here.”

"I’m not ignorant, I knew that it’s night. It’s not even that late anyways, it’s barely 11” you retort, trying to assert your awareness. 

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of Law’s lips. “3,’ he stated simply.

“What?” you ask, puzzled by his ambiguousness. 

“It’s 3am. You’re about four hours off,” he clarified, amusement evident in his tone. 

You sit in stunned silence for a moment, the realization sinking in that Law is right. You indeed have lost track of time and now you are suffering the consequences. Your earlier declaration of just a five-minute break has faded into the background, as exhaustion creeps up on you. Law seems to take your silence as some sort of victory, leaning his head back against the railing as he gazes up at the star-studded sky above. 

Dots of light freckle the region above, a beautiful and somewhat uncommon sight to behold out at sea since the submarine is usually submerged underwater. You follow Law’s gaze, taking in the breathtaking sight before you. As if on cue, a shooting star streaks across the sky.

“Make a wish,” you mutter softly, feeling the weight of the exhaustion settle upon you. “I don’t know about you, but I wish I could just finish this work already,” you continue with a deep sigh. 

“I’m pretty sure your wishes don’t come true if you say them out loud,” Law remarks, his eyes still fixed on the twinkling heavens above.

“Since when do you believe in that stuff?” you ask, curiosity coloring your tone.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “It comes and goes,” he replies cryptically, as if he is lost in thought. 

You can’t help but roll your eyes with a soft chuckle at Law’s comment, finding his puzzling statement amusing, Snuggling closer into his side, you welcome the comfort and warmth he provides. A gentle breeze dances across your skin, prompting you to instinctively try and seek warmth in Law’s embrace. 

Law notices this, and he reaches out, opening his captain’s coat to drape it over you. Pulling you even closer, he envelops you in a newfound warmth. What had started as a five-minute break has morphed into a much needed respite. As you nestle against him, your breathing gradually slows, the rhythmic rocking of the ship beneath you lulling you into a sense of calmness. Sleep soon embraces you, Law’s arms holding you throughout the night, helping you escape in the dream world before facing what the next day might hold.

[ohnoitsjetster]

Didn’t Herbert West technically TECHNICALLY try to baby trap Dan in Bride of Reanimator?

Thoughts?

(Im sorry this took forever to respond to. life got in the way, of my silly little words)

technically, yes. The main intention was the same. But "Baby Trap" does not even start to explain the shit Herbert pulled in Bride of Reanimator.

thoughts? you want THOUGHTS? alright how about let me break down exactly what Herbert did here:

That man stole Megan's heart from an evidence locker and stored it in his fridge. When Dan tried to leave Herbert, He offered the heart to Dan with every ounce of reverence he could deliver without getting down on one knee.

that is to say, Herbert anticipated that Dan would leave him and saw that he loved Megan. So his reaction was to steal Megan's actual physical HEART, and give it to Dan as an offering to force him to stay.

He vaguely explained that he was about to baby trap him with it, to which Dan agreed because of his blind love for Meg, and his blind love for Herbert, and because, in the words of Bruce Abbot, "no one will ever get rich overestimating Dan's bad taste."

(This could maybe be because the world of Reanimator uses weird sci-fi logic where the heart contains the person's personality or life or whatever, and it'd actually bring Meg back (even though these movies seemed pretty brain-focused thus far), in which case, pretty good manipulator leverage! nice job, Herbie! Otherwise, its either because Herbert knew Dan would like this weird creepy gesture of love, or because Herbert thought this weird creepy gesture of love was a normal and good idea, and coincidentally Dan was that same wavelength of out-of-touch freak as Herbert, because they're just meant for each other or something. That last option is my personal favorite)

So, then Herbert goes around the hospital STEALING more body parts off corpses (former patients who also presumably received some form of care and attention from Dan), trying to create Dan's perfect woman based on his shallow perception of whatever it is that straight, allosexual, relatively neurotypical men like (maybe since Herbert can't be what Dan wants romantically, he can create it for him and earn love that way (that cannot be good for His internalized transphobia)).

so then he meticulously assembles a woman like an Ikea cabinet and proceeds to give Dan the worlds most sensual elevator pitch, using... a line that he heard Dan use with his girlfriend when he was eavesdropping on them having sex. He tries to explain why this is the perfect woman for all your woman needs! Like uhhh sex, and... sex, and lawyering? maybe murder? (I guess he thinks it'd be nice to have a woman who can kill for you and defend your crimes in a court of law. That does sound useful in their situation)

Then he watched the Bride fight Francesca like some sort of underground girlfriend fighting ring, as if the larger and stronger girl would win ownership of our poor pathetic Dr Cain. Unfortunately Herbert's creation broke down to nothing when it removed its own heart to give it to Dan in the same exact gesture with which Herbert showed Dan the heart earlier.

Pure heterosexual coincidence, of course. There is absolutely nothing odd about Herbert's gift to Daniel being a grotesque amalgamation of everyone Dan loved instead of him and everything those people had to offer Dan, fueled by the pumping of Megan's heart (whom Herbert had hated and competed with), a heart both stolen and offered willingly, one both frozen and thawed, both beating and dead. There Dan stays, too close, yet too far. (am i reading into it- You Bet)

Yup. Pure coincidence. And also nothing suspicious about it being a creature created of such concentrated love, reverence, devotion, and bitter fear of rejection, that at the moment of being pushed away, it entirely self destructs because its only purpose was to love Dan and be loved by him. Its only purpose was to be perfect for Dan, to be enough for him, to be some action of Herberts blood sweat and tears that could ever be wanted by him. But of course Herbert doesn't understand Daniel - understand people - as well as he hoped too. Dan is horrified. No clearer rejection than that. If we see her as an extension of Herbert, it's obviously the last straw. Herbert truly did everything for Dan, not only was he still unlovable, but repulsive, an affront to... what have you; god, nature, some simple short-sighted ideal of what a human should be. Above that Dan could see the seams of the uncanny imitation of his past loves, and the love that laid beneath was too much for him. Too loud, too fast, too raw and bloody. So it dies. The heart is given, and thrown away.

What I'm trying to say is that shit was crazy. Herbert could have done a much more cut and dry baby trap. He could have reanimated some random kid, forcing Dan to stick around and protect it. That would have been its own special kind of fucked up and is probably a good fanfic prompt. But noooo, Herbert had to do the most psychosexual, convoluted, batshit, traumatizing, bloody, gory, and frankly unnecessary declaration of love that could be achieved by one little scientist with nothing to his name but a little green potion and every mental illness. I for one think it was a fantastic idea.

No tldr, ur just gonna have to match my freak on this one. Hope my mad ramblings made some sense. Peace and love

[copperbadge]

The UEFA European Championship, the "Euros", is a major soccer championship, with viewership second only to the World Cup. It's starting up this week and I decided to put a few bets on since a number of the Handsome Lads of AS Roma are playing in it along with my favorite Fire player, so I signed up with an online sports book that has a relatively user-friendly app.

(I can hear the "Sam, gambling can be super addictive" comments now and I agree but I promise you of my impulse control issues, gambling is not one of them. I am betting in $2 amounts for fun.)

One of the weird dualistic tensions of online gambling is that by law they have to do allllll this stuff to remind you that it can be addictive and help is available while also doing everything they can to suck you in deeper; social media has nothing on sports betting. There's a clock that tells you how long you've been in the app, which is meant to make sure you take breaks but is actually very stressful because I keep thinking it's timing me like I'm taking an exam; on the other hand it won't let you sort your bets by date so you can easily see what's coming next and then log off.

But I'm not here to talk about manipulative apps or betting or even footie. I'm here to talk about...

table tennis

Because one way they keep you on the site is to offer limited live streaming of sports you can bet on in real time and i miei amici, at the moment there is a table tennis championship tournament in progress.

It's like watching some kind of absurdist performance art unfold. You can see plenty of finals matches in nice venues with audiences and high res filming at YouTube, but what I am guessing are the prelims are played in a small rather dimly lit room with a single fixed camera at a distinctly "surveilling the inmates" angle. There's a game table, the two people playing, and a nearby desk where the referee sits. And then they play table tennis with the focused determination of military snipers.

This is a screenshot of what is actually a nicer video than the streams at the sports book (which doesn't let you screenshot) but you get the idea.

Don't get me wrong, I respect table tennis as a sport requiring skill and dedication I don't personally possess. It's not the ping pong of it all that gets me. It's the weird utilitarian grimness of the visual, like it's footage from a military experiment in a dystopian thriller film. It's what I imagine the filmed aesthetic of the Russian Sleep Experiment creepypasta would be.

I'm not betting on the games but I'm not gonna lie that I haven't watched a few matches. These men certainly come to win.

[phantoms-world-and-more]

An idea came to me reading a fic where Danny was a kryptonian. What if Amity Park instead of being a city in the USA on Earth was once a city on Krypton (in what would be a kryptonian version of early 21st century or at least about 100 years before the planet blew up). Basically almost everything that happened in cannon DP happened and everything is mostly the same but with a more alien then earth tone to it.

After Phantom Planet Danny's parents except him being part ghost, the government overturn the Ecto Acts, and he able to finish high school and goes on to college after which he is happily welcomed to for work for KASA (Krypton Aeronautics and Space Administration). He becomes an Astronautical engineer. Danny is in his early thirties when he is testing out a new experimental space ship engine for KASA. While doing a flight test Danny's ship losses signal and no one can find it (kind of what happened in the show Farscape).

100s of years go by Krypton explodes baby Kal-El is sent to Earth where he grows up to be Superman. The JL suddenly get a signal/warning about some alien tech on the edge of the solar system. They send one of the Green Lanterns to take a look, where they report a spaceship dead in space. They don't expect any life forms but surprise because of his ghost half Danny was in a sort of suspended animation. He is brought back and wakes up in the Watch Tower.

Just Random ideas...

Kryptonite is the crystalized form of ectoplasm because of this Danny is not effected by it.

Danny's kryptonian name is Daniel Fen-Ton

The phantom zone projector was originally called the Fen-Ton zone projector or is was based off a Fen-Ton gadget.

Years after Danny disappears Krypton starts turning on ghost again, so the town of Amity, which now has a symbiotic relationship with ghost, vote to pull the whole town into the Ghost Zone. So it is not blown up like the rest of the planet though Danny does not know this in the beginning.

Danny has an easier time learning to use Earth technology then he does the Kryptonian technology in Superman's Fortress.

Danny also has slightly easier time when getting the regular Kryptonian power set due to the yellow sun because he went through something similar when getting his ghost powers.

Danny adopts Connor almost immediately. Maybe during Danny's time there was laws about cloning and clone rights on Krypton. Also while Connor is not a replacement he sort of fills in the void of losing Ellie.

While Superman has no idea who Danny is, Kara/Supergirl has a faint idea because he was briefly mentioned in her Krytonian History class. Also she is happy to have someone who can natively speak the kyrptonian language even if it has older vocabulary. Don't get her wrong its great to speak it with Kal-El but he learned it later in life.

Holly char this is amazing!

How many people will have a stroke when they see Danny casually pick up a piece of kryptonite? Batman? His normal Kryptonian contingency plan won't work. Luthor? There's a version of superman IMMUNE to Kryptonite. Clark? What the hell do you mean you can touch kryptonite

I think after Danny explains everything about his past and species so many people are going to just...give up. Hahaha a stronger version of superman who isn't effected by kryptonite, goodbye world

Connor will be ecstatic, Danny will do ALL the dad stuff, teaching him their language, proper training, engineering lessons and you bet he's going to use jazz's psychiatrist stuff on this kid

Danny's probably going to get mega-depressed, all his hard work breaking the racism against ghosts only for that to come back a few years after he left? And he can't even fix it again because their world went bye-bye

Also- here me out

Co-pilot Valerie

[mdhwrites]

I'd like your thoughts on the segment of TOH fandom that attributes Luz' behavior to her having been bullied and ostracized in Gravesfield. Canonically there is nothing showing Luz being bullied or says that she was bullied in Gravesfield. Quite the contrary. Yesterday's Lie had Vee, who had been living as Luz for months, living a good life where she had made friends at camp and at school. She resented Luz' return and castigated her for not appreciating how good a life she had. The episode Thanks to Them had the guidance counselor ask Camila if she had been bullied in school to which Camila answered that she had. He then asked if she wanted Luz to struggle as she had. That question strongly suggests that Luz was not yet having any social difficulties beyond those of her own making and that sending her to camp would keep that from happening. When we see Luz back in Gravesfield HS she was having no difficulties dealing with other students and that some of her contacts with them were friendly and admiring.

So what are your thoughts on this insistence of certain fans that Luz had suffered this bullying and ostracization when the show itself not only doesn't support it but contradicts it?

Because it's necessary for Luz's character to function.

That's really all it comes down to. Luz is kind of monstrous if she has never actually known strife. She wants to be seen as the victim after all. She wants to be justified in abandoning her mom for her fantasies. For rejecting the consequences of assaulting people. Heck, that's still true in S3 where she needs to be able to claim that the human world would be some torturous hell hole for her so that her self martyring actually comes across correctly instead of someone going, "Oh, that sounds like a lot of work and might actually be dangerous so I'm just gonna stay home with my loving mom instead."

If her home life was good, was kind, was what we wish our home lives with a parent who will enable us to do whatever we want short of breaking the law... What the fuck is she doing? The audience insert, who goes entirely unquestioned in the show besides "Hey, you kind of messed up, go apologize," (which she doesn't do well all the time) is suddenly this whiny brat who wants to be enabled by literally every person in existence because she needs to be the most special person there. It's the antithesis of what people want "I just want to be understood!" to be about. She wants to be understood so you go "Oh, I get it, you keep being you," and never hold her accountable. Otherwise, she might not lie all the time because she might be willing to actually face the consequences of her actions.

It is a shift in Luz's character irreversible in its damage. You just cannot like the show in the same way when you have to admit that Luz is a self entitled little shit. And mind you, her normal archtype is of that sort. Danny Phantom and Randy Cunningham and even to some extent Kim Possible are all flawed teenage characters who are clearly growing. Who need to be better people so while they're protagonists, you're supposed to learn as much alongside them as from their example, if not more. You are meant to take from Luz by example though. She is meant to be the audience surrogate after all. And, you know, if she's unjustified in her actions... What does that say about you all of a sudden who connected so deeply with her?

That's all of why this can't vanish. I actually want to add onto your proofs though because people will go "What about her panicking during Knock Knock Knocking?" Yes, that is the ONE time we are ever given the idea for her being mocked for something and even that one... Well, she's worried about going too over the top. How much do we want to bet Luz came to school in her suit to ask the person she liked out like she was in some sort of soap opera? That's gonna get you reasonably laughed without a VERY specific sort of partner like Amity.

HOWEVER... That's the one time, a season and a half into the show, her actions imply someone who has been bullied. Otherwise, she is very confrontational, she does nothing to hide herself, she gives almost no shits about what anyone thinks about her besides "Fuck you, I am totally the greatest" everytime Eda doubts her. The closest before then is her worrying about Amity seeing her as lame but Amity is the only one she cares about for that. Even then, she never seems bothered by the fact that Amity is a bully. She is willing to stand up to her regardless. This is further reinforced by what she does with Boscha where she either just brushes her off during Once Upon a Swap or is entirely confident in confronting her in Winging it Like Witches. NONE of that is the behavior of someone who has been bullied, harassed and hurt by constant bullying. Add all the elements where she clearly could have found people like her but chose instead to chase more popular clubs like cheerleading and acting and it paints a REALLY bad picture of Luz.

It paints her as Liz Lemon from 30 Rock, or Goob from Meet the Robinsons. Both people who claimed the world hated them when the reality was that they were awful to reality, one being a bully and the other ignoring all signs of kindness and acceptance that was attempted to be given to him. This is far worse when you remember that Luz never appreciated her mom properly, like Goob, and also is genuinely an asshole to both King and Hooty for their interests, like Liz Lemon.

Luz is a bad person. But for the show to function, you cannot believe that. Once you do, it will only to start to collapse faster and faster as the contradictions pile on top of themselves.

So why not just twist the truth instead into the pleasant lie Luz is actually the archtype of the bullied nerd that the first episode tried to imply she was but then failed to ever deliver on? It's easier that way, even if it's dishonest. Luz wouldn't judge you for it, not so long as you didn't try to lie to her. Because all that matters in the end to Luz is Luz.

======+++++======

If the idea of a fact that's not well supported by the show being critical to a character functioning sounds familiar, it's because it's the same reason why people need Odalia to be pure evil. Both Amity and Luz need to use having been hurt by others to justify their own behaviors, even when their behaviors don't correlate in ways that actually support those excuses.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[outshinethestars]

Truth, Justice, and Politics (Tortall fic)

“So, Jon,” George said, appearing in Jon’s office, “About Kel’s convicts.”

“What convicts?”  Jon asked, his mind still more than half on the paperwork in front of him.

“Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan’s merry band of bandits and rogues that helped her save over a hundred children and possibly all of Tortall,” George said.

Jon blinked.  

“What about them?”

“You ought to pardon ‘em.”

Jon put down his pen.

“George,” he said tiredly, “Those men have committed everything from horse thievery to murder, I can’t just pardon them all on a whim.”

George grinned, “It’s nothing you haven’t pardoned before.”

At Jon’s look, George sighed and pulled up a chair so he could sit facing him.

“Look,” George said, “When you gave in to Wyldon about the probationary year-“

“What’s this got to do with pardoning criminals?”

“Just hear me out, Sire,” George said, “When you gave in to Wyldon, what were some of the unexpected consequences?”  George didn’t argue just for the sake of arguing, just to rub salt in the wound, the way Alanna or even Raoul sometimes would, Jon knew there would be a point to this question, so he gave it his due consideration, albeit grudgingly.

Zahir, Jon thought, he’d nearly lost Zahir over Keladry’s probation.

Zahir had fallen in with Joren’s group before Keladry of Mindelan was even a page, and as a good Bazhir he would have disapproved of her regardless.  But when Jon as The Voice had spoken to Zahir about his hazing, about the proper conduct of an honorable knight and man of the tribes, Zahir had asked him, “If you approve so much of Keladry of Mindelan, why did you give her a year of probation?”  Politics, Jon had explained.  “Well,”  Zahir had said, “It is for the sake of politics that I am friends with Joren of Stone Mountain.”  And there had been something ugly and bitter twisting beneath his words.

Zahir had turned right in the end, and Jon was proud to have been his knight master, but if he hadn’t… Jon didn’t want to think what might have happened had the Chamber rejected him.  So many Tortallans would have seen it as a clear sign that the gods disapproved of the Bazhir entering their society, that the Bazhir were inferior, no matter that Tortallan squires sometimes failed the ordeal too.   And it wasn’t just Zahir.

“The Bazhir,” Jon said,  “Many of them weren’t comfortable with it.  Most of them didn’t approve of my pronouncement to begin with, of course, but that was beside the point.  No one brought it up to me directly, but I felt what they were feeling, that that kind of tricky dealing, promising one thing and then adding conditions after the fact, was what they would expect from the King of Tortall, but not the Voice of the Tribes.  It didn’t break anyone’s trust in me, I don’t think, but it— it hurt us, just a little.   I didn’t even think about it in those terms.  I just meant it as a compromise, I have to compromise, all the time, and there’s nothing dishonorable in it I don’t think.  I was betting on Keladry to do as well as any boy, and on Wyldon to be too honorable to get rid of her despite it, and I was right.  But that doesn’t change the fact that it was exactly the same kind of underhanded, looked at from the right angle, as so many of the dealings Tortallan kings have had with the Bazhir.  My grandfather played exactly the same trick with the water rights in Persopolis, and I know why I did it, and I know why it was a wise choice, but I never wanted to be that sort of king, I owe it to the tribes to be better than my forefathers.”

“Exactly,” George said, “And it’s not just the Bazhir.  Common folk have learned to trust your word, that you’re not like other nobles who demand you follow their rules and their whims, all the time claiming they’re holding to their rights and the rule of law, drawing up contracts with fine print commoners can’t read.  That sort of trust is a powerful thing, and one instance of apparent rules-lawyering, of saying one thing and qualifying it later, won’t break it on its own, I imagine, but it does you no favors with ordinary people who don’t get to see the grand scope of your politicking and can’t have it explained to them.  I’m not saying this to claim you chose right or wrong, mind.  It’s not my job to play king of the realm and I’m glad of it.  But I just bring it up to point out you’ve this tendency to focus on the grand sweeping gestures, weighing things up logically like it’s a mathematics problem; x number of laws changed at the cost of y compromises, tryin’ to get your equations to balance in Tortall’s favor.  But you’ve got to remember that there’s more to society and change than just laws, or even who gets to be in the army or positions of power.  Things have a way of trickling upwards too, and individuals can sometimes matter a lot more than you expect.

So, returning to Kel’s convicts.  You’ve some good men there, I don’t know if they were good men or not before Kel got to them, but they are good men now, after following her to almost certain death to save the lives of children.  You’ve men now with considerable bravery and skill who are loyal to Kel, who’s loyal to the realm, which makes them all loyal to you, unless you screw up so badly the Lady Knight decides you’re a tyrant Tortall needs saving from.  I know what the law says, but those men are more use to you free than being worked to death in the quarries.”

“But pardoning them would look just as bad,” Jon said, “I can’t go back on my own laws whenever I choose.”

“I’m not saying to make an announcement of it.  They’re bound by your magic directly.  All you need to do is say the word and their free of it.”

”I can’t pardon them underhandedly.”

George laughed at that.

”Gods forbid you be underhanded Sire,” he said, “But it’s not as though I’m suggesting you do anythin’ dishonest or unjust.  You’ve the right to give pardon when you see just cause, and you do see it, don’t you?

”I do,” Jon confessed.

“Then pardon them.  There’s no law that says you need make a production of it.  But they’ll be free men, then, and you’ll know and they’ll know that you chose to free them.”

“As simple as that?” Jon asked.  But as he said it he realized that it was.  This was a kindness and a justice that he could perform, by opportunity and by right, and politics need not enter into it.

[xiaq]

AO3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Pt. 3 I combined the prompts: Outsider POV, Steve Harrington is an Idiot (affectionate), Everyone is Queer Because I Said So, and @c0olness's hyper-specific Wayne's Boyfriend Owns a Gay Bar in Indianapolis and Introduces Steve to a Drag Queen. :)

Angel Reyes has loved Wayne Munson about as long as he’s loved himself. The timing is not coincidental.

Which is why he’s willing to wait for him, even when Angel’s patience is worn thin like the shirt he stole from Wayne three years ago and wears like a prayer to bed.

Some nights, when Wayne calls at the end of his shift and Angel is wiping down his own bar at closing, he’s tempted to say: we might not have much time left—shouldn’t we spend what we do have together?

But he doesn’t.

Because he already knows the answer.

Because the same reason he fell in love with Wayne is the reason Wayne won’t move to Indy. The man is loyal to a fault and when he gives himself to people he gives all of himself and there’s no force in the world that would convince Wayne to leave Hawkins if he thought Eddie still needed him there. Because Wayne loves Angel. But Wayne loved Eddie first. And Angel can hardly begrudge him of that.

So he repeats a well-worn mantra, only slightly comforting: not today, but someday. And he hangs up the phone and he checks the calendar and he looks forward to the time he is allowed. If there’s one thing he learned over the years, it’s that he can’t get greedy when he already has a good thing.

Wayne is worth the quiet agony of patience.

So when he’s locking up for the night and the phone rings, he expects the conversation to take a familiar path. 

“Evening, handsome,” he says, canting his hip against the counter. “You tell him yet?”

It’s been his standard greeting for close to a year. Why the man won’t just tell his gay nephew that he is, conveniently, also gay, is beyond Angel. But then, listening has always been Wayne’s strong suit. Talking, not so much.

“Well,” Wayne says. And that’s new.

“Well?”

“I did, actually. After I walked in on him and Steve kissin’ last night—“

“Finally!” Angel crows. The saga of Eddie and Steve and their will-they-won’t-they relationship had quickly surpassed even his favorite telenovela’s dramatic storylines. The pretty jock with hidden depths and the nerdy metalhead falling in love? Hospital vigils? Protracted pining while sharing a bed? Impeccable. 

“They’re together now,” Wayne finishes.

“Darling,” Angel says, not for the first time, “I’d like to remind you that you are not paying per word for this call.”

Wayne huffs at him, also not for the first time.

“Steve didn’t know liking both boys and girls meant he was bisexual. He thought there was some sort of…threshold he needed to pass to be queer enough to date a man. I suppose Robin set him straight––or, not so straight as the case may be––” he chuckles a little at his own joke, “And he came over to declare his love as soon as his shift ended.”

Angel takes a moment to digest that. “...Maybe they use Eddie as the sperm donor if they want kids,”  he suggests.

“Ease up, it’s not like they teach this shit in school. Bet I’d been a lot more confused too if I had the luxury of liking both.”

“Alright, I won’t pick on your future son-in-law, promise.”

“ Speaking of school,” Wayne says, sidestepping his implication. “Eddie got his diploma in the mail yesterday.”

“You going to do something to celebrate?”

“Actually, we thought we’d take a trip to Indy this weekend.”

Angel twists the phone’s cord around his finger. “…you’re supposed to come next weekend.”

“So you’d have to see me two weeks in a row, if you can bear it.”

“A trial, to be sure. When you say…” he pauses, trying to figure out how to clarify without breaking his own heart. “When you come this weekend. Would you want us—would you want me. To meet them?”

He closes his eyes and bangs a fist against his forehead because that is not the safe way to ask that question. 

“It'd be pretty weird if they didn’t meet the person hosting them.”

“Oh, I see. You’re just using me for my five star accommodations,” he says, because he’s apparently determined to dig his own grave.

“No. Wayne says, “those are nice. But mostly I just want to introduce them to my boyfriend.”

“Ah.”

“And saying shit like that makes me think you’re trying to compete with Steve in the stupid Olympics.”

Angel makes an outraged noise but Wayne talks over him which is unique enough an occurrence that Angel lets him get away with it.

“See,” Wayne says. “The boys have decided they don’t want to stay in Hawkins long-term. They figure they’ll stay another year. Save some money. Make sure the kids are settled. And then Eddie’s set on New York or California and I think Steve’s just set on Eddie, wherever he is. I thought we could at least make a case for Indy, though. ‘Cause if Eddie isn’t staying in Hawkins, I’ve got no reason to.”

“Ah,” Angel says again. “And you don’t have any interest in New York or California?”

“I sure don’t,” Wayne says levelly.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’ll mop the floors and clean the windows. Give them the best showing I can. Should we plan to take them to one of the…heavier… music venues? I can probably have Frank cover for me, I’d just need to ask him now.”

“Nah. I figure I’ll help you out Saturday night and let them explore on their own. Eddie’s already making a list of options. But Friday is drag night at your place, right?”

“It is.”

“We should start them with that, I think.”

Angel grins. “Their debut in queer society shall be heralded by Dolly Parton and glitter.”

“Mm.” 

Angel is familiar enough with Wayne’s thoughtful noises to know that he’s smiling.

“Enough about my boys,” Wayne says. “Tell me about your day.”

Angel does.

When Angel hangs up ten minutes later, for once, he’s grinning. He thinks, as usual, not today but someday. Only ‘someday’ suddenly feels tangible in a way it never has before.

***

Eddie Munson is exactly what Angel expected him to be when he comes tumbling out the driver’s side door of the van parked half on Angel’s driveway and half on his lawn. Angel has been hearing about him through the rosy lens of Wayne’s affection for close to five years and as a result, Angel loves him immediately upon first sight. 

Then again, he’d be difficult not to love. Eddie is a bright, frenetic, presence, all hair and chains and affected airs, who shares Wayne's smile, though he dispenses smiles much more freely than his uncle. He is unashamedly himself as he shakes Angel’s hand, tells his uncle he approves, and then asks for a tour of the house.

Steve Harrington is somehow simultaneously exactly and nothing like Angel expected.

Exactly, because he looks the part: a cropped Hawkins Varsity Basketball sweatshirt, tiny athletic shorts, and the well-built frame of someone who regularly works out. His hair is verging on ridiculous. His face is…well-suited to the body, he’ll say.

But the kid also has a hyper-awareness to him, a quick-eyed, assessing, vigilant posture, that Angel has only ever seen in war vets twice the kid’s age. He puts his back to a room’s farthest corner. He keeps doorways in sight. And he constantly, constantly, orbits Eddie like the world's most unsubtle protective detail. 

There are also the scars. Terrible, still-healing, scars. On one exposed thigh, the side of his neck, and his right forearm. On the slice of skin between his waistband and the frayed cut-off hem of his sweater. He wears them unapologetically, with the composure of someone who is neither proud nor embarrassed by them.  

Angel suspects, only a few minutes into their first meeting, that Eddie may have similar scars beneath his torn jeans and bleach-speckled band shirt. One of his arms has some sort of medical sleeve on it—the pale fabric covered in black bleed-fuzzy Sharpie drawings of bats. Angel considers the mangled half-moon-shaped lines decorating Steve’s thigh. Unless earthquakes have suddenly developed teeth, Wayne has clearly been editing his stories. 

But despite their significant aesthetic differences, the two boys are well-suited, if painfully young and unpracticed in the art of subtlety. They touch each other constantly; unthinkingly. Hands. Hips. Shoulders. Elbows. And the way they look at each other—well. They’ll need to work on that if they don’t want to accumulate more scars. Granted, they hardly have to hide their relationship in the sanctuary of his home, but he gets the feeling they don’t know how to be any other way with each other. 

It’s both sweet and more than a little heartbreaking.

“So,” he says, “ I need to get back to the bar before the opening act at 8. It’s drag night.”

“Robin is going to be furious she didn’t come,” Steve says.

“We’ll bring her next time,” Eddie says. 

They go.

***

Angel’s bar is called Innuendo. 

He can’t take credit for the name, but he can take credit for the atmosphere. It’d been a dark, sticky, hole-in-the-wall when he started working there at 21. When he’d bought it from the former owner a decade later, he’d cleaned it up, regulated the jukebox hours, and started live music, drag, and deejay nights. A few years after that, in 1984, when the mayor issued a proclamation declaring the new city policy to no longer discriminate against queers, he’d taken the boards down from all the windows. 

It’s still dark in the back where the stage and dance floor are tucked away, but the front windows with a clear view of the street are big and unashamed. He keeps the windows clean.

There’s a copy of the proclamation framed above them, along with pictures of Angel and noteworthy patrons of the establishment over the years: Wakefield Poole; Tom Higgins; Bayard Rustin; Freddie Mercury, and Jim Hutton. 

A lot has changed in the last two decades that he’s worked there, but some things, like the old oak-wood bar where all the pictures were taken, stay the same.

He brings Wayne and the boys in through the back to scattered shouts of hello from regulars. He and Wayne slide behind the bar to start helping Frank, and the boys sit on stools with wide eyes.

It’s nice, to see the place from their perspective. The magic of it is never lost on him, but sometimes he does forget exactly how magic it is: a bar that looks like most other bars but where men look and touch and kiss without concern, where there’s art and magazines and conversations that wouldn’t be permitted by common society a scant few feet outside the door.

After fifteen minutes, they get brave enough to explore—admiring the posters on the opposite wall: Bijou and Boys in the Sand; Passing Strangers, Forbidden Letters, and A Night at the Adonis.

They play a round of darts near the front windows, the boards covered in shitty black-and-white copies of Anita Bryant’s face.

They sit at a table near the stage when the show starts. They pull their chairs together. They hold hands on the tabletop. They laugh and shout and sing along and kiss when invited.

After, when they’re back at the bar, flushed with alcohol and the subtle worldview shift that Angel remembers well from his first visit to a gay bar, a few of the queens come over to introduce themselves. Leslie, currently in her Cher era, steps up to the bar, accepts her drink from Wayne with a wink, and gives Steve a clear once-over.

“Aren't you out a little late for a school night, baby?" she says in her customary baritone.

“Uh, no ma’am. I graduated last year. Sorry. Sir?”

"Sugar, do I look like a ‘sir’ to you?"

“Take it easy on him, Les,” Angel calls. “He’s new.”

“No kidding.” She purses her lips at him. “Ma’am is fine unless you meet me on the street. But here I’d prefer ‘honey. Or ‘darling.”

Steve swallows. “I promised I’d reserve pet names for my boyfriend. So. I’ll stick with Ma’am.”

“Well aren’t you a charmer. And where is this boyfriend?”

“Hi,” Eddie says.

She gives him an equally critical once-over.

“Do you know what that color bandana means in that pocket?”

Eddie glances down at his back left pocket; at the black bandana hanging against his thigh.

“Ah...that I’m into S&M but that I like to be the  submission one? Like the one getting tied up?”

“You what?” Steve says.

Angel notices that Wayne has made a hasty exit to the bathroom, which is probably for the best.

“Oh my sweet summer child,” Leslie says, “it means the opposite on that side, so maybe switch pockets.” She considers Steve’s pink face. “And also maybe talk to your boyfriend. The whole point of flagging is to find someone to meet your needs and you've got a pretty one right here who seems like he’s awfully willing.”

Steve pulls the bandana out of Eddie’s pocket and, using his teeth, tidily rips it into two. He tucks one half in Eddie’s right back pocket. He tucks the other in his left. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow like he's expecting Eddie to argue. Eddie does not argue. Eddie doesn't do much of anything except stare at him with wide, hungry eyes.

“Well,” Leslie says, sounding pleased, “My work here is done. Honestly, kids these days.”

She gives Steve a little pat on the shoulder as she pushes back into the crowd. “I’d dance while you have the chance, boys. Life is short and sometimes so is love. Capitalize on that shit!”

“Do you want to dance?” Steve asks.

Eddie is still watching Leslie with a bemused smile. “I don’t know how to dance to this music.”

“Well I won’t know how to dance to yours tomorrow, but I’m planning to let you show me.”

“Fair enough, King Steve." Eddie affects a curtsy, offering Steve his hand. “I suppose I can allow you to take me for a turn about the dance floor, good sir.”

Steve bows low over Eddie’s hand, pressing his lips to his knuckles, looking up at him with a grin. “An honor,” he says solemnly, and then drags Eddie, laughing, into the throng of moving bodies.

***

The next morning, Angel wakes up early for no reason he can determine. He’s not good at sitting idle, and he doesn’t want his fidgeting to wake Wayne, so he elects to take his book to the garden. Only, as he slips into the hall, careful with the door behind him, he can hear the quiet, indistinct lull of voices in the kitchen.

Angel moves down the hall on sock feet, avoiding the creaky bit of flooring where the original foundation meets the master addition he added four years back. 

The boys have opened the double doors to the patio and Steve is leaning against the jam on one side, coffee cup in hand, looking out at the garden. He’s shirtless, wearing only the shorts from the day before. Warm, tree-diluted, sunrise rays cast him in sepia, making the scars that traverse his flank to his thigh look less gruesome and more artistic. Poetic. He knows more than one photographer who would kill for a shot like this. Something about the coexistence of beauty and pain. Something about a commentary on perceptions of strength; the allure of imperfection resulting from battles survived.

Eddie joins Steve, sliding under his open arm like a habit, dragging a hand down Steve’s side to cup the puckered line of recently-stitched skin at Steve’s hip. 

Eddie is also shirtless—wearing jeans and a riot of bed head that Steve presses his face into, murmuring something low and clearly funny by the stifled laughter it produces. 

Angel wasn't wrong with his initial assumption: Eddie’s back is littered with shallow scars as well, but he also has a fair amount of tattoos, which makes the other marks less incongruous. There’s something about Steve’s otherwise flawless skin and sculpted muscles that make his injuries feel more visceral.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks until Steve suddenly looks behind him, like he has a preternatural awareness that he’s being watched.

“Oh,” he says, “Good morning.”

Both boys turn to face him. 

And Angel realizes that Steve’s injuries pale in comparison to Eddie’s.

Because Eddie’s chest and belly is a brutal mess of scar tissue.

It looks like something tried to gut him.

It looks like whatever it was probably succeeded.

He knows he’s staring but he can’t seem to stop himself until Steve slides a proprietary hand over the worst of it, spread fingers against what has to still be an agony of healing skin.

He meets Angel's eyes and all but dares him to say anything.

“I think,” Angel says, turning abruptly to enter the kitchen, “the occasion calls for french toast. Thoughts?”

“The occasion?” Eddie asks.

His hand covers Steve’s and presses, not a dismissal but an invitation to linger. 

“Your diploma,” Angel says, “Steve’s first time making a fool of himself in front of a drag queen. Whatever excuse is sufficient for the making of said french toast.”

“See, we’re sort of trying out this new thing lately,” Eddie murmurs, looking at Steve, “where we don’t need excuses for things that make us happy.”

“No guilt in our pleasures,” Steve agrees, voice soft, expression reverent. He tucks an errant curl behind Eddie’s ear.

Angel resists the urge to sigh at them. Instead, he toasts them with a carton of eggs. “French toast for the pleasure of french toast, then. You two go sit on the bench in the garden. The sun should be hitting it right about now and that is surely a pleasurable experience. I’ll let you know when breakfast is ready.”

Steve meets his eyes again, this time less challenging, more thankful. 

His hand slides from Eddie’s belly to the small of his back, pushing him out onto the patio.

“That sounds nice,” he says.

And they go.

When Wayne shuffles out to join Angel at the stove ten minutes later, the bread is sizzling in the skillet. 

They take their time washing the egg bowl and whisk in the sink, elbow to elbow, two men sharing space for a one-man job.

They lean into each other, considering Eddie and Steve, similarly leaned into each other, on the bench under the oak tree outside.

“You think I should talk to them?” Wayne murmurs. “About the way they look at each other. And touch each other. And how they need to cut that shit out if they’re in public?”

“Probably,” Angel sighs. “But not today.”

“No,” Wayne agrees after a moment of silence. He presses a kiss to Angel’s temple. “Not today.”

Pt. 4 (Will's POV)

[threepandas]

Bird4Bird Part 2: Yandere Hawks

(Experimenting with tenses n povs, bear with me, will post the whole thing together in the one I/you guys like best, once it's done.)

His patrol is the exact sort of boring that he both hates and loves. On one hand? More time for flying. Freedom from the office. The watching eyes of... everybody, really. But on the OTHER hand? Boooooored. SO bored!

He's not MADE for bored!

Not that there WEREN'T distraction from said boredom below him. There definitely WERE. God, so SO many. Shiny, fascinating, fast moving distractions. ALL sorts of things to pick apart and hunt down. Rip apart and eat. And fans. So, SO many fans.

Noise and life and stimulus. Calculations and social masks.

He bet he could find a kitten in a tree somewhere.

There had to be at least ONE, rig-?

An explosion catches the corner of his eye. He snaps around, mid air, changing trajectory. Thank FUCK! Excitement fizzing even as cool attention calms him. Warm sunlight heating his back, the smell of smoke already starting to reach him, the rush of wind flying past? Is there anything better?

His eyes take in the scene as he arrives.

Botched takedown. Heavily armed combatant. Panicked crowd. He's already send feathers forward when? The combatant panics, seeing him arrive. Throws everything he has indiscriminately. Probably hoping to overwhelm him. Ha! Cute. Pointless, though.

He's already dragging civilians out of the way, when?

Children's voices. High and panicked. Screaming. The combatant had one last bomb. Is trying to run. Probably thinks he'll have to choose, as though he can't be-...

Wings...

Magnificent, powerful, WINGS. Massive and sweeping. Every feather an unbreakable shield. Catching the light, past smoke and fires, white and a brown so dark it bordered on black or grey. The patterns of a harpy eagle...

A mesmerizing golden sheen, almost impossible for anyone but those with enhanced eyes to pick up, surged from the base of them. Like the spread of smooth ink across paper, the slide of silk against skin. A glint covering those magnificent wings in GOLD.

Quirk?

No. No, concentrate. His Feather grabs the bomb from the air and flings it upwards. To explode harmlessly in open air. He catches the menace blindly behind him. Honestly, he's done far harder with far less. He can't look away.

Even as those wings, still domed up, shuffle to safety. Move ever so gently, like a grand reveal, to release a veritable HOARD of roughed up kids. Some of whom are still clinging to their savior for dear life. Snot and tears everywhere. They bear it with surprising grace.

They're... they're HUGE~

Not a Heros build, but..? Just STANDING there they look like a threat. They clearly can't help it. Clearly have made efforts to NOT look like one. Have tracked down the cutesiest Hero Merch available to slap on their body, like might help.

It's like looking staring down a pissed off alligator in a princess tiara. There WAS An Effort! He'll give her that!

His face threatens to break out into a VERY un-PR friendly, mean little snicker. It's... God it's so FUCKIN CUTE~. She's so big. Trying to make herself so non-threatening. It's never gonna work. Any PR team worth their pay would tell her to just give up and pick a different gimmick. But... but God, those WINGS!

He HAS to know her flight speed.

So he waves off the complaining newbies he wasn't actually listening too, makes appropriate noises to the appropriate people as he passes. And makes his way over. As he get closer? Oh~?

What a SUPRISE. She's getting ripped into by local law enforcement. Which, fair, she DID use her Quirk. But that's not what HE'S talking about. He didn't even see it. He's talking about her WINGS.

Well, well, well. He KNOWS he didn't just hear local law enforcement threaten JAIL TIME over a MUTATION, did he? That's an abuse of power! He can arrest YOU for that, officer~. He decides to cut in.

"Problem, officer?" He chirps.

His hand going to his new friends shoulder in solidarity. The officer jerks to attention. But the living STEEL under his hand? Jerks violently. She jumps. It's only years of training and the warning he got from his hand physically touching her shoulder, feeling her muscles start to move, that saves him a concussion.

The wing closest to him slams out like a battering ram, flicking into an extension just to force him back further. She spins to face him. Eyes locked on, teeth unknowingly bared. And... oh. Oh~!

She has a HARPY Quirk~

Cute like fangs that can probably rip through bone, eyes like his, TALONS that dip the tips of her fingers in a black so deep and glossy, ink masters would weep in envy. And the muscles. Far beyond an athlete. Not quite a top 50 hero, but better then most hero students by far. Not balanced for fighting though, those are PURELY wing and exercise muscles.

And the longer he openly assesses? The more of her teeth are bared. The bigger her wings fluff up. The more her hands spread into clawed, furious, weapons. Ready to swing at his head. Her eyes slowly lighting with aggravation and confrontational aggression.

He used to get like this too. HATED being stared at. He got it trained out of him.

He... he can't help it.

It's too cute. She's SO MAD. He knows he shouldn't. He's supposed to be a top 5 hero. The commission's golden boy. Everyone's watching. Always IS. He needs to behave himself, remember his PR training.

Don't. Do. The Thing...

He reaches out and tugs a feather. She has a mean right hook.

He gets yeeeeeelled at. Sad face. His handlers want to throw the book at her. For once, he puts his foot down. Absolutely Not. HE started that fight. HE'S the one who should have known better. He doesn't CARE if her records show she's a "trouble maker"! (That's a lie. He's CURIOUS now~. Oooooh~ What did you DO, lil harpy? Vengeance? Justice? Speeding ticket?)

They let it go.

He? He does NOT. He knows he should. This is a Bad Habit of his. No, WAS. It WAS a Bad Habit. He's BETTER then this now. There were trainers. Psychological exams. Drugs. All FIXED now! Promise! See? Doesn't even have that Endeavor collection he used to keep.

TOTALLY forgot how they tore it away from him. Destroyed it. Ha ha! He barely even REMEMBERS the EXACT Face, Name, Current Location, and Home Address of every single individual involved in THAT little incident! He's let it GO! Forgot about it, really. Yeeeep, the panic and rage DEFINITELY don't keep him up at night. The helplessness. As they took what was HIS-!!

Deeeep inhale. Exhale. Remember to smile!

So, yeah.

Where was he? Right! His Bad Habit That He DOES NOT HAVE ANYMORE. Because he's FIXED now. All better! He's just... taking responsibility, you know? Wants the chance to keep messing with her. Maybe see if he can get a glorious creature like that her very own flyers license.

Cause, DAMN. Wings like THOSE should be airborne.

God he wants to race her so bad.

Luckily~ he's hired the BEST lawyers. (Love you Tadashi~ say hi to your boo~) and the Judge? A big Fan! Yay, FAVORS! (Guess where YOUR going, little hunter? Run but you can't hiiiiide~) She? Looks SO unimpressed to see him? It's GREAT.

She's even WORSE in a suit. It's hilarious.

Maybe it's just THAT suit. God it's so frumpy. What, did she find it in the "generics weekly" catalog? She should wear armor. Ooooh, a flight suit! Something form fitting and sleeveless to show off them GUNS. Never thought HE'D get to be the one who feels dainty in a relationship, but...

Ah. Wait.

Gotta HAVE a relationship, first...

Unfortunately? Tall, buff, and gorgeous is so pissed to BE here? It's unlikely she'll notice any subtle flirtations....

He's not sure what his face is doing, but the expression is enough to make her HISS, wings mantling in a threat display.

Oh, yeah. Oh this is gonna be FUN~♡

[allmyocsarebritish]

stares at you with sad wet pathetic dog eyes

I've been dwelling on this for an oc but !! vox x reader where the reader is some sort of water creature/being and just 😈 ugh them being so gentle with each other but like little jokey threats from reader

unlikely lovers and just *screams into pillow* I love vox

- not Renée 🧡

Unlikely lovers

Vox X water based reader

Warnings(?): reader controls water, with demonic form of a siren, soft Vox, Vox overworking himself

Hi *not* Renée, I really really hope I did your idea justice, it was so fun to write and I love ittt!!

Electronics and water didn't mix. Exposure to liquids damaged appliances, sending them overloading in an electric surge and sparks flying. It was a well known fact, but, in accordance with the laws of attraction, opposite charges are always drawn towards eachother.

Vox should have been more careful, knowing that you were destined to destroy him. But he wasn't, and now here you were, corrupting his system and turning him soft. The audacity you had to just waltz in and short circuit his brain, (? Monitor?) permanently implanting yourself in his kingdom of bits and bytes was unmatched. And the worst part was how much he enjoyed it.

For as long as Vox could remember, his status, image and reputation had undeniably been the forefront of his life, though it had become clear that you were toppling this. And, though he remained in denial about how extreme his affection was for you, it was clear to everyone who knew him. The other Vees, his workers, yourself, even if sometimes you did feel second best.

Vox was rather obsessive, allowing work to consume all of his waking hours, and though you knew that wasn't something you could change, you remained present throughout his long days.

Despite the long hours that had passed, Vox still showed no signs of putting his paperwork to the side. Your patience began to wear thin as he picked up yet another 'essential' phone call, and you became rather restless. As impressive as the corporate empire he had built himself was, the business was taking its toll, turning Vox into the living embodiment of stress. It was more than concerning, and as much as he tried to convince you he was not working too hard, you knew he had limits.

The sound of the phone call ending roused you from your thoughts, and you watched as his charismatic business persona began to crack.

"When are you going to take a break?" You complained from a chair in the back of his office.

"Just a second, dollface. I'm nearly done, I promise." Vox responded, not even sparing you a glance away from his excessive amount of screens.

"You were 'nearly done' over an hour ago." you rolled your eyes, slumping in your chair, staring at the back of his TV."Vox, I swear if you don't pay attention to me I *will* waterboard you."

You perked up at the realisation that your (mostly) empty threat caught his curiosity. He spun around to face you in his swivel chair, eyes narrowing slightly.

"You wouldn't." He spoke rather quietly, tone accusatory.

A mischievous smirk played on your lips as you sat up straighter, raising an eyebrow. Taking great care as to *not* splash your techy boyfriend, water droplets flung across the room from your fingertips, dampening the floor.

"Want to bet?"

Vox sighed and shook his head, getting up slowly and making his way over to you, barely suppressing the smile that made its way across his screen. You offered him your own, opening your arms for him to sink into. As soon as he complied, Vox felt the stress of the day begin to ebb and fade, melted by your anchoring presence. And though he was much too stubborn and prideful to admit it, your determination in forcing him to take breaks from his overpowering workload was comforting and much needed.

"Was that so hard?" You teased, hand gently drawing circles over Vox's arm. He rolled his eyes, though his soft smile betrayed the sarcastic act.

"Yes, unbearably." He rested his TV on your shoulder, feigning exhaustion from the effort of stepping away. You snorted a laugh and he brightened, allowing you to rest against him. You playfully, and gently, flicked his antenna, watching as it bounced back and forth before stilling. He gave you a look, taking your hand in his own, softly caressing it with clawed fingers, before raising your knuckles to his screen and pressing a kiss to them.

"What a gentleman." You joked, to which he shook his head, still smiling.

"Anything for you, sweetheart." He responded, sarcasm dripping from his voice to mask the genuine statement.

"Don't get soft."

"Wouldn't dream of it, darling."

Who would have guessed that the technology overlord could be so smitten for a water demon? It was inevitable that you would be his weakness, though what was unforseen was the fact it was in the best way imaginable. The other overlords may see his infatuation with you as a downfall and a failure on Vox's behalf, it was his strongest quality. You gave him a tolerance to water, hence the electronic sharks residing in his mansion. As unlikely as your love was, you were utterly enthralled with eachother.

Around you Vox held no real weakness, you were his strength, his partner, and all that really mattered in his afterlife.

[quintessenceofdust88]

Wip Wednesday

Alright I was tagged by a looot of people for this one hehe @bidisasterevankinard @typicalopposite @laundryandtaxesworld @unhingedangstaddict thank you darlings ♥ So here's the beginning of Tommy's scene of Flaming Delights (a.k.a my Hallmark Christmas AU): (TW for death but they're OC's and the death is off-screen, but there's depiction of grief)

Tommy felt like shit. And the fact he had flown a helicopter from the middle of the Amazonian forest to the nearest airport for three hours, and then had been stuck on an airplane for another eight, and then on a car for another two, had little to do with it.

He felt like shit from being in his brother’s house, a house he hasn’t visited since Angelica was three years old. Tommy could feel Andrew and Lizzie’s presence in every nook and creak of the place, and the beautiful framed portraits on the walls and fireplace made his heart feel like it was being stabbed. 

And then, of course, there was the starkest reminder: Angelica, who had looked up at him with sad and hopeful eyes, so similar to his dad’s, before asking if she could go to her bedroom because she missed the toys she hadn’t taken to Jee-Yun’s place and wanted to say hi to them. Tommy desperately wanted to do right by his niece, but he’d be lying if he said he had any idea on how to go about it.

He had done his best not to be an absent uncle, even if it was through FaceTime and presents sent from South America (he must have sent at least three capybara plushies to her over the years, and Tommy can see one of them in the living room’s couch). But being an uncle and being a guardian were two very different things, and Tommy had never, not in a million years, imagined himself in the second position. He had never imagined losing Andrew this young. 

“Hey, man, are you sure you don’t need some time? I can totally take Angie back to ours…” The kind voice of the short man (Tommy’s pretty sure he introduced himself as Howard) who had brought Angelica to him made Tommy wake from his dark thoughts. He was looking at him as if he was sort of expecting Tommy to break down in sobs or tears or something. 

But Tommy wouldn’t do that; he never showed emotions in front of strangers (he never showed emotions in front of people he knows either, but that’s not the point). He soldiered on, as taught from a very young age. Taking a deep sigh, Tommy shook his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Thank you, but I’ll manage. It’s… it’s what Andy and Lizzie would have wanted. But I’m truly grateful that you and your wife took care of her so far. She seems well as she can be, given the circumstances.” Tommy said, as kindly as he could; he did appreciate how these people had stood up for his niece when he couldn't, and he knew how much this community meant for his brother and sister-in-law. 

Lizzie had said more than once that, whenever Tommy decided to settle down, Flaming Pine would be a wonderful choice, and that they’d be delighted to help him find a place. He’d bet anything that wasn’t at all what they had in mind.

“Hey, you have nothing to thank us for”, Howard told him, patting his arm. “Lizzie was Maddie’s best friend; Jee and Angie are growing up together. She’s family, you can count on us for whatever you need”

The offer made Tommy uncomfortable; he knew it shouldn’t, that it was genuine, but it was such a far cry from the world he was used to. In the army, there was camaraderie, but not a lot of kindness. And his work as a wildlife rescue pilot was filled with much loneliness; a tight-knit community like this one just heightened his sense of isolation, but Tommy couldn’t think of any alternative. He wouldn’t uproot Angie’s life, not after his niece had just become an orphan. 

Before he could think of an honest answer that didn’t sound ungrateful, though, there was a soft knock on the door. He frowned, hoping to God it weren’t well-meaning neighbors wishing to express their condolences. He wouldn’t deserve them; if anything, Tommy should be the one offering his condolences to these people who were much more present in his brother’s life than Tommy himself. 

He opened the door warily, just to find a petite woman with spiky brown hair with the kindest brown eyes on the other side. One of her hands was firmly wrapped the smaller hand of a small girl who looked around Angelica’s age, and the other was holding a quite impressive gift basket. It was the girl’s resemblance to the man inside that clued Tommy in to their identities. 

“Hi”, the woman says, and her voice is soft, just like the rest of her. Tommy liked her instantly, something rare for him. “You must be Tommy; I’m Maddie, and this is Jee-Yun. I am so sorry for your loss”

And, wow. The way she said it didn’t make guilt flutter in his chest. He nodded with a small smile, stepping away from the door for them to come in (he may have spent most of the last years in different jungles, but he still had his manners). 

“Thank you. Won’t you come in? I bet Angelica will be thrilled to show her toys to Jee-Yun”

Np tagging @weewookinard @actuallyitsellie @littlepaws9 @30somethingautisticteacher and whoever else wants to join in ♥

[invinciblerodent]

how do property laws work in Faerûn

no really, legally speaking, how can Rolan just take over Ramazith's tower? because on paper, all that happened is that adventurers waltzed into a home, killed the owner, and then... the apprentice, whose name -let's face it- is probably not on any sort of paperwork whatsoever, decided that he just owns the building and the land now? in the Upper City, the rich-tits district of Baldur's Gate where all the patriars live?

how do wizard apprenticeships even work. is it like regular employment, an unpaid internship, or Some Guy just hangs out in your home until you decide they've learned enough. was Lorroakan just being an asshole, or actually breaking Fantasy Labor Laws.

or is it just wizard laws. are wizard laws not like regular laws. do you just get anything your opponent owns if you best them in a wizard-duel. can (should????) you bring backup to a wizard-duel, or is it considered bad form to use help that's not your apprentice or someone you summoned yourself. is it illegal, or just a bit of a dick move to bring a ticked off aasimar AND a wizard that's a higher level than yourself as backup.

I have so many questions and no answers whatsoever, but I bet there will be a slightly uncomfortable conversation about this among the rebuilt council that ends with "do you actually, honestly miss Lorroakan enough to try and figure this out, or can we just fucking drop it and be glad he's dead"

[punkishtoxtricity]

hi hi! what are some of your tigerbear and sweet tooth in general headcanons?

(they have fully and officially infested my brain, yay!!)

i was actually just about to type these out so this ask is well timed

-Tiger is very big on 2000s emo. she LOVES paramore. Bear is the one who helped dye their hair orange(after hayley williams duh)

-Tiger is also very big on classic punk and riot grrl(i’m not projecting i swear) because it was very much the easiest music to get a hold of after the crumble (in the early day of the army them and Bear would go out to rob cd stores and she’d always steal a couple cds)

-Bear is very big on folk music. she’s also a classic emo girly. she LOVES american football and modern baseball.

-after long days they listen to music together and just kinda lay in their room. the other army members find it curious how they’re really the only ones to share a room

-Tiger first dyed their hair when she was 10. Bear helped her. the dye job was very shoddy but they loved it

-Tiger is nonbinary! they sort of came out as a kid when she first met Bear but later down the line they finally had a word for it so she explained it better. Tiger was her original chosen name(might give her a diff one in the fic later on idk)

-Bear has a very weird relationship with gender. i think she’s genderqueer but basically the “i’m nonbinary but i have a job rn so idrc)

-they’re both butch lesbians. i don’t make the rules

-Bears love language is secretly touch. she pretends it’s acts of service but Tiger knows better and tries to make a decent amount of physical contact with her

-Tigers love language is quality time. they enjoy extended periods of time with Bear but are very much too anxious to ask her to hang out more after the crush manifests

-a lot of Tigers anxiety manifests itself as anger. that’s why she’s like that in season 1.

-in the time they spent witj the hybrids while waiting for everyone to come back from alaska, Finn quickly became her favorite. they’re both a bit mischievous and she sees herself in him

-Wendy finds Tiger and Bears dancing around the idea of a relationship amusing. i think there’d be a point where her and Bear are just sitting on the porch and she’s like “i’d be fine with having a sibling in law y’know”

-i also think she’d have a talk with Tiger and be like “i think you’re good for her and you’ve got history. you helped her find me so you’re alright”

-Tiger is surprised by the accusation of crushing on Bear(she’s not)

-all of the hybrids LOVE Tiger. she does teach all of them the best swears. at some point they get back to the army headquarters and gets her computer back, once they research swears in sign all hell breaks lose

-the wolf boys visit regularly. they eventually learn very basic english but they can’t articulate well so they stick to sign

-the wolf boys are also very sweet with the rest of the hybrids! they especially love Finn since they’re all canines

-i feel like all the hybrids are bi. like how some animals are naturally just bi. i think that’s how they are

-the games they play can get personal. if someone beats someone else in one game you can bet your ass they’re getting back in the next game

ok that’s all i have for now

[givemeanaccountalready]

You know what I’m most curious about for Milgram? How did the first few days go over? Milgram kidnapped eleven people and threw them in a building with no exits or even a window, had one announce to the others that they were all murderers and they were going to investigate, and how well do you think that went over?

I can see those who were indirect murderers being much more sociable than those who directly took a life. Like Mikoto, who is so sure that all he did was dream and believed that this was some sort of game show, thinks the term murderer is made up and is just chatting away. Or Shidou, whose murder seems to involve his shitty bedside manner (pressuring families of brain dead patients to pull the plug and I think pressuring other patients to go through with risky organ transplants), is probably like yes, everyone must be involved with a death that would be hard to prosecute, I bet little Amane probably was playing with a friend who fell off the playground, cracked their head open, and died. Does she need a trusted adult?

Then you have Haruka and Muu, who directly killed their victims through very personal methods (strangulation and stabbing), who are rightly terrified that the others must have killed like they have and could be killed so they try to stay out of the spotlight. Kotoko, who stomped her victim to death, having the same line of thought as Kazui, a policeman, with needing to carefully evaluate the situation and not act rashly because they both realize that the chances of everyone having the same story as them is slim.

Just imagine the first meal together. It’s tense and awkward, as everyone steals glances at each other and pokes at the food, and then someone (Shidou or Mikoto, probably) breaks the ice.

Shidou: “Why don’t we go around the room and introduce ourselves? I’m Shidou Kirisaki. I’m 29 years old, and I worked as a doctor before coming here.”

Mikoto: “That’s a great idea! I’m-”

Fuuta: “Why are we doing this kiddie crap? We were kidnapped. And why are we eating with this cosplaying brat and a rabbit?”

Es: refuses to react

Jackalope: angry ear twitch

Mikoto: “Chillax. This is probably just one of those new reality shows.”

Fuuta: “You sign up for those, stupid. Do you remember signing up for this, because I sure as hell don’t remember-”

Shidou: cutting in “Language.”

Fuuta: “Are you fu-”

Mikoto: quickly “So, I’m Mikoto Kayano, 23, and I worked for a top of the line advertising company down in Tokyo! What about you, uh?”

Kotoko: “Kotoko Yuzuriha. 20. I was studying law, but I was taking a brief sabbatical before… this.”

Mikoto: “Cool! I don’t think I could be a lawyer. I’m terrible at conflict.”

Mahiru: “Same here! I’m Mahiru Shiina, and I’m 22 years old. I’m in my final year of studying literature at university.”

Shidou: “What about you? You must be in your last year of high school, right? What are you thinking of studying?”

Fuuta: sputtering “I-I’m in college! I’m 20, for God’s sake! I haven’t been in high school for a while. You need to get your eyes checked.”

Kazui: to Amane “Would you like to go next or should I?”

Amane: “You can go first. I don’t mind.”

Fuuta: loudly “I’m not done yet!”

Mikoto: “I thought you didn’t want to do this-”

Fuuta: interrupts “The name’s Fuuta Kajiyama.”

Kazui: “And I’m Kazui Mukuhara. 39. I’m a police officer.”

Kotoko: narrows eyes “A police officer? And you’re here?”

Shidou: to the four remaining “And you all?”

Amane: “My name is Amane Momose, and I am 12 years old. I’m in the sixth grade.”

Mikoto: disbelief “My God, you’re so young.”

Amane: “I’d prefer it if you didn’t offer me any sort of special treatment because of my age. Treat me as you would any other prisoner.”

Shidou: aghast “But you are a child.”

Amane: angry pout and about to argue when

Yuno: does not want to listen to them argue “I suppose I’ll go next. I’m Yuno Kashiki. 18. I’m in my final year of high school. And you?”

Muu: “M-my name is M-Muu Kusonoki. I am 16 years old and in my first year of high school. Please don’t hurt me.”

Kotoko: flatly “The grade-schooler has more guts than you.”

Shidou: “I would argue that she isn’t being foolish.”

Amane: “It would be foolish to ask for special treatment. I do agree with the sentiment but I don’t fear any of you.”

Fuuta: “You’re literally 12. How are you not pissing your-”

Shidou: “Language!”

Amane: “There is no need for censorship on my account. I know all the bad words already. Speak freely around me.”

Fuuta: smugly “Yeah, see? She’s probably heard worse from her classmates.” Points to Haruka. “What about you?”

Haruka: shrinks down in his chair “U-uh, I’m, um, I’m Haruka Sakurai. I’m 17, I think. I’m uh, not very bright. Please be patient with me.”

Shidou: “There’s no need to put yourself down. What year of high school are you in?”

Haruka: “I’m, I’m not. My parents said that, that they’d rather light the money on fire for warmth than send me to high school just for me to flunk out. It would be a better use of-”

Fuuta: angry “That’s fucked!”

Shidou: “Language!”

Yuno: “Hate to say it, but he’s right. It is messed up.”

Shidou: “It is, but there is no reason to use such language in front of a child.”

Amane: “You don’t have to protect me from foul language. I just said-”

Shidou: “What about you, Es? How old are you?”

Es: “15.”

Fuuta: “You have gotta be kidding me! The fate of our lives hang in the hands of a junior high student!”

Mikoto: “Relax. Our lives don’t really hang in their hands. It’s just a TV show.”

Fuuta: “This isn’t a TV show!”

[pink-lemonade-wave-world]

Characters and Listeners Incorrect Quotes - Scythe Audios Edition

I was so patiently waiting for an episode of Atrocity series until my day was ruined when I saw the news. I was eager to see L.L and discover her powers, but noooo 😒. I wish for Scythe only the best and take his time.

━━━━━━━ •♬• ━━━━━━━

Siren, watching Sweet Cheeks: Ah yes. The mysterious and beautiful Sweet Cheeks, so demure…

Siren: …I wonder what sort of melodic sounds this wonderful being makes?

Sweet Cheeks: *screaming*

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Twinkle: Okay, help me, please!

Maverick: Got two words for you.

Twinkle: I bet they won't be helpful.

Maverick: Your problem.

Twinkle: I was right.

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

V: You know, I used to play back in my gory days.

Cherky: You mean glory days?

V: Ah, that too.

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Livana: I mean. Gray's just standing there now.

Alpha: Waiting for me, I guess.

Alpha: But it's okay, I think they've pretty much settled down.

Livana: Settled down?

Alpha: Well, they only stabbed me once.

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Twinkle, gardening: Hey, can you bring me the hoe?

Cheeky: Yeah, sure.

*A few minutes later*

Cheeky: Here you go.

Twinkle:

Cheeky:

Succubus: Why am I here?

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Goddess: Everyone thinks you suck.

Twinkle: I think you have the wrong number…

Goddess: Cheeky?

Twinkle: Nope. Twinkle.

Goddess: Well, you probably suck too…

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Kidnapper: I have one of your friends.

L: Which one? I have seven.

Kidnapper: The loud, annoying, rowdy one who never shuts up.

L: Which one? I have seven.

V, distantly: HEY!!!

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Twinkle: Enough! How dare you mock me in such a manner!?

Maverick: Well. How would you like me to mock you? I take requests.

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Marcus: Time for plan G.

Kreed: Don’t you mean plan B?

Marcus: No, we tried plan B a long time ago. I had to skip over plan C due to technical difficulties.

Cole: What about plan D?

Chosen: Plan D was that desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago.

Kreed: What about plan E?

Marcus: I’m hoping not to use it. Floofster dies in plan E.

Cole: I like plan E.

Floofster: D:

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Hunter: Just be careful, Demon Girl!

Demon Girl: *heading out the door* I'm always careful, Hunter!

Demon Girl: It's everything around me that's careless.

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Killian: I have a plan.

Julian: Good! As long as we aren’t breaking the law again, I’m open to hearing it.

Killian: …

Julian: …

Killian: I no longer have a plan.

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Dark Rose: I'm going to get myself some soup.

Vallakay: Be careful not to burn yourself, it's hot.

Dark Rose: Pfft, I won't burn myself.

*30 seconds later*

Dark Rose, entering the room: I burned myself.

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Alpha: Oh and for your information, I don't have an ego.

Alpha: My facebook photo is a landscape.

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Twinkle: I only have two emotions: exhaustion and stress. And I’m somehow always feeling both simultaneously.

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Atrocity: Little Love, you look deep in thought. What’s wrong?

Little Love: Did you know you can look at any object and know what it’s like to lick it? Even if you’ve never touched it before?

Atrocity: I’m never asking you anything ever again.

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Jay Jay: Twinkle, I got suspended from school…

Twinkle: WHAT?!?! What did you do?

Jay Jay: My teacher pointed at me with a ruler, and he said “there is an idiot at the end of this ruler”.

Twinkle: And…?

Jay Jay: I asked which end…

Twinkle, unable to contain their laughter: Okay, you just made my day.

━━━━━━━ •♬• ━━━━━━━

Next: Siren's Son ASMR

[graysparrowao3]

WIP Whatever: Rolan, Cal, & Lia Special

Thank you for the tag @forget-me-maybe! I know it's not two particular Northern Bastards (but if that's what you were hoping for you may find such a snippet here). I hope it's not bothersome or disappointing if I indulge in posting again, I know I have more than usual lately, to be honest I'm just a bit proud of this bit.

Some more tags should you wish to share or share again <3 @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @falcatamandarina @reverieblondie @commander-krios @turquoiseoverthesea

Behold! From the next chapter of The Elturian Prodigy fic...

Rolan, Cal, and Lia are currently in Avernus trying to survive. Rolan may have finally started to figure out a way to get them back so that the events of Baldur's Gate 3 can begin....

MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR DESCENT INTO AVERNUS BELOW THE CUT

Rolan cleared his throat. “It has to be the Companion.”

“Want someone to ask you to elaborate, don’t you?” Lia’s eyes were sullen.

“The Companion was the first thing we noticed. When it flickered, changed. That happened before the devils decided to make an appearance. If I can figure out the nature of the change to the Companion, we find our way home.”

“I’ll pack my bags,” Lia’s tongue and voice was dry. “Glad you took your time coming up with that stellar conclusion.”

“Bet it tasted like cheese,” Cal mumbled vacantly under his breath.

“I suppose you’ve already detailed the particulars, have you?” Rolan glared. The exhausted woman across the room huffed air though her nose.

“Fine.” She did not sound pleased about it, but she did continue. “What are you thinking?”

“I’ve been trying to establish a way home, but I’d been thinking too small, too direct. Perhaps it’s less about reversing the way we arrived here, and more about the bigger picture.” He paused for both theatrics and to gather his next thoughts. “It was High Overseer Kreeg who produced the miracle itself. A blinding light to rid the city of evil, or some such drivel.”

“It was evil, Rolan,” Lia rolled her eyes. “We're living in it. Kreeg helped the Riders, saved the whole city.”

Lines creased Rolan’s brow. “I never can remember the deity Kreeg revered. Divine matters. Not my forte.”

“Torm,” came a soft muttering from the youngest tiefling who let his head rest back against the wall.

“Ah. Yes.”

Cal forced whatever amusement he could to his voice, which wasn't much. "Pretty sure if we weren’t already in Hell you’d be smited for blasphemy.”

“Right,” Rolan cleared his throat. “Torm. And Torm is of course…”

“Patron of Paladins.”

“Obviously. A beacon of righteousness and duty. A bleeding heart. Surprised you weren’t fully converted, Lia.”

“Might’ve thought about it,” she shot back. “Not that it’s any of your business. Could've used a few answered prayers lately.”

Rolan was too engrossed in thought to register her reply, his face furrowing further. “Does that sound like the sort of God to banish us to Hell?”

Cal’s eyes slowly animated with curiosity and he sat forward. “What are you thinking, Rolan?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted. “But you recall making the oath of the Creed Resolute…”

“Which you were willing to break the second the city faced danger,” Lia made her disdain apparent.

“Which I still would, if it were possible,” Rolan’s voice lowered to a pensive mumble. “To serve the realm of Elturgard… the High Observer… defend the city…”

“Serve all people and the greater good,” Lia added. “Uphold Elturgard’s laws and the Creed Resolute.”

Cal finished the code contained within the Creed. “Allow no difference of faith to come between us, and not attribute the Companion to any one God.”

Rolan nodded in affirmation of their combined words. “Now, Lia’s fanciful ambitions aside, why would anyone other than the Riders need to make such an oath?”

“Hells, Rolan,” she frowned, “you wouldn’t shut up about it at the time. We get it – you are so philosophically advanced and the rest of us mindless idiots to social convention.”

“No, Lia,” Cal intervened, “I think he’s actually onto something this time. You think it’s connected, Rolan?”

“It’s no more impossible than anything else. The timing alone is suspect. I’d bet money – if we had any left – that if Torm put the Companion in place, or Kreeg through Torm, or whatever else – I don’t know how all that nonsense works - it’s not Torm’s will that undid it.”

Cal couldn’t help but put words to the question that sat waiting. “So… who did?”

Rolan took a deep breath. “Someone who benefits from every living soul in Elturel swearing to the Creed Resolute.”

The air and vibrations in the infernal basement froze.

“Rolan…” Lia’s voice shook with caution, “please tell me you know who that is.”

“It’s a guess,” he tempered expectations, but the vivid blazing behind his eyes betrayed his excitement. “We are, as I believe, in Avernus. Currently under siege in the Blood War. Commanded in the First Circle of Hell by-”

“Zariel,” the word left Lia’s mouth breathlessly.

Rolan offered an acknowledging nod of his head. "Or, in as it means literally... Companion of Light."

“Holy shit, Rolan,” Cal was leaning so far forward he was leaning on his palms, his eyes flaming bright, “you’re a genius.”

“Wouldn’t go that far,” Lia mumbled instinctively, but a thick layer of exhaustion had lifted from her face and she was staring with expectation. “But this is insane. Zariel is an Archdevil. Maybe if he figures out what we can do about it.”

“Well whatever Kreeg is up to clearly hasn’t helped. And the Riders are next to useless.”

“Rolan!”

“My best speculations,” Rolan hummed. “If Torm was the one that conjured the Companion, perhaps he’s not best pleased about its demise and would rather like it back. If Zariel was involved from the start, I’m not sure there’s anything we can do. Not without more information. Either way, there’s only one place in the city that might offer some insight into the matter.”

Two voices in union gave the final obvious answer.

“The High Hall.”

Rolan tipped his head and his shoulders pulled proudly back. “Perhaps there’s a reason to risk the bridges after all.”

[emmg]

you ever just think about raphael realizing that tav/durge is more than just some pathetic mortal he can easily trap into a contract. thinks so highly of himself when they finally sign his stupid contract only to find out that his favorite client doesn’t play by his carefully constructed rules.. how does he deal with his own ego after getting absolutely dog walked in battle by his favorite client. i’d imagine he’d start recalculating & plotting ways he could make their soul his. but in the meantime. while her soul is free for the taking.. would be pretend to be unbothered or crash out and make sure everyone knows its his soul for the taking

Ooh, this is such an interesting concept! I actually took some time to think about it because the psychological depth here is absolutely fascinating to me.

First off, I feel like Raphael’s ego is far too fragile to ever pretend he's unbothered. This is a devil whose entire identity is built around control, mastery, and power; there's no way he’d just brush off the fact that his carefully laid plans didn’t go as expected. That being said, he’s not the type to become reckless either. Raphael is meticulous, he thrives on precision. Everything he does is painstakingly calculated. He’s the type to cross-reference, analyze, and plan everything down to the smallest detail. If something doesn’t go his way, the fallout won’t be impulsive, but it will be brutal.

When he realizes that Tav or Durge isn't just another mortal caught in his web, but someone who can slip through his carefully constructed rules, I imagine it would sting deeper than most of his failures. Raphael lives for contracts, laws, and order. They give him power. So when someone dares to outplay him, it’s not just a break in the contract—it’s an assault on the foundation of his identity.

He’d probably react with disgust, that signature wrinkle in his nose when things don't go according to plan popping up. Sort of like when you break into his house after signing the contract and he catches. He's so disappointed and angry at that.

As much as I love making fun of him for being a theater kid with a flair for the dramatic, we can’t forget how dark and vindictive Raphael really is. This is a dude who’s been tormenting Hope for who knows how long now?? He’s got a sadistic streak, and he’ll absolutely use it to his advantage. So when Tav or Durge bends or outright breaks his rules, he’s not just disappointed. He’s livid, and he’s going to make it everyone's problem.

That’s where the legal loopholes come into play. You can bet Raphael has woven an obscene number of clauses and traps into that contract. He’s the type of asshole who lives for the fine print. And when someone doesn’t play by his rules, he’ll fall back on those clauses, using every loophole and technicality to make their life a living nightmare.

He wouldn’t just make Tav or Durge’s life miserable; he’d be smart about it. Every step of his retaliation would be cloaked in legality. Idk, I imagine him pulling all the stops and straight up isolating her, maybe get the people around her into contracts of their own, until she has no choice but to come see him to renegotiate.

So let's say this dude, despite being angry as all fuck, actually wants her romantically/sexually/whatever (that's a debate for another time, whether he's capable of emotions like that). Let's say he's made her life a living hell, affected the people around her, cost her opportunities, etc etc. Now he's this boogeyman she can't stop thinking about because he's in every aspect of her life. He’ll create situations where she has no choice but to come crawling back to him, desperate for amendments or (and this would probably make him cum in his pants) his pity. And when she does return, maybe bruised and beaten by circumstances he orchestrated, he’ll toy with her. Maybe say some shit like, “You didn’t play fair, but since I’m feeling oh-so generous, let’s renegotiate. I’m sure we can find a solution that’s mutually beneficial.”

It’s classic narcissist behavior: isolate the object of their obsession until there’s nothing left but them. And Raphael? He doesn’t even hide it. He straight-up says when you meet him, “until I’m the only option left” (or whatever the exact quote it.) It’s not just about cutting off options. it’s about making them need him. He erodes their independence, makes them doubt themselves, until they feel like he’s the only constant in their unraveling world. He was going to do it either way, whether Tav is just a favorite client or a favorite client and someone he wants to fuck. It's just that the latter "betraying" him would most likely make him go more nuclear.

tl;dr: He’d basically turn into Faerun's sleaziest lawyer

Now, this is entirely my own interpretation. The beauty of fictional characters is that they're fictional so my take is just that, mine.

I love over thinking this stuff