#Wave vee

[kp-does-suff]

Here's some eeveelution stuff because why not

I've been drawing some evolutions for a while now and decided to share them I hope you like my characters!

[You're going to see that I love incorporating the shiny designs in these characters]

So this is Copper she was originally going to be a little one-off drawing, I was just like "I should draw an Eevee from memory today" and that's how she came to be. She's an energetic kid and wants to be a good battler just like her mom.

[also all of the characters don't have stats or natures or anything like that yet at least if I do come up with something like that I might put it in a separate post. I'd also like to hear your opinions because I'm not very knowledgeable on that stuff]

This is Copper's mom Stella! She's a bit hard on Copper but she means well. She's actually a descendant of the Espeon in red's team. She's stoic and serious the majority of the time.

This is Wave, Copper's dad! He's a more go with the flow type of guy he's extremely chill Copper actually gets most of her traits from him even though she lives with her mom the most. (they're not divorced or anything they just have different trainers) he's kinda like bandit from bluey.

This is Spark. Copper's uncle, Wave's brother. He's the oldest out of the three so that means that he worries and panics the most. He doesn't have any animosity or resentment to his siblings he just grew up with the mentality that he always had to be the "protector, the leader, the one in charge"

This is Ruby. Copper's aunt She's the second oldest and actually decided to be in the show biz, despite what happened to her parents. She was actually the first of the three siblings to get a trainer and it's kinda strained her relationship with her siblings. She rarely talks to them anymore, they still care about each other of course but it was such a weird feeling. Despite the horrible thing that happened to their parents why would she want to pursue that career?

[also if you're wondering what happened to their parents I think I might make that a separate post so out for that if you're interested!]

And so that concludes my showcase of my Pokemon OCs! They were really fun to work on and I can't wait to make more stuff for them in the future.

Are there any questions, comments, concerns, anything you think needs to be improved upon? I'm open to constructive criticism for my story (not my art tho but that's besides the point) also I wanna thank @lockandkeyhyena (sorry for the tag) for inspiring me to do this I love their characters and stories I'm glad he let me ramble in his inbox about them lol.

[rockermazy]

Yay - I get to share my love for tidbit Hazbin lore while sharing knowledge that makes me look like a millennial boomer XD Ahem... Alastor, our favorite overlord, for all intents and purposes, is a fucking elemental. His abilities are absolutely terrifying from a scientific standpoint. Okay, so remember how during the "Stayed Gone" number, Vox starts glitching out and "loses his signal" - then the Pride ring subsequently has a blackout? That is entirely Alastor's (or whatever-the-fuck-is-benefactoring-him's) doing. A powerful enough radio signal can do that. No horseshoe magnet required. IRL real shiz. Despite being digital enough to render a bluescreen while compromised, Vox might still have older hardware from his former days as a rabbit-eared, extra-thick thick cathode-ray tube.

And Alastor is our radio demon. Keep this in mind. IRL, once upon a time during the 1940s - before digital television - there was no "Channel 1". That's because in the US, a very long time ago, both radio and TV shared the band that we call "Channel One":

"Until 1948, Land Mobile Radio and television broadcasters shared the same frequencies, which caused interference. This shared allocation was eventually found to be unworkable, so the FCC reallocated the Channel 1 frequencies for public safety and land mobile use and assigned TV channels 2–13 exclusively to broadcasters. Aside from the shared frequency issue, this part of the VHF band was (and to some extent still is) prone to higher levels of radio-frequency interference (RFI) than even Channel 2 (System M)." (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Channel_1_(North_American_TV))

Then for a short stint, Channel One was exclusively reserved for radio:

Channel 1 was allocated at 44–50 MHz between 1937 and 1940. Visual and aural carrier frequencies within the channel fluctuated with changes in overall TV broadcast standards prior to the establishment of permanent standards by the National Television Systems Committee. In 1940, the FCC reassigned 42–50 MHz to the FM broadcast band. Television's channel 1 frequency range was moved to 50–56 MHz. Experimental television stations in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles were affected. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Channel_1_(North_American_TV))

Every local TV channel and radio station has a frequency range on the electromagnetic spectrum. For those who still listen to radio on non-internet-reliant radios devices, those funny little numbers next to a station's name are a ballpark number for the frequency the station broadcasts in the Hertz unit. A Hertz (Hz) is one wave per second. A KiloHertz (KHz) is 1,000 waves per second. A GigaHertz (GHz) is 1 billion waves per second. Modern AM radio stations are 535-1605 kHz Modern FM radio stations are 88-108 MHz   TV VHF Channels 2 thru 13 are 54-216 MHz TV UHF Channels 14 thru 36 are 470-608 MHz And no, that's not a discrepancy between VHF and FM radio: the frequencies designated for FM radio are nestled right in there with TV ones - between Channels 6 and 7.

(chart from http://hyperphysics.phy-astr.gsu.edu/hbase/Audio/radio.html) Even today, radio and TV are slightly shuffled in there in regards to designated frequencies. This implies that depending on Alastor's band of preference, if Vox still has some of his older hardware, Vox could, in his sleep, theoretically be able to hear Alastor's broadcasts of screaming victims without a physical radio nearby. IRL in fact, in older televisions where a knob is used to change channels, much of the static you'd hear in-between channels is actually background radiation from deep space - along with any radio interference from man-made sources nearby. No wonder Vox is obsessed with Alastor. Alastor can torment him in an in-between realm-channel daily, like Freddy Kruger.

Yet, if radio signals were only a Vox problem, why did nearly every light and electronic device go out in the Pride except the emergency lights at the Heaven embassy?

It might depend on how we define the word "radio". Is it radio, as in "those radio stations we can listen to without the internet"? Maybe radio, as in "any frequency utilized in modern communications, including TV and Radio"? Or is it radio, as in "almost any signal on the electromagnetic spectrum with a frequency lower than friggin' heat?" People, below is an IRL over-simplified chart of the electromagnetic spectrum and its usages by human.

When radio is defined as a specific part of the electromagnetic spectrum, it is basically any frequency below infrared. *** Cellphone service and WiFi use radio signals within this range. Most cellular services are between 600 MHz and 39 GHz WiFi routers are about 2.4-5 GHz (6 GHz in newer models)  That's where the "G" in "4G" and "5G" come from - the "G" stands for "Gigahertz" Radio, local television, cellphone service, WiFi, and basically any point in the internet that isn't linked by a landline - these are all safely within the part of the electromagnetic spectrum that the scientists would call "radio". If Hell's technology is supposed to mirror the real world, then most electronic devices need radio frequencies in order to communicate. The VVV's empire is truly fucked, should Alastor so choose. The only plot hole in this explanation I see is why all the lights went out. These devices don't run on radio - they communicate using it. My best-educated guess is that the on/off switch for Hell's power grid is on an open network and at least part of it wireless. Or maybe Alastor's radio attack works like a general EMP and he can just break stuff by "brute force". (I am not an expert on these sorts of things like telecommunication... or network security... or physics.... I politely ask that someone in the comments, please enlighten me U.U ) ------------------------------------- Also, notice that Alastor's Tower, Cannibal Town and the Heaven Embassy were the only regions with lights on during the blackout.

is that...?

Cannibal Town?

If this is, in fact, Cannibal Town, then my only guess is that the Cannibals are so hipster, many of them only light their homes and businesses with candlelight and leviathan whale oil. Neither candlelight nor oil-burning rely on wifi. Only some of their region's light was lost in the blackout. They might use some electricity (as many during the Victorian era did, which Cannibal Town seems to be inspired by), but they don't fully rely upon electricity. This suggests that Alastors friendship with Rosie might be less of an organic friendship and more like a strategically slick alliance. Rosie's territory is one part of Pride that Alastor can't completely shut down (other than the Embassy). But, who knows?

Alastor's derision of modern tech now seems to have more merit than just being "hipster", or avoiding leaving a digital footprint that Vox can manipulate, (the latter of which I once head-canoned before this epiphany). Alastor can literally just shut most of Hell's tech down. This might also suggest why Alastor is homies with Zestial - another known old-timey prick.

Alastor makes alliances with demons he can't easily overpower with his abilities. This might seem self-contradictory to Alastor's seeming over-confidence in teasing Lucifer - until you realize he did this only after he learned angels could be killed during the Overlords' meeting. (And yes, I know what I wrote about Alastor a couple of tumbl notes back with the "popsicle" evaluation. I do not consider flip-flopping a moral issue if done so by epiphany. That note stays, because it's funny XD ) ----------------------- Another theory! Ok, so this theory isn't entirely my own-own, I'm just building off of it based on what I've just said (mostly Roo stuff). So IRL, scientists decided to take an image of the observable universe in the microwave range. Microwave energy is in the upper ends of radio, but just below infrared in frequency. What they found was cosmic background radiation - a lot of energy that isn't coming from the stars themselves.

(Image source: https://www.space.com/33892-cosmic-microwave-background.html) Some scientists theorize this is because this particular energy is left over from the formation of the universe. So about Roo:

In the first non-pilot episode, The Story of Hell, as read by Charlie, states that the angels of pure light "worshipped good and shielded all from evil." During this line, imagery of two faces are shown before the angels: one face of light and another face of twisted red and black.

Subsequent lines and imagery in the episode suggest that this "evil" existed before Lucifer fell or Eve allowed this evil to enter the world - even before the Earth was created. Some Tumblrs who have been in this fandom longer than I have may know of Roo, a character that appears in some of VivziePop's older works within the Hazbin/Hellaverse. Some of Roo's monikers include "The Root of All Evil" and the "Tree of Knowledge". I'm wondering if in the Hellaverse, the cosmic background radiation of the universe is a manifestation of Roo when she isn't bound to a tree. Could Alastor's radio powers come Roo, the background "dark" energy of the universe's birth? Did Alastor bite the apple the second third time for mankind? XD

------------------------------------------------- While researching for this paper, I learned that microwave ovens and 2G cell phones operate within the same frequencies at around 2 GHz. Apparently, the only reason cell phones don't cook our brains is because the wattage is too low. (I dunno what wattage means. I'm not a scientist.) But now, Alastors singing lines in S1E8 had me thinking: "The constraints of my deal surely have a back door  Once I figure out how to unclip my wings,  guess who will be pulling all the strings" Knowing what Alastor is capable of with radio, this has me wondering if Alastor's radio powers are coming from one source, all while be is being chained by another entity entirely. Someone might have gone out of their way to get Alastor into a contract - if only to keep him from literally baking the universe for his viewing pleasure... on a rotating glass plate.

Being able to cook a soul in microwaves would require that they be at least partially made of water, however. Buuuut... I guess if there are working ACs in Hell, I really shouldn't read too much into it XD -------------

Do you think the mad scientists from Helluva Boss, Lyle Lipton and Loopty Goopty, ever chat over coffee about the abilities of the overlords based on casual observation?

One day, Alastor's name comes up... ...and after four minutes of discussing facts over coffee, they're both just like "Nope"?

XD {END} *** Note: Googling "Electromagnetic Spectrum charts" will yield different results. Some charts will have different designations frequencies lower than radio, like Extremely Low Frequencies (ELF). I do not know whether this difference is a reflection of a newer categorization, or if most charts online are made for laymen such as myself. Most charts I saw years ago only designated "radio" as "everything below microwave". I want to assume that the "only radio below microwave" categorization went into the writer's designing of Alastor's character simply because such charts are more common (while also making for a more interesting power scaling).

______________ Disclaimer: I am composed of chauffeur knowledge. I know nearly nothing about communication science little about radiation stuff. I took an astronomy elective in college once, so I sorta knew where to look when it came to frequency stuff. I have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about. I know that I confused frequency and wavelength somewhere. Please, #sciencesideoftumblr feel free to correct me. ----------------- TLDR: Most tech IRL uses radio waves to communicate. That Includes TVs, WiFi and cell phones. Alastor can make the Pride Ring go kaploowee if he looks at it funny. I don't know what he's cooking.

[akkivee]

rio cooks with weird ingredients and dice can differentiate flavours of grass by area, rio’s are you really living if you have nothing you’d die for, dice’s it’s all or nothing, do or die stake everything for this bet

[blue-rose-soul]

For Bastard child au. Assuming that Lucifer finds out before the finale how would he respond to knowing Alastor got hurt fighting Adam? How would Charlie?

I've been waiting for an excuse to talk about this! Well, not this exactly, just...

Okay, so the general consensus is that Lucifer couldn't step in sooner with the extermination because he had an agreement with Heaven, and that Adam broke that agreement by targeting Charlie, a hellborn. Alastor may be Lucifer's son, but he was born on Earth to a human mother. He has a human soul and came to Hell as a sinner. An extremely powerful sinner, but a sinner nonetheless.

In other words, he's not protected under the same agreement.

But! But but but, I figure Lucifer must have been keeping an eye on the battle from somewhere, so he could know when to step in. So he saw Adam and Alastor fight, saw Alastor nearly die, and saw him barely escape with his life. In the end, Niffty doesn't need to step in to finish Adam.

"You come at me, and my family!?"

Lucifer does it himself.

They know Alastor isn't dead thanks to Husk (and possibly Niffty) but are still concerned when they can't find him in the ruins of the old hotel. Lucifer does make an attempt to look for Alastor, but he doesn't know Alastor well enough to know where to look. But his daughter is still here and still needs him, so Lucifer puts the search aside and helps Charlie rebuild her hotel.

And in the end, Alastor returns. Alastor would shove Lucifer off when he joins in the group hug, but he doesn't want to aggravate the wound he's pretending not to have*.

I think that, whether or not she knew Alastor was her brother, Charlie would show the same amount of concern for him. Wanting to know what happened after Adam broke through his shield, why he disappeared from the battle. Just, wanting to know if he's okay. Alastor just brushes off her questions and keeps her at a distance. The biggest change is really between Lucifer and Alastor, and later between Lucifer and Charlie.

The guilt is crushing Lucifer. He knows how badly hurt Alastor was, and knows that instead of coming back to the people who would help him, he hid away somewhere to heal alone. Lucifer tries to be subtle about it, but he's constantly checking in on Alastor, asking if there's anything he needs, or anything Lucifer can do for him. He's not subtle at all.

And Alastor is not at all amused. He doesn't care that Lucifer was late to the battle! He didn't ask for or want Lucifer's help! It was his own fault for getting sloppy and letting Adam get a hit in (not to mention a disadvantageous deal but he's not saying that bit), and he doesn't need Lucifer coddling him. Unfortunately, with his cane broken and his body healing slowly, Alastor is uniquely vulnerable for the first time in a long time. But Lucifer's awkward hovering and Charlie's concern is only serving to make Alastor all the more agitated. So he sticks the needle where it hurts; Lucifer's guilt.

He accuses Lucifer of waiting until after Adam had mortally wounded Alastor specifically so his 'mistake' would be erased. Of wanting him deader than dead.

Then he coldly tells Lucifer that if he can't be bothered to show up when it matters, he shouldn't show up at all.

Later, he assures Charlie he doesn't hold any negative feelings towards her even though Lucifer came running to her rescue while he was willing to let Adam nearly eviscerate Alastor. After all, it stands to reason that Lucifer would choose his real child over a bastard. The King of Hell has made it perfectly clear he doesn't need a 'busboy.' Charlie tries to speak in Lucifer's defense, but, Alastor is pleased to note, her heart isn't in it.

Afterwards, he listens from the shadows and grins as he hears Charlie asking Lucifer why he saved her but not Alastor. Lucifer telling her the terms of the agreement he made with Heaven doesn't satisfy her. Alastor's her brother, they're both Lucifer's children! Lucifer should have stepped in, agreement be damned! The recently repaired cracks in their relationship begin to widen once again and Alastor is pleased.

(*I'm going to cackle if season 2 drops and it turns out we were all wrong and Alastor's completely fine.)

[bergoose]

you know it would have been so easy for the try guys not to throw shade at watcher like that takes effort

[nihiltism]

i just thought you'd like this. sorry.

oh I'm delighted thank you

[jicklet]

Morrigan Dragon Age, Joker Persona, Shepard Mass Effect

(Send me a character and i’ll tell you at least two characters I ship them with)

Morrigan: Hmm, only different Wardens is probably cheating huh. Still, my faves are female Amell (with the Warden starting off in starry eyed admiration and it developing beyond that), and male Cousland (because the idea that you could become prince consort or any of these other things but instead nah, fuck all your responsibilities you're gonna follow after your hot Shrek girlfriend, that's just fantastic). Non-warden, Leliana, in this sort of way.

Joker Persona: Who DON'T I ship him with (the adults). Him and Akechi are just so impressively fucked up it goes all the way around to funny, especially with like *waves hand at all the other possible options that could actually be healthy.* With Ryuji, because he's just so goddamn dedicated and maybe they should smooch about it. Makoto for total power couple. Although, shockingly, she may have been surpassed as my favorite for in-game romance by Haru, I have a real soft spot for the relationship they build. Emphasis on soft, especially with the time of year you actually start her confidant, just getting to spend time with her in these quiet gentle moments on the roof is just so sweet, and the idea of going on supporting her as she goes on to build her cafes, with everything Joker's learned about coffee too, its just, aww.

Shepard: For non-romanceables, Gianna Parasini is delightful, and I have a soft spot for Shiala.

For the romances, Kaidan melts me. He'll be the support they need, but he's still got that core of integrity that draws a line he won't cross, even for them, and I like that no matter how in love he is, he keeps that part of himself. And they both get the other to loosen up a little, there's an aspect of them both humanizing each other.

With Miranda is fascinating because she's such a mirror to Shepard, they clash and push and make each other better. And with everyone else, there's an aspect of Shepard carrying the weight of things while they're supporting them at it, but Miranda doesn't let them do that for her.

I also have a soft spot for Steve, by the time they meet Shepard is so tired and giving so much of himself away, him and Steve kinda get the other to slow down and take care of themselves and it's sweet.

[thefact0rygirl]

What is goth/post-punk?????

😈😈😈 Goth clubs cater to goth people and goth subculture. They play a variety of different music (from traditional goth bands to dark edm) and literally any style of dance goes. Not so much grinding, but literally whatever you want to dance. Think Jenna Ortega's Wednesday Addams dance. Jenna took a lot inspiration from the 80s goth club scene.

They're just magical places where everyone is there to dance and vibe! and I feel like Fives and Hardcase would love them.

[singeratlarge]

STORY + SONG OF THE WEEK: “Fascist Architecture”https://johnnyjblairsingeratlarge.bandcamp.com/track/fascist-architecture ...A song about the politics of the ego and the soul. This recording was produced by Jonny Vitus and made in an old pasta factory in North Beach, San Francisco, in the same neighborhood as Beat Generation coffee houses and spots where they filmed “Dirty Harry” movies. The song was written by (San Francisco resident and my neighbor) Bruce Cockburn. His arrangement was in an urban folk style. I translated it after my bike messenger experiences on the sky-scrapered streets of San Francisco, punk-ing up the tempo and arrangement with a nod to The Alarm and the first Pretenders album.

Cockburn described the song as…“Bombastic, exaggeratedly heroic… overpowering, cold, and makes you think of the baby sacrificing scenes in biblical movies. Sometimes we build structures like this in our own minds...The image 'fascist architecture' came from Italy…built during Mussolini's period…a particular style where the buildings are larger that life and what is supposed to celebrate the greatness of humanity actually dwarfs humanity…it makes you feel tiny and helpless next to it, and everybody hates that stuff. It seemed to me a suitable image for the things in ourselves, the structures we build that are built on false expectations or pretenses…the things we pretend to ourselves. Then when some catastrophe comes your way, like a marriage breaking up or some other thing, those things crack and you get glimpses through them, the light comes through... It's not a comfortable thing."—from the publication CLOSER TO THE LIGHT by Paul Zollo, 1994.https://johnnyjblairsingeratlarge.bandcamp.com/track/fascist-architecture

#fascist #architecture #brucecockburn #johnnyjblair #jonnyvitus #jonnyv #sanfrancisco #northbeach #spaghettifactory #clinteastwood #dirtyharry #thealarm #pretenders #mussolini #punkrock #newwaverock

[mahameruputra14]

Rubber Fender V

 Supplier Karet Fender Tipe V, Marine Fender V, Fender V di Indonesia Dalam dunia maritim, perlindungan terhadap pelabuhan dan dermaga merupakan hal yang sangat penting. Ombak besar, arus kuat, dan benturan dari kapal-kapal yang masuk dan keluar dapat menyebabkan kerusakan serius pada struktur pelabuhan dan dermaga. Untuk mengatasi tantangan ini, industri maritim terus mencari inovasi dalam…

[castleoblivionofficial]

I. WANT. THAT. TWINK. OBLITERATED.

[thingsmysplattershotjrtoldme]

felt sad, made some fits for See Ya and a new little inkling

[akkivee]

was thinking about music production and i think it’s neat that bb’s speakers contain the ‘essentials’ for producing your own music 🤭

[voxsremotec0ck]

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞.ᐟ

⋆｡ﾟYou, new to Hell and clueless about everything, pass them on the street and give them a polite smile and wave ﾟ｡⋆

— Lucifer, Alastor, Vox, Angel Dust

Lucifer watches as you shine your sharp teeth at him in a genuine smile with furrowed eyebrows. When he noticed you waving, he awkwardly waves back with his cane and watches you walk away. After his years of isolation, his name has definitely lost a lot of weight, but still sinners don’t just casually wave and smile at him. How odd.

Alastor meets your smile with his own, although it’s his default expression, it does grow at the sight of you. What was someone so cheery and naive doing in Hell? And smiling at him of all Demons, like he was just any other sinner? Oh you might just be a perfect asset for Charlie’s hotel.

Vox flashes you his signature showmanship smile, but pauses when you just walk past him. Normally when someone smiles and waves at him, they want something. Either information about VoxTec or the Vee’s plans, he was always selling something. Yet you waved and kept walking, like you didn’t even know who he was. It was interesting to say the least.

Angel Dust is used to attention, wanted or otherwise, so random Demons waving and smiling at him were normal. What wasn’t normal was the lack of malice behind your smile, and the fact that you kept walking instead of trying to buy him for the night. He watched you continue down the street and wondered just how soon Charlie would snatch you up.

First time writing for these characters so I hope it’s okay

[ohproserpine]

iv. dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, jealousy, possessiveness, alastor does not know how to interpret love, or maybe he does, in his own twisted way, roadkill used as a symbolism, gorey descriptions of love, murder the song she sings is 'roxie' from chicago

˚୨୧₊♱

"Hey!" Charlie's voice rang out as she spotted Mimzy making her way towards the hotel entrance. The blonde froze, casting a nervous glance behind her to see the demon princess rapidly approaching with a worried look that she mistook for anger.

With practiced ease, the blonde put on a fake frown, pressing her hand over her chest. "Oh, Charlie! I'm so sorry for the trouble last night, sugar! I'll pay—"

"No, no! I'm not here for that," Charlie waved her hands with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the slump of relief on Mimzy's shoulders. "Are you leaving so soon? The hotel wouldn't mind taking you in!"

Caught off guard by Charlie's unexpected offer, Mimzy grimaced. She hesitated, opening her mouth before shutting it as she struggled to find the right words. "Oh! Well…you see…"

A laughing track, sounding like it was filtered through a radio, echoed through the air, and Mimzy turned to the source to find Alastor towering over her with his signature grin.

"I don't think redemption is quite her style," Alastor's chipper voice rang out. His clawed hand reached for Mimzy’s hair, plucking a feather from her headpiece. In his hands, the pink ornament erupted into flames. "Frankly, I have my doubts she could even be redeemed at all!"

Horrified, Mimzy watched as her feather fell to the floor in ashes, her hand instinctively reaching for the charred remnants.

"Alastor," Charlie glared at him before turning her attention back to Mimzy. "We believe in redemption for everyone. It's not about what you were; it's about what you choose to be now. We'll be here to support you every step of the way."

"Thanks, sugar," Mimzy forced a smile, waving her hand around daintily. She glanced at the entrance with a subtle wish for escape, playing up the nice act while Alastor continued to watch the scene unfold with a cryptic smile. "But radio here is right. I don't really think it's my style. Different strokes for different folks. Plus, I've got a business to run!"

Alastor hummed, twirling his microphone cane around in his hand. The crimson glow of his eyes narrowed at her as he chuckled. "You couldn't possibly mean that wooden box of debauchery you call a club, right?"

"My 'wooden box of debauchery' has more character than any joint in that city," Mimzy grit her teeth together in a smile, barely concealing her frustration.

As another argument began to form, a throat clearing interrupted the flow, capturing Mimzy's attention. A pink glove slowly rose from the couch and Angel Dust pushed himself off the furniture, sitting up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"If I may~" Angel Dust chimed in. "You saying you, ah, got a bar? I'm always up for checking out new places. Mind if I swing by sometime, tits?"

Mimzy beamed and sent Alastor a smug look, making her way toward Angel Dust. She reached into her chest, pulling out a card with a flourish. "Of course, kitten! Here's all our information. You'll find us in the Vee district. Feel free to swing by anytime. And don't forget to bring a friend!"

Angel Dust took the offered card, a grin forming on his face. "Bring a friend, huh? You got it, toots."

˚୨୧₊♱

The Vee district, designated as the entertainment hub of Pride, was dazzled with bright neon lights and tall towering buildings adorned with blazing billboards. The streets pulsed with life, where every ten steps brought you face-to-face with street performers desperately vying for attention, hoping to catch the eyes of industry scouts. The message was clear – fame was the ticket to success. Performers were everywhere, found in rundown bars, neon nightclubs, and costly theaters catering to the insatiable appetites of the elite.

Mimzy's Lounge, nestled down east on one of the city's worse-off streets was no fancy stage. The building, weathered and worn, seemed to barely hold itself together. The exterior bore the scars of years gone by, with cracked windows, peeling paint, and near-rotting wooden walls. While it may not have been on the standards of the elite, to the poor and downtrodden, it was the best piece of entertainment they could afford.

Inside, the dim lighting of the bar did little to conceal the stains and cracks that adorned the floor and ceiling. Tables and chairs, mismatched, were arranged haphazardly. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap perfume, wrapping around the audience—a motley crew of lost souls. On the stage, a couple of scantily clad showgirls were performing a dance routine, or at least their movements vaguely resembled one. The quality of the performance didn't seem to matter to the audience, who, hungry for any form of entertainment, welcomed the spectacle with open arms.

Seated discreetly in the back booths, Angel and Cherri had drawn their curtains tight, creating a cocoon of privacy amid the bustling buzz and thumping music in the club.

"…And check this out – Alastor is hitched," Angel Dust spat out the last word as if it were poison. His face caught the warm, bright lights spilling into their booth, slipping through the small gap in the middle of the curtains. He sipped from his drink, a glint in his eyes. "And the owner here's got some serious dirt on his missus or somethin' like that."

"That why you dragged me to this hellhole? Knew it," Cherri snorted, taking a sip of her cocktail, the sweet and tangy flavors doing little to mask the less-than-pleasant ambiance. "Couldn't believe you'd even want to step into a place like this."

"You know I can't resist a bit of gossip, and where else can you find more gossip than in a joint run by a gal who's got the goods on Alastor himself?" Angel grinned, his golden tooth flashing as he reclined in his torn red chair. "Hell. I bet anyone else would do what I'm doin'. I mean, who wouldn't be tearin' these walls down just to catch a glimpse of the Radio Demon's wife?"

Cherri Bomb let out a throaty chuckle. "Well, you're bloody right there."

A sudden blast of music echoed through the air, prompting Angel Dust to scramble out of his seat and poke his head out from behind the curtain. The previous performers stepped off the stage, making way for the upcoming act. He caught sight of a familiar pudgy figure sauntering onto the stage and hastily turned his head back to the booth, meeting Cherri's amused face. "It's startin'!"

“Welcome, all you devils and darlings, to the Dollhouse Lounge!” Mimzy's voice boomed, and the lights gracefully dimmed to focus on her. The hum of conversation dwindled, the audience's attention now on the stage. “It's the moment you've all been waiting for! The last act of the night… Dolly, the living doll!"

With Mimzy's spirited introduction, the claps and cheers crackled in the air. In an instant, the lights plunged into darkness, leaving Angel to flit his gaze across the smoke-hazed stage, hungry for a glimpse of what was to come. Suddenly, a surge of stage lights sliced through the lingering smoke, akin to a celestial burst, revealing your silhouette with a large signage that spelled out your name in bold, red letters.

Wearing a lovely smile, you spread your arms wide, catching everyone's attention as you sang the first note, voice sultry and dripping sweet like honey. "The name on everybody's lips is gonna be Dolly."

"That's his wife?" Cherri gawked behind Angel, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Are you sure we got the right girl?"

"Hell, I'm just as surprised as you are," Angel shot back, an equally dumfounded look on his face.

"The lady raking in the chips Is gonna be Dolly," your voice echoed, the melody carrying through the lounge as you strolled towards the stage's platform. The rhythmic beat of the music vibrated against the soles of your heels while the spotlight dutifully trailed after you, its gentle glow caressing the curves of your glittery dress, casting glimmers of silver and gold that danced across the dimly lit bar.

"I'm gonna be a celebrity. That means somebody everyone knows," you continued, sauntering around the stage. As you swirled and twirled, your silhouette became a blur of sequins and shimmer. The spotlight then intensified its focus on you, highlighting the glint in your eyes. "They're gonna recognize my eyes. My hair, my teeth, my boobs, my nose."

"Fuck," Angel muttered under his breath. As you moved closer to the end of the platform, he could finally get a good look at you.

Shimmery blue eyeshadow graced your lids, while a dark blush adorned the apples of your cheeks, complementing the red lipstick you had on. Your dress, a dazzling ensemble of sequins, was not only radiant but also provocatively low-cut, teasingly revealing a glimpse of your chest before gracefully dropping to your knees. Dark silk stockings, sensually tracing the contours of your legs, were held by garters. At your feet, bedazzled red Mary Janes sparkled like jewels, catching the light with every step you took.

As Angel thought back to his conversation with Mimzy, he found himself agreeing with her earlier comments. You really were a living, breathing doll.

"From just some dumb canni-bal’s wife. I'm gonna be Dolly," you continued, seamlessly weaving your magic, each lyric a spell that bound the audience. "Who says that murder's not an art?"

With a spin, you twirled around the stage, a ditzy grin on your face, the sequins on your gown catching the light like stars. "And who, in case she doesn't hang, can say she started with a bang! Dolly Heart!"

As the final notes of the song echoed through the venue, the room erupted in applause and cheers. But, the curtain wasn't falling yet. Standing backstage, Mimzy let the moment linger, reveling in the prolonged applause. After all, happy customers always tipped generously.

On cue, bills and coins descended like a storm, hitting the floor with a crisp sound that mixed beautifully with the cheers of the delighted audience. There was so much that the shower of currency formed a makeshift carpet beneath your feet.

Angel Dust, still peeking from behind the curtain, wore a smirk of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all," he whispered to Cherri, who nodded in agreement.

Standing on the stage, bathed in the lingering glow of the spotlight, you held your pose, chest heaving up and down. A demure smile graced your lips as soft, appreciative nods and fluttering eyelashes accompanied each gaze you cast toward the audience. Tonight's turnout was impressive, though not unexpected given your agreement to perform one of your most famous songs after a prolonged hiatus.

"Dolly" was a beloved crowd-pleaser and the one song you hated with a passion.

The spotlight continued to shine relentlessly in your eyes, causing a painful burn in your irises. The deafening applause felt like a relentless assault on your senses as each clap echoed loudly in your ears. From the speakers, the music blasted in waves, the volume rattling your bones. Showbusiness, a constant companion in both your living and afterlife, had become an achingly familiar yet tormenting cycle.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Mimzy step up onto the stage to address the crowd. "Thank you, my lovely devils and darlings! Wasn't Dolly simply darling tonight?" she squealed through the mic.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause once more, the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. Mimzy basked in the adoration, her grin widening as she soaked in the success and the money. Oh, the money.

"I know you loved that!" she laughed. She leaned into the microphone, her voice turning into a whisper "Of course, you all do. I wrote it."

"Now, let's give our star her rest. Dolly, my dear, take a bow!" Mimzy's voice rang out, signaling the end of the performance. Relieved, you bowed before making your way towards the curtains as the heavy fabrics began to descend. After blowing a few more kisses to the audience, you slipped backstage, letting the smile fade from your face. As you vanished from view behind the curtain, Angel caught the look on your face.

It was a look he knew all too well.

"She looks perfectly happy without him," Cherri remarked with a casual shrug. "I mean, look at 'er. She's the star of the show. You think she left on purpose?"

Angel furrowed his brows, deep in thought. It didn't make no sense to him.

Why would you willingly perform under Mimzy's control when Alastor, with his power, could easily get you out of here? Contract or no contract, that radio freak could tear Mimzy apart like a hot knife through butter.

The spider's attention shifted towards the audience, and his gaze locked onto Mimzy, who was engrossed in conversation with some VIPs. The sight of her triggered a scowl to etch itself onto his features.

"I don't think so. There's more to it," Angel's eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head turning, "I've seen that look before."

"What look?" Cherri raised an eyebrow.

"That trapped look," Angel said, his gaze following Mimzy as she continued her animated conversation, oblivious to the scrutiny. "Before the curtains dropped, I saw it on her."

"Shit, Angie," Cherri's gaze followed Angel's, and she pursed her lips. "You think she's playing the part or really stuck?"

Angel Dust stood up straight, now opening the curtains wide as his eyes never left Mimzy. "I don't know, but I'm gonna find out."

Both of them took their time, patiently waiting until Mimzy stepped away. Once the blonde demon finally made her way backstage, they discreetly followed her lead, slipping behind the curtains with her.

The busy backstage corridor welcomed them with an assortment of items – costumes, props, and stage decor – scattered in chaotic disarray. Angel's eyes wandered around, and he spotted Mimzy in a far corner, sitting atop worn cardboard boxes. Nudging Cherri, he gestured for both of them to move closer.

"Hey~ How's it going, blondie?" Angel purred, leaning against a nearby prop, his tone dripping with a sickly sweet tone. Mimzy looked up, confused before she recognized him and flashed a wide grin.

"Hey, you! You're that spider fella from the hotel!" She tapped her chin in thought narrowing her eyes at him. "Uhm, Angle Dust was it?"

"It's Angel Dust," he corrected, a twitch of annoyance in his eye.

"Uh-hah, that's nice," Mimzy seemed unfazed, continuing to count her money, her legs swinging back and forth absentmindedly. "You like the show? Oh, who am I kidding, of course, you did!"

Angel Dust crossed his arms with a chuckle. "Yeah, about that. That girl, Dolly. She's quite a number, ain't she?"

"Oh, yeah. She's my little masterpiece," Mimzy smirked. "Met her before she had any of this."

"Let's cut the fuckin' crap," Cherri rolled her eyes, tired of dancing around the conversation. The cyclops leaned down to Mimzy's height, scowling into her face and driving her finger into the blonde's chest. "I'll say it straight. What's the deal with her? You got some strings attached?"

Mimzy paused and glanced up at Cherri with an arched eyebrow before turning to Angel and laughing tensely. "Your friend here sure is forward, Ankle! Oh, sweethearts, Dolly's here because she wants to be."

Angel Dust shot Cherri a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. "Yeah?"

"The girl signed a contract willingly," Mimzy explained with a casual shrug. "She gets what she wants, and I get what I want. It's a fair exchange."

Angel's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "Contract? What's in it for her, then? Why willingly perform in this dump when she could easily be the star anywhere else?"

The blonde sent Angel a glare for his dig at her lounge but still answered him. "Dolly owes me something. A little debt she's paying off with her charming performances. A contract might sound sinister, but it's just showbusiness, furs." Mimzy leaned back, folding her arms, her expression daring the two of them challenge her further.

"Bull. She sold you her soul to dance and sing?" Cherri scoffed, taking the challenge.

"No, no, there was no soul exchange involved," Mimzy rolled her eyes. "Just a contract. But still binding, magical, and all of that stuff."

"Now, can you two get out of my hair?" Mimzy huffed, shooing them away with a dismissive wave. "I've got a lot of things to run here!" She returned to counting her money, clearly eager to be rid of the unwanted attention.

"Let's go, Cherri," Angel said with a look of defeat, pushing himself off the prop he had been leaning on.

Once the two of them finally stepped out of the establishment, the spider groaned to himself, now finding himself with more questions than answers.

˚୨୧₊♱

You strolled behind the weighty curtains, the backstage area buzzing with the rush of staff, the shouts of managers, and the lingering presence of performers idly awaiting their cues. Navigating through the organized chaos, you directed your steps towards your private dressing room—a sanctuary away from the glaring spotlight.

You threw the door open, entering quickly and slamming it shut behind you, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the clamor and racket outside. Flicking a light switch, the dim glow of a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed the room's worn-out glamour. A vanity cluttered with makeup, costumes haphazardly thrown on a worn-out sofa, and a cracked mirror that had seen better days—all were familiar sights.

"I would kill for a glass of whiskey," you murmured to yourself, the weariness of the performance settling in. Rolling your head and groaning as you heard a satisfying crack, you added, "or maybe a whole bottle of it."

Kicking off your heels, you let the cool floor cradle your skin, leaving the discarded shoes in a dusty corner to rest. Seated at the vanity, the chaotic world beyond the backstage curtains ceased to exist. The gentle glow of the vanity lights exposed the weariness in your eyes as you wiped away your mascara and dusted off the remnants of glitter from your skin. While removing your earrings, the shimmer of your wedding ring caught your eye.

A frown tugged at your lips, the subtle ache of longing surfacing.

You missed your husband.

With a sigh, you continued removing your earrings before tossing them onto your vanity. Seeking to ease the edge, you reached for a whiskey bottle on a nearby dresser, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself a drink. The golden liquid glimmered in the subdued light as you took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.

"C̵h̶e̸r̷?̷"̸

A static rumble of a radio, like thunder, jolted you mid-drink, causing the liquid to catch in your throat. Coughing and sputtering for a while, you scrambled to collect yourself before turning behind you. Your gaze landed on the desk table where your radio sat. The crackling static continued, accompanied by a familiar voice and distorted sounds.

Alastor.

Grabbing a cloth to wipe yourself, you rushed to the desk and grabbed the old radio in your hands. The radio was a faded, worn red with yellowed dials, and its antennas were visibly broken, held up together with scraps of tape. Your contract with Mimzy did not allow you to meet with Alastor or his shadows for as long as you were under her, but that didn't mean you couldn't communicate with Alastor in other ways.

With trembling hands, you carefully adjusted the dials, aligning them to the familiar frequency that bridged the gap between you two. Your heart thrummed in your chest, head almost dizzy from anticipation. The distorted voices began to clear, and Alastor's distinctive voice cut through the static, a lifeline in the abyss.

"Cher, my dear, are you there?" Back in his room at the hotel, Alastor spoke through his mic, awaiting your response. He was sitting by the large windows, bathed in the dim glow of the Ring of Pride's lights. The hues painted a lovely ambiance against his skin, highlighting the contours of his sharp features as he reclined against a plush couch.

Heavy silence lingered for a while as you felt your throat closing up. Without realizing it, you began crying, your sobs echoing through Alastor's microphone.

"Yes, Al," you choked out between sobs, your hands gripping the surface of the radio tightly, nails scratching against the peeling paint. "I'm here. I missed you."

Alastor listened to your tearful voice through the crackling static, his shoulders tense as his claws clenched against his microphone handle. Your vulnerable confession hung heavily in the air, and he felt a storm stirring within him. Unsure of what to do with these emotions, he could only sit there and listen to you weep.

From the busiest street in Pentagram City to the darkest alleyways, Alastor's reputation as a bloodthirsty killer was infamous, and he reveled in it. The idea that an overlord like him could entertain genuine care for someone sounded preposterous. Throughout his human days and beyond, Alastor never felt such sentiments.

Decades ago, he only needed himself. However, ever since you entered his life, he became a man possessed.

The moment he first laid eyes on you, you were a vision of beauty with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and he couldn't deny that he felt an inkling of fondness for you right from the start. But that was all it ever was—nothing more, nothing less.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he couldn't help but notice that the glow in your smile was brighter, lovelier. And despite his usual tendency to dismiss such details, Alastor couldn't look away. Not anymore.

You held him captive, like a deer frozen in the blinding glare of oncoming headlights. He was aware the collision was imminent, yet it still caught him off guard; A torrent of emotions crashing into him like a speeding truck, leaving him with twisted limbs and cracking bones, antlers torn from his head, fur matted and bloodied, with his heart exposed, beating vulnerably before you.

In the months that followed, Alastor remembered how foreign the feeling to him was. He didn't want to understand it, refused to, but each attempt to rip those festering emotions out of his chest only left him bleeding.

Looking back, Alastor finds himself incapable of fathoming how life was bearable before you entered it. The mere thought of returning to a time when you weren't present is something he refuses to entertain. The person he used to be, before he stepped into that speakeasy, now feels like a distant stranger, a mere shadow of the man he has become with you in his life.

The static in his thoughts subsided, in tandem with your crying and sobbing dying down. A prolonged pause lingered before Alastor interrupted the silence. "Cher, you know I'd bring you out of that wretched place if you just said the word."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you wiped away tears with your trembling fingers. "You tell me that every time we have these calls. Do you not get tired of it?"

"Never," Alastor hummed. The sound of your laughter, even tinged with bitterness, momentarily lifted the heavy burden that his heart carried. "The offer will always be up, darling!"

"You know I can't, Al. Me and her have history together," your voice paused, cracking with emotion. "And I still feel guilty."

Alastor sighed heavily, frustration dancing in his eyes. He always struggled to understand why you felt indebted to Mimzy, why guilt still clung to your decisions like a persistent shadow.

To him, Mimzy deserved the consequences. Despite his constant offers to free you from her grasp, you remained steadfast in your decision to complete your contract

"Very well, dear," Alastor's smooth voice crackled through the radio, weaving a comforting presence into the air as you moved back toward your vanity, taking a seat. "Now, enough of these melancholic talks. Tell me, how was the show tonight?"

"Mimzy had me perform 'Dolly' again," you remarked, a crooked smile playing on your lips. "She's well aware that I despise that song. I mean, really? Have you ever taken a look at the lyrics? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

As your frustrations spilled out, Alastor stood from his seat, staff in hand. Placing it beside his closet, he attentively listened to your words, occasionally responding with chuckles and interjections. He slipped off his monocle, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and then his vest, revealing a well-tailored red undershirt that clung to his lean frame.

"I find the cannibal's wife line rather charming," Alastor smirked, and though he couldn't see it, you rolled your eyes in response.

"Of course you'd enjoy that part," you scoffed, mirroring Alastor's movements on the other side. Shedding the bedazzled dress, you opted for more comfortable attire, draping yourself in a robe.

"What's not to like? It shows the audience that you're my darling wife," Alastor quipped with a smug tone.

"Bushwa. They don't even know it's you. And I don't think anyone thinks highly of some poor fool shackled to a gaudy singer," you snorted. With the radio in tow, you began to pack your belongings into your purse.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor's laugh rumbled against the speakers. "My dear, being 'shackled' to you is the most delightful form of imprisonment."

"Such a sap," you scoffed, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. Shouldering your purse, you made your way towards the door, ready to leave. However, a sudden memory of a conversation with Mimzy surfaced.

"By the way, did you know Mimzy was planning to have me perform on some talk show?" you shared with Alastor while locking the door to your dressing room. A furrow appeared on your brow as the backstage lights played with shadows, casting a pensive expression on your face. "What was it again… Oh! Yes! Box-2-Nite."

A sudden screech from the radio erupted, its harsh sound reverberating in the hallway. Luckily, no one was around at this hour, and you cringed at the unexpected disturbance. Glaring at the box, you raised your brow. "You scared the living daylights outta me."

Alastor stayed silent for a while, claws digging into the cloth of his coat, ripping the fabric. With a snap of his head to the side, he dropped it to the floor and moved toward his staff, his shadows playing on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath his feet.

"Do you perhaps mean… Vox-2-Nite?" His voice, usually smooth, carried an edge.

"Is that the name? I thought you hated telev—Oh. Ohhh..." As you ascended to the higher floors of the building, a realization swept over you.

Alastor's relationship with Vox was complicated. It didn't take a genius to see that. If the ceaseless back-and-forths on broadcasts, the turf wars that had casualties matching mass-extinction events, and the hushed gossip circulating among the other performers were anything to go by.

“Small world,” you chuckled, strolling down the hallway that led to the performers' rooms, the echo of your footsteps blending with the distant murmur of conversation. “I’m guessing I shouldn't take her up on the offer?”

"Absolutely not," Alastor practically snarled out, venom dripping from his tongue. The radio in your hand crackled and buffered, a faint golden glow emanating from the dials. "That pompous piece of shit television is nothing but a clout-chasing, mediocre host flitting between this fad and another on his little picture show podcasts."

“I know, love.” With a swift turn of a doorknob, you opened the door to your flat. "I wasn’t… planning… to…”

Your words trailed off, lingering in the air, as you entered the room. Your eyes widened in awe, captivated by the sight of a bouquet of white roses gracefully adorning your bed.

"Alastor," you spoke into the radio, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "Did you send me roses?"

Back in the hotel, Alastor, settled back into his plush couch. The fiery embers of his anger melting away like a fleeting shadow, replaced by the realization that you had discovered his gift.

A soft chuckle came from the radio, "Guilty as charged, cher. "

Your heart fluttered, and you sank onto the bed, dropping the radio on your mattress and taking the bouquet into your hands. The delicate petals felt soft against your fingers as you admired their beauty. White roses, unlike red ones, were so scarce it was difficult to get a hold of.

"Alastor, this is… wonderful," you spoke into the radio, smile so wide your cheeks almost hurt. "Why—How did you even—How did you even manage to find these?"

"Oh, I pulled a few strings," your husband grinned before chuckling, "and a few limbs too."

Your laughter intertwined with his and Alastor listened fondly, finding solace in the melody of your delight.

The day you inked that deal with Mimzy marked the onset of an agonizing pain he had never experienced before. The thought of leaving your sorrowful self under the wretched contract of that avaricious woman had incited a frenzied rage within him, leading to weeks of unbridled slaughters on the streets of hell.

The blood he spilled onto the sidewalks left a stain on the concrete that lasted months.

Fortunately for you and him, the ordeal was nearing its end. Just one more year remained until Alastor could finally reunite with you. After enduring decades of this agony, an additional year seemed like mercy.

"You like it, cher?" Alastor's voice dropped an octave lower, the satisfaction evident in his tone, pleased to bring happiness to your moment.

"Yes," you laugh, cradling the bouquet in your hands. "I like it very much."

˚୨୧₊♱

[nihiltism]

you ever autism blast about something that isnt even one of Your Things its a thing a friend is into but somebody brought it up and youre autism blasting basically just what that friend has told you and you have to clarify to the person youre talking to that you Are just spewing bullshit and do not know anything about the media yourself. but you do love your friend.