#prototype and split what the hell

[substaffyuri]

i have been losing my shit over these regretevator knock off plushies on temu feat. dandy's world and bfdi

[vanillray]

It's my birthday, so I'm drawing to calm down

I like the whole Mach family, like, they're very hot

I'm thinking about designs and random characters on request hehe

[thinkingrocks]

vox's life: headcannons

im an electrical engineer and i have opinions on this character. moral of the story: don't fuck with CRT capacitors, shits scary

i have a lot of Vox thoughts, or Voughts, and i will be rambling about them at legnth under the cut.

TLDR: he invented zuckerberging. also i see his "canon" death date of 1950s and respectfully disagree. its way funnier if he died the year widespread television became a thing. the fruits of his labor were all for naught etc etc

1928: Vox was in college as an electrical engineer when the first ever live TV Demo happened, and I think he was immediately obsessed with it. Decided he'd do anything to work with TV. He and his friend/roommate at the time went full tilt into learning about TVs and working on them, and by the time they graduated, they had the beginnings of what would be a very profitable company.. together.

1930s: Out of the two of them, Vox has the better social skills(relative), so he's the one who talks to investors and handles that part of the business, though he still works on some tech. He decides he likes talking to people, marketing, manipulating, being a little showman. I like to think this ties into that one trivia fact that he likes watching commercials.

early 1940s: He starts wondering why he's splitting half of this company(HIS company) with some guy who can't even bother to attend business meetings. Tensions start rising, he starts using some of that handy manipulation skill he honed in business on his friends

1945: Tensions break. Through less than legitimate means, he steals the company out from under his partner. His partner threatens to go start his own, since he did the majority of the tech work. We can't have that. Vox doesn't kill him himself, imo, because he is kind of allergic to getting his hands dirty. He revs up that media training and uses it to create a smear campaign so brutal and widespread that his former partner offs himself. Problem solved

Late 1940s: Vox starts getting paranoid about people trying to steal his empire from him, funny that. He starts trying to do everything himself, because he doesn't trust anyone. Starts losing a lot of sleep, getting a little insane but its fine man. Don't worry about it.

1947: Sleep deprived, paranoid, and working on a final prototype model due soon, he electrocutes himself because you shouldn't fuck with CRT capacitors. Wakes up in hell with electricity powers and a CRT head because it's hilarious.

Alastor: Yeah we all know what we're here for. I don't think they ever met in life, but I definitely think Vox knew of him. Alastor was actively broadcasting during the 20s up until his death in 1933, and college student Vox I think listened to a lot of radio while studying and working. I also think in the later years, Alastor was never technically caught as a serial killer, but "hey I think that radio guy was that one killer, cuz he stopped broadcasting right after he stopped killing" was like one of those insane conspiracy statements you'd say to get a laugh at parties, but Vox always secretly kind of believed it, and was VERY vindicated in hell.

I am fully prepared for actual canon to contradict all of this but that's fine because it means they finally had to get season 2 out.

[numberonesnarkfan]

so that new trailer, hey?

alright, so the security monitor thing has a dead catnap on top of it. This symbolism leads me to believe that it's probably related to the prototype, furthering its appearance as an 'all-seeing eye' in the facility.

Playtime is either a shell company for the company denoted by the square, or the square is the true 'flower' we're meant to find - Playtime's true logo.

when Yarnaby's head splits open, the two sides of his mouth resemble two hemispheres of a brain.

it seems my lobotomy headcanon wasn't too far off. It just wasn't done to Sawyer.

The ARG website is called 'icepick'. We come to see that Quinn was a mentally disturbed orphan and, in becoming Yarnaby, had his mental acuity severely limited.

This imagery is big - Yarnaby's brain splits as he opens his mouth to attack. Yarnaby's brain splits as he takes the stance of what he has become: a monster.

In the ARG, we see that Yarnaby is lost and dejected without the presence of Sawyer, his 'master'. I still hold onto some little hope that Sawyer will somehow be alive in Ch.4, but it seems a likely narrative point that The Prototype will be able to control Yarnaby by mimicking his long-gone 'master's' voice.

Imagine that you were a post-human, animalistic being, groomed for one purpose: to care only about one man. That man is, quote, "removed", and you are left lost and aimless. Then, a divine mechanical being you cannot comprehend speaks to you in his voice.

I think that Yarnaby will believe, or choose to believe, that Sawyer is truly commanding him.

We still have no definitive proof one way or the other on who the player is. How wild would it be if we played as Sawyer. Probably unlikely considering how Poppy addresses us in Ch.3 ("to get revenge on the monsters who've tortured you!"), but how cool of a narrative would it be if Yarnaby's allegiance has so fully swayed to the Prototype's version of Sawyer, that when his master returns, he follows the Prototype's command to attack.

Hell. Maybe that could be how Sawyer dies in the HoJ. He abandons Yarnaby and the Prototype comforts him by speaking to him in Sawyer's voice. Then when he takes control in the HoJ, orders him to kill Sawyer when Sawyer retreats back to his 'bodyguard' for protection from the monsters he's created.

[radiance1]

Cha'll know when Danny had the power to control the weather?

Okay so we roll with that.

So what if the GIW took notice of how this seemingly human boy could cause unnatural weather based on whatever emotion he was currently feeling?

So they scoop him up, because they can do that due to having government perks, and try to 'train' him into using his power responsibily.

Which, in actually, was just training to stop him from feeling.

Then they found out that Danny is Phantom, but instead of thinking Danny was a ghost, they thought he possessed by Phantom, and tried to find a way to forcefully separate them.

Which they did.

Danny Fenton and Phantom split, Fenton still had the ability to control the weather with his emotions, while Phantom was carried off for experimentation.

Positive reinforcement, while working, failed to produce the best results possible, so they had to result too... negative, reinforcement.

It produced fast results; the Fenton boy was getting better and better at forcing down and disconnecting from his emotions until the changing of weather was kept to a minimum.

Phantom also produced excellent results under the scientists' hands, as well.

All in all, things where going hell. Even if the Fenton boy and Phantom seemed to have some sort of symbiotic relationship, perhaps due to the length (currently unknown) of possession, they developed an emotional link with one another?

So this goes on for a while, before, surprise surprise. Some of the scientists get sort of complacent and that lead to Phantom escaping, taking Fenton and running through the prototype ghost portal they were making through trial and error, and the ghost had the nerve to destroy it behind him.

Then Phantom and Danny fall through another portal because Phantom was kinda flying injured and a bit away from dropping and then they end up in an entirely different dimension.

So then Danny had to drag his other half into a rundown building that wouldn't meet any health standards and try to treat his injuries with torn up pieces of cloth from his shirt.

[thestarkerisobvious]

Daddy I Need You

inspired by this amazing moodboard by @muse-of-gods

TW: panic attacks, physical stress reactions

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

Daddy I Need You

That wasn’t what the text said, of course.  Not on Tony’s main phone.  A phrase like that.

THAT kind of talk only happened on a different device.  And Tony wouldn't be looking for messages from Pete on THAT device until tonight.  Tony’s main phone, an SI prototype, was supposed to be unhackable.  But that, of course, just made it a target.  That’s why they kept that kind of talk on the special phone.

What Peter DID sent Tony on his main phone was in code.

//DINY//

Tony blinked at the four letters on his phone.  No one should have been able to text him during THIS meeting.  But Peter’s number was different.  Peter seemed to need something.  But it could probably wait…

//diNy//

Tony stood up, took his briefcase, and left the meeting.

There would be hell to pay later - Pepper’s eyes were daggers - but “Daddy I Need You” was one of the safe words.  Safe phrases, really.  It meant important business.  NOT arms-dealer-shipment-ship-cut-in-two business.  Not Avenger business.  It meant Peter business.

Personal business.

Usually, the kind you couldn’t really talk about with the lights on.  With your clothes on.  THAT kind of business.

Normally safety words were to make the intimacy STOP, but Peter had Tony had realized early on, they were anything but Normal.  That’s why they had an entire Safety Lexicon - things they could say that would stop ALL conversation or action and bring attention to the problem at hand.  Tony had just never received that phrase in a TEXT before.  His brain raced as he tried to find a private place to have the private conversation.  This wasn’t Avenger business - Peter SHOULDN’T be involved in Avenger business.

Peter was SUPPOSED to be preparing for his last final.  His FINAL final - the very last lest he would take before officially have enough credits to graduate.  He wouldn’t GRADUATE graduate until the end of the term, of course - thus Tony scheduling these back-to-back meeting on the other side of the country.  When Peter’s graduation ceremony happened in May, Tony would be there, along with a huge cheering section, ready to paint the whole Columbia campus red.  Hot Rod red.  That’s why Tony was spending December in LA, leaving his young lover alone.  Peter was using his entire Penthouse as a study-space for these last few credits.  They weren’t even HARD credits, just technicality-credits.  Classes he could breeze through and test out early, things he needed to officially get the first degree.

So why was Peter needing him now?

Finally Tony found a small room with a door he could close to have the conversation.  From his briefcase pulled out a special pair of glasses - another SI prototype that the world wouldn't see the market for another 5 years or so.  He switched them on and started talking.

“Hey Bambino, what's wrong?  Talk to me.”

There was a moment’s pause.  Then, much to Tony’s surprise, another text.

//Daddy, I need you.//

“I’m here, angel.  What’s wrong?” Tony said, trying not to sound impatient.  Peter KNEW how important these meetings were.  This time Tony and Pepper were investing in LA were necessary to free Tony’s schedule for the next several months.  They had PLANNED it this way - planned for Tony to be gone so Peter could focus on his last finals.  Planned on Tony and Pepper camping out in LA to wrap up all their business dealings in one fell swoop before Tony took a leave of absence from the company.  All so he could spend more time with Peter.  That had been the PLAN.  Why was Peter screwing with the plan now?

There was a long pause.  A pause Tony didn’t like.  There were times Peter “needed” him, like when he was feeling melancholy over the death of his uncle.  Then there were times Peter “needed” him as in a ferry full of people had split in half and he couldn’t physically keep the entire ship together by brute strength alone.

He tried a different strategy.  Using the holoscreen available with the glasses, he pulled up a keyboard and started typing.

//Daddy’s here, bambino.  Tell me what’s happening.//

//I’m scared Daddy// was the immediate reply.

That made Tony blink.  Scared?!  His Uncanny Spiderman?  The one with radioactive blood?  The kid who clung to and entered an alien ship after he had SPECIFICALLY ordered the kid to return to earth??   The kid who had saved the life of Dr. Strange with his arcane movie knowledge and his willingness to risk being sucked out of a space ship into instant death?  Already Tony’s mind was calculating how long it would take to get from LA to New York if he suited up and took off from on top of the building they were in right now.

Still, he texted calmly.

//Talk to me, baby.  Tell Daddy’s what’s wrong.//

//Its over//

//What’s over, baby?//

//The last test.  Differential Equations.  I’m done.//

//That’s good, isn’t it?//

//I don’t know what’s wrong my hearts hammering and I//

Tony watched the words appear on the screen.  Then he watched Peter delete them.  He waited patiently as Peter struggled to put it all into words. 

//I can’t breath and I//

Deleted.

//Concrete is hard to breathe//

Tony’s brow furrowed as he tried to translate the line even as Peter deleted it.  Finally Peter settled on a sentence that summed it up perfectly.

//I feel funny, Daddy.//

Tony took off the glasses.  He held them a few inches in front of his face, activating the camera.  He spoke.

“Peter, you’re having a panic attack,” he said calmly.  “Turn on your camera and talk to me.”

Silence.  

Tony took a deep breath and tried again.

“BABY, be a good boy and activate the camera now.  Don’t tell Daddy no.”

//You’ll be mad//

“Why would Daddy be mad?  Bambino, Daddy knows a lot more about panic attacks than you do. I promise I won’t get mad, but you're going to be a good boy now and do what Daddy says.  Activate your camera now.  Don’t make me count to three."

The audio came on before the visual.  Tony could hear Peter sniffle.  Then the image appeared. 

“Oh, angel,” Tony said softly, licking his lips automatically.  “Why do you have on your pretty clothes?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said in a tiny voice, sniffling again.  

He wore his special pink collar with the silver heart in the center.  His pale chest was bare except for the delicate white “harness” Tony had bought for him, made entirely of heart-shaped fabric.  He had his pink fan in one hand, but he was hugging it to himself.     

“I thought they would make me feel better.”

“Did it?”

“A little.  I was going to take a picture for you and save it for later, but I couldn’t…”

He sniffled again, and Tony knew all he needed to know.  Peter had tried to calm down and put on a cheerful face.  To make himself feel better.  But when he found he couldn’t calm himself down, it only made everything worse.  Until finally Peter had to call for help.

“Alright sweet angel, you’re with Daddy now,” Tony said calmly.  Firmly.  “I’m going to put my hand on your chest now - is this where it feels funny?”

“Yes sir.”

“Is your heart pounding?”

“It's been going on for hours.”

“Oh baby, that sounds miserable.”

“I was suited up so I swung around the tower forever but I couldn't make it stop.  “I came inside and took a shower but it just keeps going.  And I thought… I thought…”

“You thought getting dressed in your pretty clothes might help?  It’s okay, angel.  Daddy’s going to rub your chest for a while and try to make you feel better.  Can you tell me what concrete breathing means?”

Tears formed in Peter’s eyes.

“It’s okay, bambino.  Daddy’s got you.  Just help me understand.”

“I told you…”

He sobbed and tried to catch his breath enough to speak.

“I told you about how Tooms dropped a building on me once…”

“Yes, but that was ages ago.  Way back when you were in high school.  Why are we talking about concrete now?”

“That’s what it feels like… I can’t…”  He demonstrated, trying to take a deep breath, panting and moaning when he failed.  “I try to breathe but nothing… it feels like I’m breathing concrete dust.  I can feel it in my throat.  I think I’ve been poisoned Tony…”

“Shhhhh angel, you haven’t been poisoned - mean you HAVE.  That’s adrenaline surging through your system - angel you're a superhero, and you have superhero adrenaline poisoning you right now.  That feels EXACTLY like breathing concrete dust.  Your throat hurts because every muscle in your body is tense.  You can't take a deep breath because your lungs are trying to take shallow breaths to send enough oxygen to your muscles.  You’re whole body is ready to run, but there’s no where to run to.  

“But Daddy’s got you.  Daddy’s going to hold you very close, and rock you back and forth.  I’m even going to get a blanket.  And get you under it.  Daddy’s going to rub the back of your neck and see if that helps.  Maybe I'll get Baby some cold ice cream for your throat…”

There was silence for a moment.  Dammit this wasn’t working.  Tony needed to be there, on the other other side of the country.  Maybe if he…

“Will you feed it to me?”

Peter’s voice was so tiny it took a moment to understand what he had said.  Then Tony understood, and smiled.

“Of course I’m going to feed it to you.”

“With a spoon?”  

“Of course Daddy is… wait…”  Tony was all grins now.  “I thought Baby didn’t like it when I spoon-fed him before bed.”

“I think I might like it tonight, Daddy.”

"Okay then bambino, you’re the boss.  Now tell Daddy what happened .  Did something go wrong with your final?"

“No, it was so easy,” Peter said, his voice choking with emotion.  “And I was way over prepared, just like you said I was.  And it’s done.  And everything was going fine, and I had said goodbye to everybody, but then, just out of nowhere..."

"It hit you.  You're done, Peter.  You have your first degree in math from Columbia university.  You graduated in record time.  You didn’t beat MY record, obviously… but if you did you’d still be a minor and we wouldn’t be having this conversation..."

“But it should feel good!!”  Peter bleated out, sitting up for the first time, leaning into the holoscreen towards Tony’s face.  As if Tony were there (where he should be.)  As if Tony could hold him (as he should do.)  

“Shouldn’t it feel good!?  To graduate?!”

He broke out in fresh sobs, looking around him in terror, struggling to breathe.

Tony waited for the moment to pass.  Then, he spoke.

“Peter, look at me.”  He didn’t speak until he was obeyed.  “Come on, look at Daddy now.  You can do it…”

Finally, Peter’s eyes met his.

It wasn’t easy, looking into Peter’s tear-stained eyes, but he did it.  He leaned forward and he spoke.

“I don’t remember graduating, bambino.  I know there was a ceremony, because there are pictures.  Bu tI have no memory of it.  I went out with my friends that night and got black out drunk and woke up in rehab.”

He watched Peter blink and sat back in satisfaction.  “You didn’t read about that in your Tony Stark Research, did you bambi?  Obadiah was pretty good at keeping things like that under wraps.  

“Now you listen to me, little mister.  You know I’ve always admired you, the way you just tackle life without benefit of alcohol or substances, just raw-dogging it through sheer force of will.  But right now, I’m going to send Friday a selection of wine from the rack and Dum-E is going to deliver it to the bathroom.  I want you to draw yourself a very hot bath…”

“But I can’t get drunk, Daddy.  You know it doesn’t take…”

“But it tastes good, baby.  That’s all you can do right now, is try to feel good in your body until your superhero adrenaline leaves you in peace.  Is there any ice cream left in the fridge?  I’d order you some chocolate-covered strawberries, but then someone would have to deliver it…”

“You could have the delivery person just put it in the special elevator, then push the button, and step out.  Or someone could stand in the elevator and then just hand it to Dum-E…”

“If I do that, will you be in the bathtub, baby?  I want you to make it really hot, with lots of bubbles.  Make it  just as hot as you can stand it.  You’re going to…”

He took a deep breath and tried to speak as calmly as possible.

“You’re going to crash, baby.  There’s no stopping it.  So now your job is to find the softest place to land possible…”

“I’m scared, Tony…” Peter said, his breath hitching again.

“Of what, baby?”

“Of crashing.  I don’t know what it feels like.”

“It feels like this, angel.  It feels just like this.  This is the worst of it, Peter.  Now all you have to do is wait it out.  Wait till it gets better.  And it does get better, Pete.  I promise.  

“Now, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to…”  

Peter took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.  He shook his head a little.

Then he looked down at himself.  He grinned a little, as if remembering, for the first time, what he was wearing.

He opened up his pink fan and held it over his chest.

“I’m going to ask what Daddy is going to do to me when he gets home.”

“That’s not what Daddy said to… oh…”  Tony grinned.  He had ordered Peter into a hot bubble  bath and, well?  Tony knew what Peter liked to think about when he was bathing alone.

“Okay, well, what do you want Daddy to do to you first?”

“I want you to  - well not at first - but… I want you to put me up against the headboard.  On my knees.  Facing the wall.”

“Oh… oh that sounds very nice, baby.  But what is Daddy going to do first?”

“Oh, first you’re going to tell me to put on my pretty clothes.  And then you’re going to tell me to take off my pretty clothes…”  He touched the silver heart on his kitten collar, playing with it.  Tony’s heart swelled with pride.  THIS had been Peter’s plan from the beginning - to put on his special clothes and think of Tony.  Tony who would certainly take care of him in his hour of need… even if he shed some tears along the way. 

“All right then, angel.  So after the pretty clothes come off, and then you’re facing the wall right up against the headboard, with your hands on the wall?  Do you like it like that, baby?  And then what does Daddy do to you?”

“I like it when you kiss my face and scrape your chin against my neck and ear and… and I like it when you say ‘Daddy needs to be inside you.’  I like it when you’re so far gone you growl it…”

“You're a liar. Daddy never growls,” he said, his voice failing him.  He had to regain his composure, and soon.  He had to walk away from this conversation and walk back into a meeting.  There were millions of dollars on the line…

“You do growl it, Daddy.  And then your whole body shivers and you sink your teeth into my shoulder…”

Tony was speechless.  

“Will you say it when you get back, Daddy?”  Peter asked now in his perfect “kitten” voice.  He was wiping the tears from his eyes.  

“Say what, baby?” Tony managed.

“Say, ‘Daddy needs to be inside you?’”

Tony took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders.  He shook himself a little and then, staring straight into the camera, into Peter’s eyes, he spoke.

“This is what you’re going to do, angel.  You’re going to find the biggest mirror in the penthouse, and you're going to make a nice, soft pallet in front of it.  You’re going to be on your knees there, so use lots of blankets, and make it soft.”

“Why, Daddy?”

“Oh, because Daddy is going to be done with these meetings sooner than you think.  And when I get home, I’m going to put you right on that pallet, right in front of that mirror.  And do you know what I’m going to do to you then, baby?”

“Are you going to make me show you my pretty clothes?”  Peter asked.  He had his pink fan open and covering his chest.  He lowered it now, using the slender fingers of his other hand to play over the hearts that made up his soft harness. 

“Oh no, baby.  Daddy’s going to fuck you right in front of that mirror.

“And then Daddy’s going to make you watch.”

[ross-sluggo]

okay if y'all will indulge me rq - consider the following: regretevator blunt rotation tierlist

explanation under the cut

Party Noob/Poob - literally the life of the party, they have to be chill to smoke with, i refuse to see them any other way

Scag - she probably thinks getting high is COOLCORE WEEDMAXXING

Split - she'd go BANANAS to chill and smoke with everyone

Mozelle - princess of hell could throw some sick weed parties (are those a thing?)

Infected - while the room itself would get a bit infected i feel like they're MAD chill to get high with

Bive - probably too anxious to willingly smoke weed... unless split was there

Melanie - similar to bive but she's willing to try with mozelle

Prototype - probably just there to chaperone Scag, also i don't know if they'd be able to smoke at all

FleshCousin - yknow those weird sayings they have when interacted with? multiply it tenfold and that's what we're rockin, harmless but strange

Mark - would probably wind up banned from smoke sessions for being incapable of not bringing up wallter, like how he was banned from red ball diners for the same thing

Spud! - dunno how down they'd be for smoking, either they dont touch it at all or they use it regularly for medicating whatever the fuck gnarpy did to them

Pest - doesn't really like us but i don't think he'd be necessarily *against* the idea of smoking

STAT - she explicitly doesn't trust a single person in the elevator (maybe gnarpy at best), you think she'd want to smoke weed with the weirdos here?

Wallter - unless there's grey stuff as an edible, he's saying no

DrRetro - she's a doctor, she'd turn it into a lecture on the dangers of thc

Lampert - prolly finds it too filthy

Pilby - honestly? i think they'd be scared of weed.

Folly - "dream parasite," no thanks girlypop

Gnarpy - i feel like xe'd probably take my being indisposed as a way to yoink and experiment on me the same way they did to spud,

Unpleasant - whaaaat? i dont want the npc that everyone in the elevator despises because they all get a bad feeling around it? shocker!

Reddy - im not inviting this knock off fnaf/chuck-e-cheese lookin ass to smoke weed

[hoverboards-and-dragons]

Correct me if I am wrong, but I think in an earlier post you mentioned that it was Lucifer who gave birth to Charlie. How did he handle being pregnant? How different was it from a human pregnancy?

...You're right, and I am very impressed with your attention to detail because it was most passive implication.

All in all he handled it absolutely horridly, he is not very good with relaxing and letting himself being taken care of. Though he did find a deep set satisfaction in it as a act of creation, the only time he would settle was to gently feel out and follow the slow development.

It was really weird having to keep the shaping shifting down to minimum, he honestly didn't want to touch female anatomy for a decade after being stuck 24/7 for like a year.

Given the Archangels are doll/first try simplified, prototype lifeforms based there was something fundamentally violating about having his body reproduce but he's broken every other boundary of his make what's one more.

I'd make a joke about these two getting off on defying the Plan even when an easier solution is right in front of them, but it wouldn't even be a joke they have a genuine kink for all things forbidden.

They'd been speaking about giving hell an heir for centuries and some point realized the hold up. Lilith was deeply disturbed by the idea of pregnancy, I would go to calling it gender dysphoria. Besides it would be far easier for Lucifer to get away with stepping out of the spotlight for a year than Lilith.

I'm not really sure if Liliy would take pregnancy any better but Lucifer would probably excel in the doting fussing caregiver role.

No, there wasn't conception issues, just neither of them were sold on the idea having children for their own reasons and eventually after thousand of years the star aligned for one(1) kid.

Charlie probably didn't have a physical form for most the pregnancy, given how much she took from her environment (she is very demonic for both her parents being more Hell touched)

I'm playing with the idea that her entire body is a construction because she was born extremely unstable, constantly shifting. So Lucifer copied his own creation to give her something to grow into and settle, simple and doll like to mould to her.

Angel 'souls' aren't contained within their own body and hellborn don't have souls so they think that might be the source of the issue. He pretty much had to artificially replicate the human body-soul split.

[strawberrypinky]

fire and ice. [gortash x tav] - part 3 [victorious]

A silent tear fell from her eyes, which Enver quickly wiped from her in pretend gentleness, rough callouses against her soft skin before he turned them to face the crowd with a victorious smile.

Finally, Enver grinned; he had won.

A/N: TUMBLR - YOU VOTED!

This was supposed to be the first smut chapter, but then it got so long that I asked you whether or not to split the chapters up, so now the smut was moved to chapter four. My apologies, lol. This chapter is fairly tame (and slightly shorter) as a result. Even Enver got a small break for once. That said, the next chapter will have major content warnings, so please read them before diving into it.  Today we're getting normal Enver shenanigans, including (but not limited to) blackmail and threats.

As always, this story is also available on Archive of Our Own.

Word Count: 6.6k

! CW: Forced Marriage, non consensual kissing. Gortash hating Scottish accents.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine

It was all going according to plan.

The Cult of the Absolute was mercilessly spreading along the Sword Coast and the lands of Faerûn, True Souls born day in, day out in the depths of Moonrise as Ketheric grew the Army he had been divinely tasked to assemble. Orin, as much as Enver pained it to admit, was a surprisingly efficient killer on all accounts and managed to spread an equal measure of terror and dread over the city with her slayings in the Absolute's name. Enver's generous royalties towards the Gazette certainly helped spread the news of the casualties, yet the brutality of Orin and her assassins left even the most unyielding initiates of the Fist aghast. Murder had, for the longest time, been somewhat of an ecosystem in the Gate, but ritualistic killings were an oddity few turned a blind eye to. And while the Patriars were still sitting comfortably in the pretend safety of their lavish manors, Enver knew it was only a matter of time before Orin targeted them, too.

He had slowly begun to lull them into a contrived sense of security - The Steel Watch an excellent show of patriarchal paradigm as the people of the Gate elevated Enver to the station of Lord upon the presentation of the prototype of the Watchers. Not even Thamior Liardon could refute the growing appeals of the Patriars (unless he wanted a riot on his hands), and Enver took vindictive pleasure in the scarcely concealed enmity on his face as he declared him Lord Enver Gortash for the very first time in parliament.

When Duke Ravengard left Baldur's Gate because Thavius Kreeg invited him to finally end several disputes plaguing Baldur's Gate and Elturel and the city fell to the Hells, Enver almost dared to feel hope for the first time in a long while. Hoping was a near unconquerable instinct - like each breath, a lung will draw so long as there is air available - but Enver had learned to cease hoping in place of actually striving for his own goals. Hope had died long ago in Raphael's claws. What had been born out of the ashes was something far greater. So, while Enver did not feel hopeful when Ravengard descended into the depths of Avernus, he pertinaciously schemed as the Patriars now remained remarkably insouciant with the promise of safety guaranteed by his Steel Watch. As idiotic as they all were, none of them noticed they were practically paving the way for him, making his job much easier than it should have been.

Unfortunately for him, the remains of his plan did not go over as easily as it should have.

The Astral Prism continued to be undetected, and none of the forces he had sent out found the Gith artefact, thus leaving the entire Absolute Hoax at tremendous risk. Enver was now heavily relying on Ketheric Thorm to find the thing, as any other search had turned out fruitless. Not even the Emperor had returned with the artefact - though the aberrant Illithid had not returned to Baldur's Gate at all. For all Enver knew, the Nautiloid had crashed somewhere, and the Illithid died along with it. Not that he cared, but it was bothersome, just the same. It would have been a lie to deny he wasn't anxious over the prospect of the artefact being lost - the accursed thing could very well pose a great threat to his destiny. He knew it was no longer held in Vlaakith's grasp, which made the prospect of its unknown location only further terrifying, and while Ketheric did well letting his filthy necromancers create an army of True Souls beneath Moonrise, the man itself was far too melancholic to care about much else than his daughter, who they had dug up as Myrkul brought her back to life, only for the girl to disappear into the shadows immediately.

Enver shuddered as he thought of Shar's blight. Few things frightened him, but the Shadow Curse unnerved him in ways he could hardly describe, and it was all over one measly girl. The first night he spent in Moonrise, protected by the unnatural and alien glow that surrounded the near-ruined tower, he wondered if he would ever plunge the world into darkness and sacrifice his own prosperity for one soul. And while his mind did stray to Elodie, he quickly realised Ketheric's folly would never be his. Her death would be a loss to Faerûn and his life, but it could never excuse the pathetic display of grief Ketheric and his lands had turned into.  

He wouldn't want her corpse to litter his path to greatness, but the unyielding devotion Ketheric had to someone other than himself was beneath Enver. He served none other than Bane - not even his wife would be the exception.

A wife he had yet to claim as his own.

Now a Lord (and soon to be the Absolute), Enver had little in the way of claiming what was rightfully his, though most of the Rah had long accepted Elodie Liardon would never be anyone but Enver's wife. He had long ensured they wouldn't dare come close, and while Duke Liardon had always been seething, Elodie at least seemed to have enjoyed the freedom it granted her. The Gazette was, yet again, due to Enver's considerable charity, gradually spreading rumours of impending nuptials of a Lord. While no names had been specifically mentioned, Enver had ensured nobody could interpret the 'long-standing relationship' (or whatever Ettvard called it) for anyone but them. He was surprised Thamior had not done anything to silence the rumours surrounding them, but the man was nearly vapour at this point - he had not seen him for days on end. The Duke had even been remarkably absent from several parliament sessions, multiple of which were held as crisis meetings due to the terror the Absolute was spreading along the Sword Coast, and whenever Enver tried to reach the Duke to finally get the "Yes" he had waited for too long - and if he continued to deny Enver his destiny, well... His parents had proven to be exceptionally loyal and caring since having a tadpole shoved behind their eyes.

And still – Enver was increasingly incensed over Thamior Liardon evading both his duties and Enver day in and day out. His subordinates had not seen the Duke leave his home much, though they had espied members of the Guild leaving the Liardon estate in the wee hours of the morning. It was a strange sight, perhaps even unnerving, and Enver half suspected the Duke was working with the mercenaries to get Elodie out of the city and thus out of Enver's grasp. The man must have been aware of his dwindling options, and unless he made good on his promise to choke on Raphael's cock, he had little reason or defence to deny him Elodie. He did try; Enver would give him that. Whenever Enver showed up at the Liardon Estate, their chamberlain would open the doors, meeting his eyes and denying him entry.

"Lady Elodie is not available. I'm afraid you will have to return at a more opportune time, my Lord," the man uttered each and every time before the heavy doors of the estate shut and sealed before Enver could respond.

In truth, it almost amused Enver, even if the game was increasingly exasperating. If Thamior Liardon truly believed he could prevent Enver from fulfilling his destiny, he was a greater fool than he had initially assumed, but it would make victory taste far sweeter. The infuriatingly vainglorious smile would vanish from Thamior's face at Enver's machinations – a victory he would relish almost as much as finally turning Elodie Liardon into Duchess Gortash. His subordinates were instructed to report any and all curious sightings, scraps of gossip and any whisper of Guild activity back to him – Elodie would not leave the city under his watch.

Several tendays passed, and the most his subordinates had reported was a handful of members of the Guild had spoken about impressive amounts of coin Duke Liardon had promised, yet even the mercenaries his Black Gauntlets had maimed were unaware of what the Duke had asked of the Guild in particular.

He was all the more surprised when Black Gauntlet Holtz traipsed into his room late into the night.

He sat in his own estate, a rare occurrence these days, in front of his fireplace, letting the pages of invasion plans be illuminated by the flickering embers as he nursed a glass of Jasmarim Shadow Wine as he deliberated over various strategies, wondering if he should take Elturgard or Amn first. He sighed as he took a drag of his pipe, blowing the smoke into the air. The ornate door to his chambers opened, hasty steps hurrying towards him. He barely spared the woman a glance before his gaze returned to the parchment in front of him, mildly perturbed to be disturbed at such a late hour. Black Gauntlet Holtz, while a devout follower of Bane, was a headache to be around - ugly as a toad and with a voice as grating as it was irritating. The sole reason Enver kept her around in the first place was simply because she had proven to be very adept at keeping his Gondian workers particularly motivated. In the periphery of his vision, he could see the woman bowing deeply out of respect towards his station, her eyes not averting from the ground.

"I do hope you have an exceptional excuse for coming to my quarters at this hour," Enver huffed. "Much less for abandoning your position at the Foundry."

"Y-yes, ma Lord," the woman's voice was shaking, piquing Enver's curiosity as he picked up on her evident unease.  

"Get on with it then," he sighed, blowing a puff of smoke in the air.

"A wis doin' ma rounds at the Foundry whan A saw somethin' strange on the scry screens. A thoucht A wis imaginin' things, but," she was shaking now, clearing her throat several times before she continued to speak. "The Scryin ee at the goblin camp... A saw Lady Liardon thare."

Enver stiffened, turning away from his work before staring at her with unblinking eyes. "Excuse me?"

"A- A kept watching, ma lord. Couldnae believe it. She's a fine lass, ye know. Couldnae believe it at aw. She shouldnae have been thare. But it wis her - A swear on the black hand o Bane!"

"And pray tell, Gauntlet, what would my fiancée be doing in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by Goblin trash?"

"I dinnae know!" the woman disclosed, dropping to her knees. "I think she has a tadpole! The ee resonated, ye see! Killit aw the goblins wi strange people A have niver seen before! but it wis her, ma Lord! A swear on Bane, it wis her! A coud niver mistake yer bonnie bride for someone else."

Enver stood up, swallowing hard as he turned towards the windows with a frown. A tadpole in Elodie's head? And she was killing Goblins? It was an absurd notion. If she genuinely carried a tadpole, she would be under the Absolute's control, unable to do anything but follow the brains' command – the Goblins would have been her allies, not her adversaries. He took another long drag, puffing out the smoke in deep thought.

"A came straicht here whan the ee wis destroyed, ma Lord. A knew ye wad want tae know," Holtz continued.

"The Nautiloid," Enver suddenly intervened, an epiphany interrupting his thoughts. "The Nautiloid that passed through Baldur's Gate more than a tenday ago."

"It crashit i the Western Heartlands, ma Lord. Our scout says he doesnae think anyone survivit the crash."

"It crashed?" Enver whipped around angrily. "It crashed, and nobody thought to tell me?!"

"A - A didnae know!" Holtz's head shot up, eyes wide. "The bampot only mentionit it tae me now."

Enver stepped closer to her now, his tone even with a cutting edge. "And you are absolutely certain you saw my fiancée in the camp?"

"Ay," the woman nodded furiously. "A coud niver mistake her for someone else, e'en whan coverit i goblin guts."

Enver wrinkled his nose in disgust; the picture of Elodie bathed in red was wholly unpleasant. Repulsive, even. He couldn't imagine Eau de Goblin Guts smelled delectable either - most definitely not like her usual soap and perfume. He turned his back towards Gauntlet Holtz again, the gears in his mind turning as he tried to make sense of what she had uncovered. If Elodie had been tadpoled, she must have been missing for nearly three tendays if his memory of the Nautiloid passing through Baldur's Gate served him right. Almost as long as Thamior Liardon had welcomed members of the Guild into his home.

At once, it made sense.

The Duke was not working with the Guild to get Elodie out of the city; he was trying to get her back and likely had no idea where she was. It did not explain why she had decimated an entire encampment of Goblins, though a lingering suspicion gnawed at the back of his mind. He was torn - conflicted. Tadpoling his wife had never been part of the plan; she would have followed Bane willingly under his guidance, and they would have established a dynasty of tyranny. But if anything, her abduction made for fabulous blackmail material, and while Enver had outgrown his thuggish ways long ago, he decided he would make an exception just once and pay Duke Liardon a personal visit.

"Sir - I mean Lord Gortash! You cannot go in there," the querulous Chamberlain of Thamior Liardon yapped.

Enver had chosen to spurn the fellow, simply strutting past his station before his master's office with flippant nonchalance. A pleased smirk had placed itself on his face; the invaluable knowledge he had carried with him had lifted his spirits significantly. As he reached the oak doors of his office, he swung them open in a grand gesture, stepping into the gaudy place of the Liardon patriarch. The woody and spicy oriental scent Enver had grown accustomed to in his office assaulted his senses, the remnants of the firey fragrance of the fireplace wafting through the air. Duke Liardon sat behind his perfectly waxed desk, weary and rugged as if he had not slept in weeks. His clothes looked haphazardly thrown together, and his tired eyes met Enver's with pique and ire.

"Lord Gortash, I am quite busy. I must ask that you leave," he snapped.

Enver's smirk only widened. "I'm sure you have a moment for an old friend, Thamior."

"We are not friends," the Duke retaliated, raising himself. "You'd do well to remember that."

"Oh – You will adore me soon enough." Whether Enver meant the tadpoles or Elodie's resurgence, he wasn't quite sure himself.

"Sir –" the Chamberlain had hurried in after Enver, gasping as he held his chest and clutched it. "You must leave."

"Actually, you will leave," Enver commanded. "I have rather urgent business with Duke Liardon."

"It will have to wait," the aforementioned men interjected. "My calendar is full."

Enver chuckled darkly. "Even if I could make your greatest problem disappear? Actually, scratch that. I could ensure she would reappear."

Something flickered behind Thamior's eyes – astonishment, curiosity, wariness. The man's eyes bore into his as he ignored the Chamberlain as if looking for any trace of buffoonery, yet Enver's even smirk and relaxed posture did little to assuage what hopeful doubt he might have harboured.

"Leave," Thamior abruptly commanded his Chamberlain; eyes full of burning hatred, not straying from Enver as he bit his tongue until the doors to his office had closed once again. "What do you know? Do you have her? I swear, Gortash, I will torch you in the fires of the Hells myself if – "

"I do not harbour her," Enver interrupted him. "But I know where she is, and I could return her to you entirely unscathed."

"Could?" Thamior asked, eyebrow raised.

Enver chuckled in response. "My price is very reasonable."

"No," Thamior paled, his tone almost pleading as he realised what Enver would ask of him. "I will not condemn her to a life with you."

"Then I guess she is on her own out there," he told him with a teasing lilt. "It will be interesting to see if she survives or if you one day will bury her captivating corpse in your family's mausoleum. Ah, such tragedy. Do spare me an invite for the funeral if you manage to recover her body."

"You are fucking vile," the Duke pressed out, his face red in anger, his eye twitching.

"I would be an exiguous arms dealer if I did not illustrate just how big your loss is in comparison to your gain. I don't come cheap, Thamior. And yet, I am offering you a reasonable solution on a silver platter."

"And asking me to condemn her to everlasting misery."

"I can assure you, she will not be miserable," Enver assuaged him half-heartedly. "As my wife, she would remain protected at all times. Naturally, our children would be too."

"She doesn't want this," Thamior muttered defeatedly, his eyes averting in shame. Enver almost became giddy - finally a yes.

"She would have no dreams at all if she perished on the path she is on right now," Enver added, his words malignant to the elven man's ears. Perhaps it was unnecessarily cruel, but he relished seeing defeat in the Duke's eyes.

The elf's eyes clenched shut, his jaw tensing before he turned around as if unable to speak the words he knew he needed to. It was deliciously cruel - a pleasurable stimulant of its own, and Enver had rarely relished a victory as greatly as this.

"And she will return entirely unharmed?" Thamior asked quietly.

"I swear," Enver grinned.

The Duke's shoulders sagged, a long exhaling breath leaving his lungs before he turned around again, his eyes glittering with unshed tears of failure and remorse. "Please bring her back to us. All I ask is that you treat her kindly."

"Naturally," Enver reeled, chuckling darkly. "How wonderful our families will be united at last. You better inform your wife of the impending nuptials. I imagine Elodie will return rather swiftly."

The Grand Chamber of High Hall was a foreboding place as the patriars of Baldur's Gate were chattering amongst themselves, the schmoozing only accompanied by the clambering steps of his Steel Watch against the stone. Enver stood next to the throne, which would soon be his, a pleasant smile on his lips as he awaited for his ordination to begin. The Chamber was decked out in banners of glittering gold, shimmering in the afternoon sun and reflecting off the gaudy flower arrangements Duke Portyr had insisted upon. Enver did not care for them; the smell of chrysanthemums and bluebells and whichever else flowers had been picked overwhelming amidst the musty smell of the ancient halls and chattering of patriars. The lavish spectacle would be torn down just a day later and replaced by flowers commemorating his nuptials, though, as Enver noticed, his bride – and her companions – had yet to arrive.

She had surprised him; Enver would admit that. He had not expected her to find the path to Moonrise Towers, nor had he expected her to kill Ketheric Thorm and free his source of invulnerability - an aasimar of Selûne – thus ending a century of torment and gloom that had plagued Reithwin and Thorm's grounds. Elodie and her ragtag group of companions had taken the Netherstone off of Thorms corpse, which Enver suspected was now rotting in the Colony beneath his ruined tower. Part of him was near riddled with anxiety – though Elodie had always been a formidable presence, she must have evolved enough to physically fight her way back to Baldur's Gate with teeth and claws. All so she could end him, and the plan he had so fastidiously worked for. He was somewhat grateful she would be his wife in three days' time – calling her  'enemy' was something he truly did not want. If she had been capable enough to slaughter an invulnerable man who had risen from the grave before for good, he shuddered to think of what else she would be capable of. It was a notion that frightened him to the core, even if he would never admit it to himself, much less her.

She had arrived in Rivington a mere two days past, and Enver had only glimpsed her through the eyes of his Steel Watch, radiant and compelling, though it did not compare to her presence when she finally waltzed through the doors mere minutes before his inauguration, both her parents and her companions at her side.

A sheer tempest of a woman, Enver shivered in delight when she stepped towards her seat in the front. She looked different, yet somehow entirely the same. A softly draped, off-shouldered champagne-coloured chiffon gown adorned a body which was lightly more muscular than Enver remembered, evidence of the resilience that had led her back to him. Her silvery hair was longer, falling down to her waist with intricate braids adorning the crown of her head, but her eyes were her most striking feature still. Defiant green stared right back at him, hatred burning passionately behind her eyes, never once dissipating, even when she sat down, and Ulder Ravengard began the ceremonial part of the afternoon.

It excited Enver far more than it should have.

After he was finally declared the first Archduke of Baldur's Gate, the patriars flocked to him like sheep, but he pushed through with a pleasant smile before finally reaching the one person he had waited for, held by her mother and father and no less furious than she had been prior to the ceremony. Her companions were all between different shades of vexed and irate, though the pale elf almost seemed amused by it all. Karlach's presence astonished him, but he ignored her in favour of his bride.

"My ravishing fiancée," Enver declared loudly, a proud smirk on his face as he heard a posse of noblewomen giggle at the ostensibly romantic gesture. Their betrothal had been announced nearly instantaneously after Thamior had agreed to it, but after pretending the young half-elf was 'preparing for the nuptials elsewhere', it was the first time they had been seen together since.

"Gortash," she hissed venomously, a chastising 'Elodie' promptly following from her mother.

His smirk only widened as he stepped closer. "How wonderful you have returned to my side at last."

"Isn't it just?" her mother swooned before Elodie could say a thing. "I am ecstatic to finally welcome you into the family, your Grace."

Elodie scoffed, her father's lips drawn in a line for a brief second before he forced a smile.

"Indeed, Lady Liardon," Enver nodded. "Now, as joyful as we all are today, I must speak to my fiancée and her... camaraderie. Alone."

Enver could see the silent protest forming on Thamior Liardon's lips, but a single glance silenced him into submission. Enver removed Elodie's hands from her father's, noticing how they, too, had roughened up and become slightly calloused over the time she spent in the dirt. Her eyes narrowed, sharper than ever, as he tightly gripped her hand, assuring her family they would return momentarily before rushing her and her companions into a small office just off the main hall.

The door had barely closed behind the party before Enver leapt aside as a fiery bolt shot towards him and hit the stone wall in place of his chest.

"You foul little bastard," his fiancée bellowed, another bolt shooting from her hands, which Enver scarcely escaped. "How dare you?!"

"Careful, Darling," Enver growled, "I admire your resilience, but I will not be threatened by my own fiancée. I urge you to reconsider. Immediately."

Another bolt shot from her, electric and designed to maim, before the pale elf placed a hand on her shoulder and uttered something Enver couldn't quite catch, though his eye twitched upon seeing the marble hand upon her naked skin, no matter how innocent the touch might have been. Every inch of her belonged to him – the pretty boy had no right to lay his claws near her. She ceased her aggression, crossing her arms in front of her before glaring at him like she wanted to burn him to cinders, alive and screaming, for several long and silent moments.

Enver was certain he had never been more aroused.

"I understand congratulations are in order," Enver spoke after a while, addressing the group before him. "Thorm's defeat hasn't gone unnoticed. You're known - for who you are and for that Netherstone you carry."

"Happy to be of service," the pale elf quipped humorously.

"Astarion," Elodie hissed angrily. The man only held up his hands in surrender.

"Not to mention that little Gith artefact you carry," Enver carried on, ignoring the quarrel. "The quakes are a clear warning. If nobody steps in soon, the Brain will free itself from the authority of the crown. I expect it'll start with turning the Sword Coast's infected - you among them. That prism of yours won't last indefinitely."

The group stiffened, the Githyanki among them only snarling in warning though she remained silent otherwise. It pleased Enver to see even Elodie could listen – even if she was in no position to outright refuse or deny him.

"Next – The Grand Design," Enver continued. "The Mindflayer Empire reborn. If we're lucky, we'll become slaves. If we're unlucky, well – "

"And whose fault exactly is that, hm?" Elodie spat angrily.

Enver ignored her. "Together, we can still restore authority over the brain."

"We're not interested in bargaining with the likes of you," Elodie said, frowning at him.

"The likes of you stand to benefit from the likes of me. Never mind that you," his gaze bore into her, "Will be my wife in just a few days."

"I would rather die."

"So you'd rather plunge the Sword Coast into chaos and paint this city in blood? Because I can assure you Orin is treacherous." He held no qualms about pushing her into a corner to side with him, forcing her into submissive compliance, specifically if she would not do so willingly. It came to him as easy as breathing, the very essence of his being craving to dominate her. He craved to see her sag into submission – a place she would be safe and sound and, above all his.

"Let's be allies, said the viper to the frog," Karlach yakked.

Enver could see Elodie's jaw clenching, fury steaming from her as she contemplated his words. Choice was an illusion to her, but if she could agree to alliance for her companions she'd spare them all unnecessary grief.

"I trusted you once, Gortash," she near whispered. "I trusted you, and all it got me was an illithid tadpole that has nearly killed me time and time again. I won't make that mistake again. A temporary alliance is all I will grant you - nothing more."

"Splendid," Enver grinned, choosing to ignore her display of defiance. He'd rid her of it soon enough. "This will be a beneficial partnership indeed. I cannot wait to officially seal it in just a number of days."

"You are far more mad than I ever gave you credit for if you think I will willingly marry you."

"You don't have to be willing, Darling," Enver chuckled. "You will say 'Yes' when the vicar asks, because you have no other choice."

Enver was positively beaming on the day Elodie Liardon would finally become his.

Rarely had he ever been in higher spirits; not even Orin's threats of bloodshed could dampen his mood. Though elusive, his Steel Watch and subordinate followers of his Lord were ordered to ensure the incestuous Bhaalspawn would not interfere with the festivities he had long anticipated. His estate was buzzing, servants and clergy members alike preparing for the soon-to-be Archduchess to join the household. The High Imperceptor had assured Enver the chapel beneath his estate was prepared for their union in the eyes of Bane; a celebration designed to be conducted without non-believers present. For Enver, it was the only ceremony that mattered anyway, but the people of the Gate would not tolerate covert nuptials – not that they knew he worshipped Bane in the first place. Thus, he would first marry Elodie in the Ducal Palace to placate the Patriars with trivial celebrations amidst an impending war, a wasteful notion, but those continued to be in fashion with the elite in both times of splendour and trouble. In a way, the gentility had always been easier to control – accepting the most flagrant violations of reality, if only because they were unable to grasp the reality of most, nor were they particularly interested in the proles to notice anything but themselves and their pomp.

The streets of Baldur's Gate were bustling, decorated with ivory banners and various flower displays adorning the cobbled paths and window sills. People were hurrying from place to place, paperboys waving around a special edition of the Gazette – in short, there was ecstasy in the air.

The Ducal Palace was glittering in the midday sun, polished to perfection inside and out. The elegantly designed windows were adorned with grand spires upon the parapets, decked out in lush flowers, twinkle lights that would be turned on at night, and ivory bows and banners. Enver scrunched his nose in distaste, but he had given little input to the charade of the public wedding, as he was far too busy planning his real ceremony and continuing his takeover of Baldur's Gate. For a few moments, he supposed, he would be able to endure the ostentatious revelry. The Grand Chamber had been decorated in much the same way: the pews were glamoured with ivory ribbon, streaked with golden and bronze thread, and endless flowers were decorating the ceiling and temporary altar at the end of the hall. The decorations must have cost a fortune, though Enver would dare to guess they hardly put a dent in the Liardon family's vaults. The air was perfumed with a fragrant blend of orange blossom, freesias, sage and lily of the valley, and the Plum Prosecco that guests were offered as an aperitif.

The Halls quickly filled with the Patriars and fine merchants, glancing at Enver as he stood at the altar next to the vicar who would bind them in front of society in a bespoke suit Figaro had made for him in record time. His parents had been led to the Hall by trusted Gauntlet, standing off to the side with perfectly poised and proud smiles and clothes they wouldn't have been able to afford if they had sold him six times over. Elodie's companions and her mother arrived last, and Enver was surprised at how well the group was dressed in spite of their late arrival and the shenanigans they had been up to since. Last he had heard, they had rid Ramazith's Tower of its ruler, Lorroakan, and a Tiefling from Elturel had taken his place. An impressive feat – Enver would ensure to keep the girl on a tight leash. He would keep her focused on the Netherbrain and the dynasty they would build together, not on some idle errands.

At last, Elodie entered the Hall, led by her father and accompanied by the harmonious melody of a string quartet and for a second Enver felt disarmed by her beauty. A tightly corested off-shouldered gown in a blush pink colour, with fanciful and ornate gold and bronze threadwork depicting various flowers and Lathanderian symbols cascading over the skirt and torso in a seamless display. A flower crown had been placed atop her silver hair, swept up in delicate curls though partially hidden by a matching veil, embroidered with even more Lathanderian symbols. He'd have to burn both, of course, for Bane would not allow heresy in his household. But for a single moment in time Enver allowed himself to simply appreciate her magnificence. The pair stepped up to the altar; Thamior slowly placed Elodie's hand in Enver's, the elven man's hand trembling before his gaze met Enver's for a split second.

I place her life in your hands, it said. Please treat her well.

Enver only smirked in response, tightening his grip on her hand before turning towards the vicar.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of the Gods and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in blessed matrimony," the Vicar's voice was achingly loud, echoing through the hall as he began his tedious speech. "Which is an honourable estate, signifying the mystical union that is betwixt a man and his wife, which holy estate the Gods adorned and beautified with their presence and is commended to be honourable among all men and therefore is not by any to be enterprised or taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly or wantonly. But reverently, discreetly, soberly and in the fear of the Gods, duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained."

Enver internally rolled his eyes, already regretting consenting to this ceremony. He could feel Elodie's burning hot stare; he did not need to look to know there was everlasting hatred on her face, aimed at him as he likely wished to set him on fire. Good, he silently thought. Hatred was the very essence which fed their Lord - hatred's embrace would be the climax to his victory. A blow struck against everything she had ever been before he had owned her.

The Vicar continued, his voice loud and echoing within the hall. "First, it was ordained for the increase of mankind according to the will of the Gods and that children might be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Divine and to the praise of their sacred name."

Enver could feel Elodie stiffen at the mention of children, her breath quickening before she tried to pull her hands away as if suddenly fear-stricken. His hold tightened on her, a curious glance to his right as he wondered if children terrified her. He could scarcely glimpse her face beneath the opaque veil, but he thought he might have seen horror reflected in her eyes.

"Secondly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help and comfort to the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and in adversity, into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore, if any man can show any just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace."

A pin could have dropped in the room, eerily silent after the words were spoken. Enver discreetly glanced behind Elodie, watching her companions restrain themselves with all their might as they glared daggers at his back. Displeasure was not enough to describe the fury on their faces – Enver wasn't quite sure what they would have liked to do first: slaughter him or rescue her. Yet they stayed quiet, silently screaming "I object" over and over again in their tadpoled heads.

Content with the silence, the vicar turned to Enver and Elodie. "I require and charge you both as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, you do now confess it."

He heard a sharp intake of breath from his left and immediately tightened his grip on Elodie's hand in an unmistakable warning; he would not tolerate disobedience, least of all, from her. She glared at him from beneath her veil, and Enver only chuckled in response.  

"I told you, Darling. You have no choice," he lowly whispered as the vicar prepared the final act of the ceremony.

"Fuck you," she spat out in a quiet hiss before returning her attention to the man in front of them.

"Enver Gortash. Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife? To live together in the holiest state of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health and forsaking all other keep thee only unto her, for as long as ye both shall live?"

"I will," Enver nodded, his voice steady and confident, a pleased smirk on his lips. He could hear Bane's humming approval in the back of his mind, pleased that his Chosen had fulfilled part of his divine duty.

The Vicar returned his attention to Elodie. "Elodie Liardon. Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband? To live together in the holiest state of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour and keep him in sickness and in health and forsaking all other keep thee only unto him, for as long as ye both shall live?"

For a split second, she hesitated before she took a steadying breath and, with a defeated mumble, answered: "I will."

Enver's heart jumped erratically, his pleased smile growing impossibly large on his face. His girl. His. Finally, she had ceased to swim against the current of her destiny, and the predestined had happened. What would have been a dream for young Enver Flymm had blossomed into reality in his bed of ambitions. His victories were not single and solitary births; they were the outcome of many years of striking testament to his god-given preeminence and resilience.

"Bless, oh Gods, this ring and grant that he who gives it and she who shall wear it may remain faithful to each other and abide in thy peace and favour and live together in love until their lives end."

Enver was handed the ring that would adorn Elodie's hand; it was a glittering deep oval emerald set on a golden ring. Bane's colours, specifically picked for her. He slipped it onto her left ring finger, the resplendent emerald now clinquant on her hand where it would sit forever.

The Vicar raised his hands above them in blessing, loudly declaring: "Those whom the Gods hath joined together let no man put asunder."

He then smiled at Enver, content as a new melody began to play, filling the hall with jubilance. "You may kiss your bride, your Grace."

He chuckled in response, turning towards Elodie before he gently lifted the veil from her face. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears of fury, glaring at him, cheeks reddened though most would likely confuse her for a blushing bride, and yet he had never seen a woman more beautiful. His heart fluttered for a second before he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her close, his lips finding hers in a fluid motion. With the urgency of a man starved, his lips claimed hers, unwilling to ever let her go again. The feeling was both cataclysmic and serene as their lips collided with wretched urgency, both in surrender and conquest - the dichotomy hardly fathomable to Enver himself. She gasped against his lips and Enver only pulled her closer before, eventually, the titters and the throat-clearing in the audience caused him to begrudgingly part from her lips, the crowd erupting into applause.

A silent tear fell from Elodie's eyes, which Enver quickly wiped from her in pretend gentleness, rough callouses against her soft skin before he turned them to face the crowd with a victorious smile.

She was the acme of a thousand victories. Finally, Enver grinned; he had won.

[bogwaterparasite]

Could you please do 2004 Tord x reader, pls? He's my comfort character x(

(btw, pls make him as an adult if ur comfy with that! The TeenTord headcanon makes me uncomfortable x(

(not forced!)

Hello why of course!! I’m gonna be completely honest, last I watched Eddsworld was back in 2014?? So my interpretation might not be the best 🙏🙏 either way I hope you enjoy!!!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Pairing : 2004Tord x Reader

CW : none

Wc : 639 (wow so short)

A/N : I actually quite enjoyed this one? Im writing this at night and I didn’t have much of an idea of what else to do/ where to take it, but lowkey I can see it possibly becoming an actual story rather than a one shot. Who knows, maybe if I’m feeling inspired I’ll make it into a series

Sypnosis : You’re a mechanic working late one night when someone bursts into your workshop

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the cluttered garage. It was well past midnight, one of those rare moments when the world seemed to pause, allowing you a precious slice of personal time. Your own projects—the ones that never made it to the top of the priority list—were finally getting some attention.

Being a mechanic wasn't just a job; it was a calling. Each day brought a wild mixture of characters: stubborn old men who looked at you with skeptical eyes, convinced that youth equated to incompetence; entitled customers who argued over every dollar; self-proclaimed experts who believed YouTube tutorials made them equivalent to professional technicians. You'd seen it all—or so you thought.

The sudden crash of the workshop door made you jump, your wrench clattering against the concrete floor. A lanky figure burst in, light brown hair slightly disheveled, eyes wild with an intensity that immediately set your internal alarms ringing. Your gaze shifted towards the window, the LED sign with the words “Open” was shut off.. there was no way he actually thought the shop was open.

Before you even had the chance to protest, to tell him that right now you weren’t under working hours, blueprints exploded across your workspace like a paper hurricane, accompanied by several heavy metal boxes that looked like they'd been "borrowed" from somewhere decidedly official. Immediately, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, who the hell was this lunatic?

You didn’t have much time to question his theatrics as he soon began to explain his plan. Something about a robot.. approximately 10 meters tall? Looking down at the prints on your desk you weren’t able to tell if this was just some geeky fascination or something that you should genuinely be worried about. Regardless, it was something way out of your budget and league. Despite your interest and knowledge on cars, you weren’t so sure it applied to.. this..

"Look man, I dunno…" you started, your voice wavering between professional skepticism and genuine confusion. "I'm a mechanic, not a manufacturer. A twenty- thirty.. something foot robot? That's way beyond the standard automotive repair."

The stranger—dressed in a vibrant red hoodie that seemed almost too casual for the plans now scattered before you—let out a low chuckle. It was the kind of laugh that suggested he knew exactly how ridiculous this all seemed, and yet, didn't seem to care one bit.

"Not asking for mass production," he said, his accent carrying a hint of something Nordic—Norwegian, maybe? "Just one. Perfect prototype. Think of it as... a special order." His hands remained casually stuffed in his hoodie pockets, but there was nothing casual about the calculation behind his eyes.

The blueprints were meticulously detailed. Intricate mechanical designs intertwined with what looked like weaponry specifications. It was.. almost scary, how someone as simple as he looked was able to acquire such things, ones of such magnitude to say the least. This wasn't just a robot; this was something more. Something potentially dangerous.

"Split the profits," he continued, watching you carefully. "Fifty-fifty. All I need is your technical expertise and this workspace for a few weeks."

Something told you this was more than a simple business proposition. The boxes of materials, the precise blueprints, the way he'd so easily found his way into a private workshop, everything screamed of a deeper, more complex story.

And yet, a part of you was intrigued. Curiosity had always been your weakness, and this stranger had just presented a puzzle too compelling to dismiss.

"Who are you?" you found yourself asking, knowing the answer would likely raise more questions than it would resolve.

The smile that crossed his face was equal parts charming and dangerous—the smile of someone who knew exactly how this conversation would end, even if you didn't.

“My name is Tord, What about you, Stranger?”

[princess-of-the-corner]

since I can't find the original post

what's your miraculous atla au?

Yeah a couple of the early posts got kinda lost! But anyway! ml atla au my beloved!

So it's ML in the world of ATLA and it kinda... goes on its' own story arcs? It's not a 1-1 on either plot more just the characters in the environment and things playing out.

Marinette and Adrien share the Avatar role using my Split Avatar AU concept. I used this a few times in other places but short summary: One person has the Elements, one has the Spirit Nonsense. Both have to work together to use their powers and do their job. Sometimes literally as the Avatar State requires synchronization.

Anyway! Marinette has the Bending ability, starting with Waterbending and is from the Northern Water Tribe. Adrien is a non-Bender but has Spirit abilities, and is from the Fire Nation.

Various plots include:

General 'Marinette travels the world to learn the Elements. Gathers the Miracuclass as the new Team Avatar'. Nino and Kim are childhood friends that join her.

Emilie is in some Spirit-induced Coma. Gabriel initially reaches out to Avatar Mari to see if she can help, but she's just learned she is the Avatar and even if they weren't Split her abilities are so new to her. Gabriel starts looking into other routes.

Adrien meets Mari and feels some connection so runs away from home to join Team Avatar. Chloé and Sabrina come with him. Oh also Chloé is princess of the Fire Nation because I fucking can.

Kagami ends up joining because she was originally a bounty hunter sent to bring Adrien and co back home, but she fell for Marinette's charms and taking Adrien back would make her sad. Also she took her mom's dragon, Tatsu for this trip.

Mari and Adrien realize they have some fucky bond and end up needing to research, which leads them to a library(no not that one) where they meet Alya who is down to do research on the Avatar!

The gang runs into Lila who is a conartist, tricking people into thinking she's the Avatar by using her Bending to give an illusion that she's bending multiple elements. While Mari calls her out on this, she recognizes that Lila is a talented as hell Airbender and drags her onto the team. (Lila is getting power of friendshipped whether she likes it or not). Also Lila has a lemur named Bandito!

Alix is a Kyoshi Warrior. I think that speaks for itself!

Brainwash Underground Fight Club!!! this is my favorite side story! Basically Bob Roth had some connections that got him these kinda. Mind control mask things. And he was kidnapping kids with talented bending to compete in an undergroud fight club. Among the victims are Juleka, Rose, Mylene and Ivan. Juleka in particular is a powerful as hell Earthbender who became Champion of the fight ring. Team Avatar gets involved because they meet Luka who was trying to find where Juleka and Rose disappeared to.

They track down where Bob got those masks and they find Max who uh. Well he didn't /intend/ for his invention to be used that way! What he was trying to do was make a way for Spirits to be communicated with on this Realm without needing to have ones own spiritual nonsense. And a prototype was a mask to channel them but was scrapped due to, ya know, possession.

I think there were some other plots but that's it for now

[mmmmalo]

Just read through slurquest and its a fascinating read. One thing I thought of while reading it (even though you didn't really dig into Jack Noir/black stuff) was an experience I had a while back where, in a fit of homestuck nostalgia, I decided to go through and listen through the entire official discography (up to vol 10 that is) in release order. I had a bit of a double take when the very first Toby Fox song in official release order (and in fact predating any of his songs showing up in the comic) is Liquid Negrocity on the Midnight Crew album [/watch?v=r8sBtl3WYZo], which was the song he would later remix to make Black (the song used in Jack: Ascend) [/watch?v=5NACWZBDtN8] and was the origin for Jack Noir's leitmotif. Said double take turned into a full "what the hell is going on" when I got to volume 5 and came across Octoroon Rangoon [/watch?v=mkCprHAqw8w], a song he did that's basically some sort of jrpg boss battle-esque remix of LN (with some of Non Compos Mentis [/watch?v=ANwj8Zm82bA], a song Bill Bolin composed that never got a chance at an official release before his falling out with Hussie).

Now thinking into it further, one noticeable instance in the comic where the motif is used in a non-Jack Noir capacity is Mark Hadley's Blackest Heart [/watch?v=t12NlwsrlAQ] (it's a lot more noticeable if you speed up the song in a way that pitches it up), which ends up being associated with Gamzee (though Hadley's mentioned it was originally envisioned as a Jack song)

Actually notably it seems that Susie's motif in Deltarune [/watch?v=C3klVnJpCFY] seems like a weird off-brand version of the motif? (especially noticeable 53 seconds into Vs. Susie [/watch?v=cGuDpoJNImA])

This isn't really an ask? But yes, the word "octoroon" (also seen in the excerpt of Colonel Sassacre) is an early hint of the story's bizarre racial dynamics. There are a few fleeting moments where Jack's "blackness" could MAYBE be racially loaded -- his failure to recognize Jeff Foxworthy and Bing Crosby could be spun that way, as though whiteness is what made them alien -- but he's honestly not a great example most of the time, afaict.

The phrase "liquid negrocity" is more directly a reference to Problem Sleuth, where Death cries tears of "Black Liquid Sorrow"... but even though Problem Sleuth contains prototypes of much of Homestuck's racial humor, I was never able to parse Death's shtick along racial lines. The skull-headed cherubim come to share Death's love of games (Caliborn) and costume (Calliope's god hood), but they are racially split in a way that doesn't seem to map back onto their predecessor. There's untapped depth in Problem Sleuth though -- only on my last reread did I catch the "honey cooler" joke that explained why the Lazy Susan of Endowment would be in a brothel! So there might be a connection yet

Despite starting Undertale in the aftermath of a race war and setting up the Lightner/Darkner dichotomy for Deltarune, Toby doesn't seem to share Hussie's interest in direct references to irl racial conflict... shrug. This lens was built for Homestuck

[simplysedusa]

I’ve seen you quote dbza and I’d just like to drop this interaction which is how I kind of envision the normies (minus Mike which based on your theory that he might be a super without knowing which I approve of) dynamics with each other

*Normies, seperated from the girls and boys and having to fend for themselves*

Mike: We've got a lot of ground to cover.

Elmer: Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.

Mike: We should probably-

Elmer: Here it comes…

Mike: -stick together for safety.

Elmer: Oh. Thank god on this green earth-

Robin: I don’t know. Probably cover more ground if we split up.

Elmer: YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH!

Mitch: Nah, she’s got a good point.

Elmer: Ah, goddamnit!

Again, PLEASE STAY OUT OF MY HEAD LMAO. Like, do you just live up here now? /j /lh

In TBYOORL*, Townsville goes to shit; the Arkham equivalent in Townsville has been breached, and all of the unredeemed villains (Mojo, Roach Coach, White Kitty, Femme Fatale, etc.) are rioting. On top of that, the Powerpunk Girls are up to no good, which causes the girls and the boys to split up temporarily.

Without spoiling too much, Professor Utonium manages to finish working on this "invention" to thwart the Powerpunks' plan, but he needs to go out and bring it to the Puffs and Ruffs. Thus, the Normies Core Four (who already bunkered down at the Utonium household after being rescued from a prior kidnapping, a lot happens lmao) hop into the Le Car 2.0 prototype while the Professor stays home to defend his house from those who might retaliate against the Puffs. And I definitely see a situation going down just like that.

Some other moments from DBZA that I think could fit the four:

Elmer, after being discovered by the villains: Why do I do things?

....

Brick: What, do your powers make you psychic?

Mike: No, but they do help me see bullshit.

Brick: You know what...

Brick: *flies away*

Elmer: You know he can kill you, right?

Mike: At this point, it's a game. And if he gives in, I win. And he knows that.

....

Robin, in a chokehold from a criminal, internally: Quick Rob, use your instincts.

Robin: *bites their hand*

Criminal: OW! HOLY MOTHER OF– you bit my hand!

Robin: You punched me in the face!

Criminal: YOU BIT MY HAND!

Robin: YOU PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE!

....

Mitch, after being saved: Damn, Bunny, where the hell did that come from?

Mitch: And what took you so long?

Bunny: I was waiting to see how things "play out".

Mitch: Is that sarcasm?

Bunny: Sarcasm isn't one of my ingredients.

Mitch: ...I'm proud of you.

*Refers to one of my WIPS, titled "The Best Years of Our (Resurrected) Lives".

[kemendin]

So I essentially keep to my own little sandbox when it comes to SWTOR, my own characters and stories. BUT, sometimes @certified-anakinfucker's Darrash comes over to play with Khel and Quinn. Thoughts happened, talks happened, sobs happened, and while the background circumstances are my fault, this scene is very much to be blamed on Cheeri!

Anyway, no polish here, just feels and word vomit. CW for mention of character death.

Darrash Nealev. The name dredges something out of the tangled mess that’s been steadily replacing Quinn’s once-orderly brain over the last few days. Muddied memories of a small, slouched figure, a cocky grin made wider by scars that split across warm brown cheeks. Green eyes flicking around, a gaze both distracting and distracted. Never keeping still, constant jittering, fingers fiddling with the settings of a sniper rifle long enough that it must threaten to trip him up - No. Not Darrash. Cipher Nine. An agent. An assassin. The thought catches in Quinn’s roiling brain, latches on, digging, twisting, so that almost before the door has closed again behind his unexpected visitor, Malavai has already moved - ramming the other man bodily into the nearest wall, pinning him there, as the business end of his blaster pushes hard into the hollow place beneath Cipher Nine’s chin.

For once, there’s no easy roll of a neck or shoulder, no cocksure remark dropped casually from the space between flashing teeth. There’s almost no reaction at all, and for some reason Quinn finds this infuriating, and his blaster bites harder, forcing the agent’s head back - the only movement Nine has made, save for the barely perceptible trembling of his lithe body against the wall.

Their eyes meet, furious blue boring into now-muted green, and Quinn actually sees it, for the first time - true fear fluttering in the other man’s gaze. And hell, he should be afraid, because the stubble is thick on Quinn’s too-pale jaw and the hollows of his eyes are burning with unsummoned tears and his teeth are bared as though he’s only a moment away from tossing aside the blaster and using his jaws instead to rend the life from Nine’s throat.

But then words croak from that throat, thin and terrified:

“You - you think I did it.”

And in these last few moments, in the wild rampage of his grief, that’s exactly what Quinn has thought. Because who better than the infamous yet unknowable Cipher Nine to carry out such an act - to peer through the scope of a prototype sniper rifle and drive a Force-rending bolt into the unsuspecting back of the Empire’s Hand?

A tremor runs through his own hand as the memory grips him again; he shoves it aside by jamming the blaster even harder against the underside of Nine’s chin, till the man’s head is clamped in the vise formed by Quinn’s need for retribution and the unyielding wall behind him. He should say something, he needs to say something, but it’s lodged in his throat as though he’s the one trying to swallow and breathe beneath a blasterpoint. So instead it’s Nine who speaks again, soft, scared, not quite a plea, but an entreaty nonetheless:

“Quinn, please think about this. If I killed Khel, would I be standing here unarmed?”

Rationality, logic - these things have not been heeded or welcomed in Malavai’s broken brain. All semblance of reason has given way to the tidal wave of heartbreak, rushing in to fill the terrible hollow left behind by Khel’s death. 

But now they nudge gently at him, circling, coaxing him to stop, and breathe, and think. Quinn stares at the agent, sucking in harsh breaths that tinge his tongue with the mud he can smell hanging on the other man. He searches the Cipher’s still stiffened face for any hint of deception, of guilt, but there’s nothing, nothing but fear and a fragmented pain, and slowly, wretchedly, realisation finally takes hold.

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t Darrash.

And yet, even as he feels the fury draining from his limbs, Quinn remains there for another moment, the blaster still pressed tight to Darrash’s tilted chin, because if it wasn’t Darrash he doesn’t know who, and now he has no outlet for the anguish still building unbearably inside him.

But then the moment passes. Quinn withdraws the blaster, steps back, pivots away from the terrified agent; a second later he hurls his weapon into a corner of the room, letting out a sound more akin to a wounded nexu than a decorated officer of the Imperial military; and then he buries his face in his hands, as though skin and flesh and bone might somehow be strong enough to hold the magnitude of the grief once more retching from his mouth.

[froms8nsashes]

Tortios

"We're bringing back Toritos!"

Taurtis burst through the front door with a wide grin on his face. Arms open wide and this glint in his eyes.

"Didn't we get sued for that?" Sam asked.

"They can't find us, we're in witness protection." Taurtis shrugged off the concern.

"No, they certainly will be able to find us. Especially if you start making them in our house." Grian looked up from his book.

"You know, maybe I could name them something else. "Tortitos? Gritos? Samoritos?"

"Don't use our names!" Sam and Grian snapped.

"I can't think of anything else!" Taurtis whined.

"What if we just sell Jerry Kats?" Ridley poked her head through the door. "People already really like Jerry Kats. Also, sorry Taurtis. I couldn't keep waiting."

"You're helping him?" Sam looked a bit offended.

"Of course she's helping me! She's my sister!"

"You've been saying that for everything." Grian sighed.

"Surprisingly, it works really well! He also said I'd get half of the profits."

"Half?! What if we wanted to help?" Sam gasped.

"Well... You can still help! I just don't want to pay you."

"What?!"

"What if I split my fifty percent in half?"

"That's fine, I don't care what you do with your money." Taurtis smiled. "Anyway, I'm gonna go make some prototypes in the basement! Bye!"

"Taurtis that's my room!" Grian yelled after him, chasing him down into the basement.

After a very, long house meeting Taurtis was allowed to bring back Toritos, he just couldn't make them in the house and had to sell them online not in person. Either way they weren't going to avoid a lawsuit, but they might not lose their house.

Over night people started buying Toritos again and Taurtis used an abandoned warehouse to make the cheesy snacks anonymously. Suddenly they were being sold everywhere once again because people just happened to really, really like them. Even if they did bad things upon consumption.

Ridley stopped when she was approached by some of her friends, talking highly about Toritos and even insisting she tried some even when Taurtis specifically stated that neither her, Sam, Grian, nor Taurtis could partake in eating the merchandise. Regardless she took the red chip bag that looked far too similar to Doritos and smiled awkwardly.

"So, are you going to try them?" One girl asked.

"Eh, what the hell?" Ridley shrugged and opened the bag. The chips inside were all perfectly shaped neon orange triangles.

She started coughing and sputtering. Toritos spilled on the floor as she tried to breathe. Sam and Grian came running when they saw her down the hall. Taurtis exited the bathroom and noticed the commotion, he gasped when he saw the open chip bag and rushed over the same as his friends.

"Oh my gosh! Ridley are you okay?!"

"Of course she's not okay! She can't breathe!" Grian smacked him upside the head.

"Is no one seriously going to do anything?" Another girl asked, looking at the two boys.

"Ridley!" Taurtis wrapped his arms around her middle and started to squeeze, hoping that she was just choking or something of that matter.

He just made it worse...

"I'll go get a teacher!" Grian ran off down the hall, crashing into the first classroom that wasn't empty.

At first it just looked like her face was turning blue, then she looked almost lopsided on top of that. All of a sudden her face just kind of... Fell off. It was like she had been wearing a mask. There was no blood. It just slipped off. It just fell on the floor with a wet splat. Sam screamed bloody murder, he and Taurtis were holding each other.

"I didn't know it was gonna kill my sister! I don't want to go to jail!"

Geode came running, he was the teacher that Grian had gotten. In about under two minutes Ridley's face was no longer on the floor and she was being led away to Geode's classroom. Sam and Taurtis were still holding each other and staring at the open Toritos chip bag. The girls had already run away. Grian shook, holding his head in his hands.

"You are never. Never. Making Toritos again."

[pinklocksoflove]

Felix adjusts his hat, the wind has picked up a bit. The prototype bot ducks into the nearest local watering hole. It certainly wasn't the safest part of Rexxus, but nothing the iron on his hip couldn't handle.

Saloon was pretty packed with bots and humans alike. Felix brushed the dust off his long coat and looks around the room.

"Ah hell no! I'm outta here!" Shouts a man pushing away from one of the poker tables and turns to leave, almost running into Felix in the process. Felix shakes his head and wanders over to the poker table.

"Y'all mind if I take his spot?" Felix asks, putting his hand on the back of the chair.

A larger bot, dressed in a similar wild west attire, sporting a rather nasty looking split in his head case that's been hastily welded, looks up at Felix.

"Only if you play his hand, cowpoke." The bot chuckles and runs a poker chip between his fingers on his left hand, holding his cards with his right.

Felix nods and sits, putting his hand over the cards but not looking at them quite yet.

"Suppose that's fair, guessin' it was that feller's turn to bet or fold? Wonder what had him spooked ...." Felix looks at the cards and if he were capable, all the color would drain from his face.

The cards were an ace of spades, an ace of clubs, an eight of spades and an eight of clubs. The deadman's hand.

"Right.... supposin' I want to fold then." Felix sets the cards down pushing them towards the table.

"You will play the hand you are dealt, cowboy." The larger bot takes on a threatening tone. The poker chip between his fingers is set down as the entire saloon goes quiet.

"Now I ain't a bot of high standing, but it almost sounds to me that you were setting up that feller before or... dare I say you were waiting for me? Sound about right?" Felix pushes back from his chair, stopping once the other bot stands, showing his holstered gun

"I know why you're here, bounty hunter. Word travels fast in these parts, there's no way I'm not getting taken in without a fight. You'll just have to pry my chip out of my head case the hard way." Felix laughs. To the other's utter confusion.

"Who knows maybe a bullet to the head might make you easier to look at with that shoddy weldjob!" To this the larger bot draws his gun pointing directly at Felix's head.

"You son of a-" the bot is cut short as Felix kicks the table up causing the other's gun to point away and shoot at the ceiling. Combat protocols engage. Felix draws his revolver and lands six shots each in a headshot right between the eyes on all six bots at the table. To the human eye it would seem ear instantaneous before all the bots fall to the ground and Felix is spinning his revolver before holstering it.

"Sorry 'bout that folks, go on y'all's business and have a good day now, y'hear? I'll see myself out once I retrieve those chips of theirs" before rooting around in the bots' headcases Felix nods to the bartender.

"Anything on them is yours as an apology for the ruckus."