#cause he didn't have a redemption

[ghost-bison]

anyone else hate those three snooty bitches with a passion

[smile-files]

i continue to find ii3 baffling. why did they make it (this isn't to hate on the season, i'm genuinely curious)

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

i've been thinking about simon heap a Lot during this reread

[lieflipsiege]

it's so embarrassing to write up a backup character like yeah i'm expecting to die

[q-uuestion]

The character arc lore could have had

[amandabe11man]

so me and my friend are onto season 4 of X-files now and we got to the csm-centric episode, right. and when he put the sniper rifle up from the window at the start I was like "whoa there. jfk assassination much?"-- and then the flashback starts and wouldn't you fucking know it, csm was the one who killed jfk??

this made me joke about how "what is he, the dark version of forrest gump or something? lmao" (ie. being present at a bunch of historical happenings), and then it seems like I was right because after that, he killed martin luther king too... aND TH E N towards the end, they make a fuckin forrest gump reference???

guys I think I'm finally becoming psychic

[the-hawks-rye]

i know it's been said a gazillion times and said more eloquently than me but god the amount of missed potential in the sequel trilogy. thinking about how anakin became a villain because he felt he had no other choice (and the tragedy being that he always had a choice, and his character arc concluding with him deciding to stand up for what's right by saving luke), meanwhile kylo grew up surrounded by a loving family full of positive role models and chose evil knowingly because he craved power for power's sake. kylo idolizing the tragic figure of darth vader all the while burning the world around him. there was so much you could do with that but instead they had to sacrifice rey's character to make the movies about her fixing the genocidal white boy who never wanted to be saved

[softgrungeprophet]

wrt my last reblog 'cause this is something I have been thinking about esp as my AU requires me to do things like close-reads for plot—

honestly my most major criticism of the 2012 Scarlet Spider comic so far, which is a comic I otherwise really like, is the way black men are portrayed throughout the series. It reeks of that kind of "scary black man"/"all black men are thugs" trope, stereotype, etc.

Like, if it went deeper i could see doing something w/ annabelle as a white punk doing that "dated a black boy to rebel" thing, especially with some of her other behavior in the series and her personality overall—I could definitely buy that. But like, as written? It's not that deep. It doesn't go anywhere near that, it's just exactly as shallow as it looks...

And honestly, as written, I feel like her ex doesn't really bring much (if anything) to the story in the end. tbh in some ways it detracts because it really kind of undercuts the entire beauty and the beast thing going on, like why are kaine and the both armadillo deserving of this thoughtfulness wrt to monstrosity and forgiveness and so on, but then annabelle's ex boyfriend is just this big mean scary muscular black man with absolutely no depth to his character? he's just angry and threatening?

And of course the answer is: Well, neither Kaine nor the Armadillo are black.

But like—and this is repeated throughout the series as part of Kaine's woes, right?—Kaine has killed people. Multiple people. And yes, we're to understand his motivation here has largely been survival, and a lot of the time he has been put into impossible situations, and has been abused and manipulated multiple times, and for all his jadedness is actually very naive—but like... In that case, are we to assume worse of Annabelle's ex, who is a regular human man?

(albeit apparently 7 feet tall, which, again see the post i just reblogged as far as dehumanization of black men goes. obviously there are 7 foot tall black men irl, like Shaq, but it's the specific way this character is presented, right? It's not just that he's tall or has dark skin. He is presented as an inherent threat, and as an unsympathetic character, and the visual design is part of that. He's not a real person, he was designed to evoke specific emotions and assumptions, and the fact that he's built like a concrete wall and towers over Kaine is part of that)

(and what irony in that Kaine was himself originally designed to be large and imposing and beast-like, partially as an inversion, partially to humanize him, by doing the opposite)

But Kaine is white, of course.

Anyway I genuinely almost expected some kind of twist to Annabelle's ex in that issue, and there was none, and i think that's a major failing on the series' part, esp since pretty much the only other black characters (whether good or bad or neutral) are mostly like... glock-toting gangsters...

My other main criticism is that I dislike the way Zoe is portrayed as simply "craaaaazy" w/ almost no nuance to that trait, though I think there are some interesting aspects of her relationship with Kaine and in the fact that she like... stalks him, and how that interplays with his arguably traumatic romantic/sexual history.

The stuff with Zoe is a more minor criticism by comparison but it's still something that bugs me because it has something to it but it's just not really there.

Anyway, it is a bummer because I really genuinely like Kaine's solo, but these two specific things are frustrating in their existence, especially because they really could have just... been avoided from the start? like there's not really a reason for these details to be this way...

but idk...

[pocketbelt]

they announced one of the main writers for FFXIV: Dawntrail is the one who wrote the Shadowbringers trial series, "Sorrow of Werlyt", and the amount of people going "ew no that's the one that redeems Gaius" drives me kind of insane

That storyline takes Gaius and says "Behold this idiot, watch and be stunned as everything he ever said to anyone turned out to be fucking obviously wrong. Watch as the fascist imperialist philosophy he ingrained into his beloved children makes them run to their deaths, even as he pleads them not to, and they tell him to fuck himself and do it anyway. Marvel as he watches them die by your hand, you, who destroyed Gaius himself at the peak of his life, and he can do nothing to stop it", and that's a redemption arc to people

The only surviving kid only makes it because her brother acts to protect her, she doesn't make it because of any act of Gaius'

The entire story is literally "In case you somehow missed it in ARR and most of Stormblood, everything Gaius believed in was horseshit and there's no such thing as a 'noble general in the evil empire'". All his meritocracy bullshit vanished the second he was gone, no-one but his own children believed it or held onto it, and the empire put someone directly opposed to that belief into his old seat when he vanished. No-one cared, no-one else "believed", the Empire was never about that, it was only propped up in his own singular legion by him being there and the second he was gone the legion dumped it and moved on and only Gaius was too naive and stupid to see it.

I mean for fuck sake, the Empire digs up the chemical gas weapon he explicitly had sealed away and destroyed all record of after he's gone and if it wasn't for a particularly dedicated and enterprising catboy and his comedy crew of hardcore engineers, it would have caused the eighth apocalypse

Even the follow-up in patch 6.4, of the family portrait, isn't some "aw he good now" thing. The family portrait you help organise for him has to have four of its six members be projected onto the scene via a machine's reconstruction of them as normal people because they're dead, they threw their lives away because the ideology Gaius taught them meant they could only think to die fighting and nothing else. That's his loving family portrait: four ghosts stood at his back as his last living child smiles through her pain.

"well the people of Werlyt didn't kill him for conquering them" they let him clean up the mess he made (which meant watching his children be killed) and as "thanks" they're letting him stay there to live out the last third of his life or so attempting to atone by fixing the damage he did.

He's 56 at the time of ARR; the Empire he gave 3-4 decades of his life to is gone, it's a smouldering ruin, all but one of the people he loved is dead, his surviving daughter is scarred by the path he led her down, and what few friends he had are also dead. He learned that his beliefs were all horseshit and pretty much everyone around him except for himself knew it, he must live knowing that those beliefs got his children killed, all that he achieved that he once considered "good" was for nothing, he learned that the cool old emperor he idolised who had no magic but built an empire by pulling up his bootstraps and who told him that magic and gods were bad was actually an ancient incredibly magical sorceror attempting to resurrect his own god.

That's not a redemption arc, he's the most owned man still alive in XIV

[acid-ixx]

why now? (again &. again chapter excerpt)

ft. yandere! damian wayne x kidnapped! reader

read until the end for an author's note. slight spoilers below.

"damian, tell me, why now?"

why now? you question that to yourself more often than you would want to. why now, instead of the past 13 and a half years when you were a nobody to the family? why now, when you had finally learned to love yourself and let go? why now, when you were finally out of their arms.

"huh...?"

your youngest brother snaps out of his focus on painting a canvas of you, body turning to your direction, curiousity peeping in his eyes. he acts like whatever you had said was bewildering, but you know he knows what your question meant, he doesn't need a repeat of your statement because damian is a no-bullshit brother— he simply wants to hear your voice.

his eyes used to look at you with contempt and disgust. you'd rather that than the current gaze of adoration from your brother, who now stares at your form seated on a papasan chair, now his muse for his current painting.

"why now, damian? why is it now that all of you guys are suddenly interested in me?" you repeat; exasperation, disdain, apprehension, all an amalgation of emotions in your tone. if he wants to play stupid, then fine, as long as you get what you want in the end.

you continued mumbling, voice echoing inside the room-turned-atelier. "last i checked, you were intent on murdering me just 'cause you hated me."

it was a quip, truly, a mere tease to his past actions. you didn't know just how much your statement offends him, eyebrowns furrowing as his gaze seems to harden.

it took him seconds to fully register what you had said. you wished you were quick enough to take those seconds to your advantage to bolt out of the room, to run away, but you can't.

"(name)," he sighs, standing up from his chair and easing his way to your seated form. you stand, too, not wanting to back out of what seems to be a forming argument.

he may be shorter than you by an inch or five, but you didn't want to admit just how much smaller he makes you feel.

"i have never told you i hated you." he says, as if it is a matter of fact, but you couldn't bring yourself to believe him, to believe what he wants you to hear. the wringing in your ears provides you the slightest bit of solace, but it wasn't enough to distract you from the words that come out of his mouth, words that contradict his past actions towards you.

"i may have injured you in multiple occasions, said hurtful things beyond redemption— for that i am deeply sorry for treating you, my older sibling, that way. but my intent to hurt you in the past never stemmed from hatred. i have never hated you, (name), and i do not have any reason to hate you."

you didn't know whether he was trying to convince you, or himself. you don't know how to feel, you don't want to feel anymore. fuck, you regret even talking to him in the first place. you feel so trapped, like you were in a dead end of a maze. you want to get out but you can't.

you didn't even know just how much you were heaving, tears welling in your eyes as you shiver; all the lies you had fed to yourself now biting you back in the ass.

you expected him to shift the conversation to something else, anything else, or even tell you to sit the fuck down so he could return to painting you.

what you didn't expect was, was his sudden turn of actions as his arms locked you in an embrace, his head nuzzling your chest as he pouts, head turning up, eyes gazing at you fondly like you meant the world. like he never once hurt you with his words and with his actions.

'push him away,' your mind tells you, but your heart clenches, beating erratically as if it was screaming at you to not let go.

you hate this. you hate that you feel conflicted, appalled at yourself for even fucking reciprocating his hug. it scorches you, you hate everything, you hate that you had always wanted this. you hate yourself for tearing up, hand shakily finding itself on his head, running through his hair.

you hate how warm you feel, how your chest aches at his affection, how both your grip on each other were strong as iron. how damian nuzzles deeper into the embrace, how he feels so vulnerable in your arms.

"why now, you ask? you always wanted this, right, (name)?" his words were muffled by your clothes, but you couldn't drown his voice out even if you want to. god, you wish you never asked him anything.

he continued, pretending as if you weren't choking on your own predicament, "dick was always the most experienced, tim the smartest even if i do not wish to admit it..."

he drawls on, listing every traits of your family, relishing in the thumps of your heart.

"—but you..." he stares at you deeply, fingers dig deep into your skin. but it doesn't scar you, not anymore.

"you are the most emotional... my older sibling, the one who got away. you're finally back..."

damian makes a show of tightening his grip, the space between the two of you near to nonexistent.

you had every strength to push him away, to send him tumbling to the floor unexpectedly. but he was always stronger than you, damian was always one step ahead of you. you're too tired to fight back, you want more. you need for him to let go but—

he has you in his arms.

you don't know how much time has passed.

"... i miss you and i love you, (name)."

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 974 words. inspired by this panel. sorry for the delay for the new chapter so i'm giving you guys this erm, i was experiencing massive writer's block and mood swings (and a bit of imposter syndrome when it came to my writing). this is a drabble for a future chapter (not the next one) where they had already kidnapped you. damian is one manipulative fucker and writing contradicting feelings hurts my brain lmao !!

[alastor-simp]

Caught In The Fluff - Angel Dust X Reader

Its time to write for the hot spider now. Enjoy Everyone!

It was a slow day in hotel today. Compared to the ongoing chaos that usually happens with either fights or Sir Pentious blowing up a portion of the building with his inventions, it was a normal chill day. Laying on the couch in the lobby, your eyes roamed around the room and gazed at the other residents, as staring at your cell phone was not aiding with your boredom. Charlie and Vaggie happened to be constructing more advertisements for the hotel, as the table was covered with glitter and colorful stickers, yep this was definitely all Charlie's idea, but watching her and Vaggie being couple goals was wholesome. Husk was shuffling a bunch of cards in his hands, wearing a smile for once while Niffty was watching him in awe, eye sparkling with amazement. Alastor resided in the chair next to yours, humming a catchy tune as his focus was drawn to the newspaper in his hands. Sir Pentious was in the corner of his room, assembling a puzzle as his Egg Bois were watching and helping him look for the proper pieces. After scanning the room a bit more, there was a lack of a porn-star demon in the room. Odd? Usually Angel would be flamboyantly chatting away, which caused many eyes to roll at his antics, well, mostly Vaggie and Husk. Slowly rising from the couch, you waved your hand in front of the two females in front of you, hoping to draw their attention. "Yes, Y/N? Is something wrong?" Charlie said, looking up at you with a bright smile, while her hair was covered in pink glitter and some traces of crayons on her red-dotted cheeks. "Sorry for bothering you while working on your project, but have you seen Angel since this morning?" Worried eyes stared at Charlies as you saw her smile fall and she shook her head no. Vaggie, on the other hand, was quick to answer your question, clear frustration on her face. "That estúpido is probably still sleeping the day away in his room! UGH! You think he get off his lazy a** and help around a bit!" Vaggie blared out, drawing the attention of the others in the lobby before continuing with their activities.

A cough was heard next to you, as Alastor had folded the newspaper on his lap, before looking at the three of us. "Now my dear Vaggie! While I don't approve of many of Angel's antics! He does work for another employer! So while he may not be pitching in with this ridiculous redemption process! He certainly has his hands full with other business!" Wow, you weren't expecting Alastor to defend Angel a bit. Maybe he does care about the others a bit, despite his enormous ego. Vaggie's eyes glared with rage at Alastor, probably for jumping into the conversation when nobody asked for his opinion, but she relaxed once she felt a soft hand touch her shoulder. Thinking more about it, you remembered that Angel had to work for the gross moth guy, Valentino. That man was so creepy and his actions towards Angel made you sick to your stomach. Honestly if you were as strong as Alastor, that man's head would be mounted on the wall. But, Angel has been in his room since 8 AM. He didn't even have breakfast. "I'll go bring him some food and check on him" You announced, as you got up from the couch and started to head to the kitchen. The sounds of tap shoes appeared from behind you, as you turned and realized Alastor was following behind you! "AH! I will help you my dear!" His smile was outstretched across his face, while he walked with a slight jump in his step and hands folded behind his back. Smiling back at Al, you both headed to the kitchen to make something for Angel.

Angel was Italian from what you recalled during one of your conversations as he was ranting about a client and calling them multiple Italian curse words. Deciding on an Italian dish for him, both you and Alastor agreed to make some Penne Alla Vodka. Alastor was helping with the vodka sauce, adding in the tomato paste and crushed pepper flakes while you were cooking the pasta to al dente. Gazing at the pasta cooking, your thoughts wondered back to what Al said in the lobby. "Um, Alastor?" You asked, while your hands kept stirring the pasta in the pot. Alastor was humming a tune, before he stopped and gazed at you, listening to what you had to say. "Thanks for what you said back there about Angel." Softly gazing at him, Al continued to stare at you, his signature smile dropping down to a soft one. "He is a valuable patron of this establishment! While I don't really care much about him and the others, I prefer him more when he is in a jovial mood then a depressed one!" Alastor answered with an aloff attitude, yet you could see in his red eyes that he somewhat cared about Angel, despite his strong dislike of him always attempting to get touchy with him. Focusing more on Al and leaving the pasta for a minute to continue boiling, your feet carried you over to where Alastor stood. "I assume you say you don't care because of your reputation, yet here you are cooking a meal for Angel Dust with me. Seems like your actions contradict your words Alastor." Silence filled the kitchen as both you and Alastor were having a stare-off, wondering which one would speak first. Crimson eyes gazed into yours, as they glanced down back to the cooking sauce.

Maybe you overstepped it a bit. Stepping back from your position, you eyed the pasta pot that you left unattended. A warm hand had caught your wrist before you could leave, and you turned to see Alastor gazing at you, smile still prominent yet his eyes were stern. "Angel my dear, is under contract with one of the three V's, Valentino! I don't know or care about how he conducts his business! However! His actions towards Angel are something I do not particularly enjoy! While watching the scum of hell suffer through torment and despair is quite enjoyable. Seeing Angel suffering from that p̸̨͎̏͜i̶̛̼͉̚g̵̢̒̓ ̴͓͓̂͊̐m̵̟̔̑̌ỏ̶͎̻͇͝ṭ̵͆̂̈́ḥ̸̱͌ ̷͍̫̰̉ȯ̵̲̙͍͒ü̷̧̗ͅț̸̜̟̆͂r̶̯͌a̴̜͆̽g̵̩̓̍̾ē̴͎̪̚s̴͍͍͇̒ ̷̬̣͊̃̋ḿ̸̦̞̥e̷͕̋!” Radio dials flickered on Alastors face for a split second, then turning back to normal . Observing all of this through your eyes, you apologized to Al if you spoke out of turn, but your apology was cut off when the hand on your wrist made its way to your cheek. Alastor said there was no need for apologies, and gestured back to cooking the meal, as burnt pasta wouldn't be very appetizing for Angel. The both of you stood back at your pasta creation, feeling proud that it looked incredible. With a snap of his fingers, the plate was then transported on a tray and topped with a metal cover. Alastor picked up the tray and handed it to you. "Run along now my dear!" Two hands were placed on your back, as they pushed you out of the kitchen, and leaving you alone with the tray in your hands.

Heading over to Angel's room, you knocked on the door and called out his name. No response was given back, so you tried to open the door. Surprisingly the door was unlocked and you made your way inside. Angel's room was shrouded in a neon pink glow. Numerous posters covered the walls, and various clothes and wigs were scattered all over the room. His room smelled like sweet cotton candy along with smoke that was coming from the ash tray. In the corner of the room was Fat Nuggets, Angels pet pig. It was sleeping on its back, while covered in a soft pink blanket. Next to the small bed was the large queen sized bed that a certain spider was laying on. The blanket was half off the bed, leaving some part of Angels legs uncovered while his back was facing you. Placing the tray near the nightstand, you slowly approached Angel and placed your hand on his shoulder. Calling out his name and giving him a little shake had no effect on him as he continued to sleep. "Angel? Come on. Wake up. Me and Al made you some food." Angel still remained asleep. "Angel. The food will get co-" Your words were interrupted as four pairs of arms grabbed you and pulled you closer. Your face landed in something fluffy, as you realized that Angel had pulled you into his fluffy chest, and his legs began to wrap around you, locking you in place. "Mmph! Angel!" Calling out his name, you tried to remove yourself from the fluffiness, but Angels arms were holding you in place. "Oh~! Do it harder!" Angel was sleep talking, as he squeezed you tighter like a plushie. Great! He's hugging you while having a dirty dream. Wiggling a bit more, you realized that Angel wasn't wearing a shirt. Oh lord! Please tell me hes wearing pants at least. Luckily you looked down and saw that he was thankfully wearing underwear. You couldn't imagine the awkward situation if he was fully naked and hugging you like this.

Trying to move one of your hands, you resorted to poking Angel's belly, seeing if that would be able to wake him up. Angel soon let out a groan and began to slowly wake up. "Ughhhh. Huh?" Angel was slowly beginning to realize he was holding someone. Looking down, he saw you wrapped in his arms, face full of his chest fluff. "Heh~ Heya toots~. Were ya that desperate for my services~?" Angel wiggled his eyebrows at you, as he continued to smirk at you. Moving your head a bit from the fluff, you shook your head no. "I came to see if you were okay? You have been sleeping since the morning and missed breakfast. The others and me were worried. Alastor and I also made you some pasta to eat." Angel's smirk quickly disappeared and he looked at you in shock, before gazing at the clock on the wall, which read 2:34 PM. Damn he slept for that long? Figures after all the services he had to perform at Valentino's club. His body was tired out and his mental state deteriorated a lot yesterday. He was honestly surprised that the others actually gave a f*** about him, and wanted to see how he was doing. He ain't use to all that mushy s***. Still it warmed his heart a bit. Heaving a sigh, Angel slowly released you, allowing you to moved and stand back up next to the bed. The blanket was still covering his lower body as he began to sit up on the bed. "Had a busy day last night toots. Lot of pole dancing and what not." Angel moved his hair fluff with his hands, attempting to soothe the hairs that were out of place. He was still smiling, but the sadness in his eyes was visible. He was exhausted beyond belief and you knew who was to blame for that. Moving your hand towards him, you placed it on his cheek, startling him a bit as he stared at you confused. "Are you really okay?" Your voiced was laced with concern, as you continued to stare at Angel, waiting for him to respond. "Pfft! I'm fine toots! Doing all that dirty stuff is no problem for me given my amazing stamina~. Hell! I could last a whole day and wouldn't break a sweat! HAHAHAHA!" He was putting on an act. You could tell based on how he was smiling that he was forcing it. "Angel. Don't lie to me." Your voice raised a bit higher, letting Angel know you were being serious. Angel caught on to that and removed your hand from his cheek. "What the f*** is your problem, toots? I told ya I'm fine so deal with it." His face turned away from you, as he waved his hands at you, telling you to piss off. That was the last straw.

Grabbing both of his cheeks, you pulled his face to look back at yours, as his eyes were filled with shock. "YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY NOT FINE! STOP LYING TO ME AND TELL ME THE WHOLE TRUTH! Anger filled your eyes as you continued to stare into Angels own. His multicolored irises continued to gaze at you, as his mouth was left agape. Slowly, those eyes staring back at you began to fill with tears. Seeing his tears, you pulled Angel closer to you, and placed his head on your chest, hugging him close to you. His body moved off the bed, to where he was standing on his knees, and his arms wrapped around you tightly, almost as if you would disappear in front of him. He was bawling his eyes out on your chest. You hugged him closer and moved one of your hands to his hair, patting his white floof. The both of you stayed like that for a full 5 minutes before Angel's loud bawls slowly began to turn into soft sobs. Moving from his position, Angel moved his head a bit so he could look you in the eyes. "S-orry toots. I think I got your shirt wet." Chuckling, you patted his head and told him it was alright. Lifting him up from his position, you carried him back to sit on the bed. Grabbing the plate from under the tray, you walked back and sat on the bed and handed Angel the plate. "Its penne al vodka. I remembered that you liked Italian food so me and Al whipped this up for you. Wiping the tears on his face, Angel grabbed the plate and stared at it, before looking back at you with a soft smile. "Heh, if Smiles and you made this together, its going to taste incredible." You continued to watch Angel as he slowly began to eat the pasta, mumbling how good it was with his mouth full. Once he finished, you grabbed the plate and placed it back on the night stand, and returned back to Angel. Grabbing a napkin as well, you cleaned his mouth to help remove the extra sauce that remained there. Angel's face actually turned a shade of red at your actions. Damn, how sweet can you be?

"You feeling a bit better? Want to head down to the lobby?" You asked Angel, as you stood in front of him, smiling kindly at him. His eyes turned to the ceiling in thought, contemplating it. "Hmmm~ Nah~!" Angels arms surrounded you again, as he pulled you back towards him. His back hit the bed while his head was cushioned by the soft pillows while you were placed on top of him, right back into his chest fluff. "What?! Angel?!" Mumbling into this chest floof, you tried to push yourself off, but his arms had you trapped again, and he tangled his legs with yours. His eyes were gazing at with mischievously, and his sharp-tooth smile was in front of your eyes. "Come on, toots. Ya never had a lazy day before? Ain't against the law to sleep all day." Angel squeezed you closer, pushing your face more into his chest fluff. My lord, he was so soft! Not only was he soft, but he smelled amazing. You were going to get addicted to this. Seeing you stop resisting, Angel continued to smile down at you, as he moved one of his arms to pat your head. "Ya should consider yourself lucky! Not everyone gets to experience my chest fluff service~. Ya should enjoy it while it last toots~." Winking down at you, Angel continued to smiled down at you, as you felt your face heat up while laying on his chest. You continued to stare at him, and saw that he actually looked a lot better, as his eyes were a bit brighter and the smile on his face seemed more genuine. Your eyes were slowly beginning to close as the sensation of Angel patting your head and his cozy fluff was making you sleepy. Pretty soon, your eyes drew to a close and you fell into a deep slumber. Angel watched as you had fallen asleep, before bending his head down, to give you a peck on the forehead, before placing his head back on the pillow. "Thanks, y/n." He whispered to himself, as he squeezed you a bit more, and went back to sleep.

Peeping through the crack in the door, Charlie and the others had seen the whole thing. Charlie was hopping up and down, like a rabbit as her eyes were beaming with heart eyes. "Ohh! They are so cute!" Vaggie was shaking Charlie to try to get her to calm down, and also to lower her voice, so she wouldn't wake the both of you up. Husk was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, appearing not to care, but he did smile a bit at both you and Angel on the bed. Niffty was zipping back in forth in glee, matching Charlies energy. Sir Pentious was gazing at the both of you with a soft smile, while his Egg Bois were crying, finding the moment in front of them super sweet and adorable. Alastor was standing with his microphone in hand, smiling as always as he observed both you and Angel. Snapping his fingers, his powers had slowly closed Angels door and locked it. Looking back at the others, he placed his one finger against his mouth, letting out a quiet shush as he gestured for everyone to go back to the lobby and let the both of you rest.

Tagging-

@91062854-ka

[viktoriaashleyyx]

My personal favorite thing about ACOWAR was Tamlins ingenuity. Like holy shit.

He started with weakened forces due to Amaranthas deal killing off his men. Then Feyres *~* boss bitch*~* plan to turn the rest of his court against him. By the time the war comes around he does not have an army and he still pulled more than his weight.

Tamlin obtained a STACK of information on Hyberns plans down to where exactly they were keeping the feybane. How, when, where, what, all of that shit and shared it with all of the High Lords. Didn't keep it a secret (like RhySAnd does with most shit) cause that would've been dumb. He got actual useful information on how to bring down Hybern in half a year, RhySAnd didn't get any information standing by Amaranthas side for 50.

He blew his cover and saved Feyre, Elain, Briar and Azriel using his wind magic to get them airborn and his brute strength to fight off the hounds. They would be dead without Tamlins help. All of them.

And THEN HE SHOWS UP DRAGGING BARON BY THE SCRUFF OF HIS NECK. He commands BARONS SONS (who fucking listen to him) where and how to destroy the feybane caches. And commanding BARONS ARMY.

This man will figure. it. out.

While most of RhySAnds plans end up only barely working out by sheer luck, Tamlins just fucking work. Like hate him all you want, but without him yall would've gone into that war relying on nothing more than RhySAnds inflated sense of self worth. Tamlin delivers results, every single time.

ACOWAR was Tamlins redemption arc from MAF. And everything else forward is just a testament to RhySAnds insecurity.

The NC was out here playing checkers, while Tamlins playing chess. Do you realize how bad you have to be when you have a full board and the guy you're playing against starts off missing his rooks and bishops and you still lose?

[freakyfrye]

ᝰ. 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔢𝔰

requested ( @cartoonykat ) : alastor, angel dust, husk, lucifer, charlie & vaggie, vox, adam, sir pentious x gn! reader (separately), they’re having a moment (or romantic date) but it’s interrupted/ruined by someone or something

type: scenarios

content: domestic, fluff, slight crack, bunch of smitten sinners, swears, angle dust bad ass reader s/o, val mentioned thrice cause he’s annoying ash (but he will be added to the blog soon), vox’s kind of a whiny baby but it’s hot (?¿), brief luci vs alastor bit

note: this took a while. ngl because, honestly, alastor and luci had me stumped — also some may be longer than others, what can I say? give inspiration where it’s due

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ 𝕬𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯

It's rare to see Al anywhere but the heir Morningstar Hotel, whispering over her shoulder like the villain you know him to be. Yet, even he needs a break from the chaos. Strangely enough, for someone who loathes any form of physical touch, he always shows up on your doorstep like clockwork by the end of the week.

Your mornings are routinely filled with melodic tones that stir you awake. The air is thick with the scent of powdered sugar beignets, which only he can make, and the aroma of the finest coffee beans you worked hard to procure because you knew how much he enjoyed them.

He's busy working on something when you creep up behind him, hearing him hum along to his favorite jazz song. Always the jolly fellow with the wickedest mind, he seems at peace for once, even when you audaciously wrap your arms around his waist from behind.

In the past, he would have tensed up and demanded an explanation through clenched teeth. Instead, he now leans into your touch as you lay your head on his back. “Mornin’ Al.” you’d greet muffled, breathing in his scent.

He hums softly, wiping his hands on a cloth before turning towards you, his grin devilishly relaxed. "Well, well, good morning, mon cher. Hope I didn't stir you with all my shufflin'."

You open your mouth to assure him that wasn't the case when, within the next second, there's a loud boom from your far wall and debris flying around your kitchen. When the dust clears, you both stare blankly at a large hole in your wall. You're lost to what's happening when a figure steps through, glaring at Alastor with intense hatred.

"What—Who?" you ask, looking from him to Al, whose smile is tense. "Is this one of your enemies?" you deduce, realizing he must be, since he wasn't here for you.

Alastor blinks before turning towards you, smiling proudly. "Who could tell?,” he jokes, “It's a difficult task to keep track when you're the most hated demon in hell."

“You gonna handle that?” you ask, staring up at him, a frown on your face.

You didn't have to ask twice; he was already pulling away from you, though he didn't appear as cheerful as one might expect when heading off to handle his business.

“And fix my wall when you’re done, Alastor.”

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ 𝕬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩 𝕯𝔲𝔰𝔱

It was clear that Angel hadn’t been himself lately. Whether it was the strain from Valentino’s demands or dealing with Charlie and her redemption shenanigans, the reasons were irrelevant. It did bother you and concerned you that he wasn’t confiding in you about whatever was troubling him, though.

But you weren’t going to press him, adding to his burdens. Instead, you decided to show your support: tidying up your place, setting the table, adjusting the lighting, and spending the entire day preparing his favorite Italian dishes. They weren't quite as perfect as his mama's, but you knew no one could match her cooking.

As evening arrived, you finally invited him over, knowing he wouldn’t be free until this hour, dealing with Val’s big head. Greeting him at the door with a kiss, you noticed his tired gaze soften as he returned the gesture. Leading him inside, he gradually perked up, taking in the atmosphere you had carefully set.

By the time he sits at the table, he's lively, smiling like a kid in a candy store as he pours both of you a glass of Roscato wine. “Wow, baby, all this for me?” he asks with a bashful charm, his eyes slightly hooded as he swirls the wine in his glass, chin resting on the back of his hand.

“No,” you begin joking, “this is for the guy after you—don’t eat it all, alright? Leave some for him.”

Angel chuckles, setting down his glass to pick up his fork. He scoops up some fettuccine, then leans forward and offers it towards your mouth. "I think ya runnin’ that pretty mouth a lil too much, sweet cheeks. We both know there ain’t no competition."

Before you can bite back something naughty, his hellphone chimes repeatedly in his pocket. A weighty silence falls over both of you as he reluctantly sets down his fork and retrieves it, his brow furrowing deeply at the messages displayed on his screen. He looks to you from his phone before sighing and rising from his seat.

You raise your hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Wait. Hold on! Where do you think you're off to?" you demand, scrutinizing him suspiciously.

He sighs, his shoulders slumping as he gestures with his hands while explaining, "I'm sorry, sugar. It's Val. He needs me. I gotta go—"

"Sit your ass down," you bark, your mood souring. Angel does a double-take, and you continue, "I planned this day perfectly—slaved away to cook these loving dishes for you—and that man-child was not part of the picture. If he wants my man, he better come and pry me away from you."

Angel quickly considers his options. Ignoring Val usually ends in trouble, but ignoring you feels worse than anything Val could inflict—especially since you're somehow scarier and hotter than him. Plus, he knows you can handle yourself, a skill you demonstrated long before you two got together. He makes his choice and sits back down. To hell with Val; dealing with him can wait.

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ 𝕳𝔲𝔰𝔨

By the end of the day, exhausted from working tirelessly, all you wanted was to faceplant into your bed. But Husk was coaxing you to spend the night with him, mentioning relaxation and the allure of Hennessy. Honestly, if he had just said he wanted to see you, you’d be right over. No coaxing needed, but who’s gonna tell him?

As you stand outside his room door, it dawns on you that Husk may not even know what it means to relax. Sure, he's somewhat chill after a few drinks, but you've never seen him truly unwind since you've known him. You wonder what you’re in for when you knock on his door, waiting for him to answer.

A gravelly voice answers through the door, "Come in," then falls silent. You purse your lips in confusion and twist open the door, cautiously stepping inside. The room is dimly lit by candles, making it a bit challenging to see at first, but as your eyes adjust, you find him seated on a loveseat, staring at you intently.

"Yeah, not creepy at all," you mumble halfheartedly, dropping your bag on his bed before walking over to him. Your comment earns a tsk from him and a grumble under his breath, but nothing more. Yeah, this was definitely weird. “Who are you and what did you do with gumpelherekitty kitty?”

"Shut the hell up and come here before there's no liquor left," he bites, taking the bait with a small smile on his face as he watches you flop down beside him. An array of pillows behind you looks like clouds waiting to be drooled on, but instead of relaxing just yet, you lean in for a kiss.

A glass of Hennessy is placed in your hands as you pull away, the dark liquid resembling brown sugar but far from sweet. You judge the small amount and down it in one gulp, tilting your head back and letting out a hiss at the burn. It was well worth it, though.

Husk must have agreed because he took the glass from your hand to pour another. "Rough day, huh?" Instead of passing it back to you, he drinks it himself and then gently guides you back onto the pillows, placing your legs across his lap.

You groan, "You have no idea!" before pausing, recalling his own stressful situation. You send him a sympathetic smile, "Then again, you might." You watch as he shrugs, carefully removing your shoes one by one and placing them aside.

"Tell me about it," he says, grabbing one of your feet and starting to massage it, aiming to ease the soreness. "Your day, I mean. Or not." Despite his half-hearted objection, he looks at you expectantly, knowing you'll likely indulge him anyway. And you do—you recount how everything that could go wrong today did, venting about nasty customers and expressing relief to end the day with him.

That confession didn’t escape him; instead, he purrs softly at your words, his eyes grows hooded as his hand moves from your feet to your calf, rubbing gently. He starts to reply when his door bursts open, capturing both of your attention.

He stands up, your legs sliding off his lap as he reaches for his cards, but pauses at the sound of Nifty's sinister giggling and the frantic scraping on the floor. You both watch as she chases a large roach in circles for a few seconds too long before finally following it out the door.

"You people are strange," you comment after a long pause.

Husk sighs heavily through his nose, flopping back into his earlier spot and pouring himself and you a drink. "Tell me something I don't know, sweetheart.”

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ 𝕷𝔲𝔠𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔯

You've been in the hotel long before he showed up. You were already making progress on your redemption arc to heaven. That was always the goal, but you never anticipated to fall for him. This complicated your plans, and he knew it. You wonder if that’s where his doting and overbearing behavior stems from; abandonment and guilt—the risk of both losing you and stopping you from enlightenment.

He often sweeps you off your feet and plans spontaneous outings, desperate to keep you close for as long as possible. It was romantic and considerate of him, just so him, but he didn't have anything to worry about. You wish you could tell him, when you realized it, that even in heaven, you'd fall just to be with him. But the relationship was still fresh so you opt in matching his energy.

The dopey smile he gave you after you guided him to the candlelit table adorned with handmade meals was worth it. You could visibly see his shoulders relax, as if a weight had been lifted. Ever the gentleman, he helps you sit before himself. The evening is filled with sweet nothings, laughter, and smitten glances.

Lucifer reaches across the table, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, planting a loving kiss on your knuckles. "Thank you," he expresses his gratitude as dinner comes to an end. But you had more planned for this night.

"I should be the one thanking you," you confess, causing him to raise a curious brow. You playfully reach over and nudge it back into place, eliciting a pout but no protest. Instead he chooses to lean more into your touch. "I haven't had this much fun since arriving in hell in years."

His devilish grin returns, his posture straightening as he half-heartedly feigns humility, failing halfway because how could he not when you're hyping him up? "Well, y’know, I try. How about we take a trip to Lulu world tomorrow? It's a blast—fully comp, of course, you’re dating the boss," he winks mischievously.

“Don’t you mean “loo loo land”?”

Lucifer shakes his head, waving his hands dismissively. "No—no no no, heavens no. That dreadful place shouldn’t exist in any of the 7 rings,” he sneers with disdain.

You nod, though not fully understanding, and rise from your seat. Lucifer, following your lead like a lost puppy, closes the distance between you. With a smile, you guide him by the sleeve to the center of the ballroom, wrapping your arms around his neck. "The night's far from over. Care to dance with me?" On cue, soft music gently fills the background.

He certainly does. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close, swaying gently. His expression softens to one of peace. You playfully plant a kiss on his nose before resting your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes in contentment. They open not even a minute later when the music abruptly stops, gaining both your attention.

You know where the music box is, assuming it malfunctioned but you're surprised to see Alastor standing there, observing you both. Once your attentions on him, he casually addresses everyone in the room, "Oh, my sincerest apologies. Am I interrupting something?" his smile widens at the growl that rumbles from Lucifer chest.

"You’re still here?" Lucifer grumbles, holding you closer, clearly annoyed by the interruption, especially because of who it was.

This earns a deep chuckle from Alastor, “Well, of course. Charlie’s had her fill of parental figures abandoning her, wouldn’t you say, sir?”

“What did he say?!” Lucifer turns towards you for confirmation.

"Anywho, I came to inform you both that a hotel meeting has been called. You know where," Alastor adds, then starts up the music again before disappearing into the shadows.

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ 𝖁𝔞𝔤𝔤𝔦𝔢 & 𝕮𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔢

Redemption this, redemption that. That's all Charlie ever talks about, with Vaggie always backing her up. Sure, you support her too, but it gets annoying when it consumes all their time, leaving very little for the three of you to nurture your relationship. It was seriously irritating the heck out of you. Having two girlfriends but neither showing you affection like the good old days.

They probably caught on to the problem after enduring your snappy, sarcastic comments and watching you bail on redemption exercises for the nth time this week. With enough silent glances exchanged between them, they realized they had to do something. The following week, they lead you to a romantic picnic in the hotel's garden. You didn't even know the garden existed.

It was surprisingly sweet, especially for a setting in Hell—maybe even slightly cheesy. A white lace blanket was spread across the ground, with a silver tray of desserts of all kinds adorned with rainbow flag toothpicks. Beside it was a black heart-shaped picnic basket and a bouquet of flowers.

There was champagne with smiley faces on the bottle and plates with quirky little sandwiches that you were sure Charlie had tried to make. A gothic black umbrella stuck out from the ground, purpose of shielding you all from the hot sun.

Before you could say anything—not that there was much to say, as you were frankly speechless—Charlie and Vaggie pulled you to sit with them. Vaggie wore a soft smile, while Charlie beamed with eagerness.

"We’ve noticed you’ve been a little snippy lately,” Charlie starts, her expression shifting to one of guilt and sympathy. She tightens her hold on you, pulling you closer to her side. “I’m so, so sorry, sweetie. I’ve been so focused on the guest that I’ve neglected both you and Vaggie.”

“I carry some of the blame too,” Vaggie chimes in. “I was so caught up in making sure the hotel ran smoothly and keeping everyone safe that I forgot about the people who matter most to me.”

Charlie’s hands travel down your arms to hold yours in hers. “Can you forgive us? We really didn’t mean it.”

“Of course we didn’t,” Vaggie adds, placing her hands on top of Charlie’s. “We love you so much.”

You bite your lip, glancing between their faces as guilt starts to eat at you because of their words and romantic gestures. “Fuck…” you groan, pouting and closing your eyes. “I’m such an asshole.”

Charlie shakes her head. “No, you’re sweet for wanting time with us,” she says, batting her lashes. “We want time with you too.” She leans in, placing a soft kiss on your lips. Vaggie leans in for a kiss, but just then, someone stumbles into the garden, interrupting the moment.

“Charlie!” Lucifer exclaims, zeroing in on her before finally noticing the surroundings, including Vaggie and you. “Oh—uh, haha,” he chuckles nervously, “I’m interrupting something, aren’t I?” He slowly starts to back away. “I’ll just find you later, sweetie! Enjoy your date.”

Just as quickly as he stumbled in, he’s gone. Charlie gives you both an apologetic smile before you all resume your date.

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ 𝖁𝔬𝔵

Opportunity didn’t always come knocking, but you must have one hell of a lucky streak to go from being Vox’s assistant by day to his lover by night. As his assistant, you saw how swimmingly put together Vox always was—after all, the cameras were always rolling if you were one of the Vees.

There was never a moment he wasn’t on top of things, keeping everything in check and everyone in line. Of course, the best times were when Alastor wasn’t involved. But now Alastor is back, and he’s even more of a pain in his side than Vox remembered. Just when Vox was on top of the world, now he’s glitching out at the very thought of that vermin.

Surprisingly, he kept it together in front of almost everyone. But when the clock strikes midnight, he clocks out and heads to his fancy penthouse where you're currently curled up on the couch, waiting for him. His expression instantly shifts to a tired smile as he walks over to you, and you open your arms for him.

He flops all his weight onto you, burying his face in your chest with a low groan. You purse your lips, wrapping your arms around his upper back and kissing his head. Cooing, almost babying him, you ask, “Had a rough day, sugar?” You wouldn’t know since your shift ended hours before his. He grumbles inaudible into your chest.

Tsking, you shake your head. “I can’t understand you when you do that.”

After a moment, he reluctantly pulls away just enough to glance up at you. “That smiling freak… fuuuck…” he mutters before snuggling back into your chest.

There was only one freak who smiled like he had carved it into his cheeks. Why are you not surprised? Sighing, you ask the million-dollar question, “What did he do now?”forcing him to look up at you fully. Perhaps the better question is what doesn’t he do? He can so much as breathe in Vox’s direction and it pisses him off.

“That shitty fuck is tanking my ratings,” Vox begins ranting. “Yesterday, they were down 2 percent. Today, they’re down 7 percent. 7 PERCENT!”

Tilting your head, you frown. “How do you know it’s him? Alastor doesn’t like electronics.”

Vox narrows his eyes down at you as he rises from on top of you, sparks flying from his hands. “Are you seriously defending that asshole right now?!” he asks, his voice strained with disbelief.

“Of course not! What the hell, Vox? I was just stating the obvious.” Here he was, getting insecure again. Seriously, why even mention Alastor around him?

"Fuck your obvi-" Vox is cut off by the ringing of his phone. Velvet's name and photo pop up on his screen. Blinking, you wait to see if he's going to answer, but he declines the call. "—ous bullshit. You’re riding his dick more than mine."

Hunky hunky hunky.

She calls again, and this time Vox answers, zapping the call to the main screen in the living room. “What is it, Velvette? I’m in the middle of—” his screen glitches, his voice turning to static, “—something.”

"What the fuck do you think? He’s at it again, throwing a fucking tantrum over that spider whore," Velvette barks through the screen, her accent heavy with annoyance. "Handle it. I’m busy," she adds, then hangs up.

After the call, silence fills the room before he turns to you, his charming grin returning. “This conversation isn’t over,” he says, his words carrying a double meaning. Still, he leans over to give you a kiss on the lips before he leaves.

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ 𝕬𝔡𝔞𝔪

Lately, he's been acting strange. You weren’t sure what it was, but each time he comes down to visit you from heaven, he becomes more and more affectionate. At first, you thought he was teasing you, giving you just enough to keep you yearning and then pull back; let you sweat in want—but that never happened. It didn't click in your head until today, after he grudgingly confessed because—

“What the fuck??” you blink owlishly at your bathroom door. But the door isn’t the issue; it’s the noise coming from outside it. Lowering your thriller book, you place it on the toilet seat before rising from the bathtub, wrapping a towel around yourself, and exiting the bathroom.

You're glad to know you weren’t losing your mind, and were in fact hearing correctly. There was indeed a noise, more defined now—an instrumental tune growing louder towards your bedroom. Except, it wasn’t coming from inside your bedroom come to find out but outside your window.

Opening it, you peek over the sill, and your mouth drops. Standing there, looking up at you with an acoustic guitar in his hand, is Adam, with a bouquet of red roses lying at his feet.

“Adam…?” you stutter out, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What the hell are you doing?”

His fingers pause on the guitar strings, and he grins. "Fucking finally, babe, I've been standing out here for 10 minutes," he says as he slides the guitar onto his back. He then bends down to pick up the roses and waves them at you. "I brought you flowers."

"…for what?" you bluntly ask, narrowing your eyes in suspicion. Adam doesn’t do kind gestures—none that you know of—and he certainly doesn’t play acoustic guitars. He claims they're for pussy-whipped douchebags.

He scoffs, lowering it to his side with a shrug, “There has to be a reason?”

You chuckle, raising a brow. "That's how it works, dummy… why did you stay out there for 10 minutes? Just use the front door." Shaking your head, you duck back inside the window to close it and start getting dressed. You're halfway through putting on your pants when Adam barges into your room, tossing the guitar onto the bed.

He walks over to you, checking you out with a sultry smirk. "Are you struggling to fit into your pants?" he asks, before shaking his head as if to focus, adding and shoving the flowers at you, "I heard mortal bitches love this shit."

You finish buttoning your pants while juggling the roses, then sigh loudly and close the distance, pecking him on the lips. "What? Flowers being shoved at them and terrible music. Stick to electric guitars, Adam. It’ll get you laid more." you say sarcastically, pulling away and chuckling. “Acoustics are for pussy-whipped douchebags, remember?”

“Well, yeah, obviously!” Adam follows after you, scratching his head. “I’m talking about me serenading you and giving you flowers… It’s a romantic gesture or whatever… right?” He sounds unsure himself.

You whirl around to face him, pursing your lips as you try to figure out how to word what you’re going to say next without sounding too harsh. "Okay… what the actual fuck is going on with you? You haven’t been yourself the last few weeks, and this is starting to really weird me out."

Adam draws back, his lips forming a tight line before he utters, "Uhhh…" and averts his eyes. "I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about." Then, within seconds, he's back to his upbeat self, pulling you towards him by your hips. "You’re fucking hot. Who wouldn’t wanna get in your pants?"

You shake your head, removing his hands and crossing your arms as you stare pointedly at him. It's a silent staring contest for three minutes before he caves in with an annoyed groan. His shoulders tense up as he grumbles, "Fine, fuck. You can be so annoying when you want to be…"

When he doesn't get a reaction from you, he spills the beans, pacing around the room. "Some losers up in Heaven said I wasn't romantic. Me. I'm like, No fucking way, I'm the first dick. Nobody knows how to make bitches fall harder on it!" He scoffs, slouching in place. "Those little fuckers laughed in my face."

You sigh, walking over to him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "So you came here to prove a point?" He nods, and you continue, "For the first man, you can be pretty stupid. I’m in Hell, who’s going to know? And secondly, I don’t need all this—it’s cute, but you can be sweet in your own Adam way, not this poser crap."

"Well, shit, fuck. Wish I knew that before wasting my break on this instead of fucking the breath outta you," he grins, wrapping his arms around your waist. "I guess I'll just have to make up for it next time."

“Well you better hurry up. The faster you finish your work, the sooner you come back to me.”

꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ 𝕾𝔦𝔯 𝕻𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰

When you were alive, your dating life was less than healthy and filled with constant disappointment. Your friends called it toxic, but you’d always reply that you only live once. So what if your typical lover was the stereotypical bad boy? Red flags never looked better on anyone. Besides, red was your favorite color.

Ending up in Hell with the life you led was no surprise. You thought you’d keep up the same lifestyle—getting plastered and starting fights with assholes—but somehow you wound up in a crappy hotel after the princess of Hell saw "potential" in you. But what left you even more baffled than potentially spending the rest of your stay in hell there was falling for a simp of a man.

A true gentleman from a different era than yours has you questioning where someone like him was hiding out in your past life. And if you had come across someone like him back then, would you have even given him the time of day if you weren’t being cooped up in a raggedy hotel? Highly unlikely but you’re glad you found him now, while on the road of redemption together.

You may have become sappy enough to tell him that whenever you both had alone time to breathe each other in, much like now. Watching as a heavy blush dusts across his face, his eyes glossing over with devotion, his tail swishing behind him, and his hands fidgeting. Man, he gets more adorable day by day.

“I—” he pauses to gather himself before continuing, “Well, I feel the sssame way, dear!" Sir Pentious always exclaims, suddenly grabbing your hands in his and adding, "In fact, I have sssomething for you. To sshow how much I value our time together…" His voice trails off bashfully.

Biting your lip with a grin, you coo at him, “You made something for me, baby? What is it?” You start making guesses, “Is it a little gadget that protects me? That’s sweet, but I don’t need that. I’m plenty strong on my own.”

“Oh, I know what you’re capable of, my beloved!” he bellows proudly. “Thisss is different. SSsomthing personal, for me and for you… I hope you’ll like it.” He turns away, digging into a bag you only just noticed. When he turns back around, in his hand is something you didn’t expect but also makes sense: an egg.

You eye it curiously, “Pen. Are you gifting me an egg?”

“Yesss... but not just any egg. Our egg,” he says, his hood flattening and eyes growing doe-eyed.

“Wait, what?” you tilt your head, now confused. Last time you checked, you didn't go egg hunting with him and—your eyes bulge out when realization sets in. “Heavens sake, Pen, did you-did you lay an egg?” You thought sinners couldn’t have children…

He shakes his head erratically. “Sssatan’s no. I created this one for us to—" He pauses to take a deep breath, closing his eyes. “To raise together,” he finishes, opening his eyes enough to peek at your reaction. He opens them fully after seeing you smiling.

“That’s the sweetest fucking gift anyone has ever gave me.” you open your arms for him, “Come here, baby.”

Delighted at your reaction, and never one to turn down physical invitations from you, he slithers over towards you. But in the moment of excitement, as he opens his arms to reciprocate, the egg slips through his hands and splats to the floor.

“Oh my God, Pen!” you shout horrified as he drops to the floor, mouth open in utter disbelief.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Against Lore

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

One of my favorite nuggets of writing advice comes from James D Macdonald. Jim, a Navy vet with an encylopedic knowledge of gun lore, explained to a group of non-gun people how to write guns without getting derided by other gun people: "just add the word 'modified.'"

As in, "Her modified AR-15 kicked against her shoulder as she squeezed the trigger, but she held it steady on the car door, watching it disintegrate in a spatter of bullet-holes."

Jim's big idea was that gun people couldn't help but chew away at the verisimilitude of your fictional guns, their brains would automatically latch onto them and try to find the errors. But the word "modified" hijacked that impulse and turned it to the writer's advantage: a gun person's imagination gnaws at that word "modified," spinning up the cleverest possible explanation for how the gun in question could behave as depicted.

In other words, the gun person's impulse to one-up the writer by demonstrating their superior knowledge becomes an impulse to impart that superior knowledge to the writer. "Modified" puts the expert and the bullshitter on the same team, and conscripts the expert into fleshing out the bullshitter's lies.

Yes, writing is lying. Storytelling is genuinely weird. A storyteller who has successfully captured the audience has done so by convincing their hindbrains to care about the tribulations of imaginary people. These are people whose suffering, by definition, do not matter. Imaginary things didn't happen, so they can't matter. The deaths of Romeo and Juliet were less tragic than the death of the yogurt you had for breakfast. That yogurt was alive and now it's dead, whereas R&J never lived, never died, and don't matter:

https://locusmag.com/2014/11/cory-doctorow-stories-are-a-fuggly-hack/

Hijacking a stranger's empathic response is intrinsically adversarial. While storytelling is a benign activity, its underlying mechanic is extremely dangerous. Getting us to care about things that don't matter is how novels and movies work, but it's also how cults and cons work.

Cult leaders and con-artists know that they're engaged in mind-to-mind combat, and they make liberal use of Jim's hack of leaving blank spots for the mark to fill in. Think of Qanon drops: the mystical nonsense was just close enough to sensical that a vulnerable audience was compelled to try and untangle them, and ended up imparting more meaning to them than the hustler who posted them ever could have dreamt up.

Same with cons – there's a great scene in the Leverage: Redemption heist show where an experienced con-artist explains to a novice that the most convincing hustle is the one where you wait for the mark to tell you what they think you're doing, then run with it (scambaiters and other skeptics will recognize this as a relative of the "cold reading," where a "psychic" uses your own confirmations to flesh out their predictions).

As Douglas Adams put it:

A towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have "lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Magicians know this one, too. The point of a sleight is to misdirect the audience's attention, and use that moment of misattention to trick them, vanishing, stashing or producing something. The mark's mind is caught in a pleasurable agony: something seemingly impossible just happened. The mind splits into two parts, one of which insists that the impossible just happened, the other insisting that the impossible can't happen.

You know you've done it right if the audience says, "Do that again!" And that's the one thing you must not do. So long as you don't repeat the trick, the audience's imagination will chew on it endlessly, coming up with incredibly clever things that you must have done (a clever conjurer will know several ways to produce the same effect and will "do it again" by reproducing the effect via different means, which exponentially increases the audience's automatic imputation of clever methods to the performer).

Not for nothing, Jim Macdonald advises his writing students to study Magic and Showmanship, a classic text for aspiring conjurers:

https://memex.craphound.com/2007/11/13/magic-and-showmanship-classic-book-about-conjuring-has-many-lessons-for-writers/

There's a version of this in comedy, too. The scholarship of humor is clear on this: comedy comes from surprise. The audience knows they're about to be surprised when the punchline lands, and their mind is furiously trying to defuse the comedian's bomb before it detonates, cycling through potential punchlines of their own. This ramps up the suspense and the tension, so when the comedian does drop the punchline, the tension is released in a whoosh of laughter.

Your mind wants the tension to be resolved ASAP, but the pleasure comes from having that desire thwarted. Comedy – like most performance – has an element of authoritarianism. You don't give the audience what it wants, you give it what it needs.

Same goes for TTRPGs: the game master's role is to deny the players the victories and treasure they want, until they can't take it anymore, and then deliver it. That's the definition of an epic game. It's one of the durable advantages of human GMs over video game back-ends: they can ramp up the epicness by "cheating" on the play, giving the players the chance to squeak out improbable victories at the last possible second:

https://wilwheaton.typepad.com/wwdnbackup/2009/03/behind-the-screen.html

This is so effective that even crude approximations of it can turn video-games into cult hits – like Left4Dead, whose "Director" back-end would notice when the players were about to get destroyed and then substantially ramped up the chances of finding an amazing weapon – the chance would still be low overall, but there would be enough moments when the player got exactly what they'd been praying for, at the last possible instant, that it would feel amazing:

https://left4dead.fandom.com/wiki/The_Director#Special_Infected

Critically, Left4Dead's Director didn't do this every time. As any showman knows, the key to a great performance is "Always leave 'em wanting more." The musician's successful finale depends on doing every encore the audience demands, except the last one, so the crowd leaves with one tantalyzing and imaginary song playing in their minds, a performance better than any the musicians themselves could have delivered. Like the gun person who comes up with a cooler mod than the writer ever could, like the magic show attendee who comes up with a more elaborate explanation for the sleight than the conjurer could ever pull off, like the comedy club attendee whose imagination anticipates a surprise that grows larger the longer the joke goes on, the successful performance is an adversarial act of cooperation where the audience willingly and unwillingly cooperates with the performer to deny them the thing that they think they need, and deliver the thing they actually need.

This is my biggest problem with the notion that someday LLMs will get good enough at storytelling to give us the tales we demand, without having to suffer through a storyteller's sadistic denial of the resolutions we crave. When I'm reading a mystery, I want to turn to the last page and find out whodunnit, but I know that doing so will ruin the story. Telling the storyteller how the story should go is like trying to tickle yourself.

Like being tickled, experiencing only fun if the tickler respects your boundaries – but, like being tickled, there's always a part where you're squirming away, but you don't want it to stop. An AI storyteller that gives you exactly what you want is like a dungeon master who declares that every sword-swing kills the monster, and every treasure chest is full of epic items and platinum pieces. Yes, that's what you want, but if you get it, what's the point?

Seen in this light, performance is a kind of sado-masochism, where the performer delights in denying something to the audience, who, in turn, delights in the denial. Don't give the audience what they want, give them what they need.

What your audience needs is their own imagination. Decades ago, I was a freelance copywriter producing sales materials for Alias/Wavefront, a then-leading CGI firm that was inventing all kinds of never-seen VFX that would blow people away. One of the engineers I worked with told me something I never forgot: "Your imagination has more polygons than anything you can create with our software." He was talking about why it was critical to have some of the action happen in the shadows.

All of this is why series tend to go downhill. The first volume in any series leaves so much to the imagination. The map of the world is barely fleshed out, the characters' biographies are full of blank spots, the mechanics of the artifacts and the politics of the land are all just detailed enough that your mind automatically ascribes a level of detail to them, without knowing what that detail is.

This is the moment at which everything seems very clever, because your mind is just churning with all the different bits of elaborate lore that will fill in those lacunae and make them all fit together.

SPOILER ALERT: I'm about to give some spoilers for Furiosa.

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FURIOSA SPOILERS AHEAD!

Last night, we went to see Furiosa, the latest Mad Max movie, a prequel to 2015's Fury Road, which is one of the greatest movies ever made. Like most prequels, Furiosa functions as a lore-delivery vehicle, and as such, it's nowhere near as good as Fury Road.

Fury Road hints as so much worldbuilding. We learn about the three fortresses of the wasteland (the Citadel, the Bullet Farm, and Gastown) but we only see one (The Citadel). We learn that these three cities have a symbiotic relationship with one another, defined by a complex politics that is just barely stable. We meet Furiosa herself, and learn something of her biography – that she had been stolen from the Green Place, that she had suffered an arm amputation.

All of this is left for us to fill in, and for a decade, my hindbrain has been chewing on all of that, coming up with cool ways it could all fit together. I yearned to know the "real" explanation, but it was always unlikely that this real explanation would be as enjoyable as my own partial, ever-unfinished headcanon.

Furiosa is a great movie, but its worst parts are the canonical lore it settles. Partly, that's because some of that lore is just stupid. Why is the Bullet Farm an open-pit mine? I mean, it's visually amazing, but what does that have to do with making bullets? Sometimes, it's because the lore is banal – the solarpunk Green Place is a million times less cool than I had imagined it. Sometimes, it's because the lore is banal and stupid: the scenes where Furiosa's arm is crushed, then severed, then replaced, are both rushed and quasi-miraculous:

https://www.themarysue.com/how-does-furiosa-lose-her-arm/

But even if the lore had been good – not stupid, not banal – the best they could have hoped for was for the lore to be tidy. If it were surprising, it would seem contrived. A story whose loose ends have been tidily snipped away seems like it would be immensely satisfying, but it's not satisfying – it's just resolved. Like the band performing every encore you demand, until you no longer want to hear the band anymore – the feeling as you leave the hall isn't satisfaction, it's exhaustion.

So long as some key question remains unresolved, you're still wanting more. So long as the map has blank spots, your hindbrain will impute clever and exciting mysteries, tantalyzingly teetering on the edge of explicability, to the story.

Lore is always better as something to anticipate than it is to receive. The fans demand lore, but it should be doled out sparingly. Always leave 'em wanting more.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/27/cmon-do-it-again/#better_to_remain_silent_and_be_thought_a_fool_than_to_speak_and_remove_all_doubt

[peppermint-whiskers]

Introducing:

An au by myself and @emositecc (all artwork here done by her, btw! 💖💖)

Premise: Because snake forms aren't common in Heaven, Pentious has to change forms per Sera’s orders in order to not make waves. At the same time, she places a spell on him that prevents him from speaking about who he was before and his time in Hell. Using the nickname Pen, he's sent down to Hell every once in a while to help them with redemption, acting as the representative. While there, he has a lot of trouble reconnecting because of the spell and because of the weird deja vu the others get whenever he's around. It also doesn't help that they're still mourning Pentious—he can't tell them that he's okay and that redemption works.

He does succeed in reconnecting with them, but only as “Pen.”

It'll be done in 3 acts:

Act 1: Reconnection

Sir Pentious, under the alias Pen, is sent to Hell every once in a while to help them with redemption. There, he struggles to reconnect with his friends, who are still mourning his supposed "death."

Act 2: Mind Wipe

After a disasterous event caused by Alastor, Pentious begs Sera to wipe his memories of his life before as it's the only way he can think of to ease the pain. This works for only a while, and the confusion between his two forms makes him restless. Emily smuggles him back to Hell to help him regain his memories.

Act 3: Consequences

After resolving the mind wipe, Sera realizes the error of her actions and tries in earnest to help Charlie's hotel with redemption. However, the reveal of the mind wipe and redemption causes waves in both Heaven and Hell.

Some artwork and snippets (written by me) under the cut!

No spoilers yet, obviously uwu

Snippet 1:

“The envoy is supposed to come today!” Charlie exclaimed, positively bouncing around the hotel lobby. “I'm sooooo excited! What do you think they'll be like??”

“Sexy,” Angel immediately said with his usual teasing tone.

“Respectful,” Vaggie sighed. After failed extermination, they've had countless meetings with Heaven, and the head seraphim has been . . . less than helpful. As much as she hated to admit it, dealing with Emily was much preferred to dealing with Sera.

“I just hope you know what you're doing,” Husk chimed in. “Inviting an angel to stay longterm here could be dangerous.”

“It’ll be fine,” Charlie assured them. “We'll keep them safe, and they'll help us with redemption! It's a win-win!”

A circular portal opened up just outside the hotel. Squealing with joy, Charlie rushed outside to meet their newest friend and staff member. Out stepped a tall gentleman with dark skin, white hair, and a pale blue suit. His eyes seemed to look over the hotel with nostalgia—Charlie would bet anything that in life, he was a hotel manager himself. That would be just perfect! She could use a little more help than Alastor deigned to provide.

Snippet 2

Their new guest wasn't doing so well. Somehow, through fake coughs and weak insistence, Pen managed to convince Charlie that he didn't need to come out of his room, thank you very much. Charlie wasn't dumb, of course, and her sympathetic nature was just one of the many reasons Vaggie loved her. Instead of pressing the issue, she let Pen stay in his room for the day and let him continue claiming he was sick.

He may have convinced the others, but Charlie and Vaggie both knew better. Angels couldn't get sick, but this was one hell of a bout of homesickness.

Charlie herself brought meals up to his room and coaxed him to eat, and Vaggie went when she was busy, but he never once opened the door. After two days of this, Vaggie finally took it upon herself to see him herself and get to the bottom of this. Breakfast in hand, she headed up the stairs and prepared herself for a battle of wills of which she was sure she would win.

[hazbinhazmeinachokehold]

The gang + powerful overlord reader who is trying to reform

A/n: Tbh I don't have the strongest grasp on what makes an overlord an overlord but I tried. Everything here is platonic!

Warning: Very slight alluding to suicide. It's in one sentence and not supposed to be about suicide but I just wanted to warn y'all in case.

(Not beta read!)

You honestly didn't want to be an overlord. But if you had some power maybe the citizens of hell would leave you alone. And you were admittedly powerful. Which wasn't by your own doing, just like in the living world everything was down to luck. And you won the lottery. So you decided to spend the money and became an overlord. Just to lower the chance of demons pestering you.

It worked. It worked too well. You took out a few overlords, it was dirty. You caught them off guard in the middle of going about their life. You don't keep up with politics. To your surprise, you took out two heavy hitters. Which did result in people not pestering you. But not just that it resulted in them outright avoiding you. You didn't feel good about killing them, you just killed as many as you thought would need to make you noteable. If you had just killed the two it would have removed more unnecessary deaths that you caused.

People would literally light themselves on fire rather than be near you. Out of fear of what gruesome way you would kill them. Not that you would kill them but rumors spread. It went from you just stabbing the overlords to torturing them in the most messed up way possible. You being this insanely powerful and sadistic being. That was the only way they could imagine you killing some of the most powerful creatures in hell.

So it was like that for years. As you were walking around the death and carnage you didn't mean to cause. Amidst all the screams you heard a TV playing. You check it out and it was some sort of ad. You recognized Angel from Val. Whenever Velvet was the one to show up at meetings she would always manage to bring up her and the other Vee's social media presence. Which with Val would involve his pornos. At least he's able to escape from that prick sometimes. Despite the glitch he was somehow causing and his face being hidden you also recognized Alastor.

You didn't know much about your colleague's personal lives. You barely showed up at the meeting but this piqued your interest. But it was quickly cut off by the news.

"Breaking news in hell today!" One of the broadcasters, Katie, spoke, "We have just received word from the Heaven embassy that the next extermination is happening sooner than ever before!"

Well fuck you guess. You were never worried about exterminations. Not only did you have a safe area then none of the angels seemed to visit, if they killed you you'd be out of this dumpster fire. Granted you could go to an even worse dumpster fire but you didn't know that for sure.

But you were interested in whatever that first ad was for. Granted everyone was panicking so it wasn't like you could ask anyone about it. However, the news cut right back to the ad.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!" A woman with an x over her eye spoke.

It cut to Husk (Who you've only heard snippets about from Alastor.) and Angel.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel." Husk's eyes lingered below him. Clearly reading a script. If his eyes didn't give it away his monotone voice certainly did. "Can I help you with anything?"

"I've been a bad boy. And I need a big strong daddy to put me in my place." Angel moaned. There was a slight sigh coming from behind the camera. Okay ew. You were not trying to see porn while going for a walk. Just as you were about to walk away Angel spoke up again, "On the path to redemption!"

Oh! That sounded... quite nice actually. You didn't exactly believe in the idea. But a chance to get away and even a chance to redeem yourself was a very nice idea.

You went to the hotel's door and racked against the door. Which was kind of stupid. Hotel doors don't need to be knocked on but it still felt like the right thing to do. The fucking princess of hell herself opened the door with a somewhat panicky smile plastered on her face.

"Hello-" She bit her lip "One second." She left but left the door open a creek, "Vaggie it happened again!" She yelled you could hear the rest of what she was saying but you saw a red glow approaching the door.

Before you knew what was happening your hand (and whole body was being shaken by the Radio demon himself, "Why hello y/n!" His staticky voice greeted, "Are you here to watch this wayward adventure fail as well? Or perhaps you aim to entertain it?" Alastor unnerved you. While you were the same on power level he was unpredicted any vengeful thoughts he had were hidden behind his smile.

He was gently pushed away by Charlie. "So sorry about the wait, just wasn't expecting another powerful overlord." She vaguely gestured to Alastor, "So do you want to check in?" Her voice was cautiously hopeful.

"Yep!"

Her eyes turned the size of saucers, "OK! Great so um sorry I'm just so excited! You can go choose your room! A few are already occupied by our guests and staff! But it's pretty easy to tell which rooms are taken." She rambled. As she guided you through the hotel the woman with an x over her eye pointed a spear at you as you passed by.

A short one-eyed girl scattered around. The exact opposite of how she was in the ad. She stabbed a bug with a whole knife getting dangerously close to Husk being at the end of her knife in the process.

Angel glanced at you and any color his already pure white face had drained. Uh oh.

"One minute." You said and walked over to the spider demon, "Fyi just to let you know I also want to kill Val. Just say the word and I might finally be able to go through with it." You said in a hushed voice. He was still tense but visibly relaxed.

You soon found a room and got somewhat set up. You'd have to bring some stuff from your house tomorrow. But today you decided to just collapse onto your bed. While your first impressions weren't of a super chill place, it did give the impression of a family. Maybe your life wouldn't be so much of a living hell here.