#Ever been to the goddamn ZOO !?

[vampirian]

thinking about them again (them being my blorbos)

[thatonegaybrit]

Hi, I'm Chip Mulaney and I'm your father

; but sometimes he would be gay .. !

[thewoollyviking]

Wanted to take a point I made in a reblog chain and make it its own post because I feel it put to words something that’s been bothering me about SU and the Diamonds in particular.

The Diamonds did not actually mourn Rose for those thousands of years after the war. And trying to get us to sympathize with their grief while turning around to denounce Rose felt so incredibly tone deaf.

Let me explain a bit why I feel this way…

So, according to the art books, all four Diamonds are rough around 20,000 years old. To give you an idea how old that is compared to irl history…

There are figures early humans carved from mammoth ivory and spear tips carved from flint that were made when the bottom of the North Sea was still a mammoth steppe in Doggerland.

Subtract the time Rose spent on Earth after the war (give or take a few centuries) and assuming the craptastic treatment she endured under the Diamonds has pretty much been the norm for all that time, and she had been abused for roughly 10-12,000 years.

Rose’s abuse predates agriculture and written language.

I. Do not. Give. A single. Chicken. Fried. Fuck. How sad or sorry the Diamonds think they were after losing Rose.

Oooooh booo fucking hooo Blue sulked in the middle of a human zoo Rose never even wanted in the first place.

Yellow knew Rose wanted to spare Earth and apparently thought the best way to honor her memory was to blow it the fuck up.

And White’s first action seeing “Pink” return was to send a mind controlled version of her original Pearl to greet her as a power move. To remind her what happens when she doesn’t control her power.

They didn’t mourn Rose. They mourned the person they wanted her to be.

I struggle to think of any other example of behavior both in the show or just in fiction altogether that’s this self destructive, self righteous, and self entitled.

This wasn’t morning, this was a 5,750 year long temper tantrum from the three of them.

And that’s made all the more clear once they realized Steven isn’t Rose.

Barely a few years after the end of season five and they seem completely unphased by the revelation that Rose really, truly is gone. And that her passing was not the act of some rogue gem, but their own abusive behavior chasing her away and being haunted by personal demons they inflicted on her.

Nope, their only goal now is getting Steven to take her place and live with them.

“Aww Pink’s gone? Gee that sucks. Welp, time to find a new pink!”

Suddenly now that they don’t have some villain to blame for their misfortune, they’re all too happy to sweep it under the rug.

Fuck dude, some people mourn Healthcare CEOs more than the Diamonds actually mourned Rose.

And yet the Diamonds get that nice fairy tale happy ending where they can be quirky space grandmas who think what they’re doing will ever hope to make up for the suffering they caused.

Meanwhile, Rose’s own loved ones feel like they have to apologize for daring to mention her in a positive light and worry they’re making excuses for her.

The Diamonds have been the instigators who made everything worse without fail. They’re the reason Rose came out as such a broken fucking person and yet we’re asked to pass more judgement on her for not being enough of a perfect fucking princess to solve things Steven’s way?

Rose spent her entire goddamn life clawing her way out of that pit of misery but we’re supposed to scoff at her for getting mud on her dress along the way?

What the fuck was the point in showing that Rose spent that lifetime trying to be better to just end it with “maybe her family would be better off if they just stopped thinking about her altogether.”

I still love this show. But I cannot and will not ever be able to rewatch Future.

The Diamonds are a gaggle of entitled, selfish, miserable, wretched hags. All of the grief they endured was entirely their own damn fault and they only have themselves to blame. They do not deserve a single fucking shred of sympathy. Especially not if the show wanted to end with leaving their most notable victim on such a bitter, hateful note.

[otissbluebearshirt]

Prompts from build a fic 1. :D

꒰ 13 ꒱ “i say this with all the love in my heart, but you look like shit.”

꒰ N ꒱ fondness

꒰ 𓃓 ꒱ at work, far later than you should be

Character: Otis

And idea to add is maybe the reader is a Luitenent?

Never made a request before but I love your writing and there seriously is not enough Zvonecek love!

Let’s Go Home - [ Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek ]

Build-A-Fic: “I say this with all the love in the world, but you look like shit.” // fondness // at work, far later than you should be

Word Count: 3198

Warnings: female!reader, uhh… tiredness i guess? overworking… idk - it’s just cute

A/N: i love this i love this i love this i love this… did i mention i love this? this is the first piece i’ve written lately that i’m actually happy with and i think there’s so many opportunities for companion pieces to this??? let me know if you think i should write any (like maybe their perfect night) or if you have any requests for otis and this particular arson lieutenant!reader that you’d like to see :))

Masterlist | Otis Masterlist

You never usually stayed this late on days when Brian off shift.

You both worked for the fire department. You were a Lieutenant at arson and he, of course, was a firefighter over at fifty-one, which meant the two of you didn’t have a lot of time to spend together as is. You had a few hours a day, if you were lucky, and the majority of them were spent sleeping next to each other, therefore you had always made sure you were the first one out the door when the clock struck five.

It had been a rather strict rule you had set for yourself ever since you got married, as there had been far too many times when you were dating that you’d had to blow him off for dinner, drinks, or even a quick lunch inside the walls of your very own office. Truth be told, you honestly never expected him to stick it out this long. You figured he’d get fed up. Or find someone else who was less busy all the time, so it was safe to say you were rather surprised when he got down on one knee in the middle of Molly’s and pulled out a ring.

You had said yes within seconds. Hell, he hadn’t finished saying your name let alone asking you to actually marry him before you did. And you always would. You loved him, so much more than you’d ever loved another person in your life, and the very moment that cool, silver band slid down your finger, you made a promise to yourself that you’d never leave him hanging again. You didn’t want him falling asleep without you next to him, nor did you want him eating so much as a single bite of his dinner without you facing him, which is why today felt like one of the worst, most devastating, days of your life.

It was already way past dinner time, if the clock on your wall was fully accurate, and in less than an hour it would have been your bed time. You hadn’t intended on staying in the office for more than an extra thirty minutes, let alone six whole hours, but with a string of deadly arson fires plaguing the city Chicago and the fire commissioner, himself, breathing down your neck, you didn’t feel as though you had any other option than to stay and work the case.

You had texted Brian earlier to let him know your situation, apologising over and over — like a goddamn crazy person — as you promised that you’d make it up to him whenever you could. Whether it be a full, proper day off next week. A weekend away somewhere special, for just the two of you. Hell, even a simple trip to… the goddamn zoo, or whatever. Just something to try and make up for the fact that he’d had to eat dinner alone for the first time since he proposed. And of course, to make the weight of guilt feel that much heavier on your already aching shoulders, Brian — being the most sweetest, caring and all round perfect man to ever exist — had been nothing if not completely understanding.

After all, he was a firefighter. He’d been there himself, fighting many of the fires you were investigating — and worrying you deeply in the process as a few firefighters had tragically died in those blazes — so he knew all too well that you wouldn’t have blown him off if it wasn’t important. But that didn’t make you feel any better, not in the slightest.

You were meant to be celebrating tonight, for a rather special reason. Brian had finally gotten off sole elevator duty and was now driving truck eighty-one and you knew, all too well, how important that was to him. He’d been on elevators for seven long years and it was starting to take its toll on him, therefore you had promised him the most perfect, romantic, night to finally celebrate his big move up the ladder.

You’d planned it all, right down the very playlist you’d have playing in the background. You’d gotten everything in that you needed to make his all time favourite meal. You’d even bought some nice candles to decorate the table; a fancy bottle of red wine, from the good shelf at the store, to toast with; but most importantly of all, you had a new two piece from Victoria’s Secret hidden in your underwear drawer that you’d been planning to wow him with.

It had been a while since the two of you had so much as fooled around a little, let alone had time to be properly slow and intimate with one another. You were always too tired after work or too busy solving cases for anything but a quickie, but tonight you’d specifically planned to have the first truly magical night you’d both had in a while. And you’d been looking forward to it ever since Brian broke the news and you got the idea. So, to find yourself still standing in your office, wearing your white shirt and bugles, instead of lying in your bed clad in an uncomfortable lace outfit with Brian firmly on top of you, was rather tragic to say the least.

“I’m no expert, but I think you actually have to take the cap off the pen in order to write with it.”

At the sudden, all too familiar voice, your head snapped to your office door where Brian, himself, now stood, his arm leaning against the doorframe and a red button down shirt, with tiny anchors printed all over the fabric, covering the muscular build of his torso. Your lips curled up almost instantly, your arm slowly lowering from in front of the mess that was your whiteboard. You opened your hand as it fell limp next to you, allowing the pen — which did still have its cap on — to fall to the floor as the concentration that had sat heavy on your face all night swiftly faded, replacing instantly with nothing but pure and utter fondness as you allowed your tired gaze to drift over the entirety of his being.

“What are you doing here?” You asked curiously. He never really came down to your office as it was a tad bit out of the way, so to see him standing there, at nearly 11pm, was a little bit of a — blessed — shock for you right now.

“You’re here a lot later than you said you'd be,” Brian explained, and even despite there not being any sort of grievance or anger hidden behind his soft, comforting voice, it still broke your heart to have to hear those words slip past his lips and you almost regretted asking him. “I was getting worried.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” You whispered, your eyes swelling up the moment he began to delve further into the absolute carnage of your office. You hadn’t wanted to worry him, not at all, but in your delirious state of mind you must have forgotten to text him an update after you surpassed the original time that you guessed you’d be home at. “I didn’t…”

A shuddering breath left the back of your throat as your words fell quiet, your pen-stained hand lifting to wipe at your eyes before the tears could tip over and spill down your cheeks. You hadn’t realised how truly terrible you felt over the entire situation until you saw him in front of you. Until you finally realised that he wasn’t some sort of stress related mirage and that he was actually here, now, standing in your office having come to check in on you.

And to make things worse, he wasn’t annoyed at you or angry. He wasn’t sad or even disappointed that your night had been ruined by your need to work, he was just… him. As always, Brian was nothing more than the sweet, considerate man you had met at a CFD gala, and danced with all night, and that was more than enough to have the tap behind your eyes want to turn on entirely. But you tried your hardest not to let it pour.

Though, it seemed like you didn’t try hard enough when your vision started to blur and a small drizzle trickled out. It dampened your lashes, dripping of the ends and you had barely managed to dry the first set before you felt Brian’s hands land gently on your face, lifting it from where it had fallen and drying the second before lightly drawing his thumbs across the near-sunken in state of your cheeks.

“It’s okay, baby,” Brian said softly, assuringly, pulling you in closer and placing a tender kiss to your forehead, which almost broke you completely as even with your night having been totally ruined… the only care he showed was entirely towards you. He pulled back yet his touch remained, his thumbs working slow, comforting circles over the dampening surface of your skin as he gazed into the shimmer of your eyes. “I would have called, but I wanted to make proper sure that you weren’t working yourself to death.”

“I would say I’m not, but you just found me trying to write with a still-capped pen so I think I might be getting close,” You sniffled with a little humour, making him smile with all the fondness in the world as he brushed a few strands of your hair behind your ear and allowed his hand to settle there.

“Let me take you home,” He murmured, his thumb grazing below your eye that you could barely keep open.

“I still have stuff to do here,” You protested, yet just the thought of going home and climbing into bed beside him was almost enough to wipe you off your feet. “Receipts I need to go through, footage I need to double check and…”

“And it’ll all still be here in the morning,” Brian finished, giving you a pointed look as you let out a partially defeated sigh. He dropped his hands to rest on either side of your neck, feeling as your own raised from your sides and landed on his arms, your fingers curling tightly around the fabric of his jacket. “Though you might not be, if you don’t let me take you home so that you can get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired.” You mumbled, causing Brian to frown and tilt his head a little at the bags beneath your eyes and the droop of your eyelids.

“Baby,” He exhaled, his thumb grazing over the light beat of your pulse, “I say this with all the love in my heart, but you look like shit.”

A soft chuckle escaped the back of your throat and you nodded lightly, your eyes falling to the floor, “Yeah, I guess I probably do look a mess, don’t I?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re still the stunningly beautiful Lieutenant I married,” Brian began, the slight smugness he had over managing to secure you as his wife making you smile. “But yeah, you do… As does your office.”

And with that last little addition, you couldn’t help but agree and you let out a heavy sigh.

“Okay. Let me just…” Your brow pinched and you bit at the skin of your lips, suddenly feeling lost now that the realisation of how tired you were had kicked in. “God, I don’t even know. What do I need?”

“Your phone, your keys, your purse and your coat.”

“Right,” You mumbled, nodding your head though your brow remained furrowed. You pulled away from him, heading for your desk and pausing for a second, going over that short list in your aching mind before you nodded again. “…Right.”

A soft, partially amused exhale left Brian’s nose as he smiled fondly, waiting patiently and watching with awe as you gathered your things — whilst still looking entirely confused and disoriented, he might add and he would have been a little worried about it, had it not been a normal occurrence. You often did get a little muddled when you were running low on gas and most of the time he didn’t think you were anything more than ridiculously cute.

Especially on nights like tonight, when you were so tired that when you got home you couldn’t seem to put your pyjamas on correctly no matter how many times you tried. You’d managed to put both legs in the one hole of your shorts and almost tripped over them. Then, when you managed to do that, you ended up with your head through the arm hole of your top and your arm through the head hole, causing you to let out a forced, exaggerated sob, as you huffed in the middle of the bedroom — the misshaped t-shirt covering the entirety of your head.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” You whined out, and even though Brian couldn’t see your face, he still knew you were pouting.

“Come here,” He said with a soft chuckle, sliding back out of bed and padding his way quickly over towards you. He pulled the sleeve off your head and carefully tucked your arm back through the head hole then fixed it properly, his heart swelling in his chest at the permanent pout that etched on your face as he guided your arms into their respective place and all but dressed you. “You know, for an important Lieutenant who solves big fire crimes, you can be really grumpy sometimes.”

Though you knew he was only messing with you, you still shoved him playfully away once your pyjamas were on properly, hearing him laugh softly as he toppled back onto the bed that creaked quietly beneath him.

“Stop being mean.” You huffed, folding your arms and remaining still as he sat up a little. His playful smile faded and yet another fond one replaced it, his hand landing beside him and patting the end of the bed, inviting you over. You gave in in seconds, your arms loosening and falling limp by your sides as you shuffled over to him, sinking down into the comfort of the mattress and feeling his arm drape over you, your own sliding around his back where your fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his t-shirt. “This is the exact opposite of how I wanted this night to go.”

“Oh yeah?”

You hummed in agreement, “You’re gonna think this is so corny, but I really thought it was gonna be magical.”

“What did you have planned?” Brian asked curiously, his heart aching over your obvious disappointment.

“I was gonna cook you your favourite dinner. I even bought some of that fancy wine from the store and some candles. And I…” A soft sigh left your lips as you fiddled with a loose thread on your shorts. “I bought a new outfit that I really wanted to show you...”

“You can show me a new outfit any night this week, my love,” Brian said, his last two words slipping out in Russian. He didn’t want you to feel bad about your night going in the complete opposite direction, not when you could do it literally any other night this week as it wasn’t like it was an important anniversary. It was just a small celebration, one he hadn’t expected you to do much of anything for, let alone all this. Though he wouldn’t lie, as touched as he was over the night you had planned, the thought of this outfit that you seemed more disappointed over than anything else, sparked a fierce tingle deep in his chest. “It didn’t have to be tonight.”

“I wanted it to be,” You mumbled, tilting your head and pressing your cheek against his chest, hearing the light beat of his heart beneath. “It’s special.”

“And it’ll still be special regardless of when you show it to me.” He lifted his hand that lay hung over your shoulder and began to run it down the back of your head. “You know… I’m off next Saturday and Sunday.”

And like he expected, you perked up at that little detail and lifted your head up, locking eyes with him and not missing the subtle glint that sparked behind the browns of his irises.

“I could ask Dawson to cover my shift at Molly’s, and then maybe you and I could go out someplace nice?” He raised his brow, tilting his head a little. “Perhaps you could even wear this special little outfit you wanted to show me.”

You rolled your lips a little and dropped your gaze as a small flush of heat spread across your cheeks, “It’s not exactly an outfit that you wear out in public.”

“Oh.” Brian’s brow dipped a little as he tried to figure out what the hell kind of outfit it was then. Was it… new pyjamas, perhaps? Surely not. You wouldn’t be getting al worked up over new pyjamas, but then again he couldn’t quite think of anything else it could be other than… Oh. It suddenly clicked in his mind exactly what this special little outfit you had was and his cheeks reddened. “Oh.”

You chuckled softly at the way his eyes widened, “Yeah… I sort of… I don’t know, wanted to go all out I guess? As it’s been a while since we’ve been together.”

“What are you talking about? We were together last week.”

You frowned a little, though your tone was light and almost playful, “A quickie in the showers of your firehouse isn’t exactly the pinnacle of romance, Brian.”

True, Brian thought to himself. Though his face might have said otherwise with the way he tilted his head back and reminisced fondly over the reminder.

“Nor was it particularly professional of me to do, either. Especially after I just finished talking to your boss.” You finished, though you wouldn’t deny you were getting goosebumps just thinking about the way your body had felt pressed up against the cold tiles of that shower cubicle. But still, you wanted romance… You wanted slowness… You wanted love, and that wasn’t exactly the best way for you to get it. You sighed softly, forcing his head upright again, “I just wanted us to have a romantic night together.”

“And we will,” Brian assured you, his free hand taking yours and lacing your fingers together. He brought them up to his lips and placed a soft kiss against your knuckles. “Next weekend. Right from the very minute we both wake up, it’ll just be me, you… and that special little outfit you have stashed away somewhere.”

“You promise?”

The way your eyes all but lit up with pure hope made his heart want to weep beneath his chest and he nodded his head, pressing another kiss to you hand, this time right on top of the wedding band that lay engraved with both of your initials. His lips lingered for a second, feeling the slight coldness of the silver mixed with the heat of your hands before he pulled back just enough to whisper the two small words that you so desperately needed to hear, after the day you’d had.

“I promise.”

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[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

hiii i love your writing!! do u think u can do a continuation on the josh belly rub fic like how you did with bill?? you write him so well ^^

(YES

Title: "All Bark, No Brains" (epilogue josh levy belly rubs continuation)

It starts, like most things with Josh, with him pretending to hate it.

You’d been curled up with him on the couch, one of his old VHS sci‐fi horror tapes hissing in the background, your fingers idly trailing down his stomach. He’d grumbled about the commentary, about the lighting, about how no one today knows jack shit about practical effects—standard Josh Levy noise.

But the second your hand settled just below the curve of his soft belly, he stiffened.

“Hey—Jesus, what, you takin’ inventory down there?”

You only smiled. “Just touching you.”

He glared at you like you’d insulted his entire VHS collection. “It’s not a goddamn petting zoo.”

But he didn’t move your hand. Didn’t swat you away. In fact, when your palm smoothed down to the waistband of his pants and back up again, he flinched… and blushed. Not that he’d admit it.

“You act like no one’s ever touched you like this,” you teased, nosing along his jaw.

His voice cracked. “Yeah, well, maybe they haven’t, okay?”

There it was—right beneath all the sarcasm and superiority, Josh Levy was a man who had never been worshipped properly. Never been softened under someone’s hands. Never believed for a second that anyone could look at him and want.

You moved slow. You kissed down his chest. Bit lightly at the soft curve of his belly, letting your hands roam. You praised every inch of him—his warmth, his thickness, the way he groaned when you licked low and grazed your teeth against his hip.

“You’re so cute like this, Josh,” you murmured.

He made a noise in his throat that was almost a protest, but then you mouthed over the bulge in his boxers and he broke—hands clutching the couch cushions, hips twitching.

“Oh—fuck, don’t—shit, I didn’t—”

“You can’t talk your way out of this one,” you whispered, pulling his waistband down. Tou were met with his Stocky and flushed length, thick enough to feel heavy in your hand, his arousal pulsing through him as your palm cradled the weight of him— warm, needy, and already twitching from your touch. Josh whimpered—whimpered. His cheeks were red, his voice high and cracking as he muttered, “This is—this is not how this goes. I’m supposed to—ahhh, shit,—supposed to be in charge.”

“You want me to stop?” you asked, lips brushing the head.

“No,” he moaned, a hand tangling in your hair. “Jesus Christ, just—please.”

You took him into your mouth, slow and firm, that single action made his balls twitch, moaning as you sank lower on to him, one hand stroking what your lips couldn’t reach, the other gripping his plush hip. Josh was a mess in seconds—breath hitching, stomach jumping under your hand, his thighs trembling.

“God, you’re—fuck, your mouth—nghh, fuck, right there—” His hips bucked as your nose was gently pressed into his pubes. His musk was there as you hollowed your cheeks, and you felt it: the moment he stopped pretending, stopped arguing, stopped thinking.

He started begging. His voice cracked, his hand tightened, his whole body shook.

You didn’t stop. Not when he came with a ragged groan and slurred curses, not when he collapsed back like his bones had melted, one arm flopped over his eyes and his belly still twitching beneath your palm.

“…Don’t say a word,” he panted.

You kissed the underside of his belly and said softly, “You’re perfect.”

“…Shut up.”

But his hand found yours. He didn’t let go.

Josh was exhausted but still hard and still twitching slightly against his thigh.

---

[shinynewboots]

Staring at the Sun / Adam x Lute Chapter 16

Summary: After the battle, Lute attempts to flee with Adam. They find themselves unable to return to Heaven and must adjust to life in Hell.

AN: Hi! Hope you guys enjoy! Warnings changed so beware

Warnings: 18+, Graphic depictions of violence, Blood and Gore, Cursing, dubious consent/non-con if you squint, sexual themes

AO3

Chapter 15

“Lute?!”  Adam said, turning to face her. He let out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he took in the sight of her. She smiled at him softly, her golden eyes shining brightly as they took him in. Her hair was shorter than the last time he remembered seeing it, closer to the way it had looked in Heaven. 

“I was waiting for you, Sir.” Lute said, her voice the same as it ever was but there was an undertone to it he was unfamiliar with. Her shorter hair wasn’t the only thing similar to the way she had looked in Heaven. Her left arm was intact, no longer the robotic prosthetic that she had been fitted with only a few weeks earlier. He eyed her warily, or at least he tried to. His body felt as though it was on autopilot. He felt more relaxed in the presence of her than he had from the moment he started the trials. 

He could only stand and stare at her. Drink her in with his unworthy, human eyes. She looked at him curiously. Like someone watching a zoo animal. Waiting for them to react. To cause a scene. 

“Adam.” She whispered, reaching out to him slowly as if to poke a sleeping bear. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. What if she disappeared? What if she left him once more to his lonely existence? Did he deserve anything less?

She tiptoed to him, slow and quiet and floating like a dancer across the stage. He stopped breathing.

She placed her warm hands, both made of flesh with ichor flowing in her veins, on either side of his face. Her dainty palms cupped his face like a child, gently pulling him closer to her. Her eyes were wild and bright. Curious. The expression seemed altogether foreign on her features.

He felt her rub her small thumbs against his cheeks, wiping something away. He realized he was crying. What a fucking pussy. What a goddamn weak-ass excuse for an angel. For a man. Come one, come all: behold the First Man, brought to tears by a gentle touch and golden eyes. Fucking pussy. 

Those thoughts didn’t stop the silent tears.

His face was so close to hers. Too close. He felt hot; uncomfortable; vulnerable. Like a flustered teenager out with his prom date. She pulled his face down farther until he practically bent over her. Had she always so short?

In the end, he couldn’t help it. He touched his forehead to her own and let her warm breath breathe life into him. He let out a deep sigh, the air finally escaping his lungs after a few agonizing minutes. 

“You’re not here.” He whispered, closing his eyes to let the moment last. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t his. He felt himself sink into the floor, his knees striking hard against the hardwood. She followed suit in a fluid motion, her head and hands never leaving him. 

He had gotten good at spotting the illusions and memories in the trials. It didn’t mean they didn’t hurt any less. He thought of Eve and the first kind of touch he’d ever known. He thought of his boys and the way he let Heaven screw them both over the first time around. He thought of Lute and all the ways he had let her down. 

“Adam, it’s me. It’s Lute.” She whispered. Her breath was warm. Saccharine. Wrong. All wrong. Despite this, he couldn’t help but breathe it deeper into his lungs. 

He shook his head. She did not call him by his name at any point in Heaven. He was always ‘Sir’. Never Adam. Never allowed the freedom of closeness in Heaven. Especially, not with her. 

“You’re just a fucking illusion.” 

“Is that so wrong?” She asked. “I know what you think of me. Your mind drifts to me whenever it can.”

“You’re not real.” He opened his eyes and moved his head away from her. They both sat on their knees, staring into the soul of the other.

“This feels real, though, doesn’t it?” She said, taking her hands and moving them slowly down his neck. Goosebumps raised on his arms and back. Danger. Danger. Danger. 

“Sir?” She added, her voice innocent. Lute was never innocent. 

He breathed out, his breath becoming closer to pants than the normal cyclic rhythm. He could feel his heart beating out of his chest. Boom. Boom. Boom.

“And this?”

Her small hands began to trail down his chest. He looked down to watch their descent. It was then he realized he was wearing his exorcist robes. They had fit him like a second skin, escaping his notice. 

Her hands trailed down farther, over the soft contour of his stomach until finally they reached his groin. Her hands made contact with his cock, revealing the secret that had been hardening beneath his robes. Beneath his notice as all he cared about in that moment was her. She smirked at him, her hands rubbing against the bugle beneath his robes. His cock twitched at her welcome touch. 

He swallowed hard and closed his mouth to suppress a moan. But even in his imagination, Lute was just as perceptive as her real counterpart. She met his eyes and smiled, a victorious smile similar to the ones she would wear after a successful extermination. 

“You’re not mine.”  He choked out, the words bitter on his tongue. 

“What?” She asked, her tone calm and nonchalant, as though Adam had just uttered the most absurd thing. He tended to do that frequently. She continued to run her small fingers over his bulge. 

“You’re not my Lute.” He said, his voice mechanical. He grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his groin. Her wrist was petite; he could crush it easily if so wished. No stronger than the bones of a small bird. A prey animal. 

She raised an eyebrow at him; a familiar expression that seemed to burn him. She looked down at his grip on her wrist and wiggled her fingers. “No, but this is how you loved me once. How you imagined me?”

“No, you’re all wrong.”

“How am I wrong?” Her eyes were wide. Innocent. Teasing. Wrong. 

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. 

She scooted closer to him, pushing her body against his chest so that he could feel the weight of her against him. That familiar weight had become one of his favorite reasons to fall asleep at night, knowing she would be beside him. Cuddled against him. 

He stopped breathing. His mind grew blank. She took that as an invitation to invade his space even further, wedging his hand and her wrist between their bodies. She leaned her head close to his. Her warm breath called to him like a siren at sea. Just one taste. Just one touch to silence the ache and hollowness in his soul. Just one—

His hand wrapped around her throat before he could even realize what he was doing. His grip was firm. If she was real, it would leave bruises. His eyes watered, threatening to spill over once again.

“Please don’t make me kill you. I would kill every other sorry motherfucker in these trials because I know that’s how most of these fucking end. I know how the game goes. But I can’t fucking kill you.” He whispered, his voice breaking as he took in a look of fear on her features. It would haunt him. What didn’t haunt him these days? He had a thousand lifetimes of sins pilling up and spilling over. What was one more to add to the backlog? 

“Then kiss me.” She pleaded. Her eyes were full of true fear. “She would never know.”

“I would know. I would always fucking know.” He said, dropping his hand from her neck. The skin was still pristine. No marks or bruises are to be seen. An illusion. His hand itched as though it had been burned. I would always remember the way I bashed your brains out. The way I always would remember how golden blood would soak your pure, white hair as you begged for mercy. Don’t fucking make me do this. 

“Please. Kiss me, Adam. Kiss me and I’m yours.” She begged.

Her lips were so close to his own. One shift, one movement and he would finally know the way her mouth tasted. He had imagined it would taste like the nectar of deity. A sweetness with a hint of a bitter after taste that lingered long after their lips stopped touching. 

“You’ll never be mine.” Adam breathed out, rage and frustration building up inside him. He could take the cruel imitations of Eve. Of Abel. Of Cain. They all left him in the end (or, was it the other way around?) and he had moved on. Lute though? Lute had chosen to stay with him. She had chosen him! Fuck these fucking trials and the fucking feelings they gave him. The illusion in front of him could never be her. “You’re different. Fucking wrong.”

“What makes me so different?” She pressed, her tone desperate. Pathetic. Wrong. 

“Lute would never beg,” He said, his eyes meeting hers. Her expression, soft and docile and utterly strange on her features, began to change. Her eyes narrowed. Her mouth with those perfect plump lips began to twist into a smirk.

“You’re right.” She said, her voice like the edge of a knife. She placed her hands, those dainty small things that seemed to dwarf against him, on his chest. And pushed. Fucking pushed. He looked at her with wide eyes as he noticed the expression in her eyes: danger. A look he had seen one too many times during an extermination when she had removed her helmet to take in the carnage they had left in the streets. 

He fell back against the floor, his knees folding out from under him. Lute climbed on top of him quickly, her expression like that of a predator. She straddled him, her groin pressing hard against his own. He could feel his traitorous cock reacting against his wishes and pleading for him to buck his hips.  She leaned over him, her smile wide and oddly reminiscent of the Radio Demon’s.

“I wouldn’t beg,” She said slowly. Adam watched with shock and awe as her features began to morph before his eyes. Her hair began to grow longer, similar to the length it was in Hell. The left arm that pushed against his chest began to change until it was the prosthetic limb she had recently acquired. 

He could see the way she was trying so hard to keep her composure. That was her training; it was built into her DNA. But he could see the cracks beneath the surface. He knew she needed him. He needed her to need him. He reached out his hand under the table and grabbed her dainty palm. He looked over at her with a stupid grin. 

“You know you’re gonna look like even more of a badass, right? Especially with a terminator arm.”

Fuck. This was all fucked. 

“Do I look correct now, sir?” She asked, an eyebrow raised the way he had seen him do a thousand times before. 

“You’re still not her.” He bit out. She leaned her face closer to his, emphasizing the movement with her hips as they ground against her. This was all wrong. This wasn’t how he wanted his first time touching her skin to be. A false imitation. A trick. 

She stared at him and parted her lips. She leaned her head down. Her pink tongue licked against her lips. And then he received the kiss of death as she crashed her lips onto his. He kept his mouth sealed and thrashed against the touch. She was strong though, as he knew was. And he couldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t. Not, fucking, her. 

She ground her hips even further against his, effectively pining him to the ground. Her tongue pushed and prodded against his closed mouth, begging him to open. But he resisted. 

Until he felt her body weight shift and suddenly her hands, prosthetic and real, were prying at his mouth. It reminded him of a video he had seen once of someone trying to force a cat to take medicine. That's a good one, Adam. Keep those unsexy thoughts going. 

Lute pried his mouth open, her tongue desperately licking the inside of his lips. Her taste was intoxicating. Thoughts of only Lute began to penetrate his mind. Fucking her. Kissing her. Tasting her. 

Math.

Warmth began to spread through his core. Fuck it would be so easy. He would get everything he wanted. And he wanted her. 

Ugly people. 

She felt so perfect in his arms. The way he always imagined she would. He could stay here forever in this position. 

Saint Peter in a banana hammock. 

But this wasn’t Lute and he couldn’t give in to whatever perverted fantasies of her he had let persist in his imagination. Not if he wanted to get back to her. Not if he wanted to save her. His eyes flashed golden as he felt himself break from her siren song. He could feel pure angelic power coursing through his veins, resisting whatever aphrodisiac the imitation was trying to seduce him with. 

A porno featuring Angel Dust and the Radio Demon. 

He pushed back against Lute, firm enough to cause her to lose her balance (and fall to the side of his body) but gentle enough that he knew she would be fine. “Get the fuck away from me you fucking build-a-bitch.”

He crawled back pathetically on his hands, his expression and body language guarded as he watched Lute regain her senses. She didn’t react or pounce immediately the way he anticipated she would. Instead, she looked at him with a curious expression. She laughed, a sound that was distinctly different from Lute’s true voice.

“Congrats, Adam. Or, Dickmaster. That moniker’s making its way around the Lust Ring.” Not-Lute said, winking at him as she stood to her feet. She offered a hand towards him, which he swatted away harshly.

“That’s fucking it? You fucking bitch.” He said, crawling onto his knees and then making his way to a standing position. It had been so long since he had worn his robes that could feel himself get tangled deep inside the fabric. He couldn’t fall in front of her though. That would just be fucking embarrassing. 

She looked at him with an amused expression. “I’ll give you credit. Not many can resist succubus saliva.”

Adam frowned and wiped his hands against his mouth and tongue to clear away any of the evidence. Fucking Asmodeus and his fucking succubi. “Ew, shit. What the fuck?”

The succubus laughed. 

“I thought Asmodeus said he was gonna go easy on me,” Adam grumbled. 

“That was easy.” The succubus said, unintentionally giving the most Lute-like reply of the entire ordeal. 

Oh yeah, having a copycat of your not-girlfriend girlfriend show up and try to seduce you (meanwhile you haven’t even gotten to first-base with said real not-girlfriend girlfriend) all only a few hours after watching your kids kill each other over and over and over again was fucking easy.  This fucking sucked. Fuck Michael. Fuck Lucifer. Fuck Sera. 

Adam heard a familiar whoosh sound behind him which he knew to be a portal. He’d passed the Trial. He looked at the succubus who smiled at him. “See, easy.” She said. 

If he saw Asmodeus again, he might choke him. Fucking easy? Bullshit. 

“Good luck in Greed,” The succubus said, winking at him with Lute’s golden eyes. He shot her a bird as he walked through the green portal. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“What the fuck happened? We only saw half the broadcast until it cut off.” Angel Dust asked as soon as the group of angels and Charlie landed in front of the hotel. It was eerily similar to the day that Adam was Cast Out, when all the hotel patrons gathered outside. Even Alastor was in tow this time, though he seemed just as uninterested as always. Nifty stood behind Alastor’s legs, examining the dirt and grime that covered the angels and Charlie. Lute could almost feel her itching to clean up the ‘mess’. 

“We fell into a trap. All this did was convince Sinners that the hotel and the Morningstars are not acting in their best interests.” Vaggie replied, releasing Charlie from her arms as they landed. The Morningstars in question looked worse for wear. Lute didn’t realize that Lilith still had such an impact on Lucifer, even after seven years. A piece of her felt guilty that she knew Lilith’s whereabouts, living a lavish life on the beaches of Heaven. Based on Lucifer’s reaction at just the mere questioning of her, Lute knew revealing that secret would serve no one, especially not the Morningstars. 

Charlie looked equally distraught. Though they had fought in battle against each other and Lute knew Charlie had a fair idea of what actually took place during exterminations, it was in those few hours that she realized just how sheltered Charlie had been kept from most of Hell. While she didn’t anticipate getting betrayed so quickly, none of the events of the day were surprising to Lute. One look at Vaggie told a similar story. 

“I shouldn’t have gone,” Lute said. Her head was pounding and she felt stars begin to creep on the edge of her vision. She retracted her wings, a familiar ache radiating to her shoulders. She tried to stretch her arms but realized only one was raised above her forehead. Oh yeah. Fucking Vox. Her prosthetic was as good as useless. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re the only reason we were able to escape,” Vaggie replied, glancing over at Lute as she ushered the group inside the hotel. Lute wasn’t gonna argue. 

She was immediately flanked by Cherri who lookedat  her with concern. 

“Lute, Babe, what’s up with your fucking arm?” Cherri asked, grabbing at the prosthetic at Lute’s side. The prosthetic moved only with Cherri’s manipulation, like a limp noodle. 

Lute glanced down at the lame limb. “Vox, I guess he caused a power surge.”

Lute glanced behind her to see Angel, ushering Lucifer towards the hotel. Lucifer had a blank look on his face and didn’t even react to Angel pushing him. Or Angel’s gentle coaxing. “Come on, Short King, let’s get you inside.” 

Lute and Cherri made it into the foyer and Lute immediately headed for the bar. She didn’t know if she wanted a cocktail or just a carbonated soda. Anything to make the pounding in her head subside. 

“Here,” A voice said behind Lute. She turned to see Husk offering her ice wrapped in a bar towel. She must have taken too long to respond because he pointed to her head. She went to touch her head with her left arm but got no response. Right. Fucking Vox. 

She reached up with her real hand and made contact with a large bump protruding from her forehead. She breathed in quickly at the tenderness she felt from the gentle palpation. Where did she–? Oh, right. Fucking Vox. 

She took the makeshift cold compress and pressed it against her forehead. 

“That’s a nice-sized goose egg you got there,” Husk said, content now that the compress was out of his hands. “Just grab some more ice from behind the bar when that begins to melt.”

“Thank you, Husk.” She said sincerely.

Husk shrugged. “Been in enough bar fights to know that’s gotta hurt like a motherfucker. Just keep that on for a few hours and the headache should start going away soon.”

Before Lute could thank him once more, he placed his hands in his pocket and walked away. While the site still throbbed, she had an almost instant relief the moment the cool compress touched her skin. 

“Ooh, Babe, that looks like your forehead tried to grow a third boob,” Cherri said, wincing as she looked at the lump on Lute’s forehead. Lute scowled at her. 

“That’s what happens when you headbutt a tv.” She said, wincing as pain radiated down her head to her neck. Fuck. 

“And that was so fucking badass!” Angel said in awe and fear. He walked up to the bar and took a seat beside Lute. Lute winced at the noise.  “We saw most of it on the broadcast.” 

The lights seemed brighter than she remembered. Her friends seemed louder than she remembered. 

“That was right when the feed was cut. And then of course the fucking quake.” Cherri supplied. 

“So you didn’t see me use one of your bombs on air?” Lute asked, taking in a sharp breath of pain. Cherri grinned and slapped her back. Lute wanted to throw up from the impact combined with her headache. 

“No Cunt, that would’ve been fucking wicked to see.” 

Cunt was a term of endearment, Lute had learned quickly. 

Angel’s phone began to buzz, message after message appearing on his screen. Lute glanced over to see that all the messages were from Valentino. Angel looked at his phone with apprehension, feverishly typing as it continued to buzz with message after message. 

“I uh, I’m sorry.  I gotta take this.” He said, excusing himself with no further explanation. Lute gave him a pitying look. Cherri rolled her eyes, as she did every time Angel had to appease Valentino’s tantrums and phone calls. Lute had never seen Valentino in person but occasionally on the television. Cherri always described him as having a face like a dropped meat pie anda  personality to match. 

 Angel always kept that relationship rather vague whenever Lute asked about it but Cherri had filled her in on all the details she could, right down to fucked up relationship the two had. Apparently, since their failed extermination (around the time Lute had referred to him as a crack-whore in front of the angelic council) Angel had grown independent in the relationship. But Angel was still on Valentino’s leash; a fact that couldn’t be dismissed. 

“I’m sure Valentino’s gonna be fucking pissed you broke his boy-toy’s face.” Cherri said, getting up from her barstool and walking behind the bar. She grabbed two shot glasses and a bottle of rum. 

“Vox and Valentino are a thing?” Lute asked, adjusting the compress on her head. It was starting to melt, leading to large droplets of water beginning to sweat down her face. 

“Big time. I’m sure Angie’s getting an earful of it. Combined with the fact that the bastard’s been basically radio silent since ya boyfriend blew up.”

Lute sent Cherri a look. Cherri simply grinned and poured the amber liquor into the shot glasses. She pushed one of the glasses towards Lute, who eyed the glass warily. 

“I don’t think I can.”

“Babe, ya look like fresh shit. And rum’s like a third of what’s in a Painkiller. And if that doesn’t help, it’ll cool your nerves.” Cherri said, holding out the shot glass towards Lute. Lute sighed. She didn’t have it in her to argue. She set down the soaked compress and picked up the shot.

“Cheers.” Cherri said, clinking her glass with Lute’s and downing the drink quickly. Lute, however, knew any quick movement would cause her headache to hurt even worse so she gulped the drink.

“There you go bitch. Now get a fucking shower, you look like hammered shit.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Of course, Lute ran into obstacles on her way back to her room. Her head was still throbbing and she could only imagine how hellish the bump on her head was turning. She just wanted a shower. And sleep. And Adam. In that order. 

However, her obstacle came in the form of a tall, distraught princess who seemed intent on hiding from her father and girlfriend and was blocking the entrance to the elevator while doing so. 

“Charlie, are you okay?” Lute asked quietly as if she was approaching a wounded prey animal. Charlie paced by the elevator, rubbing her hands together. She jumped at Lute’s question as if she was surprised someone would find her. She laughed uncomfortably, as Morningstars tended to. 

“Am I okay? Yeah, of course ,I’m okay. I mean the entirety of Hell has been ripped apart and we are solely reliant on a somewhat reformed ex-exterminator to fix it. And all of Hell hates me and my dad and people are dying and I don’t know what to do or how to even lead anyone in a way that they’ll listen and my mom’s still gone and my dad just shuts down at any mention of her but…I’m doing great. I’m okay.” Any other person would have replied in a sarcastic, bitter tone. Not Charlie. The rambling and fake smiles and cheeriness despite the glistening eyes on the Princess showed her true feelings. Try as she might she couldn’t stop the emotions that stitched themselves to her sleeve. 

“Charlie?” Lute pressed. She wasn’t always good at gentle or sweet words. Her method of encouragement for her fellow exorcist was always some version of “get off your ass and get moving’. Tough love and all that shit. Kind affirmations weren’t exactly her forte. 

“I just don’t know what to do.” Charlie finally said, looking down at Lute. Her shoulders were slumped. She looked so defeated. 

“Well, I don’t know what to do either.” Lute began. Charlie opened her mouth to reply but was quickly stopped by Lute lifting her good hand. “What I do know is that today sucked ass. Tomorrow will also probably also suck ass.”

“It sucked so much ass.” Charlie murmured in agreement. 

“But that doesn’t mean you stop trying. You’re annoyingly persistent. We just gotta take today’s shit and learn from it. We’re not gonna get anything done today but we can regroup tomorrow and get a game plan. You’re not alone in this.” Lute said. She reached a tense hand to Charlie’s shoulder and offered what she thought was an encouraging smile. “Besides, it might take a while for Vox to fix his screen. We have time.”

Charlie nodded and offered Lute a tired smile. “You really did save us back there. Thank you. And thank you for your support. I know you’re just doing this for Adam but it means a lot all the same.”

“I’m doing it because its the right thing to do. Of course, getting Adam back is the goal too. You have a lot of compassion for Hell and this hotel. We didn’t understand that until we lived it. ” Lute replied, a soft smile of understanding on her lips. “You make an impact on people.”

Charlie nodded. Lute removed her hand from her shoulder. “Thank you. I really hate that I put so much of this stress, my stress, on Vaggie. I don’t want to burden her with it all the time.”

“I think she would rather you talk to her about it. People that love you don’t mind being there for you.” Lute replied. Of course, what did she know about relationships and its advice? But it sounded good in her head and was likely exactly what Charlie needed at the moment.

“I’m gonna go find Vaggie. Thank you again.” Charlie said, looking significantly brighter than she had only a few minutes before. She looked down at Lute’s arm that hung at her side. “Hey, I’ll call Uncle Ozzie and see if he can come work on your arm.”

Lute grabbed at her prosthetic and held it closer to her side. She nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Charlie smiled brightly and rushed off in search of Vaggie. Lute let out a breath of air. She was already exhausted and having to use emotional intelligence was taking its toll on her. She pressed the ‘up’ button to the elevator and waited.

Once she arrived on her floor, she noticed the hallway was darker than normal. She crossed her good arm over her chest and began to walk. The corridor seemed even longer than normal, like being in a funhouse at the carnival. 

Goosebumps appeared on her arm as she felt the presence of something supernaturally cold. She would know that feeling anywhere. Alastor and his shadow were skulking about. She stopped in her tracks, looking around the dimly lit hallway.

“I know you’re there.” She called into the empty hallway. The few lights flickered. Shadows danced across the walls and floors. She was taken back to her last true interaction with Alastor’s shadow. She couldn’t stop the chill that ran up her spine. Fucking Radio Demon. All she wanted was a fucking shower. 

“How perceptive, my dear.” A voice said behind her. 

‘What do you want?” A shadow curled around her ankles. She wanted nothing more than to stomp it into the ground. 

“You know I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Alastor said, slinking around in the low light to face her. He looked her up and down. 

“You fucking think?” She scoffed. 

“Oh Lute, can I call you Lute—.”

“That’s my name.”

He ignored her. “I think we should let bygones be bygones. Get over those petty squabbles. What about a shake?”

He held his left arm out, gesturing towards her limp left arm. She looked between her arm and him with a cutting look. If she could rip the smile from his face, she would. Hang it and his shadow on her wall like a mounted trophy. 

“Hm, that’s unfortunate.” He said, his eyes gleaming. “Perhaps not.”

“Cut to the chase. What do you really want?” She asked, her tone warning. The shadow began to crawl up her calf, like a snake on the prowl. She looked down at it with disgust. “And call of your pet. I thought you wanted to be civil.”

Alastor’s smile widened. A bright green thread could be seen at the edges, pulling it into an unnatural and dangerous position. He snapped his fingers causing the shadow to retreat. Some warmth began to come back to her. 

“I have a friend with a, let’s call it, vested interest in you and your vulgar beau.” 

“Not my beau.”

“Hmm, debatable,” He said, shrugging. 

Lute huffed. “And who is this friend?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out. Besides, we also have the aligning interests of supporting Charlie and the hotel,” Alastor replied, waving his hand back and forth nonchalantly. Lute narrowed her eyes. 

“Uh-huh.”

“And I must confess, it did fill me with utter glee when I heard of you besting another old acquaintance of mine. You’ve got the souvenir to prove it.” He laughed, placing a dark claw on the bump on her head. It throbbed and stung under his touch until the pain and headache began to cool down, becoming nothing more than a mild twinge. He removed his claw and smiled at her. 

She grabbed at her head. The bump felt as though it had shrunk considerably. It was no longer the giant goose egg that had been present only a few seconds earlier. 

“Why would you—.”

“We’re on the same team, Lieutenant. Whether you like it or not. We’ll be in touch,” He replied. He winked at her before he disintegrated back into the shadows. 

“Creep,” She muttered under her breath. She hastily made her way to her room and locked the door behind her. She leaned back against the door and let out a deep breath. She knew a locked door wouldn’t keep Alastor or his shadow at bay, but it made her feel better all the same. 

She walked to the bathroom, awkwardly shedding her hoodie. She had gotten so used to her new prosthetic in such a short amount of time that without it, she once again felt vulnerable. She threw the hoodie to the floor and took a good look in the mirror. 

The bump on her head was still angry-looking, but it had to look significantly better than it had before Alastor used his freaky magic. She recoiled at the thought. She hated the idea of this pure embodiment of evil offering her aid. Of touching her skin and declaring them allies. 

She would have to dwell on his words later. For now, she needed a warm shower and a full body scrub. She grabbed at her prosthetic arm and pulled at the mechanisms that kept it anchored to her shoulder. It popped off and left her feeling unbalanced. Asymmetrical. Fucking Vox. 

She set the arm down in the sink and took in her appearance. Dark circles formed under her eyes and she still had flecks of dirt and dust sticking to her skin, interrupted by dried trails of water that had dripped from the melting compress. Her hair was splayed wildly around her head, only a few strands still hanging on in the low pony. 

To quote Cherri, she looked like hammered shit. 

She turned on the water and waited until it was hot enough to steam before she hopped in the shower. Immediate relief washed over her as the scalding water flowed down her hair and wings. She simply stood there for a few minutes, not moving as the water seemed to provide a moment of respite. 

She thought of Adam and his trial in the Lust ring. Hopefully, she could ask Asmodeus how it went if he came back to fix her arm. His next trial would be Greed. According to Lucifer, Mammon and Satan would likely be the toughest rings Adam faced. 

She felt powerless, knowing he was out there and she was unable to help. She could only do what little she could within her circle of control (like headbutting a television and giving a pep talk to the Princess of Hell). 

Most of all, she thought of how much she missed him. She missed him so much. It felt like an aching hollowness in her chest that was always present. Yet, she also thought of how much that hollowness was gradually getting filled by the people she had met in this strange place. 

Hell, at its core, was nothing like what she imagined. These people had names, lives, and loves. No longer were they the faceless Sinners she and her sisters would slaughter on Extermination Day. They were souls, human souls. Souls who made shitty choices or actually were shitty people. 

Lute had made shitty choices too. 

What made them so different, in the end?

She missed Adam so desperately. So dearly. But she was also finding a piece of herself that she wasn’t sure she would have been able to find had they not been separated. She found herself becoming a friend, a confidant, a supporter of people other than him. But God, did she miss him. 

She stood until the water began to turn frigid and realized she actually needed to clean herself. She hastily scrubbed (as hastily as she could with one hand) and hopped out the shower. She toweled off (still shivering from the cold water and ambient air) and threw on a large t-shirt Adam had worn and a pair of boyshorts. She jumped into bed and closed her eyes, intent on finding either a dreamless sleep or one filled with thoughts of Adam. 

Of course, the desire for a good night’s rest was thwarted by four eggs and a cat in tow. The Eggs pounded on the door, calling out for their Lieutenant. Lute groaned and got out of bed, the cold cutting her to the bone. 

She opened the door to see the Egg Bois and Keekee looking up at her with wide, expectant eyes.  

“What?” She barked, her headache threatening to come back. 

“Can we sleep in here tonight?” Fred asked. The other three Eggs nodded and hummed in agreement. Keekee simply flicked her tail and strode in the room. 

“No.” She said, closing the door. 

A chorus of “But Lieutenant” rang out on the other side of the door, accompanied by the sound of the Eggs pushing on the door. 

She pinched her nose and breathed out a sigh. 

Lute opened the door and glared down at the Eggs. 

“You can sleep anywhere in here except the bed.” She said.

“But Old Boss let us sleep on the bed,” Yellow replied. 

“Absolutely not. You can sleep beside the bed.” 

The Eggs looked at each other and practically rolled into the room. Lute followed behind them and got back into bed. Keekee cuddled beside her as she shivered. She was grateful for the warmth. 

The sound of teeth chattering kept her from finding that peaceful sleep. She glanced down beside the bed to see the Eggs huddled together, shivering. Fucking Alastor making the entire floor freeze. Fucking Alastor forcing the Eggs onto her in the first place. 

She fell back into her pillow. The teeth chattering continued. She sat up and glared at the Eggs. 

“Fine. You can sleep on the bed. But do not touch me or I’ll scramble you for breakfast.” She warned. The Eggs nodded and scrambled into bed, huddling together in a perfect pile like a litter of kittens. Lute fell back on her pillow, the headache finally beginning to subside once again as she lay in the dark room. She felt Keekee move from beside her to cuddle around the Eggs. 

Of course, when Lute would wake in the morning, she would find her Eggs and Keekee huddled against her like a mother bear to its cubs. She could be irritated about it later. And of course, she would never admit how she appreciated the weight that pressed against her while she slept or the warmth they provided. 

She missed Adam. She missed the way she slept so well next to him for those few fleeting weeks. While these weird Eggs weren’t Adam, they could be rather endearing. It was nice to be wanted. 

Her sleep was dreamless that night. Peaceful.

[worth-this-and-more]

Which one is your favorite kiss scene? Breenick's first kiss, their second kiss, or Breesel's kiss?

as someone who's been kissed against-the-wall-legs-wrapped-around and against-a-tree-bark-digging-into-my-back, you cannot choooooose

both gave me the whole goddamn zoo in my stomach and even though I'm more breesel than ever; breenick got that cutsie that's endearing and breesel got that spice that gets me in the heat so like, hard to choose babe and im bi so basically why choose lmaooo

[gavotte-paradisio]

"Kyoshi Novels as the John Mulaney Tik Tok soundbyte that everyone uses (spoilers ahead)

Have you ever seen a ghost?: Ever seen Father Glow Worm? I was over on the bench: "Yangchen protect me" Yangchen's not here now, I am! I made a salad with craisins!: Eating rodents Hi, my name's Chip Mulaney, and I'm your father: Hi, my name's Kyoshi, your late boss was my father. But sometimes, he would be gay: [Rangshi] Ever been to the goddamn zoo?: Ever been to the goddamn opera? I used to smoke crack!: Kyoshi being embarassed by Kuruk's legacy What's yesterday?: Kyoshi being confused by Lao Ge's philosophical ramblings Shut up, you're all gonna die, street smarts!: Jianzhu poisoning everyone Boom! Orange juice, that's life!: Atuat being Atuat at the party Now I've thrown him off his rhythm!: Yun eating Father Glow Worm Give us some money!: The people harassing Yun when he left the spirit world Stay down on the ground, you motherfucker!: Yun killing a bunch of people

Do my friends hate me, or do I just need to go to sleep?: Kyoshi and Rangi arguing over whether or not to kill Yun But why don't we tell our relatives that I'm a four-year-old boy?: Kyoshi reliving the wrong part of Kuruk's past Do you want me to kill that guy for you?: Lao Ge[/Tieguai]. I am now gross.: [Rangshi] during the final battle with powder and blood on their faces? What's this? (All hail fire lord Chaejin)Peppah! (Kyoshi eats the dirt and it's salt) I'm putting wires into a board filled with holes to move the voices around!: Kyoshi trying and failing to commune with past avatars"

April 11, 2021

Y'all remember this sound's heyday? That was fun.

[goodluckclove]

How Clove Gardener Writes (an Overview)

I definitely told myself when I started this blog a billion years ago, at the dawn of human civilization, that I wouldn't make any attempt to tell you how to write. You know - other than saying just do it do the thing write it close the blog open the document type type three sentences bam look you did it good job i love you now go get yourself a treat.

But I've spoken to a few writers who seem to benefit from the insight of me just explaining how I write. So I thought I'd give a little peek into my own mindset. I cannot stress enough that this is what works for me. It's a methodology that I've built up over the course of like fifteen years of trying different things, keeping what works, and throwing the rest right out the goddamned window.

If any of this seems new and appealing give it a try. If it doesn't help I'm wrong and bad as a person (no I'm kidding but seriously if it doesn't work that's fine and we're both fine). If it helps you owe me a picture of a frog drawn from memory.

Let's see how long I ramble. Follow me under the read more!

Okay, so let's get this out of the way. I've never taken a writing class. No, that's not true. I took one when I was thirteen and another one in high school and I don't remember anything either of them taught me. Oh and I took an online creative writing class in college, but I also didn't retain anything and the next year I dropped out of college. So I also don't have a degree in jack shit.

What else? I don't outline. I've written upwards of 15 novels (13-15, I honestly can't remember) and I did not outline any of them. This includes character sheets and worldbuilding lore. My first published novel Blind Trust was born from the concept of the Lover's Knot, which is just like some witchy magic lore. I thought it would be cool so I was like "who could maybe be some guys" and then I introduced some guys and then bam 180k later it was Scott and Edgar.

I do virtually no preparation to write a novel other than the vaguest premise and maybe like one cool scene. I did not have a cool scene for Blind Trust, but I do have one for Migration Patterns. What I don't have is an ending. I don't think I've ever written a novel knowing how it ends.

Literally here's what I do. This is all I do. I sit down and I write until I don't know what's going to happen next, at which point I step away and I listen to some music or I go to the museum or I take a nap until I decide how to continue. That's it.

For me it's going to the zoo every day and seeing the monkeys. And every day they're doing something different. Sometimes they're sleeping, or they're pawing at each other, or they're gathering sticks. I can call out to them and offer to show them a card trick or share my Bugles with them, and they might come up to the wall of the enclosure to see what I'm doing. Or they might not. I do not really have control of the situation, but it doesn't matter because they aren't fully aware of me.

At some point either I have to leave the zoo for some reason. Maybe I'm tired, or maybe the monkeys have been pulled in to be fed their lunch (it's bananas and peanuts). Either way I add that day's behavior to the pile and then come back tomorrow.

Once I find an ending I go back and I read through the book again and trim any fat that's in the wrong places while adding flesh to some naked bones. Then I wait a week or more (usually I can only wait a week) and go back and do it again. By that point it's ready to hopefully have someone read it, after which I make small edits and tweaks.

That's how I do it. Or at least, that's how I do it for longform prose projects that I plan to publish. I've written plenty of novels that just stayed first drafts because I didn't feel like revising them and then I moved on to the next one. I don't regret that. I don't consider it a waste of time.

I would never consider a trip to the zoo a waste of time.

Anyways, that's what works for me. I don't know if all of this will apply to other brains. I don't know if any of it will. I figure it might just be useful to get an in-depth look at what I personally vibe with.

I'm so down to talk writing at any time, by the way. I love to do it. Tell me why you aren't writing and I would be happy to listen and try to help. Or just brainstorm. Seriously, my DMs and inbox are perpetually open. Talking about writing is one of my favorite things to do.

Let's go look at some monkeys together.

[endofradio]

A DEVIL IN THE WOODS — CHAPTER ONE: A FAMILIAR FACE

notes: hey chat i decided to rewrite my abigail fic for the third time already because i was Still unhappy with it. i downloaded this app called novelist to help with organization and development and it’s been super useful. well. at least i got my writing muse back. and this fandom desperately needs a revival anyway.

warnings: none

summary: while sitting in her bedroom alone, sylvie ends up encountering a familiar person from her past — and not in a way she would’ve expected to. as it turns out, she’s needed for something important.

word count: 1.5k

tags: @trelaney @not-alesha @lokidoki9 @hesawifebeaterdanusethegun @berrysemifreddo @maggotssmichael @blackwolfstabs @atcarpenter @sophies-blogs (let me know if you’d like a tag!)

NEXT CHAPTER

Quietly humming a tune to herself as she sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor was a young, dark-haired woman with a sketchbook.

And she was an incredibly lonely woman, known as Sylvie.

For all her twenty-five years of living, she had no one except for herself. Art, literature, and music were the main things that did bring her happiness. Primarily, they were distractions to use when she was feeling particularly vulnerable.

And tonight, Sylvie was having one of those moments.

Sometimes, everything just became too overwhelming for her. Today had been a decent day for the most part. She went for a walk in the park, took herself out to a café, visited the local library… and then returned home. She picked up journaling while she was in jail five years ago, but eventually quit because it felt… unfulfilling. It was just writing words on a page. How was that helpful? Nobody was listening to her.

But a lot of things have changed since those five years. A month ago, Sylvie chose to pick up her old journal and pick up where she left off. She never even managed to fill 20 pages before she decided to quit. After coming home tonight, she decided to look at some of her past entries.

That was what triggered the sudden emptiness she now felt.

When Sylvie picked up journaling again, she never looked at her first few entries. Just to see how much changed since then, she chose to flip through them. Bad idea. Fuck, how miserable was she? She sighed and took a glance at her very first entry:

“I’ve only been here for a day and I want to fucking go home. It’s so miserable here. I’m barely able to have anything with me. Hell, I’m glad I’m even able to have my journal with me. Everybody here’s so fucking weird. This room is so cramped. It’s making me feel like I’m going to lose my goddamn mind. Is this how it feels for animals to be kept in a zoo? It’s not like I killed anybody. Why am I being treated like this? That New York fuck (think his name is Adam but I don’t care) keeps bothering me too. This is seriously my worst nightmare.”

The flashbacks… oof. Seeing Adam’s name again was a harsh, unfriendly reminder. Sylvie could feel herself getting angry again just from remembering him. The annoying, cocky manner in which he spoke, his fucking personality… she thought she hated her parents enough.

But at the same time, she couldn’t exactly deny that a part of her missed Adam. At least he saw something in her, even if that “something” was just some chick to piss off. Besides, on rare occasions, they had conversations that weren’t so bad. He didn’t treat her like her parents did. Maybe that was why she missed him. Hell, he was even somewhat better than Charlie.

Once Sylvie started thinking like that, the lonelier she felt. As much as she hated to admit it, Adam really had been her chance to finally talk to someone — like, really talk to someone. She got to know some things about him, and he got to know some things about her. She never even got to that level with Charlie. She didn’t even understand how they were ever in a relationship. Their “relationship” was founded on having sex for substances and money. With Adam, they just… talked, nothing more.

Now, Sylvie was sitting and drawing, feeling too aware of her thoughts and feelings for her liking… until she suddenly heard a noise coming from inside her apartment.

Shit. I forgot to lock the front door, didn’t I?

Sylvie slowly stood up, peeking around the corner of her room to see where the source of the noise was. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen… and she was right.

I wasn’t expecting anybody.

In the kitchen was a man wearing all-black. He was masked and wearing a beanie, completely disguising his identity. Sylvie just knew the man was tall and appeared to be wearing glasses, and that was it.

What the fuck?

The man appeared to be looking for something. What could he possibly be looking for, though? In Sylvie’s opinion, there wasn’t anything around of any significance. If anything, her most valuable items were in her room.

Then, the man turned around, and the two of them made eye contact for a couple of seconds. Fuck.

Sylvie quickly slammed her door shut and locked it, turned the light off, and scrambled to hide under her bed. If this stranger was supposed to be robbing her, then so far he wasn’t doing the best job at it.

But, the man was no stranger. She eventually made that conclusion when she heard him speak.

“Sylvie… really? C’mon, I used to be a fuckin’ cop. Did you forget we know how to break down doors?”

Just as he said that, the man started to kick at the locked door. Sylvie flinched at the sound, crawling further under the bed. Adam? How the hell did he get here? How did he even know her address? When they knew each other, they were in New York, not Boston. What the hell was he even doing now? He wasn’t a cop anymore. Ironically, it seemed like he’d switched sides.

Sylvie wanted to say something, but she couldn’t. She only slowly peeked her head out from her hiding spot when Adam kicked at the door a second time, successfully forcing it open.

“Ah, there you are. You left the front door open. Not too smart, if you ask me.”

When Sylvie spoke, her voice was unsteady. After not seeing him in five years, this is how they meet again? She felt a confusing mixture of emotions — anger, shock, fear.

“Adam…? What… what the hell are you doing here?”

Adam pulled his mask down. Though he rolled his eyes, there was a part of him that weirdly appreciated the fact Sylvie still recognized him after all this time.

“It’s ‘Frank’ now, actually.”

Sylvie raised an eyebrow, still reluctant to come fully out of hiding. “Why?”

“That’s not important.” Frank scoffed. “I’ve got a job for you, so I suggest you quit hiding. I’m not gonna fuckin’ hurt you, for fuck’s sake.”

“A… job? What do you mean?” Sylvie asked, crawling out of her hiding spot and slowly standing up, staring at Frank warily.

“Quit asking questions.” He rolled his eyes. “You’d probably like a job that doesn’t require you laying on your back. I know you need the money, anyway.”

Sylvie took a seat on the edge of her bed, staring up at Frank and tilting her head to the side, an unimpressed look on her face. “I’m not taking any offers from you.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Now, Sylvie was really confused. “The fuck are you talking about?”

Frank shrugged, a nonchalant expression on his face. “If you don’t come with me, you’re going to wind up dead. I don’t make the rules.”

Was he just trying to scare her? Yeah, but at the same time… he knew damn well something bad would most likely happen to Sylvie if she didn’t obey. This was an important mission.

Wait, why did he care? She was some chick he arrested five years ago and picked on. Why should it matter if she died or got hurt? Maybe it would just be an inconvenience.

Jesus Christ, quit overthinking it.

“Okay, what kind of fucking job are you talking about here?” Sylvie asked, her tone growing increasingly suspicious. “I’m not risking my life over some bullshit.”

Frank lowered his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, sighing. “Just… just get fuckin’ dressed. I know you have plenty of black clothes. Use ‘em. We’re running out of time.”

Sylvie was still wearing flannel pajama pants and a worn-out Black Sabbath shirt.

“Fine. I’ll get dressed if you get the fuck out.”

Frank shook his head, crossing his arms. “I can’t be certain that you’ll call the fuckin’ cops and ruin everything.”

Sylvie sighed and facepalmed, starting to feel stressed. “Okay, just… turn around, then. Don’t look.”

Once she was certain he wasn’t looking, she reluctantly removed her shirt and pants, searching in her wardrobe for an all-black outfit. As she stood there in just her bra and underwear, Frank turned to sneak a glance at her… right when Sylvie was looking at him, too.

“The fuck are you looking at?” She asked, her tone unfriendly as she quickly crossed her arms. “I told you not to look.”

Frank shrugged, his demeanor nonchalant. “Hm, I don’t know. Just wondering what the fuck’s takin’ you so long. Hurry up.”

Once Sylvie put on a black skirt, shoes, a long-sleeved shirt, and a hoodie, she rolled her eyes at the man. “Fine, I’m ready, I guess.”

Frank smirked. “Good.”

“Can I… bring something with me?”

“Make it quick.”

Sylvie quickly grabbed her phone and put it in the pocket of her hoodie, then grabbed her wallet. Then, she followed Frank out of her apartment.

This was surely going to be an interesting night.

[ghostfrog28]

My Greasefire Life as TikTok Sounds

This isn’t going to be like my DennysVerse posts where there are multiple Denny’s, it’s just the Denny’s character in general. Also, not all of these will be exactly like they are online, some or most will be edited.

~~

Lexi: The PH in the soil is too high, I’m afraid I may die!

Denny’s: Fuck yeah, concrete!

~~

Denny’s, who may or may not be drunk: How the hell you spell shofur?

Ashley: Chauffeur

Denny’s: Ooo fancy pants rich mcgee over here! Fuck you 🖕!

Ashley: …

Denny’s: Spelling-bee ass

Thad, also drunk: He gonna give me the definition next

~~

Thad: Honestly, whatever I’m down for whatever

Denny’s: We could go see a movie

Thad: We could get lunch

Denny’s: We could kill someone…

Ashley: …

Thad: Or, the apple orchard!

~~

Denny’s: Let’s fucking go, baby!

Thad: (Elegant music starts) Let’s go~

~~ Denny’s calling Ash after a graveyard shift: Excuse me, I need your help. You need to kill me.

~~

Denny’s and Ash after finding out Thad is Bi: Hope everyone is having a great Pride Month! Shout out to…The Gays🏳️‍🌈✨

~~

Denny’s before she did Ash’s hair: Who the fuck did your hair?!

Ash: (Turns around) what??

Denny’s: No, I’m on the phone, I’m on the phone

~~ 

Denny’s: On a scale of one to ten, my friend, you’re Fucked✨!

~~

(When they saw the mob of angry hippies) Ash: We cannot escape!

Denny’s: We cannot come out!

Both of them: MAMA?! (Thad)

~~

Denny’s, drunk as hell: It’S wIzArD TiME, MoThEr FuCkEr! (Throws Molotov cocktail at Lexi) FiRe BaLl!

~~ Ash: Denny’s, when was the last time you got any sleep?

Denny’s: I don’t know, two-three days? Not important! I don’t need sleep, I need answers! I need to determine where in this Swamp of unbalanced formulas squat is the toad of truth?!

~~

Duke, extremely high: You ever seen a ghost?!

Ash, trying to plead his case to the police: I was over on the bench. I was over on the bench. I was over on the bench. I was sitting over on the bench. I Was Over On The Bench!

Brady: I made a salad with Craisins!

Thad, trying to bail Ash or Denny’s out of jail: Hello, I’m Chip Mulaney, I’m your father!

Duke: But sometimes, he would be gay~

Denny’s, drunk: Ever been to the goddamn zoo?!

DJ Cookie: I used to smoke crack!

Denny’s, either sleep deprived or hungover or both: What’s yesterday??

Denny’s: Shut up! You’re all gonna die! Street smarts!

Denny’s with the thermos: (Something loudly being set down! Boom! Orange juice! That’s life!

Lexi: Now I’ve thrown him off his rhythm!

Denny’s, Ash, and Thad: Give us some money!

Denny’s beating up Lexi: Stay down on the ground! Stay down on the ground, you motherfucker!

Denny’s or Ash: Do my friends hate me, or do I just need to go to sleep?!

Ash, finding a cover story: But why don’t we just tell our relatives, that I’m a four year old boy?

Denny’s: Hey, do you want me to kill that guy for you?!

Ash after his Mitski meltdown in episode 4: I am now gross!

Brady: But what’s this! PEPPA!

~~ That is all for now! I have a lot more and I’ll probably make another soon!

[valend]

I'm in. Fucking awe. Are you serious? Like, actually serious? "Social experiment" do you hear yourself? What are you, Freud 2.0? Because you're doing a great job of being as up your own ass as he was. The level of insanity thar seeps through your writing is truly... terrifying. I pity you, really. Being a Hamilton bootlicker must be truly miserable if you go to such lengths on a goddamn tumblr post. Threats? You're your own biggest threat right now, spewing so much nonsense you might just blow up from the effort. "Animals in the zoo" SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON? RASCAL PLEASE SHOVE THIS SHIT BACK INTO YOUR BUTT IT IS POLLUTING THE FUCKING AIR. "Horrified for the future of this country" shut the fuck up??? I'm horrified that there are people like you out there you're the reason america has fucking guns legal it's so people can protect themselves if they ever see you PEAK OF HUMAN INTELLIGENCE my fucking ass you jeffersonian piece of shit you can go fuck this wobbly kidfucker in your own bedroom if you please. I do not wish to see him anywhere else. Believe me, you are not sane. I don't think you even know the meaning of that word. Oh, and of course, here we go with the thinly veiled threats suck my Cock or say it to my face worm. "Moving on" I'm going to move into your pussy little Bitch. Hamilton is a fuckface who cared only about himself and getting laid, don't start spraying me with that "unclear state of mind bullshit". That man knew what he was doing. If you justify him in any way it tells me everything about you I want to know. Questionable deed is you writing this post dead serious. Should be considered a crime, now that i think about it. Oh, and of course you're a sexist piece of shit. Not surprised. Elizabeth Hamilton didn't leave her husband because firstly, she was greater of a human you could ever dream to be, and secondly, because she fucking couldn't do anything else, because, surprise surprise: women didnt have much rights back then. But maybe you're a fan of that too.Yeah yeah, the old "haha no attention from parents" argument. Significance? None. For your information, your beloved Hamilton had no parents at all — and it didn't stop him from becoming an "accomplished man", in your own words. Tsk. Contradicting yourself again. Try better next time. You know, love, I feel like you deserve a medal, for all that mental gymnastics you're doing now. "Modern times" tell me about it. Your kind have been whining about this shit from about the start of life itself; it's nothing fucking new. I swear, if duels were legal we'd be already having one. If you wouldn't chicken out, of course. Also, I take back my last statement on Hamilton being a boytoy. He's not worthy of even that title. Useless old titsuck. Two cocks? Ha! You sure you're not confusing Hamilton with yourself? 'Cause I can definitely see you sucking those cocks in a dark alleyway all the while your wife wonders where her husband has gone. Pathetic. He'll, I'd even pay to be one of those cocks. You must have at least one redeeming quality — I bet it's a nice mouth which needs to be stuffed with finally shut you up. You're no better than a common whore, only that she is much more honest.

“You’re no better than a common whore, only that she is much more honest”

[puffyducks]

DCRC Week #38 (Part 1)

Here once again to take a slight detour away from the main PKNA comics to read the third PKNA Special Issue: The End of the World!!! Seeing as the last two special issues were fun little collections of short stories, I'm sure this one is going to be exactly the same and the menacing title doesn't mean anything :)

OMG IT'S GORTHAAAAN HIIIII BABYGIRL WE MISS YOU POOKIE!!!! This is a flashback so he's not actually back </3

Oh hey look we're on Xerba I'm sure that only means good things

In my heart I really want Xadhoom to be a lesbian and I know she canonically dates a guy but like. Look at Xari. If I squint my eyes hard enough he's a beautiful lesbian too. Love wins.

There are potentially hostile aliens showing up tomorrow but I have a job so I don't really care about that right now

Oh ok so Gorthan was responsible for genociding Xadhoom's planet that's dope I guess. Uuuuh hope Xadhoom doesn't find out about that time he and Donald were hanging out-

So anyways I started blasting

NOOOOOOOO WHO COULD HAVE SEEN THIS COMING- hey wait hold on I thought their sun was supposed to be blue?

AAANYWAYS while everyone on Xerba dies/gets enslaved, we briefly interrupt your genocide to bring you DONALD TIME!!!! I adore this page I love the way he's drawn here. The little eeby beeby. He's so silly <3

First of all I like the giant supporting hand here, second of all why the fuck does Uno have eyebrows now

DONALD ORB DONALD ORB

Me when I lie. Sorry I don't even ship Donald and Lyla that much but liiike you guys flirt with each other sometimes we've all seen it

losing it over the smug design of this random fucking kid

Listen I feel bad for the Xerbians and all, they're victims to a horrible conquering, but also like... guys you can't be this stupid 😭 no wonder you all got fucking owned

fuckin fruit. what do you want him to sing you a lullaby too??? actually don't answer that I don't think I'll like what I hear

Paperinik Old Adventures (where PK is elderly) will be real in 24 hours

Ok so they just stole a chimp from the zoo I guess

Guys I'm really worried about my girlfriend do you think she's okay (hard cut to Xadhoom getting blasted by the sun)

All jokes aside idk what to put for this section of the comic cause like I don't even have anything funny to say here it's just really intense

mama a girl behind you

Sorry to break it to you pal but that title actually goes to Xadhoo- okay maybe now is not the time oops

NICE TRY IDIOT, AS IF THAT'S GOING TO WO-

Dammit Xarion you're really letting me down here

HOLY FUCKING SHIT HE'S ALIVE

Poor guy got excited for a second </3

Actually if survivors guilt is your thing I know someone who would be GREAT company there-

GODDAMN what a story. And it's not even one of the main chapters! We get a lot of really interesting insight on the downfall of Xerba though. We already knew that two of the Xerbian spaceships were cleared out, but there's still one more that could be out there! We see what happened to Xari which is left vague but still... prooobably not a good fate for that guy. But hey at least there's another Xerbian that's alive! I can't wait for Xadhoom to find out :)

........okay maybe this is the part where I reveal that we never see Xarion ever again and his appearance doesn't get brought up either. And also Kravenn is gone forever too. Idk why they did absolutely nothing with these characters (maybe because it's a special issue?) but like DAMMIT another dropped plot thread that could've been interesting 😭 Xarion was gonna go to the spaceship that's outside of Saturn to grab some data so I guess we can assume he got there and like died of natural causes or something idk. He had a stroke rest in peace.

Anyways I'm finally caught back up BITCH (aside from Ghost of the Grotto which will hopefully be up later today) GET READY FOR RAIDER WEEK THIS WEEK!!! WHOOOO YEAH I LOVE RAIDING

[gloomysoup]

i have been taken over by nickelback once again so here comes another edition to the nickelback chronicles

todays edition brings us back to the 2017 album feed the machine, which seems to be a very steddie secrets-coded album based on previous editions. (the song is Must Be Nice btw)

corroded coffin is well established in the industry. they have a lot of fans, but it is more common in pop culture that they're made fun of due to certain songs that gain popularity (think photograph memes). their fan base regularly gets shit from others, but it's never caused problems. at least, not until someone comes after eddie's family.

in the age of the internet, people are increasingly open about their opinions. eddie's tough. he can brush things off with ease. he doesn't often take things to heart.

it starts with a collection of photos.

Steve and the pups got papped, bad. Eddie hadn't even been with them. Luckily, Eddie had insisted that they have a security detail when going out somewhere more public. For safety. Steve didn't really like the idea, but he agreed. He knew Eddie wouldn't have insisted so heavily on something unless it was important to him. His family's safety is important. So, when paparazzi was overwhelming them, cameras flashing in their faces, the pups upset and clinging to Steve, Eddie was grateful that their security managed to get them somewhere safe. Eddie was pissed when the photos were released online. It was clear in every frame that Steve had been uncomfortable, and the pups were scared.

Arguably, Eddie probably should've waited for the band's legal and social media teams before saying anything, but he was infuriated. He could barely hold back all the things he wanted to say.

His response came in the form of a long twitter thread from his main account. In it, he ranted about the absolute disregard the paparazzi had for privacy and consent. He went off about how angry he was that they violated his family, without him even being there. There was absolutely no reason for them to go after his family like that, and then to post those photos all over the internet like it was nothing. He was disgusted.

The post blew up. Eddie was asked about it in an interview with the band a week after the photos broke.

Eddie's hands shook as he looked at the man interviewing them.

"I don't think I have ever been so... infuriated in my life, and I've been hunted by an entire town who didn't understand." He shook his head. "I was in a meeting with a producer when my husband called me, in tears, because of those assholes. I wasn't even there. They had no reason to do that to my family. They do not deserve to be treated like animals in a goddamn zoo just because of my career. They're just fucking lucky that no one got hurt, because if anyone had laid a single hand on my family, I would not hesitate to track them down and prove an entire goddamn town right."

"Don't you think that's a little dramatic? Obviously it wasn't right, but that's their job, isn't it?"

Eddie's response broke the internet immediately upon its release.

"No. I don't think it's dramatic. I think I have every right to be angry that my family's privacy was violated. I have every right to be angry that their safety was at risk. If I do much as see someone with a camera pointed at them again, I will not hesitate to show them exactly what I think of their 'job'. I will do anything to protect my family, and I will not apologize for that."

The internet was divided. Many people agreed with Eddie. It was cruel. His family was put in danger. His response was perfectly understandable. Others thought he was taking things too far. They didn't understand just how harmful the paparazzi could be. One such person made it a point to call Eddie out. He was some up and coming artist that was gaining popularity among the younger crowds. A nepotism baby like no other. His mother was a popular actress, his father a well-known label executive. He trashed Eddie for being old, out of the loop, a hot-headed mess. He insulted his family based off the photos the paps had released.

Eddie barely gave a public response to the kid's statements. In fact, his social media went oddly quiet. For six weeks, not a single person in the band posted anything. Fans speculated on what happened. Some wondered if Eddie had finally snapped. Maybe this had been the last straw. The band was breaking up, or going on hiatus. Something. Their comments and concerns went unanswered. A few people even managed to track down the socials of people close to the band, sending DMs and asking if they knew what was going on. Nancy got the worst of it, seeing as she was the easiest to track down with her relatively active social media. Still, no response.

It was a random Tuesday morning when the band account finally posted something. Fans were expecting an official statement declaring that the band was parting ways. Instead, it was a cryptic video clip. A dark screen. Music playing in the background. A single line uttered before it cut off completely and a date filled the screen.

Stick your diamond ring where the sun don't shine

No one knew what it meant until the day arrived. The band released a new single. Must Be Nice. The lyrics are chalk full of references to common children's lullabies. It was very obvious to everyone what the song was about. Still, there was no official statement. Not until the band's tour, at least.

Eddie grabbed the microphone from the stand a couple songs into the first show. He took a drink from the cup sitting by Gareth's drum kit before taking a breath and looking out at the crowd. He got everyone to quiet down before he started talking.

"I'm sure by now you've all heard about what happened to my family a few months back," he began. The crowd booed. Eddie laughed, his eyes darting to side-stage where Steve was standing. "In case there's some people out there who haven't, my husband our pups were ambushed by paparazzi while I was in a meeting. Their safety was put at risk. Their privacy was violated. The photos were released on the internet, and I was the one to receive backlash for being upset. For being angry." The crowd screamed. "That's the thing about being 'famous' or whatever the fuck. No one cares. No one cares because they assume that we all signed up for this shit. Like the world deserves to be let into every single piece of our lives. The amount of people who wholeheartedly believe they had a right to invade our privacy and stalk our families is astounding, truly. And then there are people who grew up having everything handed to them. Who think they have a right to speak on a matter that doesn't involve them. Who only have careers because of who their daddy is. So this next song is dedicated to the fucker who had the absolute nerve to trash my family on the internet while he sat in a house paid for with Daddy's money. This is Must Be Nice."

The videos of his speech launched them back into the mainstream, if only for a few days. The internet was overrun with discourse, everyone arguing over who was in the right and who was in the wrong. It ultimately led to a public apology from the kid, and paparazzi learned to stay away from Corroded Coffin.

[pculrstate]

The guy had her duct-taped to a chair, which, okay. But it wasn’t the worst spot she’d ever been in. In her thirty-six years Eleanor Eugene Elizabeth Franklin had found herself in the sexual company of innumerable undesirables, and she hadn’t always been so good at knocking off when things got dicey. (Always when. Never if. Every so often she would’ve liked an if, just for the romance of it, because she was a lady and a goddamn romantic and one of these days it just had to be her turn, didn’t it?) Not that this was sexual. At least, she didn’t think it was. But he had run the knife down her chest with a certain…heat. Combine that with the dark half-lidded eyes and the sultry lips and, all things being equal, she supposed it did seem pretty sexual. Eleanor read those kitschy romance novels for purchase in the checkout aisle at the grocery store. You bet she did. And the men on the covers always had dark half-lidded eyes and sultry lips and they always had in them the propensity to fall just on the far side of scary were their waifish blondes ever to speak out of turn. So it was maybe a little bit bad, this spot she’d found herself in. But no need, she thought, to sound the alarm just yet.

“This tape is pulling at my arm hair,” she said sweetly.

He gave her a look like she was the stupidest creature to ever walk the earth. She’d recognize that look on a soul-dead chimpanzee caged at the Columbus Zoo. Little bit ironic, all that, when you thought about it. Monkeys, emotion, human intelligence versus primate intelligence. Something along those lines. She hadn’t been to the zoo since she was a girl, and for good reason. The way the animals had looked at her. Her mother tried to tell her they weren’t looking at her, they probably couldn’t see three feet in front of their faces. These animals, her mother said, are sick. Well that just didn’t sit right with Eleanor. Not one bit.

“I’m not really quite concerned with your arm hair,” the man said, “you blood-sucking cunt.” He was across the room now, which only meant he was about twenty paces away; the room was tiny. And damp. She gave it a good once over for the first time since she’d regained consciousness. Windowless, black mold up the wall, one single naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. A dripping sound somewhere, probably in the ducts. Smell like the men’s room toilets she always spent half her shift scrubbing of cum and shit. It was no place she recognized, and she figured that about tipped the scales.

But by now—thirty-six years old, thirty-seven next month—Eleanor Eugene Elizabeth Franklin knew how to play the room. “If it’s a fetish thing, that’s fine, sweetheart. Just say the word.”

He laughed at that. He had a good laugh. Hearty, a little bit wheezy. He wasn’t old but he seemed it. There was a frailty to him, like his bones were struggling to hold him. “What’s your name?” he asked, true-blue curiosity in his voice. He dug the knifepoint into his cheek absently.

“Mm,” she hummed, pushed her tits out just a hair. She could admit he was absolutely fucking sexy, in a miserable, strung-out sort of way. She could admit that. “That’s for paying customers only, I’m afraid.”

He pulled a twenty with a tear down the middle out of his pocket, waved it at her. “Be useless shit where you’re going,” he said, dropped the bill on the wet ground and then tilted the blade so it caught the light of the bulb and beamed it right into her eye. “I’m afraid.”

Well, now she was just pleased as punch. He was mocking her! “My name is Eleanor. Happy? Now your turn. If I’m supposed to be some vampire—that is what you said, right? Shouldn’t I have fangs or somethin’?” She smiled to show all her teeth, ran her tongue over them. Then she did it again, slower. There’d been the guy with the teeth thing, that once. Talk about freaky. “What do you have to say for them? Not quite so sharp as all that, are they?”

“Goddamn. You ever heard of a fuckin’ toothbrush?”

“That’s kinda hurtful, you know.” She shifted in the chair as much as her duct-taped limbs would allow and felt her panties ride up. “Most men love my smile.”

[racefortheironthrone]

Who do you consider to have been some of the most important / formative mayors of New York?

This is a great question, and actually rather difficult to answer, because for the longest time both Tammany Hall and the Whig/Republican machine tended to prefer mayors who were dull but reliable non-entities. Starting in 1824, NYC was divided into wards that elected Aldermen and Assistant Aldermen to the Board of Aldermen and the Board of Assistants, who together made up the bicameral Common Council. This led to a system whereby the real political action was shunted to the local level, where the ward's Aldermen and the ward boss (and his precinct bosses) ran the show.

The downfall of Boss Tweed led to some reforms, with the bicameral Common Council replaced by a unicameral Board of Aldermen who were elected from larger State Senate districts or at-large, as part of the Whig Party's drive to dilute the power of Tammany's Irish Catholic voting base. This would change somewhat when the five boroughs were consolidated into Greater New York in 1898, which added the borough presidents and the Board of Estimate into the mix, and then again in 1901 and so forth.

However, the overall trend was a weak mayor system where real political power was fairly evenly distributed between aldermen (who were not only the city's legislatures but were also represented on the Board of Estimate through their President), the borough presidents, the mayor, and the comptroller.

So the major players in NYC politics tended not to be mayors:

Dewitt Clinton was incredibly transformational, but despite serving three terms as mayor his real mark on New York was as governor where he was the driving force behind the construction of the Erie Canal.

Andrew Haswell Green, the "Father of Greater New York," was responsible for the creation of Central Park, the New York Public Library, the Bronx Zoo, The Museum of Natural History, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Riverside, Morningside, and Fort Washington Parks, Columbus Circle, and the consolidation of Greater New York - but he never served as mayor. The original Robert Moses, Green's political power came from his leadership of the Central Park Commission, the Greater New York Commission, a six-year stint in the Comptroller's office, and his position on a number of NGOs.

But if we're talking transformative mayors, there is one name that rises above all the rest: Fiorello goddamn LaGuardia.

There had been other reform mayors before him - Seth Low had established the Civil Service, John P. Mitchel brought scientific management to city government - but none of them had ever been able to get re-elected. Unlike the wealthy WASP reformers, LaGuardia knew how to beat Tammany at the ethnic politics game. Tammany's strength had always been in the Irish wards of the city, and while they had tried to divide-and-rule by promoting the naturalization of Russian and Polish Jews in return for them voting for Irish-American politicians in the Lower East Side while noticably neglecting the naturalization of Italians, the emergence of second-generation Jewish and Italian voters meant that this strategy had run its course.

Born to a Sephardic mother from Trieste and a lapsed Catholic father from southern Italy, Fiorello had an astonishing knack for transcending ethnic political boundaries in New York City - he spoke Italian, German, Yiddish, and Croatian, but he was also a progressive Republican and Episcopalian (which meant he could speak middle-class WASP too). LaGuardia won the 1933 mayoral election by bringing together a Fusion coalition that brought middle class German-American Republicans together with Italians and Jews, a coalition that he would expand in 1936 by bringing socialists, unions, and black voters together into the American Labor Party.

Over his twelve years as Mayor, LaGuardia was almost pathologically active (in a way that's oddly reminiscent of Henry II), transforming almost every aspect of New York City:

Jobs for the Unemployed:

LaGuardia's immediate mission as mayor was to fight the Great Depression that had had left a third of the City unemployed. He did this by forming an enduring alliance with FDR in which the New Deal would provide NYC with unpredecented level of federal support in exchange for NYC becoming the New Deal's model city - the first of the "Little New Deals." In his first hundred days in office, LaGuardia convinced FDR to give New York City a full 20% of the Civil Works Administration's work relief budget. This put 200,000 New Yorkers back to work - and this would only be the beginning of New York City's experiments with direct job creation.

As part of Fiorello LaGuardia's "Little New Deal," LaGuardia's new Parks Department employed 70,000 workers - paid for by CWA and later WPA money - to rebuild New York City's parks, constructing the Central Park Zoo and 60 playgrounds in the first year.

When the New Deal created the Works Progress Administration in 1935, LaGuardia once again lobbied FDR to put NYC first in line. This culminated in some 700,000 New Yorkers - a tenth of the city's entire population - getting jobs through the WPA and other New Deal programs. Together with the Parks Department, LaGuardia and Robert Moses would mobilize this workforce to completely transform the city.

Public Works:

This is where we have to discuss Fiorello LaGuardia's fateful decision to make Robert Moses his master builder. While Moses was in the process of becoming the "Power Broker" before LaGuardia - he had already been made president of the Long Island State Park Commission and chairman of the New York State Council of Parks - LaGuardia enabled his ascent to the heights of power by making him Parks Commissioner, Commissioner and then Chairman of the Triborough Bridge Authority, Commissioner of the NYC Planning Commission, and Chairman of the Emergency Public Works Commission.

The pact between them was simple: LaGuardia would give Moses the public appointments he needed to consolidate public works across the city and would steer New Deal public works money through Moses' agencies, and in exchange Moses would be LaGuardia's master builder with a mandate to "build it quickly and build it well." This was not an easy task, because Robert Moses was a political enemy of FDR and FDR tried to bar him from being given any WPA or PWA funding, but the mayor was able to persuade Roosevelt that it was more important that LaGuardia's proposed $1 billion public works program for NYC be carried at speed and administered efficiently.

As LaGuardia's workhorse, Moses would oversee almost all of NYC's public works, including the West Side Highway, the future FDR Drive, the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, the Triborough Bridge, the LaGuardia and future JFK Airports, and Jones Beach Park, among others. LaGuardia would also construct the Sixth Avenue Subway line, the Queens-Midtown Tunnel and the Lincoln Tunnel without Moses (who was completely uninterested in mass transit and who always preferred bridges to tunnels).

In addition to these major projects, LaGuardia with and without Moses built the city's first municipal power plants, 37 sewage treatment plants, 9 fire houses, 142 elementary schools and 22 high schools, half of NYC's then-23 municipal hospitals, eight District Health Centers to provide preventative, specialized, and public health immunization care, and the first 14 of the City's public housing projects.

City Government:

To dismantle Tammany's patronage system, he began to massively expand the civil service to eliminate patronage jobs, and then when Tammany beat him on a government reform bill in 1934, he simply kept pushing. He pushed through the LaGuardia Reform Charter of 1938 that abolished the Tammany-dominated Board of Aldermen and replaced it with a City Council elected by Single Transferrable Vote, established the Board of Estimate as a central administrative body with powers over the city budget, public contracts, franchises, and land use - crippling Tammany's ability to raise money through graft and kickbacks.

To transform New York City into a "strong mayor" model, he undertook a campaign of transforming independent agencies scattered across the five boroughs into a system of unified citywide departments or public authorities that answered directly to the mayor and gave him unprecedented state capacity. In 1934, he formed the Parks Department and the New York City Housing Authority; in 1936 he formed the Department of Buildings and the City Planning Commission; in 1938, he restructured the Department of Welfare to run the city's social welfare programs and a massively expanded public hospital system; in 1940, he took over the IRT (operating the 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6), and the BMT and IND (operating the A, B, C, D, E, F, G, J, L, M, N, Q, R, W, and Z lines), unifying the NYC subway system for the first time.

To deal with police corruption, LaGuardia appointed Lewis Valentine to purge the NYPD so that the mayor could use it (and Thomas Dewey) in a crusade against the mafia's gambling, racketeering, and vice operations. This marked a rare period of honesty and effectiveness in the NYPD, although after WWII the system of protection rackets and mafia corruption would eventually re-establish itself.

Ironically, this exhaustive list of accomplishments really made it hard for later mayors to distinguish themselves, because mostly their task was completing, managing, or mis-managing the system that LaGuardia had built. After LaGuardia I would say that Robert Wagner Jr. (established public sector collective bargaining, created CUNY, Lincoln Center, Shakespeare in the Park, and dealt the killing blow to Tammany) and John Lindsay (see my previous post, but chiefly scatter-site housing, the civilian complaint review board, and the Knapp Commission on police corruption) are on my list of formative mayors.

After them, there have been long-serving mayors and good mayors, but unfortunately not the two combined.