#Plumbing in Point Cook

[danzersplumbing]

Point Cook's Most Reliable Plumbing Services A Comprehensive Overview

Point Cook is a thriving and vibrant suburb, home to growing families and businesses. Like any other region, homes and establishments in Point Cook require efficient plumbing services to maintain their functionality. From leaky faucets to complete pipe replacements, it’s crucial to have trustworthy professionals to count on. If you’re searching for plumbers in Point Cook, this guide highlights…

[machveil]

First things first: *deep inhale* AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH So so so so good! Mentally framing my wedding certificates to these silly lil men! Screaming, crying, throwing up, frothing at the mouth, flailing on my beg, kicking my legs and feet! Amaaaaaaazing! Something my daydreams cooked up when I was half-awake this morning: Imagine the rest of TF141 catching Simon on his phone more even during meetings and out in the field, seemingly checking his texts and when possible calling someone regularly, making a point to be away from the guys when talking. When they ask, he answers them casually, dismissing it as him checking in on the house-sitter he hired because of how often he's gone and how he hates coming back to dust and expired food. Naturally, given that Simon is the type to hate anyone in his space, especially someone he doesn't know, the boys (read: Johnny) are very curious. This leads to them (read again: Johnny) sneaking around trying to eavesdrop. Whether or not they catch him sounding softer while he listens to the person on the other side, him humming and chiming in while he goes about scrubbing his boots or inspecting his knives, is up to you. Is the reader actually his house-sitter? Yes, but Simon's also asking how their day was, how they're doing, things that are not even remotely related to his place that he may or may not be letting them stay in full-time because they were living in a shoddy apartment with poor plumbing and bugs and he just can't have that. He thanks them when they say they cleaned the windows, asks if they like that book they mentioned buying last week, how's their latest hobby going, etc. Simon Riley is a domestic man, and anyone arguing otherwise can pry it from my cold, dead hands! -🐸 Also I hope I never make you feel pressured to respond or write something, I just want to share my brainrot

ough, no no, keep them coming lol your brainrot is top tier! in fact, I implore people to send me CoD brainrot - the English student me yearns to write

Someone at Home

it’s normal for someone to make calls - Simon “Ghost” Riley isn’t just someone though. reserved man that he is, isn’t it suspicious that he keeps reaching for his phone? Johnny thinks so CW: gn!reader but Johnny says ‘lass’ once as an assumption, shenanigans

no one notices at first - it starts slow. Ghost’s phone is set to vibrate, his incoming call ringtone is barely audible, but Johnny picks up on it. reserved Lieutenant that he is, for as long as Soap has known Ghost, as long as Johnny has been friends with Simon, Ghost doesn’t pick up calls on base

his new habit caught Soap’s eye, at first just receiving calls, but when Ghost starts calling someone? oh, Soap knows when something is up. “Got a lass at home, L.T., someone keeping ya bed warm?”, it’s teasing, tone lighthearted when Soap asks. it catches him off guard when Ghost looks him dead in the eyes, “Housekeeper. Jus’ checkin’ in, yeah?”, his voice was a little more stern than Soap would have imagined. a housekeeper, huh? he had his doubts, but he’d rather make it a game, try to figure it out for himself

Ghost used to have his phone completely silenced, only rarely turning notifications on when he was on leave - rarely, because even then he might just not feel like it. but now? this supposed housekeeper has Ghost leaving meetings when he can, ditching the gym to go out into the hallway

this housekeeper, apparently Ghost’s flat is high maintenance. daily calls at least once, Soap’s keeping track, most he’s called was five times. Ghost would always brush him off, mumble something about his air conditioner or a door hinge. always so vague, the first month had Soap scratching his stubble trying to piece Ghost’s life together - his life on the other end of that phone

it doesn’t help that Ghost is extremely secretive while texting. phone held down to his lap, his back hunched as he types with both thumbs. it’s very guarded, his gaze locked to his screen. he’s practically dead to the world when he’s doing this, mumbled words leaving his lips when he hears ‘Ghost’ or ‘L.T.’

Johnny tried to hover over his shoulder once, “Who’s that? Ya wee housekeeper, Ghost?”. before he could see anything, Soap let out a startled noise when Ghost’s hand pressed against his face - a quick shove was all it took for him to stumble back. “Mind ya business.”, was all Johnny got from Ghost, voice gruff and low as he turned his phone off

it was so alien to Soap, not the guarded nature of Ghost’s actions, just the fact someone was able to take Ghost’s full attention. and full attention isn’t an understatement, Soap could swear Ghost was smiling under his balaclava. he’s seen the crinkle around his eyes when his phone buzzes, how fast he is to check a notification now

maybe that’s why Soap turns to stealth - tailing Ghost when he steps out into the hall, or standing outside a door to listen to him. sure, Soap can only hear one end of his conversation, but that alone is fascinating. he’s used to Ghost’s gruff voice, a man of few words

but with his housekeeper? Soap’s a little awestruck at how often Ghost— Simon laughs. because, maybe it’s just Soap, but this isn’t the Ghost he’s familiar with, he’s being personable, a tad more talkative. his voice doesn’t carry weight to it, unburdened as he talks into the phone. that’s Simon Riley, a rarity on base

and then he hears Simon refer to them, this supposed housekeeper. “Love— no, I told you. You can’t use the window in the bathroom, it sticks. No, I know— bloody hell, when I get home I’ll fix it.”, ‘love’, such a sweet endearment coming from his low, gravely voice. it has a smirk tugging on Soap’s lips, eyes gleaming with amusement

oh, he’d love to tease Ghost over this. he does have someone keeping his bed warm, someone he cares enough about he’s using pet names. he hears Ghost say his goodbyes, about to turn around and leave when he freezes. “Get a good earful, Johnny?”, Ghost’s voice coming from behind the door, Soap’s shoulders falling

all he can do is sigh and peak into the room, Ghost standing with his arms crossed as Soap sulks in, “Aye, I did, L.T., I did… but I was right.”, he chuckles, walking up to Ghost, “Gonna introduce us to your ‘love’?”

[turbulentscrawl]

Modern AU: Norton Campbell

You've heard of modern reader? Well now it's time for Modern canon!

- Previously, he worked in the oil industry, but a nasty accident he doesn’t speak about has left him with his fair share of burn scars. Norton now works as an independent contractor, known around town as a do-it-all type of handyman. He rarely works with or for group projects, preferring to be hired directly by property owners for the work they need done. He’s his own boss, and he makes his own schedule, but he’s a workaholic.

- He was raised by his uncle Benny after his parents died when he was still very young—his mother shortly after childbirth, due to complications, and his father in a work-related accident. Benny’s health deteriorated fast, though, and as soon as he was legally able Norton picked up a part-time job to help pay the bills and build a college fund. (Or several, more like, and he was known to bounce around for better pay.)

-Some time in his senior year of high school, he discovered that Benny was keeping secrets; Benny had not only convinced his father to stay in the oil industry after he was born, but wasted and gambled away all the life insurance money from his death. Enraged and betrayed, Norton dropped out of school and left. He drove as far away as he could with the little money he had, and then lived out of his truck for a while. Eventually, he made enough money to rent a shitty little motel room by the week, and then a shitty little apartment.

-After leaving, he at first went into the oil industry like his old man and Benny had been—it was something he was familiar enough with and hard labor paid better than being a busboy again. But after a few years there was an accident which left him with several burn scars. He was left in pain for a long time, but the worker’s comp paid for most of his medical bills and his rent, giving him just enough time to get his GED. After that, he started into construction, plumbing, and other handiman things he was knowledgeable in after years of being poor and self-sufficient.

-The accident, this time, was more of an ACTUAL accident. Norton had a disagreement with some of the coworkers he hated. There was an altercation, and something ignited…and Norton was the only one who got out. He doesn’t talk about it, mostly out of shame and a sense of guilt, but he copes by telling himself they deserved it.

- He drives the same beat-up old pickup truck Benny bought for him as a kid. It was transferred into his name when he was 18, so Benny can’t swipe it from under his nose. (Legally, anyway.) He could probably get a loan and buy a new car, but at this point he prefers to keep the old hunk of junk. Maybe he’s sentimental, or maybe the weekly maintenance he has to do on it is just therapeutic in a way.

-Not a super techy guy. He keeps up with industry news and learns new skills often, but his truck, his phone, and most of his home appliances are older. He’s good enough with fixing things that he hasn’t bothered to replace them.

-He’s not much of a decorator, either, but he’s good at thrifting and building his own furniture with recycled materials. His apartment/home is a bit of a hodgepodge, with mostly bare walls, but what he does have I impressive in its own way. Any décor he has is likely gifted.

-He’d like to own a home one day, but he’s playing things by ear. He realizes that might be asking a lot while he’s got no real support system.

-He’s a fair cook, but a lot of what he makes could be called “struggle meals.” They’re what he’s been used to for a long time.

-He’s a little paranoid about pumping gas into his truck, but he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do. On his days off, he tends to walk to take public transit to save some money and gas mileage.

-He’s that guy with a 7-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, bodywash etc men’s soap. Someone please teach him better ways.

[sevs-corner]

the voices are talking again and they have concluded on the random idea of -- Tf 141: Transformers AU but they're like Cade Yeager and you're Tessa Yeargar (this is gonna be more on the found family genre, ok?)

Imagine the setting is based on the movie "Age of Extinction"

The four are just strugglin' to make ends meet as country-side mechanics out in the wild west. They could barely feed each other, living by each passing pay they could scrape together with all the odd jobs they pick up on the side. From mowing lawns, fixing plumbing, working in construction, double timing shifts at groceries and mechanic shops-- they do all this to support their family. To put food on their table.

And to make sure you get to live a comfortable life.

Yes, you-- the infamously adopted daughter of those gay couple at the corner of town. Clearly they're relationship status was viewed in poor taste by the townsfolk (those stubborn traditionalists) and in return, you were often associated with that status and unjustly judged for it.

School was always shit, a pain to go to and see-- but you needed to do it. Needed to finish it and graduate.

Not just because you're ass was on the line if you didn't, but you wanted to go to college for engineering. You were inspired by your dads (and secretly wanted to make them proud) and worked closely with them whenever they would coop up in their 'man-cave' (aka their working barn but they hang out there often too, so they resolve to calling it that.)

Day-in and day-out, you would help them after doing homework, helping some left over clean-up work they had to do before cooking dinner and sharing a couple of beers in front of a televised game. Once you were sure that they were all conked-up and snoring, sometimes, you would sneak into their garage and grab some of their old inventions-- trying to replicate them without any of their blueprints and study the purpose behind it. You would do this in your own personal workshop with your prized car that you fixed up yourself (and sometimes used in the drag car races.)

Hence, in similar fashion, you work as hard as them and in return, they try their best to support you-- with the only thing holding them back is the point that you might be away from them.

The best engineering college is states away and they just can't see why you can't just attend the college they have nearby, and still live with them to cut on costs on rent and other daily necessities.

But to their frustrations, you were just as stubborn as them (you were raised by them after all) and wouldn't back down from that argument. It wasn't like it was sure-ball guarantee you were going to leave-- what if you really sucked and that top league university doesn't take you? So, to you, they were just unnecessarily worrying for something that might not even happen in the first place.

Until... it does.

You're days awaiting for your graduation date and just fulfilling some left over requirements your school does for the students at the end of the year. You've started picking up on your side-hustle of also becoming a mechanic (and a secret drag racer at the side) at the car dealer and their mechanic shop, hoping to earn as much as you can for whatever fate has dealt in her cards for you.

These men are antsy.

They could feel the date coming closer and closer and either side had not come to a compromise on what you would do.

Until they see it.

That dreaded fucking mailman on a rickety old bike, their daily papers and some envelopes in his hand as he slots it in their old- but automatic- mailbox. When he looks up, the mailman sweats profusely, seeing all their pointed glares aimed at him, and just as he was about to pedal away-- a dog (Riley) chases after him like its his routine yet he still screams and bikes away.

Though he goes faster than before once he sees the dog actually jump over the fence this time.

All of them huff out a chuckle before Soap decides to grab the mail with Gaz giving him a quick smooch on his shaved off head in thanks while the other three of them go back to working out the old mobile their neighbor wanted fixed up.

Yet this gets interrupted by the most horrific scream Johnny lets out, making them whip their heads to the noise and immediately make their way to him.

And there they see, in his trembling hand, the letter.

In bright bold font behind the transparent section of the envelope, it says...

"Congratulations for being accepted."

Sadly, this news never reached you, no matter how much you pried for it. Seeing in your email that the letter was in transit and should be on the way soon, but still-- there was no news.

And the four men they call themselves cannot muster the courage to break this to you in fear that you would leave them.

Although this stone is left unturned when the truck- that Ghost found in an old theater his friend asked him to fix-up, became a fucking autobot in their barn.

Chaos ensues just like the plot of the movie.

They learn of your drag racing driving skills from the 'boyfriend' that saved you guys before getting picked off by the black ops unit of the CIA- the Cemetery Wind (or in this case, the Shadow Company) led by Philipp Graves.

Your boyfriend, being Alex Keller, a top race car driver that actually trained you and cleaned up your skills as a driver, which he was thankful at the moment when you proceed to pull out moves that crashed the other cars behind you and lose them in the explosion that helped you get off the grid for a moment.

The four men don't know what's worse now.

You not agreeing with them in your choice of college or you keeping a secret boyfriend from them under their nose-- and they have to see HIM cuddle up with YOU- THEIR PRECIOUS DAUGHTER?

Yeah, that's not gonna happen.

So, the whole time, they're trying to keep you away from each other-- and it was quite easy with four bodyguards orbiting around you 24/7.

All the while, you guys plan with Optimus to meet up with the rest of the Autobots to infiltrate the headquarters of K.S.I. after discovering that the company behind the attacks on the autobots. You had no choice but to accompany your family, you didn't trust them to keep themselves safe so you were gonna keep them in check-- with your boyfriend, of course.

On the other side of this story (for the other characters), Shepherd (in place of Joshua Joyce as the CEO) is the great big antagonist that helps rebuild Galvatron while in kahoots with Graves to forward their plan of improving the world through the use of the 'seed.'

Laswell, for this role, was the secretary of Shepherd-- but after the attack of their headquarters, gets in contact with the Optimus crew and offers her aid and connections to over turn the corrupted tide that was surely going to end their world.

The boys are obviously hesistant, but once she proves her information to be correct once she showed the company's plans on Galvatron-- they knew they needed her to accomplish it.

And so the plot continues as per the movie with its own sprinkle of excitement (once i build this in my drafts lol)

Welp, that was my word vomit for today-- you can find my masterlist here!

[untrustynickel]

Some Hotel OJ residents assigned chores headcanons (because Paper and Oj needs help god DAMN)

- Soap at some point insisted on doing a lot of cleaning generally, but was asked to not put that much work on herself after she'd often exhaust herself. Now shes designated to just make sure the bathrooms are clean and stocked.

- Nickel picks up any loose trash from the halls/rooms, gets particular about recycling vs trash

- Cooking duties get rotated but often Baseball, Pickle, Knife, Bomb, or Lightbulb are on it - Box vacuums the carpets, no one knows how he does or when but sometimes the vacuum will just be moved/full, and he waits for someone to empty it before he does again - Fan organizes the games, books, etc - Turns out Tissues is pretty good at handling money and paperwork, he budgets the groceries/maybe does taxes (idk if they have taxes but yes) - Trophy ain't do shit!! though Actually might offer to do portrait/special occasion photos sometimes - Pickle and Paper are decently good with home repairs, bigger issues with electrical or plumbing get handed to Test Tube - Mic, Baseball, Cheesy, and more recently Yinyang are typically in charge of laundry - Taco is the hotel racoon /j

[creadigol]

Request to continue Teacher Hero?

Only if you want to!

Please and thank you! 💖

Honestly, this has been one that has wracked my brain for a while! Due to that, I think I may have made this a bit long…but I hope you like it! 💕 Thanks for the request!

This is a continuation of my Hero Teacher prompt here

“You know…you really need to stop doing this.”

“If you let it leak, the water bill will be horrendous. Trust me, I know.”

The mechanic's dolly Villain laid on, made a sharp creek as they shifted position and grabbed some kind of adjustable wrench (one that Hero had never seen before…then again they were shit at home repairs) from the tool box. Villain’s head and shoulders were not visible from Hero’s vantage point, so they inclined themselves to speak with Villain's black jean covered legs instead.

Their favorite pair to wear while working the plumbing system, as Hero had come to learn these last few weeks.

Hero tapped their finger on the kitchen counter, “I’m not talking about the sink.”

“Well, I’m working on the sink,” came Villain’s easy and muffled reply.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“Then, as this is the current activity I am doing and you are actively watching me do it, one would assume that the plausible topic of conversation, when begun under such prerequisites, would be about said activity..ie the sink.”

“And I’m not talking about the sink.”

“Then I’m confused.”

Hero huffed in frustration and ran a hand through their hair.

“Stop being obstinate!”

The resulting chuckle from under the caverns of the counter just served to irritate Hero more.

“Obstinate! That’s a big word. Does your class know the meaning of it yet or are you breaking out the SAT words now that you have a chance to talk to an actual adult?”

“For someone whose crotch is sitting dangerously close to my stomping foot, I'm hearing a lot of sass.”

“Fine, fine, point taken. What ARE you talking about then?”

Hero had to think. Honestly. What were they talking about? The home and classroom repairs? The strange new repertoire between the two of them? The fact that Villain had found out their secret identity in the first place?!

“All of it.” They finally conceded.

The torquing of the wrench stopped.

“All of what?” Asked Villain in a falsely innocent voice.

“All of THIS!” Hero gestured around their own kitchen, knowing Villain would pick up on the fact even if they couldn’t see from under the sink.

“Wha…” Hero didn’t let Villain finish.

“THIS! The home repairs, the classroom windows, little Stacy’s bike, Mrs. Santori’s 1998 Avalon…”

“Didn’t realize you knew about that one…”

“Of course I knew! Teachers of the same grade tend to go to the same meetings, dumbass. What else am I to make of her muffler and AC suddenly working again?”

The scraping of the wrench started again.

“Her mechanic is a con artist…Worked with him a few times actually…was going to charge an arm and a leg…”

“That’s not what I’m asking!”

“Then what are you asking?”

Hero had enough.

Leaning over the sink they stomped their socked foot down on the mechanic's dolly right between Villlain’s legs. Using the leverage, Hero viciously rolled Villain out, leaning over so their eyes met while Hero’s hands rested on either side of the sink and their entire stature loomed over them.

It would have been an intimidating pose, had Hero not been in a loose t-shirt, sweatpants and have their hair falling all over their face. Villain had shone up right as Hero had put on some comfortable clothes to cook in.

Villain, for their part, looked shocked for only a moment before replacing the expression with a more condescending and vexing one.

“I’m asking,” Hero said slowly, letting the intimidating tone they only used while hero-ing seep into their voice, “why?”

“Why.” Villain repeated.

“Why.” Hero confirmed.

They stayed that way in silence for a moment. Neither one attempting to break eye contact.

In a sudden movement, Villain brought the wrench they were still holding up to Hero’s face, stopping just short of their nose. Hero didn’t flinch.

“That,” Villain said easily. They moved the wrench the last inch, gently booping Hero’s nose. “Is a story for another time.”

Hero rolled their eyes, straightened and reached their hand down to help Villain up.

“What I think is more important right now, is not the ‘why’, but the ‘who’.”

Now it was Hero’s turn to try and look innocent.

“I don’t know what you mean…”

Villain threw the wrench back into the toolbox with a loud clang.

“Of course you know what I mean!”

“That’s not…I mean…It’s not relevant,” Hero stammered.

“Oh!” Villain walked closer to Hero, effectively backing them into the kitchen island. “It’s not relevant that one of the very precious students you dedicate so much of your life to..is Supervillain’s daughter.”

TBC if requested!

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Okay, but consider a secret competition amongst sinners in the hotel to try and get a clear and legible picture of the radio demon.

Bonus if you make it a selfie.

It starts not so subtly, with several pic attempts that were just selfies the others were taking and alastor just so happened to be around. Wink wink etc.

It takes him all of three seconds to work out what they're up to and in the spirit of entertainment, doesnt really try to stop them per say. Not directly... but he's also not going to make it easy for anyone either.

A few attempts are thwarted by his shadowstep ability just before the shutter clicks, other times the distortion seems stronger than anticipated. But he hasnt worked it out yet right? Nah they're being super subtle about it and he's always humming something, distracted.

They up the ante.

Holes in books people nonchalantly read on the couch. Hidden camera in a picture frame.

One person attempting an obvious photo while another tries covertly.

Even attempting to sneak into his room (bad idea) which only cost a finger.

Trying to catch him whilst he's cooking and relaxed but those damn ears always twitch upright and swivel their way. Fucking stupid deer powers!

Putting a phone on a timer in certain halls when he's supposed to do maintenance... or on his way to his room.

Making up issues with plumbing for maintenance reasons in your boobytrapped room. But even mid task, he comes out a pixellated mess.

Charlie even tried to get a pic through a series of well angled mirrors whilst alastor was reading page 146 of her latest ideas for redemption activities with a grin so strained you'd think he was contemplating second death by tickling. But he'd done it. Read the qhole 231 pages. Which definitely should have been soporific enough...

Husk tried to trick him into getting too drunk to maintain the filter... to no avail. It made it stronger.

Niffty tried through the vents. Poppets hauled her back out with admonishing finger wagging.

Vaggie tied her phone to the end of her spear and threatened him... and he laughed. At that point they started to suspect he was onto them.

Nothing worked.

Lucifer, because it was annoying him now, tried snapping a pic through the tower windows from several metres in the air because wings. Vaggie kicked herself for forgetting she could also do that...

"Are you quite done with your little teamwork activity?" Alastor asks one evening, startling a few who hadn't realised he'd known. "Really, it was admirable how creative some of you were but i have been putting up with the picture box's attempts for several decades now... i know when a camera is pointing my way. Their frequency is į̸͇̈ͅr̸̻̈̐̈́̈́r̴̳̞̈̓̓î̷̻̍́̔͐t̴̫̱̻͌ä̴̡͈̯͙̻́̄̓t̴̹̠͎͚͙̒̾̉į̷̨̮̟̲̔́n̴͍̬̍̃̌̊ģ̵͚̼͓̠̑̓̊̿̈́..."

"Can i take a pretty picture with you sir?" Niffty asks.

He considers it as several others start protesting that that didn't count if you asked. Angel's stance was that if bribery was allowed, then he had some things to put on the table...

Alastor gave a long-suffering glare and told the spider not to put anything on the table he didnt want to lose to tomorrow night's stew. Angel retorted that at least he could then say he'd told the big bad radio demon to eat a dick and it would be technically true...

The starlet got pained static warble tha made the lights flicker, and a whack over the ear from a truly disgusted Vaggie for that one.

Alastor ultimately declines Niffty's offer. "Afraid not, my dear."

She stomps her foot. "I'll tell Miss Rosie you're not being fair..."

He laughs, "HAH! Please Do. She'll find it simply hilarious... she's been trying for years to do the same and not yet succeeded despite her best efforts. Quite putout about the whole thing."

"You know I could just nullify your little static field thing with a snap of my fingers, right?" Lucifer points out.

There's a pointed blare of an air raid siren in response.

Through narrowed eyes and clenched teeth, Alastor replied, "Of course you would need to resort to cheating to win, i assumed locating a break in the field was half the challenge... or is that too tall a task for you, your lowness?"

"The fuck did you call me, sinner?!"

"Someone who seems to like the easy way out, is that not accurate?"

"Okay now you've done it, say goodbye to your little radiowaves cause this is a royal timeout!"

"Stop." Charlie commands, freezing the two men in their tracks, one about to snap his fingers and the other manifesting shadow tendrils to try and rip his majesty's face off.

Maybe wearing that would confuse cameras until the king saw sense?

"I'm sorry if we got too competitive and it impacted your privacy, Al. I should have checked you would be okay with this, knowing you've already been dealing with a stalker..." Charlie said, chagrined. "And dad, I should have remembered how competitive you get over these sorts of things. But that's not an excuse. Neither of you have the right to be so rude to each other. Now apologise!"

"I would rather go vegan, my dear. " Alastor drawled, the strained grin easing slightly as the tendrils receeded into his flesh.

"And I'd rather you stay away from my daughter, you manipulative pinstriped fatherfucker, but here we are. " Lucifer spread his arms wide, theatrically, before deflating and rubbing his temples. "So I'm... sorry for threatening to tear your powers away, I didn't like it when heaven tried that with me. But I will get that picture. There has to be a way."

Alastor's expression flitted from fury to intrigue and then a general neutrality. "Well, if you can be cordial... so can I, I suppose. For Charlotte. I apologise for intending to rip your face off." He sees the blanche on Charlotte's face.

"Ah, I believe my apology was supposed to be around persistently mocking your stature, your tiny-but-mightiness. Apologies, then... but if it will soothe any hurt feelings I will tell you all a secret... there is at least one time when my distortion is not active. Two, if you count being dead, ha hah!" He pointedly ignored Charlie's flinch at his statement. "However I must stress that neither instance involves sleeping or bathing so do please understand that any further attempts to enter my rooms unbidden will be met with harsh penalties."

"Awww..." Angel pouts, then waggles his eyebrows. "I got an idea how to catch you offguard, radio daddy..."

There was a loud audience booing sound from the cane. "No, thank you. Now if that is all, I have a broadcast this evening to prepare for... hmmm?"

Alastor left in a cascade of shadows.

"Do you think he meant when he was broadcasting? Maybe when his signal is already bouncing across the rings, the distortion goes quiet?" Husk says.

"You mean Pride ring only, right? None of these overlords should have the power to reach other rings." Lucifer frowns.

"If you got tv or radio down there in the other rings, that's on vox and alastor. They're the source of it for some reason... apart from my collar, the fact that the phones and radios still worked while he was gone was a good indicator of him still being alive. Otherwise it'd be dead air. Vox can't push his tv as strongly without the ambient support, not with how vast his network is nowadays." Husk shrugs.

"Thats not how sinners are designed to work, how did that even happen? I would have noticed."

"Maybe its not strong enough to catch your attention when you're hyperfocused on other projects?" Charlie offered.

"Maybe. Alright, I actually have to go stop your Aunties in Envy from rampaging, duckling, but I'll be back by dinner. If not, send Vaggie and her spear, I might need the backup." Lucifer smiled, clapping his hands and summoning a portal to a very blue looking place.

If he left it for a few seconds longer to let the sinners see what another ring looked like, who could fault him?

----

Alastor switched out the record and returned to this evening's topic of discussion... Dismemberment: the right tools for your (or their) bodytype. He allowed his larger self to slip the confines of the soul-ly physical and expand out into the radio waves. Much like with his shadows, he could exist as something intangible but definitely alive and aware.

The soothing sensation was ruined by the flicker of several cameras going off around his body, snapping him back like a rubber band. Someone would get eaten for this at the next music break.

He continued the light hearted patter about ensuring you had a hacksaw the same length as your arm and no more to disjoint, because too large and you'd end up tired before you got through the first joint! Too short and it would add hours onto the task.

In the background, several people screamed as shadow tendrils pulled them from the ceiling, vents, in the record cupboard and under his writing desk to toss them out of the recording booth.

The tendrils jabbed pointedly at the On Air sign before retreating.

There were groans of disappointment when several photos were checked and found to have nothing of note to report.

Really... he'd outright told them as much!

Well, seems he may have to try showering at Rosie's tonight if no one was willing to behave. The indignity of being known...

Out the window he spied a number of drones gathering. Hmmm, the television was being bothersome... perhaps a stroll would be in order?

---

Attempting an aerial shot whilst the sinner was distracted in conversation admidst town didn't work out how Vaggie had hoped. She texted the messy attempt to Charlie with a sad emoji face.

The smug fucker then grinned right up at her! The audacity!

She did have to glide through several obnoxious whirring things on the way back to the hotel that removed a few feathers much to her chagrin. Well, at least they needed a preening anyway and Charlie liked the task...

---

Tremors were the first warning that something had gone wrong.

Angel bursting through the front doors calling out that there was an Overlord battle a few blocks over, was the second. He'd been halfway to the hotel, after Val had called him in for a quick fuck and to try on a new little number that Velvette had whipped up for the next club night, when power had shorted out in every direction.

Explosive lightning and laughter echoed around the place, and he (like any sinner with half a braincell to their name) skedaddled to safety. You did NOT wanna get between the bigwigs throwing down.

Pink smoke had begun to flood the area, and he'd vaguely wondered if Valentino and Vox were havving a public breakup again. It happened a few times a year... but they didn't normally get this out of hand.

Speaking of...

There was a wet spine-rattling thud as a large purple arm crunched into the ground outside, destroying part of the driveway. Vaggie swore in frustration, Charlie reminded her that her dad could fix this in a snap, it'd be fine!

There's a rather animalistic roar, and then a too-familiar static shriek, and a rending bone sound that was far too visceral for anyone's mental health as another arm was half ripped off the gargantuan moth overlord.

Vox intersecting Alastor by blasting him with concentrated electricity to drive the Radio Demon from his partner. Allowing Valentino to grab hold of an extended antler and tear it off with several of his hands.

He lost a chunk of flesh for that, but loudly taunted Alastor over this little victory. Buildings were annihilated as wings spread, only for them to fall into shreds as a massive pale creature of too many teeth and voidless eyes enlarged into the battle.

"Is that... Rosie?" Charlie felt her jaw fall open at the revelation.

Niffty was giggling beside her, and patted her hand kindly. "She's really REALLY good at biting when she gets all big!"

"Er... I can see that..." she murmurs back, seeing the way half of Vox's massive screen was shattered into cracked, bleeding lines by her primary jaws. Talons grappling at the moth's wings.

Quite the multitasker.

Alastor's own assualt on the moth pivoted to Vox, as the television clearly readied a charge for Rosie. Tendrils hurled the overlord away and into a nearby 'parkland' (that sinners rarely attended because if the plants didn't kill you, the animals would eat you alive). Several angry fire-breathing ducks set parts of his coat abalze for disturbing their nesting area.

The pair grappled at one another, tearing bloody gouges, blasting static in a way that seemed painful, and using their powers to shred the other. As Rosie circled Valentino, or what was left of him, and deftly tore pieces apart. Without his guns, and when his size didn't give an advantage... he wasn't the best fighter.

Rosie would shred his tongue if he tried to dose her with his venom, and the smoke didn't do much for them at their size. A mild calming effect at best. Probably for the best, who wants an overlord suddenly desperate for stimulation raising your insurance premiums in a way that would have the imp on the other end of the phoneline howling with laughter at the reason for your claim?

In any case, it's a mess over there.

Vox finally seems to be unable to fight back and there's a moment where it looks like Alastor might just kill the man... when Valentino manages to knock Rosie right into the Radio Demon, sending both into a barely-standing office block.

Valentino, what's left of him, maintains a protective stance over Vox, who is starting to lose size. The cannibals grin, acting rather like possessed dolls as they unhinge their jaws and launch forwards, tearing chunks off the nearest wings.

He claws back, violently, and bites at them. Not with the finesse of others, but enough to disorient as some small faction of his spit hits their bloodstreams. Not enough, not when they're titanic in size... but enough to give them a split second's pause as the world tilts slightly, and he jams a claw into Rosie's abdomen.

She snarls, her teeth clacking on bone as she bites at what she can reach. Alastor bites the moth's throat, hard, an audible crunch of windpipe is heard even as Valentino's scrabbling gouges out an eye.

Vaggie has to turn away or throw up, trapped in her own head.

A cry of outrage as the whole powergrid goes dark and a semi-recovered Vox unleashes it at his adversaries, sending the pair reeling. The barely-alive remains of Valentino disappear as he shrinks, a tattered almost-corpse whose flesh sits between painfully clenched teeth as the enlarged overlords are turned into conduits for everything pentagram city has to offer.

"What the fuck did I just portal back to?" Lucifer breaks in, startling more than a few of the horrified spectators.

"I don't... know. One minute we were in here and then Valentino's arm landed outside and... this." Charlie murmurs, bewildered and worried as she sees the two overlords she actually likes start to smoke, char and even catch fire from the sustained charge. "Can we do something? Can we interfere or does that put them at greater risk?"

"We can't. If someone challenges an overlord they can't really turn it down without losing their status, or their life. Part of the whole schtick I really hated most. One minute you're having breakfast, next some whacky motherfucker with a disco theme and some sort of ice powers comes bursting into your house demanding to fight. You just gotta." Husk replied, watching the whole shitshow with a detachment born of too many years of exactly this mess. "I think it'll turn around though."

"And Rosie won't get in trouble for interfering? Or, does that mess with Al's status?"

"Nah, if it's 2 on 1, you can call on an ally to fight them. Or take them on yourself if you're strong enough. I've fought alongside Al more than once, when another triad or duo or whatever upstart overlord group decides to take him on without any notice. Pentious wasn't the most powerful up and comer, but he was usually pretty polite about his attacks; if you let him know you really couldn't do a battle right this instant, he was always open to scheduling one in for later. Think that's why Al never really hurt him, when he could've. You don't punch down and all."

"Oh please, that guy would punch babies if he had half a chance..." snarked Lucifer, automatically.

Husk snorted, but rolled his eyes. "Actually, your majesty, you touch a kid wrong around him or rosie there and they'll turn you inside out. It's fascinating in a way that ruins any chance you'll ever have of sleeping again without seeing it behind your eyelids."

But Rosie and Alastor are moving against the current, and it must surely end soon. The power substations and relays were already exploding all over the city from such a massive drain.

Vox was snatched up and held aloft in a shadow tendril that seemed to glitch a little too hard for cosmetic effect. Rosie delicately snagged up a purple and red thing that must be Valentino.

Whatever they were saying, was lost... but voices grew angry, then frustrated, then petulant... and finally, something blue and lust pink passed from the defeated to the other overlords. Reparations, one would assume.

Almost courteously, Rosie and Alastor then carefully returned Vox and Valentino to a semi-destroyed floor of Vee Tower. Where a rather infuriated Velvette was standing, looking ready to tear everyone involved apart.

Rosie made pleasantries with the younger overlord, and then nodded. The pair moving away from the tower as they began to shrink, shadows overtaking them from the ground up.

"Incoming." Husk warned.

A writhing black pool of shadow coalesced behind them all, inside the lobby and just enough away from the doors as to be hard to see from outside. It spread and shrank, like a too-slow heartbeat.

Eventually disgorging two pale, worse-for-wear overlords flat on the floor in a mix of blood and viscera. Neither appeared conscious, not properly, at any rate.

"Oh shit... how do we even fix this?! Can we...? Niffty, can you get the first aid kit? Ohgosh I can't remember the last time I went to aunty bel's triage training course!" Charlie began to panic.

Vaggie was at a loss. Exterminators didn't GET hurt, at least so they believed, so this was... well, shit, she didn't know what to do?

Husk and Niffty were already in the thick of it before anyone except mabe Angel snapped out of the momentary surprise. The starlet used a disinfectant by the kit and then got stuck in, he'd seen weirder shit when he was in the Family and you couldn't duck off to a doctor, not to mention what they did to the snitches. And of course, you got good at fixing yourself and others up under Val...

He compresses where husk tells him to, all six hands needed for this endeavour. Heh, Angel was gonna be able to brag he'd played a fucked up game of twister with two overlords and be telling the absolute truth. Niffty was wiping at blood with her cloths and dousing anything she could reach in antiseptic. Angel winced and thanked everything these guys seemed utterly out of it.

There was a very pointed whirring click, almost too quiet to notice... but it caught everyone's attention. Lucifer was staring at his phone screen, eyebrow raised.

"He didn't lie... looks like there's one specific situation where the distortion doesn' work." The king explained, fascinated, and honestly a bit perturbed. "Was he expecting one of us to fight him to find out or what? Maybe he does need like, hug therapy or something, Char Char."

"Can you delete that as fast as possible, your majesty? I dunno if he's conscious but Vox is kinda connected to all phones and devices from Voxtech... and if he saw this, well,it'd be all over Pride in the hour. And then we wouldn't be able to keep sinners from trying their luck on rising to Sovereign real fucking fast." Husk said, putting a patch over empty eye sockets so there was at least something keeping out infection until everything reformed.

"He... what? Wouldn't they go after the tv and the moth first?" Lucifer frowned. None of this made sense.

"Yes, and no. See Vox and Val have a lot of airtight contracts keeping them safe in their tower and territory, there's also Velvette who's a goddamn nightmare when she fights. Not to mention, if the two overlords they fought left 'em alive, then a small piece of their protection extends to the spared overlord until they're healed. Or at least mobile. Because to hurt them would be to defy what Al and Rosie wanted by keeping 'em alive, right? It's all politics and backstabbing nonsense." Husk rambled, watching Niffty sew up some rather deep lacerations from the muscle up.

"That's ridiculous."

"That's keeping every one of 'em safe right now."

"Okay, I deleted the picture and emptied my bin. Did you need me to ward it or something?"

"Should be okay. It's YOUR phone after all. Any of us did it, Vox'd know immediately... also yeah, he's probably seen your nudes, so you have to move through the stages of grief on that one on your own. It's not a sex thing, he just values information and turns it into targeted ads. Wasn't nearly as twisted before he joined the Vees."

"That's... not comforting. At all."

"Never said it was. Hey, can you like, heal people? Even enough to give these two a jumpstart? I saw they ate some of Val and Vox, and got some souls in their bargaining, but it might not be enough to fix them given how little blood is on the inside right now."

"He's right, Short King, there's more in the carpet based on ow weak everyone's pulses are. Wonder what the fuck triggered a fight like that?" Angel adds, whistling and trying for flippancy despite the internal panic. This was bad. Like, these two hurt was bad, yeah, but Val being hurt that bad was Real Bad and it was public too... he was going to reduce the studio workers to bloody messes when he got back together.

"...hrrkkkk..." chattered the staff, startling more than a few as Lucifer deigned to ruining his white trousers by kneeling next to Rosie. His hands glowed, and something passed from himself to her, sealing a few of the more superficial wounds and lessing the severity of others. The rest was up to her, of course... but it helped.

Angel felt his chain manifest, and his heart leapt into his throat... until he noticed it trained down to a point on the floor between the downed overlords. It was an odd mishmash of green and a dusky pink that suited Rosie well.

"...renegotiated some assets in the ceasefire..."

Lucifer was reluctantly it must be admitted, holding glowing hands over Alastor with less than stellar enthusiasm. Still, whatever he was doing seemed to have aimed right for the eye socket because that fleshed out quickly enough.

"You two got my contract? From Val? Why? What? I mean, I don't do chicks unless I get paid double, but for this I'm willing to give a discount..." he laughed, semi-hysterical. Which only increased as the chain shattered. His heart was thundering. "What the fuck...?"

The bodies under the hands of so many were shuddering back to life. Clearly more mentally aware than physically at the moment, but that was rapidly changing as the moments wore on.

"...if someone wouldn't mind... getting me a bloody mary... I rather need to flush the taste of... insect from my mouth..." Rosie quips stiltedly, sitting up. "It's like those chalky candies, if they also had a hint of grasshopper. And those wings! I'd rather dust my house with my tongue than do that again."

Husk grumblingly went to grab one now the immediacy of the moment had passed.

"Hmmm, this... feels too much like we're surrounded by bleeding hearts, Rosie dear... so I'm going to hazard a guess we didn't rematerialise anywhere near Susan." Alastor said, sititng up and opening the functional eye warily. "Ah, blast. Do-Gooders. I think I can get us to your emporium if you give me a moment..."

"Noooooo no! Please don't go anywhere you're safe here!" Charlie interjects, having found her voice again as things progressed. "I mean, I'm angry about whatever that was out there and we will be talking about it, but... you're safe here, and I can't believe you managed to free Angel somehow, but there was so much blood so I need you to stop trying to get up or I'm going to have a panic attack!"

"This is, literally, nowhere near the worst thing that has ever happened to either of us, Charlotte dear. Don't worry your pretty head over it." Rosie assured, checking on the tattered state of her attire. "Well, this won't do..." She snaps a new outfit for herself.

Alastor glances down at his own and the ever-present smile is tight. "Ah, yes... one moment, it's quite improper to be seen in such a state of undress." His clothes mend easily over the bandages and fading scars thereunder.

Husk courteously hands Rosie her drink and after a moment of lashing his tail, gave Alastor his preferred Rye. He then had to grab them before either overlord could down them in one gulp, because suddenly Angel was a trembling mess in their arms. Or rather, they were trapped in all six of his.

Rosie reacted with a soothing tone and gentle patting. Alastor appeared to be frozen, like a buffering webpage, before relaxing enough to pat the sobbing creature on the back.

"Oh sugar, I'm pleased our negotiations got you out of that bind but it wasn't just you. All Valentino's stars and a few of the more annoyingly important members of Vox's staff are ours now, to free or renegotiate terms with in whatever way we see fit." She leans in close to share a stage whisper. "We just set you free first 'cause Als fond of you. that's all."

"Don't go giving him ideas, Rosie, he keeps making sexual offers at me as it is." Alastor's tone is mildly strained at that, and she laughs at him. "Oh? Should I perhaps go and tell Rosie you suddenly want to spend time discussing her concerns for town each Tuesday at noon?"

Rosie gasped. "You wouldn't dare, I'd tear you limb from limb!"

"Oh I would, now stop encouraging this emotional... whatever this is and do your soothing thing so he'll let go."

"Pfft, Angel Dust would you mind releasing us? I know you're thinking through a lot in that head of yours but if you show too much affection in Al's direction, he may catch fire. Or, worse, he'll set susan on me." Rosie cajoles, until Angel feels able to transition over to the waiting arms of husk.

"I'm also kinda worried about what Val's gonna do when he reforms... normally if he loses something, or gets caught in public, he takes it out on his contracts." Angel admits. "Sometimes he has bits of you torn off for more fucked up videos, and sometimes he just fuck ya til... til you gotta reform. He can get through a whole studio when he's in a rage."

"Never you mind that, he agreed to our renegotiation and now all the contracts have to be approved through us. New and old, and the first thing we demanded was an enthusiastic consent clause, any attempt to void it will breach contract and we will be forced to eat the fool."

"With the right spices, I'm sure we can bear the indignity." Alastor commisserates.

Charlie squeaks in delight. "Are you saying Valentino can't hurt anyone anymore? His souls?"

"Not unless they give consent, and only until they say stop or revoke it in some way." Alastor shrugs, already mentally thumbing through his cookbooks for the right recipe for the moth. Let's be real, he won't last a week without trying something, and then it will be insect for dinner.

"What started this off?" Vaggie asked, suspicious gaze on Alastor.

"Oh, you will love this Vagatha..." he pauses for dramatic effect. "You did! All of you with your little camera game trying to take a photo, it somehow sent Vox into quite the spiral of jealous rage, and he tried to use drones to 'win'. When that failed, the fool confronted me as I was out on a leisurely walk with Rosie..."

"Right through the entertainment district, huh? What a strange route to take from the hotel to cannibal town." Husk quips at them, not falling for their shit for a moment.

"Indeed, how strange that Vox and his paramour waylaid us as we accidentally moved through their territory." Alastor shrugged, and stiffened as that pulled at more than a few stitches. "Ah well, mistakes were made... like those idiots assuming they could confront us and not be dealt with accordingly! Ha-HAH!"

"Are they going to hurt the hotel?" Lucifer jumps in, glaring at the overlords.

"No, and any anger will be aimed directly at Rosie and myself.The residents are safe..." Alastor replied.

Rosie claps her hands, "Oh in all the excitement I forgot that Vox was forced to promise that any reporting he completes on the hotel or associated residents will be neutral at the least, unless he wants to face reprisal. He was quite put out."

They laugh again, the sound as jovial as it was exhausted.

Charlie seemed to be dealing with a whirring mind. "Wait, that's ah-mayyyyy-zing! But... this was our fault? The game triggered all of..." she gestures at the blood and chaos before her, "THIS?!"

Husk returned the glasses, and both overlords swigged it down to chase away lingering bad tastes. The feline watched them, but merely took the glasses withour an offer to refill. he's not handling drunken, injured overlords whose tolerance was as low right now as their percentage of blood inside their bodies.

"Don't worry about it, dear. Vox would have found any reason at all to confront me, that's just how he is. Have you concluded your game yet, though? I would assume at least one of you has worked out that the distortion field is nullified by circumstances wherein the power is required to heal or manage damage. Hmm? I would..." he paused like the word was acidic, 'trust... that you will not be sharing that with Vox? He would devote his afterlife to ensuring I could never block his view again, the perverted voyeur."

"Of course we won't!" Charlie assures.

"I might, if you keep making short jokes." Lucifer says, just to be contrary.

"Now Alastor are you treating a man of his majesty's stature with anything less than respect? He's going to get short with you." Rosie deadpanned, not quite stiffling her laughter.

Lucifer dragged a hand down his face. "Oh Father, there's two of you..."

He was just preparing to send them to sleep for a little healing nap, and to stop them from mocking him again but that was definitely not the main focus here. Of course not.

When Rosie frowned and put a hand to her temple, swaying into an equally confused Alastor. He was glaring at the bartender... but only momentarily as the pair ffell bonelessly onto the floor again. Dazed and blinking slowly a few more times before succumbing to sleep.

Lucifer grinned at the cat. "You dosed them in their drinks? Devious."

"You ain't never had to deal with how infuriatingly peppy those two get when healing, all manic energy until they collapse in the middle of some important task and things go to shit. Easier to let them sleep it off and regain a bit of power first. Can't recall the last time I had to do that... think I used something in a sinner meat sandwich then, though."

"Alright, can we at least get them somewhere comfortable and safe? I don't like that they're laying back in their own blood again..." Charlie interjects. She has an expression on her face that said she was going to Talk to husk very shortly about drink spiking, even if it was necessary.

Angel, still shuddering with aftershocks of relief and fear and just general Holy Shit I'm Free, bends to collect up the Radio Demon as Lucifer deftly carries Rosie into the staff-only lounge area to set them down.

"What?" Lucifer says, when a few people glance at him in surprise. "Char Char, your mother is taller than Rosie, and I managed to carry her around for millennia with no issue... heck, I could carry both of them if I wanted to. now let's get them clean so we don't ruin the upholstery..."

With a snap the newly conjured clothes and sinner's flesh is wiped free of all traces of grime. Only scars, bandages and bruises remain. Rapidly healing before their eyes.

"Niffty, can you fix the stain by the door?" Niffty?" Vaggie looks all over and the maid is just Gone.

So is the stain.

"How did she do that?" the ex-orcist shuddered.

"That's my secret!" comes a barely-sane sing-song tone from the wall to her left, making Vaggie startle. "I cleaned it real good!"

"That you did, kiddo." Husk agreed, unaffected by the horror movie style situation. "Now come outta there so you can take a nap with Al and Rosie, I know you wanna."

"I can?" she gasps and pops out, heading right for the couches the pair were draped upon. She seemed at a loss, but ultimately picked up Alastor's staff and curled up on Rosie, falling fast asleep with her eye wide open.

"That's terrifying and cute. What the fuck is wrong with me that I think that's sorta sweet?" Vaggie murmured.

"So, you get to sleep on Smiles, or can I take one for the team?" Angel nudges Husk in the side and grins.

Husk rolls his eyes. "If you wanna get eaten, sure. I mean, he'd let me, s'long as I purr at some point, but like niffty I wouldn't go putting pressure on those chest wounds til they healed."

Angel's mouth was open. "He what?! Is it a pressure thing? Cause I am very good at playing weighted blanket... and also, go back to the part where you purr?"

"Let's not. And let's be real, if we need something about Niffty sized, his majesty would be the ideal sacrificial... goat or serpent, I guess."

Charlie seemed to adopt a puzzled, musing expression there as if trying to picture it. Vaggie was clearly doing so and her expression was both amused... and haunted.

Husk grinned maliciously at the King, who was spluttering in horror back at the cat. "I mean, if you want to get technical... sure. But the fight they'd have on Al realising it wasn't Niffty wearing a weird hat for some reason, would be legendary. The hotel might not survive."

"I could get behind that..." Angel murmured, picturing something no one wanted to ask about in detail. "I could get Fat Nuggets though, if you think it'd help?"

"...actually, I think someone volunteered already." Husk replied, amused as KeeKee took the chance to sit on the ever-warm Radio Demon. he only ever pet her in private, of course because the Big Bad Reputation might take a hit if he's seen being kind to animals and not punching crying babies or something.

"Okay, I know he'd hate it, but I really wanna take a photo right now..." Charlie groaned, frustrated at the impulse but t was soooo cute and her drawings never came out quite right.

"And start this mess all over again? No thanks. I've had enough of an emotional rollercoaster today!" Angel jokes back, collpasing into an armchair and only vaguely eyeing the drink husk brings him with suspicion. "Reckon I need someone to sit in my lap and purr for me, yeah?"

He nearly drops the drink when Husk does. In full loaf form.

Alastor's cane crackled to life. "Get the picture. You may never get another chance, my dear!"

Charlie frantically takes a number of rapid-fire shots of the rather serious looking Husker and the truly blessed and slightly dazed Angel Dust.

"Char-Char, today has been ridiculous, I think we should all sit down for an hour and just relax. Sound good?" Lucifer offers, conjuring more plush furniture as his daughter and her girlfriend sink into the softness of a couch. He wiggles between them and wraps his wings around the pair, drawing them in.

"That looks cozy as fuck, I'd be jealous if I didn't have a lapful of gorgeous man." Angel mumbles, half-asleep already. Lucifer realised the rest of them were still a mess and snaps away the remaining blood and grime. "Thanks short king, lemma suck ya-..." it trails off into a soft snore.

"Phew, that could have been weird." Lucifer mumbled, feeling Charlie rest her head on his shoulder and snuggle close. Vaggie tried, but was somewhat stiffer, until he made a rather pointed soft trill that angels shared when roosting with one another. And she settled instantly.

"Okay, maybe sinners aren't all bad... even if they do insane shit that turns out altruistic in the end." He murmurs, looking at the two overlords, who stirred lightly but settled easily enough when Niffty and KeeKee redistributed their weight accordingly.

"...high praise... from a not-too-terrible father..." crackles the cane.

It makes Lucifer laugh, rather than furious. "Oh, coming from you Captain daddy issues?"

Angel murmurs something suspiciously like "...c'n be ya daddy...' before his head lolls.

Lucifer can't contain the snort. "Alright, will you actually go to sleep if I put on one of your radios?"

"...deal, your Majesty."

With a snap, something slow and soft fills the air, coercing the last few eyes to close after such an oddly eventful afternoon. At least it was never boring around here.

---

End

Random idea i had, not meant to be THIS LONG, couldnt work out how to end it, its 1am fml

[vxxxb]

Not A Cook - [Miguel O'Hara]

More fluff! Takes place before he becomes Spider-Man -- You can't cook and Miguel decides to help Tags: Roommates, colleagues, fluff, lighthearted story, implied they work at Alchemax

“You never learned to cook?”

Miguel's judgy tone speaks from behind you as he reaches for his mug.

His condescending tone makes you bristle, your body instinctively moving slightly to the side to not bump into him as you huff quietly.

You keep your grip on the pan's handle as you attempt to flip over the set of empanadas you had made for yourself. It was supposed to be something easy, especially with the long tongs you bought. But as you try to flip them without burning yourself, tiny bits of oil start to splash, causing you to swiftly lower the flame and step back from the stove.

You narrow your eyes at the pan, crossing your arms with tongs still in hand.

Alright, so cooking wasn’t your strong suit, especially when it came to frying. You got stuck on the fear of potentially getting burned, rather than simply focusing on making the damn food.

It was all too frustrating.

Miguel’s comment certainly didn’t help, and his standing by the table counter only a few feet away, casually sipping his coffee with a smug smirk, only irritated you more.

You knew staying with him was a bad idea. But when word got out that you were initially planning to stay over at a 'friend' as your apartment got fixed, he had personally extended an invitation to his living arrangements.

And now, a month and a half has passed, and your apartment is still far from ready. What started as a simple plumbing issue soon turned into an expired gas meter, faulty wiring, and eventually an upright renovation process.

You found the new arising problems for your apartment strange, but you brushed them off. After all, it was Nueva York, and a standard living space was bound to have its fair share of issues.

Swallowing your pride, you glance at Miguel, meeting his amused gaze.

“If you’re not going to help, I don’t want to hear it,” you roll your eyes, frowning as you stare at the empanadas simmering in oil.

You take a deep breath as you approach the stove again, adjusting the flame and carefully sliding the tongs beneath a crispy empanada, successfully flipping it over without oil splattering this time.

You smile proudly, turning up the stove again before yelping once the oil splatters again.

At this, Miguel erupts in laughter, his hand clutching his stomach as he tries to avoid your prominent glare.

You grit your teeth, throwing your hands up in annoyance before sliding the tongs over to him. "I give up, you do it," you grumble, beginning to head out of the kitchen only to be pulled back abruptly.

"Hey-!"

Miguel raises an eyebrow, wearing that same infuriating smirk once more. "Cooking's all about practice," he quips, dragging you back to the stove. "You just need a few pointers."

"What I need is to avoid it all together."

He rolls his eyes, grabbing the tongs from the counter and handing them to you. He then leans against the counter, arms folding across his chest. "First things first, control the heat," he advises, pointing at the stove. "Medium-low is usually a safe bet for frying. And don't overcrowd the pan; you want each empanada to have space."

You huff quietly, shooting him a side look. Miguel only gives you a deadpan stare, directing his gaze to the pan.

"Fine," you concede, rolling your eyes.

Begrudgingly, you follow his advice, adjusting the heat as he suggested and carefully spacing the empanadas in the pan. They start sizzling gently without any oil splatters.

Miguel nods approvingly. "See? Now keep an eye on them, flip them when they're ready, and you'll be fine." He hums, turning to leave.

You glance at him, surprised by how quickly you stop him. "Wait!"

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your sudden change of tone. "Yes?"

You hesitate for a moment. "Would you… care to join me for breakfast?" You gesture to the pan.

Miguel chuckles softly, shoulders shrugging. "Why not," He pulls out another cup and two plates, placing them on the counter for the two of you.

You find yourself smiling, turning the remaining food over before, finally, turning off the stove. Bringing the pan over, you carefully slide three empanadas onto each plate.

You take a seat, taking a sip from your mug and sighing content when you realize it was hot chocolate and not coffee he had served you.

Setting your cup down, you look at him expectantly. "Well?" You nod your head to the empanadas.

He rolls his eyes, picking up one of the empanadas and taking a careful bite. His expression changes from one of amusement to genuine surprise as he chews.

"You didn't manage to burn them or drown them in oil after all," he chuckles as you also try one.

You grin happily once you see he's telling the truth; They do taste good.

"Just so you know, I'm not doing this again," you shake your head as you chew hungrily. "Not unless there's a kitchen appliance."

"I think you'll change your mind once you get the hang of it," Miguel teases, taking another bite. "Cooking can be quite satisfying, you know."

You roll your eyes playfully. "We'll see about that."

You then look at the clock, gasping and rushing to your room. "I'm running late! I'll see you at the lab!"

With you out of sight, Miguel smiles, a warmth in his eyes that he never allowed you to see.

The next morning, when you wake up to prepare yourself something, you see a light blue appliance on the counter with a note on it.

Here's an air fryer. Can't screw this up. -- Miguel.

You can't help the laugh you let out as you read Miguel's note. You can't help but feel that staying at Miguel's place might not have been such a bad idea after all.

[luminouslywriting]

Hii think you could write something for harry crosby please ?! If not that’s totally Okayy I just love the way you write !!

Nonny, I will try my best haha. I'm not much of a Crosby girl, as @lambcow could tell you (she's heard my rants about him haha). But here you go!

Cut for length, more under the cut, light spice:

-Pre-war, Harry Crosby was a blushing emotional mess about his wife. Post-war Harry Crosby is a man who is devoted to his wife and wants to give so much adoration (some out of guilt and some out of desire and love).

-That being said, he comes home with a lot of confidence and a clear plan for how he wants things to go

-He's big on communication in the relationship and pillow talk is a must

-He's not bad in the kitchen?? He's definitely better at the clean-up aspect of meals haha

-Makes a point to buy you flowers every Friday on his way home from work

-Gets frisky and freaky in the kitchen when you're cooking

-Has a breeding kink and an authority kink

-Loves taking baths with you and getting to lotion you up afterwards

-Would absolutely read to your belly when you're pregnant

-Is big on tradition and the holidays are always accompanied with a party and games

-Is very cheesy and sweet with all of his compliments

-Likes going dancing at music clubs with you

-Also very into going to the theater or the opera with you

-Gets blushy if you tell him that you were talking about him in a sewing circle or a book club

-Gives really good massages

-Quickies are definitely a good fix for him being in a hurry or on the way to work

-Car sex

-Plants you flower that reminds him of you

-Keeps all of your letters from the war in a scrapbook journal and breaks them out occasionally to read them

-Is very sentimental and keeps a picture of you in his wallet

-Is a self-proclaimed fix-it guy who thinks he can handle the plumbing or the roof issues (he cannot, but he tries his best, bless his heart)

-Definitely calls you Mrs. Crosby at every given opportunity

[danzersplumbing]

Point Cook plumbing services

For residents of Point Cook plumbing services, Danzer’s Plumbing & Gas Services stands out as the trusted choice. Known for their professionalism, reliability, and comprehensive plumbing solutions, Danzer’s Plumbing & Gas Services caters to both residential and commercial clients, ensuring that every job is done right the first time. Why Choose Danzer’s Plumbing Services in…

[amphibious-thing]

Oh! the Roast Beef of Old England: Roast Beef, English Nationalism, Effeminacy and Epilepsy (ft. Lord Hervey)

While today if asked what the national dish of England is some might say bangers and mash, Yorkshire pudding or chicken tikka masala in the 18th century the answer was roast beef.

It was roast beef that was the star of the patriotic 18th century song The Roast Beef of Old England. Originally written by Henry Fielding for his play The Grub-Steet Opera (1731) and then reused in Don Quixote in England (1734) the more popular version was written by Richard Leveridge who set it to a catchier tune and added five new stanzas:

When mighty roast Beef was the Englishman's Food, It ennobled our Veins, and enriched our Blood; Our Soldiers were brave, and our Courtiers were good. Oh the roast Beef of old England, and old English roast Beef. But since we have learn'd from all-conquering France, To eat their Ragouts, as well as to dance, We are fed up with nothing, but vain Complaisance. Oh the roast Beef, &c. Our Fathers, of old, were robust, stout, and strong, And kept open House, with good Chear all Day long, Which made their plump Tenants rejoice in this Song. Oh the roast Beef, &c. But now we are dwindled, to what shall I name, A sneaking poor Race, half begotten-and tame, Who sully those Honours, that once shone in Fame. Oh the roast Beef, &c. When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the Throne, E're Coffee, or Tea, and such Slip-Slops were known, The World was in Terror, if e'er she but frown. Oh the roast Beef, &c. In those Days, if Fleets did presume on the Main, They seldom, or never, return'd back again, As witness, the vaunting Armada of Spain. Oh the roast Beef, &c. Oh then they had Stomachs to eat, and to fight, And when Wrongs were a cooking, to do themselves right; But now we're a-I could, but good Night. Oh the roast Beef, &c.

Leveridge's version espouses the masculine qualities roast beef making Englishmen "brave", "robust," and "strong". Fielding's version from Don Quixote in England contrasts this English masculinity with the non-roast beef eating "effeminate Italy, France, and Spain". (Edgar V. Roberts, Henry Fielding and Richard Leveridge: Authorship of "The Roast Beef of Old England")

[Politeness, print, after 1780, published by Hannah Humphrey, after John Nixon (1779), via The Metropolitan Museum of Art.]

A common element of English nationalist propaganda was to contrast the masculine beef eating Englishman with the effeminate frogs legs eating Frenchman. The satirical print Politeness compares the masculine John Bull to a stereotypical effeminate Frenchman. John Bull is depicted as a plainly dressed man, holding a pint of beer, with a Bulldog at his feet and a cut of beef hanging behind him. The Frenchman in contrast is depicted as foppishly dressed, holding a snuff-box, with an Italian Greyhound at his feet and a bundle of Frogs hanging behind him. John Bull says "You be D_m'd". The Frenchman responds "Vous ete une Bete". The caption narrates:

With Porter Roast Beef & Plumb Pudding well cram'd, Jack English declares that Monsr may be D------d. The Soup Meagre Frenchman such Language dont suit, So he Grins Indignation & calls him a Brute.

In 18th century English print culture the butcher became somewhat of a stock figure representing English masculinity. There was a series of prints in which a masculine butcher is depicted assaulting a fop. Often with bystanders cheering him on. Some of these prints identified the fop as a Frenchman (such as The Frenchman in London by John Collet and The Frenchman at Market by Adam Smith) but others either don't identify nationality or indicate that the fop is English.

[The Beaux Disaster, print, c. 1747, via The Wellcome Collection.]

The Beaux Disaster depicts the aftermath of an altercation between a butcher and a fop. The butcher has hung the fop up by the back of his breeches on a hook next to cuts of meet. A crowd of passersby point and laugh at the fop, enjoying his misfortune. The caption narrates:

Ye smarts whose merit lies in dress, Take warning by a beaux distress. Whose pigmy size, & ill-tun'd rage Ventured with butchers to engage. But they unus'd affronts to brook Have hung poor Fribble on a hook, While foul disgrace! expos'd in air, The butchers shout and ladies stare. Satyr so strong, ye fops must strike you How can ye think ye fair will like you, Women of sense, in men despise The anticks, they in monkeys prize.

[Docking the Maccaroni–or the Butcher's Revenge, print, c. 1773, published by Carington Bowles, via The Metropolitan Museum of Art.]

Docking the Maccaroni–or the Butcher's Revenge depicts a butcher cutting off a macaroni's queue. Fashionable men in the late 1760s and 1770s would wear elaborate hairstyles sometimes with hair tied back into a 'club'. This hairstyle is a common element of macaroni satire (for a more flattering rendering of the style see George Simon Harcourt by Daniel Gardner). The caption narrates:

A Spruce Maccaroni whose Hair and whose Clothes, Were the envy of Fops, and the Patterns of Beaus; Looked with Scorn on a Butcher; in passing the Street, And turnd up his Nose, at the sight of the Meat. Says the Butcher you Pig, if you'd eat such as that, You'd credit your Country, and grow plump and fat. Greasy Brute cry's the Fop! then the Butcher enrag'd, Snatch'd a Knife, & to punish the Coxcomb engag'd: Then seizing poor Mac, who began to look pale, He docked his Fools noddle, and cut of his Tail: Now Now cry'd the Butcher the People may stare. At a Skull without Brains, & a Head without Hair.

The macaroni was often portrayed as a traitor to English culture not only for his love of french fashion but also his love of Italian pasta. The fabled 'macaroni club' was a reference to Almack's Assembly Rooms at 50 Pall Mall. (see Pretty Gentleman by Peter McNeil p52-55) The Macaroni and Theatrical Magazine (Oct 1772) explains that the origin of the word macaroni comes from:

a compound dish made of vermicelli and other pastes, which unknown in England until then, was imported by our Connoscenti in eating, as an improvement to their subscription at Almack's. In time, the subscribers to those dinners became to be distinguished by the title MACARONIES, and, as the meeting was composed of the younger and gayer part of our nobility and gentry, who, at the same time that they gave into the luxuries of eating, went equally into the extravagancies of dress; the word Macaroni then changed its meaning to that of a person who exceeded the ordinary bounds of fashion; and is now partly used as a term of reproach to all ranks of people, indifferently, who fell into this absurdity.

(Cited in Catalogue of Prints and Drawings in the British Museum edited by Frederic George Stephens and Edward Hawkins, vol.4, p.826)

Foppishly dressed men were blamed not only for the popularisation of pasta in England but also the growing disfavour for roast beef. A letter written to The Connoisseur in 1767 complains:

By Jove it is a shame, a burning shame, to see the honour of England, the glory of our nation, the greatest pillar of like, ROAST BEEF, utterly banished from our tables. This evil, like many others, has been growing upon us by degrees. It was begun by wickedly placing the Beef upon a side-table, and screening it by a parcel of queue-tail'd fellows in laced waistcoats.

(Volume 1, Edition 5)

With both his dress and diet the fop had betrayed English masculinity for French and Italian effeminacy.

Passed down by Lady Louisa Stuart* as an example of the "extreme to which Lord Hervey carried his effeminate nicety", when "asked at dinner whether he would have some beef, he answered, "Beef?— Oh, no!— Faugh! Don't you know I never eat beef, nor horse, nor any of those things?" Stuart was somewhat skeptical of this story wondering "Could any mortal have said this in earnest?"

*anonymously. Stuart wrote the introductory anecdotes included in the 1837 edition of The Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.

While it's anyone's guess as to whether Hervey said these exact words it is true that he didn't eat beef. Not because he "courted" effeminacy with the "affected and almost finical nicety in his habits and tastes" as John Heneage Jesse suggests (in Memoirs of the Court of England from the Revolution in 1688 to the Death of George the Second) but for his health.

Lord Hailes explained:

Lord Hervey, having felt some attacks of the epilepsy, entered upon and persisted in a very strict regimen, and thus stopt the progress and prevented the effects of that dreadful disease. His daily food was a small quantity of asses milk and a flour biscuit : once a-week he indulged himself with eating an apple : he used emetics daily.

(The Opinions of Sarah Duchess-Dowager of Marlborough edited by Lord Hailes, p43)

Lord Hervey's doctor George Cheyne believed that "a total Milk, and Vegetable Diet, as absolutely necessary for the total Cure of the Epilepsy". (The English Malady, p254)

In An Account of My Own Constitution and Illness Hervey explains that he followed such a diet for three years on Cheyne's prescription eating "neither flesh, fish, nor eggs" but living "entirely upon herbs, roots, pulse, grains, fruits, legumes". (p969) However after three years he reintroduced white meet. He explains his diet in a letter to Cheyne, written on the 9th of December 1732:

To let you know that I continue one of your most pious votaries, and to tell you the method I am in. In the first place, I never take wine nor malt drink, or any liquid but water and milk-tea ; in the next, I eat no meat but the whitest, youngest, and tenderest, nine times in ten nothing but chicken, and never more than the quantity of a small one at a meal. I seldom eat any supper, but if any, nothing absolutely but bread and water ; two days in the week I eat no flesh ; my breakfast is dry biscuit not sweet, and green tea ; I have left off butter as bilious ; I eat no salt, nor any sauce but bread sauce. I take a Scotch pill once a week, and thirty grains of Indian root when my stomach is loaded, my head giddy, and my appetite gone. I have not bragged of the persecutions I suffer in this cause ; but the attacks made upon me by ignorance, impertinence, and gluttony are innumerable and incredible.

Intriguingly in An Account of My Own Constitution and Illness Hervey focuses more attention on colic than epilepsy, dismissing his seizures as rare, but admits he had "two this year". This leads to the impression that his diet was prescribed to treat colic rather than epilepsy and Cheyne did prescribe a milk and vegetable diet in cases of "extreme Nervous Cholicts". (p167) Perhaps it was prescribed to treat both. But why downplay epilepsy in an account of his own illness?

While some enlightenment doctors approached epilepsy with a more scientific approach, superstitions still remained. Some believed epilepsy was a form of lunacy that was controlled by the moon (the word lunatick coming from luna). In An Historical Essay on the State of Physick in the Old and New Testament Dr. Jonathan Harle claimed that "people in this distemper are most afflicted at full or change of the moon." (p124)

Many believed epilepsy was caused by possession and this belief was supported by the bible. Mark 9:17-27, Matthew 17:14-18 and Luke 9:37-43 tell the story of a man who brings his possessed son to Jesus who "rebuked the unclean spirit, and healed the child". The boy's symptoms resemble those of an epileptic seizure and these bible verses are cited by Dr. Jonathan Harle as "an exact description of one that is an epileptick (had the falling sickness) or lunatick". (p124) Harle claimed that was "a truth as plain as words can make it" that some people with epilepsy were "possess'd by the devil". (p22)

Epilepsy was also believed to be caused by sexual depravity. The popular anti-masturbation pamphlet Onania: or, the Heinous Sin of Self-Pollution claimed masturbation caused epilepsy (p23). Onanism: or, a treatise upon the disorders produced by masturbation, or, The dangerous effects of secret and excessive venery claimed that a 14-year-old boy "died of convulsions, and of a kind of epilepsy, the origin of which was solely masturbation". (p19)

With the stigma surrounding epilepsy its no wonder that Hervey kept his seizures secret only telling a select few. One of the people he trusted with this secret was his lover Stephen Fox. Hervey describes having a seizure while at court and keeping it hidden from the Royal Family in a letter to Fox written on the 7th of December 1731:

I have been so very much out of order since I writ last, that going into the Drawing Room before the King, I was taken with one of those disorders with the odious name, that you know happen'd to me once at Lincoln's Inn Fields play-house. I had just warning enough to catch hold of somebody (God knows who) in one side of the lane made for the King to pass through, and stopped till he was gone by. I recovered my senses enough immediately to say, when people came up to me asking what was the matter, that it was a cramp took me suddenly in my leg, and (that cramp excepted) that I was as well as ever I was in my life. I was far from it ; for I saw everything in a mist, was so giddy I could hardly walk, which I said was owing to my cramp not quite gone off. To avoid giving suspicion I stayed and talked with people about ten minutes, and then (the Duke of Grafton being there to light the King) came down to my lodgings, where * * * I am now far from well, but better, and prodigiously pleased, since I was to feel this disorder, that I contrived to do it à l'insu de tout le monde. Mr. Churchill was close by me when it happened, and takes it all for a cramp. The King, Queen, &c. inquired about my cramp this morning, and laughed at it ; I joined in the laugh, said how foolish an accident it was, and so it has passed off ; nobody but Lady Hervey (from whom it was impossible to conceal what followed) knows anything of it.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

THE TEXT CONVOS !! I hope it looks ok. I left spaces between the texts (ALSO THANK U FOR THE REQUEST 💗 ) 💺 anon

🍊) My little (brat) princess

🍒: Buy pads please!! 🍊: Already did, anything else that may satisfy her majesty? ❤️

🍊: Hi pretty. Can't find my tie, did you took it? It's the navy one 🍒: No, must've been your side chick :( 🍊: Please tell me you're joking 🍒: I'm not 🍊: Woman I practically worship the ground you walk on 🍒: Screenshotting this to Lem. Also your tie is with me :) 🍊: You two got jokes huh

🍒: Pretty women called "sleepless nights worried about my husband" is waiting for me in bed 🍊: Not tonight love. Coming home in 5

🍊: What kind of streets do ghosts hunt? 🍊: Dead ends

🍊: Really want to shoot him in the head 🍒: What are you talking about? 🍊: He's so fucking cocky huh? 🍒: Ladybug? He's not doing anything 🍊: That "we should all order some food" sounded pretty flirty to me 🍒: You deserve the electric chair

🍊: Are you from Mississippi? Cause you're the only miss who's piss I'll sippie [You blocked this contact]

🍊: That nob better stop touching your shoulder before I give him a lobotomy 🍊: Got the "little off the top" looking haircut 🍒: HE ASKED FOR MY NUMBER 🍊: He should see an optometrist since he clearly didn't notice the ring on your finger 🍒: I told him I have a husband 5 times already but he said "it doesn't matter", so I gave him your number 🍊: That's my girl

🍒: [1 image attached] 🍊: Oh my fucking god 🍊: God took his time with you

🍒: Would you be mad at me if I punched you in the face? 🍊: What's the context love? Are we making out and you just started beating me up? 🍒: Why would I EVER do that??? 🍊: You tell me, you were the one who asked. 🍊: Wait you might actually be onto someting here love 🍒: THATS IT, SEX BAN 🍊: WHAT

🍒: What is taking you so long? 🍊: Lady at the cashier won't leave me alone 🍒: Please hurry up I want you to eat me out :( [Tan reacted with ❤️] 🍒: Tell her "husband duties are calling"

🍋) Silly goofy guy

🍋: I'm really over here with Aristotle talking about plumbs and farmers and shit

🍒: Did you actually got into a fight with that Kimura guy just because he said he didn't like my tie? 🍋: Cherry defender first, human second

🍋: Bro is not listening to me 🤼‍♂️ 🍒: I'll hear you out on Henrys 🍋: [voice message: 42:33]

🍋: Got bored so I drew you 🍋: [1 image attached] 🍒: Thanks !! 🍒: Why do I have 3 fingers on each hand though? 🍋: I stole the other four

🍒: Are the cookies you left for me a prank? 🍋: Are they that bad? 🍒: What?? No!! Of course not!! 😊 I loved them!! 🫶 🍋: I got a feeling you're being sarcastic

🍋: Tan said nobody likes lemons 🍒: I'll kill him

🍒: The bartender asked for my phone number 🍋: BOOOOOO 📢📢 every time 🍒: I gave him Tan's number. Wanna catfish him? 🍋: LETS GO I LOVE THE WAY YOU THINK

🍊🍋🍒) The fruit bowl

🍊: The group name is stupid 🍋: IT'S GENIUS 🍒: It's literally what we are 🍊: I think I should've named the group so it wouldn't be something stupid 🍋: "Tangerines are sophisticated" This you❓ 🍒: Point and laugh 🫵🤣 🍊: Piss off

🍋: I burned the pasta 🍊: You can cook? 🍋: I tried 🍊: Never do it again 🍋: Piss off at least I wasn't the one who dropped the pod on the floor 🍒: This is why you two aren't allowed in my kitchen

🍊: I'm just saying, relationships should be 50/50 🍊: She looks pretty, while I growl at anyone who looks at her 🍋: It's getting harder and harder to defend you 🍒: People are gonna think you're insane 🍋: He is

🍋: [1 image attached, it's a selfie of us three] 🍋: BOY WE SEE THEM BABY BLUES 🍒: I swear people don't even say bless you anymore, they just stare at you like that 🍊: Do you two ever stop to think about what you're saying? 🍋: No 😼 🍒: Nope 🍊: It shows

yeah no kidding you aced the shit out of these!!! and they are so fun to read !! I definitely get what you mean now by them being fun😭

LOVE LOVE LOVED them all but these have gotta be my faves

THIS ONE??? had my cracking up. was still thinking about it and laughing to myself ages after reading 😭😭

little off the top and the ring comment 😭

and giving the guy tan number and him saying that’s my girl🫠

god took his time with you??? melting

WHY IS THAT SO ACCURATE!!! lemon definitely sends really long voice messages and spams with videos. like he’s giving you mini personal vlogs😭😭😭 he just starts talking about the most random shit walking around the house. “… yeah they said his car is fucked— no way. I just found this.” and holds it out to the camera and then he carries on with whatever he was saying before

I feel like he struggled to draw all 10 fingers and got fed up so gave you simpson hands instead

[oh-hell-help-me]

July 5: Work-a-holics Day

Bowser has a headache.

It’s been four hours since he started the paperwork, and it feels like it’ll take days to even make it halfway through the stack of paperwork that accumulated last week.

He wouldn’t regret the much-needed family time, but the result of postponing any work is ridiculous.

Not to mention that his husband had been working just as hard as him.

Months after they married, Luigi had taken the rare initiative to contribute to castle life. From cooking to castle repairs to gardening to plumbing… It seemed he wanted to try his hand at everything that could be improved or fixed.

And it worked, in a way, once Luigi found a niche in the mechanical field.

His contributions have certainly streamlined construction and agriculture processes, and have even made headway for Iggy’s efforts in making lasers- much to the Koopaling’s delight.

The problem (something they BOTH struggled with) was that they are unfortunate workaholics.

It was why they had a vacation week, but…

Before they were literally dragged out of their workspaces, Luigi was the worst off in self-care.

In other words:

He hadn’t slept for two days straight.

He hadn’t eaten for longer- since the day before the project he was working on.

He hadn’t even showered or bathed for a half-week.

The very sight of him sent Iggy (who had gone to check up on Luigi) into a panicked fit following uncharacteristically violent tugging to the nearest bathing facility and a screaming order to the nearest Koopa Troopa to bring a meal straight from the kitchen.

It was enough of a commotion to bring his siblings out of their rooms and be shocked silent at the sight of an incensed Iggy dragging a half-struggling Luigi (who is still very much a mess) down the hall.

After some explanations from Iggy, denials from ‘overwork’ by Luigi, and voiced concern for the same thing happening to Bowser-

Well, they somehow BOTH ended up sitting at the Royal Family’s table being force-fed a variety of food- and scolded by many frustrated Koopalings.

In the end, the Koopalings have taken it upon themselves to rotate ‘Break Duties’ since the Royal Husbands “are failing as adults”- as worded by Ludwig.

Bowser would have argued against that, but…

He still couldn’t get the image of Luigi out of his mind, with greasy hair, dark eyebags, and a distant demeanor that scared him. Nevermind that he was a day away from the same predicament, seeing his husband in that condition painfully drove the point home.

With that in mind, he’s more than willing to take a break- and does so with a loud groan as he gets up from his seat and stretches.

(He leaves the office soon after, unaware of the proud gaze of an on-shift Morton.)

…

Luigi somewhat learned his lesson after the Koopalings’ intervention. He got better with mealtimes, at least bothering to take a few bites of food before continuing on his projects, and had been a little proud of remembering to take a shower that morning. Sleeping, however?

Er- looking at the Lab’s clock, it’s been almost a whole day that he hadn’t slept. A normal time! Although-

He’s tempted to do an all-nighter again, especially as he sees the current project (a multi-purpose clock, ironically) more than half completed.

In fact, he is already reaching for the screwdriver-

BANG!

Before the Lab’s doors burst open-

And his husband bustles in, barely giving Luigi time to turn around before his husband yoinks him from his seat and charges back out of the lab.

“B-Bowser?!” Luigi tries to wiggle out of his grasp. “Let me down!”

“Nope.”

“But- but I need to-“

“Nope.”

“Is that really all you’re going to say?”

“Nope. Also, you’re coming with me.”

“Apparently.” Luigi huffs, but hardly feels frustrated as he relaxes in Bowser’s warm arms.

It’s almost comfy enough to sleep right then and there.

But Bowser isn’t letting him settle in before plopping him onto their bed (when did they get to their room?).

“Come on, arms up.”

Blearly following his command, he only realizes what his husband is doing after his shirt is already over his head and the largest sleep shirt is shoved down in its place.

“I-“ He is interrupted by a yawn. “I can dress myself…”

“I believe you.” But Bowser continues, absently taking off his own studded bands once done with his task.

Luigi sighs, but crawls into to nest-like bed they have set up since… well, a long time, at least.

Once under the covers, he watches Bowser toss his bands across the room. “You gotta stop doin’ that, tesoro. You’re goin’ to break an’ther mirror...”

“Sleep.”

And there he was, under the covers and curling around him with the same tenderness he’s done since they started dating.

“Buonanotte, amore mio.”

He feels his muzzle nuzzle into the top of his head.

“Goodnight, starlight.”

[winterpower98]

I'm glad you liked the little fic I threw your way on your birthday :3

It isn't one of my best (that title still goes to "Blood of Gold", in my humble opinion~) but I tried xD

Now, let me throw a random idea at you that has been stuck in my head for the last...three or so days!

So, remember this little throw away line from the first chapter of "Blood of Gold"?

It was a nood to THIS POST of yours that, to my knowledge, never made it into the Cursed AU canon (at least I couldn't find it in the Masterpost-) but featured the idea of Macaque starting to randomly throw food at the twins when he noticed they can't cook.

Now, stick with me here! We are going to take a sharp turn here in a completely different direction xD

Can we all agree that Pigsys love language, to show he cares, is food? Becouse the pig ain't that great with voicing his feelings (just like a certain black monkey-), so instead he goes by "actions speak louder than words" and coocks to show he cares? Let's continue with that thought/idea in mind!

Back to Macaque!

Remember how we shortly talked about that, after really fucking things up in "Breaking Point", Macaque would go to Nuwa for help, to fix things with the twins and Mei, and she would just tell him to go ask Pigsy?

Go back to that idea of Macaque throwing food at the twins that never made it into the masterpost!

What if we recycle that idea?!

-after "Breaking Point", Macaque asks Nuwa for help

-Nuwa directs him to Pigsy

-Pigsy, after noticing that the monkey won't be able to just apologize to the kids directly, gives him a tip out of his own book: that actions sometimes speak louder than words. And food can do wonders in showing that you care

-cue maybe a smal intervention lead by Mei a view days later where Macaque says he won't throw the twins out ("becouse finding replacements would be a bother"-he claims) and:

-next thing you know, Mac is throwing food at the twins at random ocations. An apple that apears on the table out of nowhere here... a hand full of plumbs that suddenly drops from the sky there...a mango to the face becouse no one was quick enough to catch it-

Macaque is now trying to bribe the twins with food to apologize/get in their good grazes again!

(Sorry you had to sit through my ramblings about this random idea xD I'm tired, and my brain has been trying to find ways to bridge the gap between "Music Box" and "Blood of Gold", and than I remembered that post I linked above, and I couldn't stop thinking about it since xD)

~*~

Oh, I remember that! Yeah, I assumed that line was a callback to that specific ask XD

And that whole situation kinda falls under the category of "Technically speaking it is canon, but it's not in the masterpost because I wouldn't know where to put it timeline wise"

But moving this idea to be something Pigsy suggested? It's great. Fits the characters involved, fits the very messy timeline I have, and keeps some of that stupid comedy that I can't resist

Now, how long do you think it's gonna take for Macaque to remember that, while the twins can eat pretty much anything, they are onis and their favorite food is metal?

[millenniumfae]

Hades Headcanons P.2: Life In The Underworld

As we know, death is cheap to every denizen of the realm. Including the natural fauna and the human shades. The pain of injuries isn't lessened, but the distress and panic associated with wounds are gone, 'cause there's no more consequences for the body to instinctively react towards. You can imagine mortal injuries to be nothing more than a rush. For Zagreus and his ADHD brain, it's probably one heck of a stim. No wonder he hints at liking pain.

Same with all the bosses you slay, all minor enemies eventually reconvene whole and hearty upon their death. Their respawn point is whatever they'd call their 'home' in the underworld, same with Zagreus and Megara in the House Of Hades. A Lout wakes back up in his cell. A Wavemaker finds themselves back in their (flooded) apartment. If pre-reunion Patroclus was slain, he'd pop back into his glen, but if he and Achilles eventually decide to find proper housing like we see in the distance of Elysium, his respawn point would change. Only administration like Hades himself can override this.

This respawn mechanic applies to the fish, too, 'cause they're natural to the underworld. The head chef cooks a Chlam, and that very Chlam would later respawn in the Lethe. Little known to Zagreus, but he's caught the same Scuffer 20 times in a row. Don't worry, they don't particularly mind.

And speaking of fish and food, sustenance in the underworld function like video game logic, through pure energy rather than as nutrition. Unlike us, who digest food and shit the waste, those gyros directly transfer their calories into an immortal/shade's energy, whether the energy is spent healing wounds or increasing their martial prowess. Zagreus downs a HydroLite Energy Drink and 10% of his wounds heal upon leaving a room. The Ignited Ichor Caffeine Shot make him run faster. But taste buds are still active, so bless Eurydice and her cooking skills.

But all those onions you see? Those aren't natural to the underworld. Or, rather, they're plain ol' onions, growing in the UV-emitting light of Ixion's Wheel. In fact, many underground root or bulb crops can be found naturally growing throughout the underworld, like carrots and turnips, playing to the idea that their bounties grow 'below the earth'. They don't particularly thrive, since there's less natural pollinators, but with Persephone's influence they can be plentiful. These vegetables naturally migrated below the Temple of Styx on their own, and throughout the centuries became part of the flora.

In the lore of Hades (2018), gods like Thanatos, Aphrodite, Nyx, even Chaos- they aren't pure embodiments of their domain. They're also individual people with personalities and obligations. But there's one exception - the Styx itself. Like a blood vein, the Styx endlessly flows through the afterlife and delivers its yoke upon the current. All afterlife rivers spawn from it, and hence its the same river no matter if its the calm and foggy Lethe of blessed, hedonistic Elysium, or the hot and churning Phlegethon of limbo Asphodel. Charon is Like That 'cause he's one step away from being a pure 'embodiment' because of his relationship to the Styx.

Following the artsy symbolism, the devs made Hypnos the first npc you see upon death because he's the god of sleep. The ancient Greeks liked to symbolize Sleep as Death's cousin, or sibling. That's why he has that weird admin job in the House of Hades, rather than his canonical abode up in Elysium.

All the immortals in-game wear leggings, which was unheard of in Classical Greece, whose textiles sucked. Life in the underworld introduces luxuries to shades they've never experienced in life - indoor plumbing, flawless glass and mirrors, clothing finer than anything a mortal king would have had. Hades, is, after all, the richest of the pantheon thanks to his domain including gemstones. A newly-dead shade is relocated to their new condo in Asphodel, and freaks the fuck out about the bed having a mattress stuffed with down, rather than just a blanket covering straw.

[fiction-quotes]

Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I begin to grow hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious of my lungs, I do not mean to have it inferred that I ever go to sea as a passenger. For to go as a passenger you must needs have a purse, and a purse is but a rag unless you have something in it. Besides, passengers get sea-sick – grow quarrelsome – don't sleep of nights – do not enjoy themselves much, as a general thing; – no, I never go as a passenger; nor, though I am something of a salt, do I ever go to sea as a Commodore, or a Captain, or a Cook. I abandon the glory and distinction of such offices to those who like them. For my part, I abominate all honorable respectable toils, trials, and tribulations of every kind whatsoever. It is quite as much as I can do to take care of myself, without taking care of ships, barques, brigs, schooners, and what not. And as for going as cook, – though I confess there is considerable glory in that, a cook being a sort of officer on ship-board – yet, somehow, I never fancied broiling fowls; – though once broiled, judiciously buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered, there is no one who will speak more respectfully, not to say reverentially, of a broiled fowl than I will. It is out of the idolatrous dotings of the old Egyptians upon broiled ibis and roasted river horse, that you see the mummies of those creatures in their huge bake-houses the pyramids.

No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast, plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head. True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow. And at first, this sort of thing is unpleasant enough. It touches one's sense of honor, particularly if you come of an old established family in the land, the Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes. And more than all, if just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot, you have been lording it as a country schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in awe of you. The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires a strong decoction of Seneca and the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it. But even this wears off in time.

What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, weighed, I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain't a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains may order me about – however they may thump and punch me about, I have the satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is one way or other served in much the same way – either in a physical or metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is passed round, and all hands should rub each other's shoulder-blades, and be content.

Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of paying me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single penny that I ever heard of. On the contrary, passengers themselves must pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. But being paid, – what will compare with it? The urbane activity with which a man receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! how cheerfully we consign ourselves to perdition!

Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome exercise and pure air of the forecastle deck. For as in this world, head winds are far more prevalent than winds from astern (that is, if you never violate the Pythagorean maxim), so for the most part the Commodore on the quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at second hand. From the sailors on the forecastle. He thinks he breathes it first; but not so. In much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it. But wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling voyage; this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way – he can better answer than any one else. And, doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago.

  —  Moby-Dick; or, The Whale (Herman Melville)