#industrial track light

[professorsteampunk]

Enclosed - Kitchen Example of a large arts and crafts u-shaped slate floor and brown floor enclosed kitchen design with flat-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, an island, a farmhouse sink, granite countertops, gray backsplash, stone slab backsplash and stainless steel appliances

[vintagehomecollection]

If the design of any New York City loft may be said to be ‘classical’, architect Louis Meisel’s home merits that description. The spacious horizontal plane of a sleeping platform shared a corner with shelves and stacks of Fiesta ware and other mass-produced American crockery of this century.

Rooms by Design, 1989

[pictureamoebae]

ON TRACK INDUSTRIAL LIGHTS in 2 palettes by amoebae

These are my favourite ceiling lights, they're just so cool. Again we find ourselves asking why on earth it took this long to recolour them.

They come in Image Spectra and Dream Pop, in all 3 lengths.

Thing about this light is it doesn't illuminate from above, so the colours always look dark. It's fine in this shot above because the sun was shining directly on it, but in any other lighting, and at night, so so dark. A handy thing I found was to take the small saucer ceiling light, size it down once with the bracket key, and hide it in the ceiling fastening for this light. You can adjust both lights to suit (so the room doesn't get too bright), and it helps illuminate the industrial light so you can see those lovely colours!

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TOU, requirements, and credits: Share and use as you wish, but please do so freely and always allowing others to do the same with your resulting content. Requires the Industrial Loft kit. With thanks to @fiddlefolk for the Image Spectra palette.

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DOWNLOAD NOW @ PATREON (free)

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Find me here:

pictureamoebae @ tumblr

amoebae @ twitter

amoebae @ patreon

amoebae's TS4 screenshots @ flickr

amoebae's cc, builds and ReShade presets in one place @ flickr

amoebae's amoebas discord server

[toyastales]

Industrial Farmhouse Kitchen

That kitchen island though 🤩

[apatheticshots]

[x-heesy]

𝙳𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚕👀𝚔 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚍

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔

𝚆𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚗

𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎

𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚒𝚗’𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎

𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚒 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖

𝚁𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜

𝙰𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚗 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚍

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠,

𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚣𝚎𝚗

𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚔𝚒𝚗

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗

𝙷𝚎’𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚔𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚛𝚞𝚗

𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚢 𝚐𝚞𝚗

𝚆𝚎’𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗‘ 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚙

𝚃𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑

𝚁𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎

𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗

𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝙱𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎

𝙰𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜...

𝙱𝚊𝚋𝚢

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚐

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚞𝚝𝚜

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚜

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 🎧

𝙸 𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚃𝚘 𝚋𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙻𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙱𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚜 🔥

@len0r @atomic-apricot @bethanythestrange @bigbonzo

[bellshazes]

been listening a lot to obsession II by siouxsie and the banshees. music to fall asleep peacefully to

[saisa-sound]

Orange County Industrial Basement Example of a large urban walk-out basement with a dark wood floor and a brown floor and white walls.

[tonksnymphdora]

New York Modern Living Room

Ideas for a large, modern, formal, and loft-style living room renovation with light wood floors, beige walls, no fireplace, and no television

[nordusk]

In recent years, LED strip lights have become increasingly popular for home and office décor. Whether it’s for behind screens or on ceilings, these versatile lights add a modern touch to any space. At Nordusk LED, you can Buy LED Strip Lights Online in India, making it easier than ever to join this growing trend. Visit Nordusk LED website and Buy LED Spot Lights or Buy LED Track Lights.

[sassafras-manson]

Freestanding Home Office Example of a mid-sized minimalist freestanding desk dark wood floor study room design with gray walls and no fireplace

[mod-a-day]

Piotr Gotowicz (Pazur Colidace) "PARTY LIGHTS" (1997)

[vintagehomecollection]

Rooms by Design, 1989

[phantomrose96]

The conversation around AI is going to get away from us quickly because people lack the language to distinguish types of AI--and it's not their fault. Companies love to slap "AI" on anything they believe can pass for something "intelligent" a computer program is doing. And this muddies the waters when people want to talk about AI when the exact same word covers a wide umbrella and they themselves don't know how to qualify the distinctions within.

I'm a software engineer and not a data scientist, so I'm not exactly at the level of domain expert. But I work with data scientists, and I have at least rudimentary college-level knowledge of machine learning and linear algebra from my CS degree. So I want to give some quick guidance.

What is AI? And what is not AI?

So what's the difference between just a computer program, and an "AI" program? Computers can do a lot of smart things, and companies love the idea of calling anything that seems smart enough "AI", but industry-wise the question of "how smart" a program is has nothing to do with whether it is AI.

A regular, non-AI computer program is procedural, and rigidly defined. I could "program" traffic light behavior that essentially goes { if(light === green) { go(); } else { stop();} }. I've told it in simple and rigid terms what condition to check, and how to behave based on that check. (A better program would have a lot more to check for, like signs and road conditions and pedestrians in the street, and those things will still need to be spelled out.)

An AI traffic light behavior is generated by machine-learning, which simplistically is a huge cranking machine of linear algebra which you feed training data into and it "learns" from. By "learning" I mean it's developing a complex and opaque model of parameters to fit the training data (but not over-fit). In this case the training data probably includes thousands of videos of car behavior at traffic intersections. Through parameter tweaking and model adjustment, data scientists will turn this crank over and over adjusting it to create something which, in very opaque terms, has developed a model that will guess the right behavioral output for any future scenario.

A well-trained model would be fed a green light and know to go, and a red light and know to stop, and 'green but there's a kid in the road' and know to stop. A very very well-trained model can probably do this better than my program above, because it has the capacity to be more adaptive than my rigidly-defined thing if the rigidly-defined program is missing some considerations. But if the AI model makes a wrong choice, it is significantly harder to trace down why exactly it did that.

Because again, the reason it's making this decision may be very opaque. It's like engineering a very specific plinko machine which gets tweaked to be very good at taking a road input and giving the right output. But like if that plinko machine contained millions of pegs and none of them necessarily correlated to anything to do with the road. There's possibly no "if green, go, else stop" to look for. (Maybe there is, for traffic light specifically as that is intentionally very simplistic. But a model trained to recognize written numbers for example likely contains no parameters at all that you could map to ideas a human has like "look for a rigid line in the number". The parameters may be all, to humans, meaningless.)

So, that's basics. Here are some categories of things which get called AI:

"AI" which is just genuinely not AI

There's plenty of software that follows a normal, procedural program defined rigidly, with no linear algebra model training, that companies would love to brand as "AI" because it sounds cool.

Something like motion detection/tracking might be sold as artificially intelligent. But under the covers that can be done as simply as "if some range of pixels changes color by a certain amount, flag as motion"

2. AI which IS genuinely AI, but is not the kind of AI everyone is talking about right now

"AI", by which I mean machine learning using linear algebra, is very good at being fed a lot of training data, and then coming up with an ability to go and categorize real information.

The AI technology that looks at cells and determines whether they're cancer or not, that is using this technology. OCR (Optical Character Recognition) is the technology that can take an image of hand-written text and transcribe it. Again, it's using linear algebra, so yes it's AI.

Many other such examples exist, and have been around for quite a good number of years. They share the genre of technology, which is machine learning models, but these are not the Large Language Model Generative AI that is all over the media. Criticizing these would be like criticizing airplanes when you're actually mad at military drones. It's the same "makes fly in the air" technology but their impact is very different.

3. The AI we ARE talking about. "Chat-gpt" type of Generative AI which uses LLMs ("Large Language Models")

If there was one word I wish people would know in all this, it's LLM (Large Language Model). This describes the KIND of machine learning model that Chat-GPT/midjourney/stablediffusion are fueled by. They're so extremely powerfully trained on human language that they can take an input of conversational language and create a predictive output that is human coherent. (I am less certain what additional technology fuels art-creation, specifically, but considering the AI art generation has risen hand-in-hand with the advent of powerful LLM, I'm at least confident in saying it is still corely LLM).

This technology isn't exactly brand new (predictive text has been using it, but more like the mostly innocent and much less successful older sibling of some celebrity, who no one really thinks about.) But the scale and power of LLM-based AI technology is what is new with Chat-GPT.

This is the generative AI, and even better, the large language model generative AI.

(Data scientists, feel free to add on or correct anything.)

[ohproserpine]

iv. dolly

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

˚୨୧₊♱

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧₊♱

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a look he knew all too well.

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

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

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

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

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

"What look?" Cherri raised an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧₊♱

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

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

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

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

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

You missed your husband.

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

"C̵h̶e̸r̷?̷"̸

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

Alastor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧₊♱

[apatheticshots]