#Angie angst

[r0semaryt3a]

“You were taught one thing and one thing alone: to fail is to bleed. Now try again.”

That was the message Mrs Rosabelle instilled upon her child. That young, doe-eyed child. For there was no place for prey amongst the mighty, you devour and leave nothing in your wake.

The golden veins that throb against her skin stand as a reminder. A dull memory of those nights spent screaming against laminate flooring, “Again.” Her mother’s voice is but a whisper (a cruel thing really). A single finger lifts Avangelin’s face from the floor; vile, viscous red pooled from the open wound that was her lips. Tears and gargles, hardly resembling a tune, fought for attention.

The gargles soon ceased, silenced by harsh gulps. “Progress cannot be made if signs of failure are still present my dear.” The world was swaying, a dizzying mess, “The world will not be this kind, it would see you paint the streets in your misery before allowing you the taste of love.” Every second, every ounce of blood choking the life from her eyes, the taste so bitter, was progress.

“For this is love my dear, success is a virtue.”

Failure was a sin, a sin that if fallen victim to taunts the mind. Failure drives grown men insane.

Failure would not be tolerated.

“Now, again.”

-

Small Angie Drabble of her mother’s “vocal coaching”. Uriel may have been bad but by god was Mrs Rosabelle a monster.

( @cl-0v3r @hamishfish - sorry for the tags but I want to know your impressions of Avangelin’s dear mother.)

[starsofang]

fwb!johnny who fell for you on accident. it was just sex, and that was a rule you enforced from the beginning. you weren’t ready for a relationship and you wanted careless fun, which you found in johnny.

at first, he was fine with the arrangement. no strings, no attachments, it sounded perfect for a busy man like him. he couldn’t give you the world like most people wanted in a partner. so he settled. and he was fine with it.

until he began to notice you. the beauty marks that scattered your skin. the faint scars you gained from childhood adventures. the way your smile formed crinkles in your eyes.

it started off small before it consumed him whole. he was enraptured with you. it was no longer just sex for him, he wanted to be with you.

when the bottled feelings eventually cracked one night while he laid in bed with you, naked bodies entwined with one another, you became distant. cold. you reminded him of your arrangement, telling him he needed to cut off the feelings for the better, for both of you.

johnny feared losing you, so he agreed. he didn’t have it in him to cut off the sex, knowing that if he did, he’d lose the one person who made him feel alive rather than simply surviving. existing. so he sucked it up and drowned in his own sorrowful, unrequited adoration.

he loved you like a dog, and when you called, he came. where you went, he followed. if you asked him to jump, he’d ask how high. a dog was loyal to the owner of its heart, and johnny was no better than a mutt.

[mblue-art]

sans au sexyman polls doooodle

congrats to the kings<3 🫶🫶🫶

[art-is-kayos]

x box got me thinking of the manager but like as an actual xbox

It is very possible in that at least one loop Angela has fucked with the cognition filter in X's head.

Alternatively:

[darlingsart]

Anyone else get really emotional about their OCs? 😭😅

Started working on the next chapter of my fic yesterday and I had to stop to draw Pat and Achilles with Max because I just love the little family I’ve made for them! 🥺

[shaylogic]

Let's overanalyze this (◕︿◕✿)

I think part of me assumed that Angie's effect didn't work on Charles because he's a ghost, but I wonder if it's more than that. . .

The redhead heard her boyfriend loving her when he never said "I love you" before

Crystal doesn't remember her parents suck, so she has hope that they're looking for her

Charles knows his parents are living on well without him. Comic Charles says his Dad would be relieved he's dead--he never liked being a father.

Edwin's not affected by Angie either, but we see him looking longingly at Charles the way Crystal looks longingly at the ocean

Edwin & Charles are ghosts, and not necessarily bound to the attachments of the living? But also, there's nothing in the ocean for them, when what they both desire most is on land and close at hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~BONUS~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[kythecorg]

I would like to point out that he has grown significantly in the matter of a month and is in fact, an angsty teen. Whether his feistiness is due to that or something ELSE entirely…is “yet to be determined”….

hehehe 🤭

[penfondeler]

Max brainrott ( I swear im working on something 😔 )

[peppymintdreams]

pickle comes back home injured after meeting with a client

Who did this

Isaac Rhoades x Pickle

Pickle comes home hurt and Isaac is not having it

The door creaked open, and Pickle slipped inside, trying to be quiet. Each step sent a sharp pain through their side, and they winced, clutching their ribs as they closed the door behind them. They hoped Isaac hadn’t heard that they could make it to the bedroom before he noticed anything was wrong.

“Pickle.” Isaac’s voice cut through the quiet, low and dangerous. He was already standing in the hallway, eyes fixed on them with a sharp, intense gaze. It wasn’t a greeting it was a demand.

Pickle froze, instinctively straightening, but the movement sent a jolt of pain through their ribs, and they winced again. “It’s fine. Just a meeting that went south, nothing to worry about ”

Isaac was in front of them in an instant, his hand gripping their chin with a tight but controlled force, tilting their face up so he could inspect them. His eyes darkened as they roamed over the bruises, his jaw clenched. “Fine?” he hissed, his voice cold and edged with anger. “You’re bleeding, Pickle. What part of this looks fine to you?”

“I can handle it,” Pickle muttered, trying to pull away from his grip, but Isaac’s hold tightened, his fingers firm on their skin. He wasn’t letting them brush this off.

“You can handle it?” His voice was low, filled with a quiet fury. He released their chin, but his eyes never left them as he spoke, his anger barely restrained. “You think coming home looking like this is handling it?”

Pickle felt a pang of guilt, but they refused to let it show. “I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

Isaac laughed, but there was no humor in it just frustration, cold and biting. “Drag me into it?” He took a step back, running a hand through his hair in frustration, pacing the room like he was trying to keep himself from losing control. “You don’t get to make that decision, Pickle. Not when it comes to your safety.”

“I didn’t expect things to get out of hand,” Pickle said softly, trying to diffuse the situation, but it only made Isaac angrier. His pacing stopped abruptly, and he turned on them, eyes blazing with a mix of fury and something deeper fear, possessiveness.

“You didn’t expect it?” Isaac growled, stepping toward them again. “You went into a situation that could have killed you, and you didn’t think to call me? You didn’t think I’d want to know if you were in danger?”

Pickle opened their mouth to respond, but Isaac was already moving, grabbing their shirt and lifting it just enough to expose the bruises and the blood-soaked side where the cut was still seeping. His eyes darkened further, his anger boiling just beneath the surface.

“Take it off,” he ordered, his voice low and dangerous. There was no room for argument, and Pickle obeyed, pulling off their shirt with some difficulty, the pain making it harder than usual.

Isaac’s eyes scanned their injuries, and his jaw clenched harder, his fingers hovering just above the bruises as if he couldn’t bear to touch them without making things worse. When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, but filled with an icy, controlled anger. “Who did this?”

“It was just a client,” Pickle began, but Isaac cut them off.

“A client,” he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. He stood abruptly, his anger spilling out as he paced again. “And you went to meet them alone. Without telling me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you, Isaac. I can handle it.”

Isaac spun around, eyes blazing. “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice was sharp, full of anger, frustration, and something more possessive. “You think you can just waltz into dangerous situations, get yourself hurt, and I’m supposed to be okay with it?”

Pickle stared at him, unsure how to respond. Isaac’s protectiveness had always been intense, but this, this was different. There was a darkness in his expression, a possessiveness that felt like it could consume them.

“I should never have let you leave the house,” Isaac muttered, more to himself than to them. He ran a hand through his hair again, pacing in tight, agitated circles. “I shouldn’t have let you go without me.”

Pickle felt a chill run down their spine. “Isaac, you can’t lock me up.”

His eyes snapped to theirs, the possessiveness in his gaze more intense than ever. “I can’t?” His voice was quiet, dangerous. “You come home to me bleeding, bruised, and you think I’m just going to let you keep putting yourself at risk?”

“I’m not a prisoner,” Pickle shot back, trying to stand their ground. “I can take care of myself.”

Isaac stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, his presence looming. “Clearly, you can’t.”

Pickle flinched at the coldness in his voice. Isaac’s hands came to rest on their shoulders, and his grip was tight, his anger barely controlled. “You’re mine, Pickle. Do you understand that? You belong to me. And if you think I’m going to stand by while you walk into danger, you’re wrong.”

Pickle’s heart pounded in their chest, torn between fear and comfort in his intensity. They knew Isaac’s anger came from a place of love, but this this was more than just protectiveness. It was possessive, controlling.

Isaac’s hands softened slightly on their shoulders, but his eyes never wavered. “I don’t care what you think you can handle. Next time, you call me. You don’t go anywhere without me.”

Pickle opened their mouth to argue, but Isaac silenced them with a look. “I’m serious. If something happens to you...” He trailed off, his voice thick with the anger he was trying to suppress. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not again.”

His hands moved to cradle their face, and he leaned in, his forehead resting against theirs. “You don’t get to put yourself at risk, Pickle. Not without me there to protect you.”

Pickle swallowed, their voice barely a whisper. “I understand.”

Isaac’s breath was warm against their skin, his presence overwhelming. “Good,” he whispered, his voice still filled with that dangerous possessiveness. “Because if anyone else tries to hurt you, they’ll regret it.”

Pickle nodded, feeling both the weight of his words and the depth of his love for them. Isaac’s protectiveness was fierce, consuming but it was also grounding, wrapping around them like an ironclad shield. They weren’t sure how to feel about it, but one thing was certain: Isaac would never let them go.

[eletricheart]

hiiii! I have a request for donna beneviento. I was hoping for her lover, the reader, to show up to donna's house like normal, but they are sick with the flu. When donna asks why reader came, reader says that they dont care if they're sick or not, they just want to see donna <3 cue donna being a flustered mess, but then panicking internally when reader lets out a particularly harsh cough. Just some fluffy caretaking if you wouldnt mind, thank youuuuu :) (maybe if you're feeling like writing a longer fic, you could make reader have a fever-induced nightmare, and donna is the only thing that can calm reader))

Fever

(Donna Beneviento x Reader)

*image creds to owner

Word count: 882

ps: ty for the request hope u like it🫶

ps2: not proofread

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Winter was finally over but the sudden change of temperature was enough to get you sick for a week. Usually you'd stay at home resting however every week you would have a home date with Donna.

Hence why you were walking towards her front porch looking like an Arctic scavenger. The dollmaker was surprised to see your attire but didn't pay much mind until she went to greet you.

You were shaking a little but still removed the mask to smile at her. "Sorry I'm late, my stomach wasn't kind this morning."

Donna nodded and ushered you in, getting concerned with how red your face was. "Are you okay?"

You nodded enthusiastically, supporting yourself with the now closed door due to the rapid movement. "Yeah! Just got a bit of a flu, nothing to worry about."

The dollmaker tensed for a moment, silently commanding her dolls to prepare some tea and bring blankets to the living room. "You should've stayed at home, it's dangerous to walk around sick! What were you thinking?" She questioned, leading you to the room.

You sighed. "I haven't seen you this week. I would rather face a thousand winters then stay away from you for so long. Please forgive me." You said, pouting.

Donna was thankful for wearing her veil, so you couldn't see how flustered she became with just one sentence. "Th-That's nonsense, you don't need to ask for forgiveness. But…next time, just call me."

You laughed. "I will."

After successfully trapping you in a world of blankets, Donna lit the fireplace and sat beside you. "Are you sure you're okay?"

You tried to answer but a sudden cough took place so you just nodded while trying to breathe.

You were still okay, you got used to the coughing after the second sick day. However, for Donna you were on death's door. The dollmaker could feel her heart racing, her hands trembling and her eye feeling with tears.

She practically ran off the room leaving your confused self drowning in blankets.

Donna returned with more pillows, some plants from her garden that were for good health, tea, water, a bowl with water and some towels. She even called Mother Miranda, who assured her that in five minutes a crow would leave some medicine at the door.

You were watching her set up a small hospital on the center table with a gentle smile. "Donna, it's okay, I'm not dying, I promise."

The dollmaker shook her head. "You're sick, I need to take your temperature."

You nodded weakly, feeling the hands of Morpheus trying to carry you into the dream world.

Donna was slightly shaking but still managed to check your temperature and breathing. "You have a bit of a fever, I believe Mother will bring some medicine. You should drink some water."

You nodded and drank half a glass of water, settling back down on the couch, in a lying position. "Where's Angie? I thought she'd be trying to steal the blankets from me by now."

Donna chuckled. "I had to lock her in my room. When she heard you were sick she stole a syringe and claimed she'd turn you into her bioweapon."

You laughed, still coughing at the end, but less intensely. However you noticed the dollmaker stiff posture. "I just need to sleep for a second, then it'll be good again."

Donna nodded, kissed your forehead and stood up, getting ready to cool the bowl of water. But she was stopped by you holding her arm before she moved too far. "Please don't leave me, I don't like to be alone."

Donna smiled and removed her veil to lay down more comfortably beside you.

The Lady had only moved away for a few minutes in order to receive Mother Miranda's package, suddenly she heard a scream and rushed back to you.

You were still sitting on the couch, but your face was marked with tears and your entire body felt like it was burning alive. You vision was still blurry from sleep and even though you tried to breathe it felt as if no air was going inside.

Donna approached you gently, trying to not make things worse but the second you saw her you jumped towards the woman and hugged her tight. She guided you back to the couch, not once breaking the embrace.

You curled on her and kept attempting on calming down. She was drawing soothing patterns on your back, humming lowly and controlling her breathing so you could immitate.

It took at least fifteen minutes for you to calm down, holding her as if she was your only connecting with reality.

Donna waited until your breathing had evened to speak. "Can you tell me what happened?" She asked, gently.

You took a deep breath before nodding. "I had a nightmare…I-I don't exactly remember what happened, just the feeling. Then I woke up and you weren't here anymore. I guess I panicked." You closed your eyes tightly and snuggled yourself even more against Donna.

The dollmaker allowed you to lay on her, pulling some of the blankets that fell and covering you. "I'm sorry, I won't leave again."

You nodded. "Promise?"

"Promise."

Your body relaxed and soon enough you fell asleep, knowing that Donna was there to protect you against anything.

----------------------------------------------------

masterlist

[cityoftheangelllls]

I recently learned that "Dellaposting" is a thing.

Does a wild assortment of old doodles count as a contribution?

Commissions info

[xxlady-lunaxx]

obanai and the thing about him hating praise towards his scar+obamitsu

obanai sat, hands fidgeting on his lap. his bandages rested on his shoulders where kaburamaru was usually perched—the snake was curled on his arm now, diligently watching. somehow, it felt like obanai had been stripped naked. the cool air against his entire face, the lack of restriction when he moved his jaw, it felt unnatural, almost. he might as well be more comfortable without clothes than without his mask. he wished mitsuri would speak. but they’d been sitting in silence for a while and, though he could feel her gaze on him, he couldn’t discern it. finally, after what felt like forever, he forced his eyes to flick back up.

mitsuri was sitting still, hands curled on her knees. her expression was one obanai hadn’t seen on her before, but pretty nonetheless. except he couldn’t find it in himself to appreciate it now. not when his entire being seemed formed of anxiety and he was barely containing himself from squirming. it was all he could do to not jump up and run far, far away. but he was trying. he wanted to stay. for mitsuri.

noticing his attention, mitsuri composed herself. her brows were furrowed, but they relaxed slightly as she smiled at him. her cheeks were their natural rosy pink, and they puffed up with her effort to say something. in a way, she was just as worried as obanai. anyone could tell it was a touchy subject.

after a moment, she mustered up the courage to move closer to him. abandoning the comfortableness of the cushion she’d been sitting on to sit directly in front of obanai. with a quick affirmation, her hands slipped under his hair, cupping his cheeks. her thumbs traced the edges of his scar, sending a shiver down his spine.

“iguro-san…” she whispered. despite the softness of his name on her tongue, it cut through the silence. obanai jolted, more surprised by her speaking than her touch.

“y-yes?” he asked, straightening. he felt like he was being called out. her fingers burned against him where skin met scar. he wished she wouldn’t touch it. as if, by doing so, the filthiness of it all would transfer to her like a disease. he felt guilty, even. allowing her to do this. allowing her to act so caring to someone who didn’t deserve any bit of it.

mitsuri’s eyebrows dipped down again, her expression a mellowed bittersweet. she let her hands fall, resting them on top of obanai’s. she squeezed gently, her skin soft as her fingers soothed him. “you shouldn’t have to hide this… you’re… very pretty, iguro-san,” she murmured. her voice was oh, so quiet. and, for the first time in his life, obanai hated it. not her voice, itself. but it was wrong. her mouth forming those words. here, now. with her gaze tracing the years filled of agony on his face.

unable to help it, obanai jerked away. he slipped off his cushion, nearly tumbling down. he managed to settle on the floor, the pillow a distance between them. his fingers knotted into the fabric of his pants. there was a sharp, belated gasp, sounding sweet despite everything. obanai couldn’t find it in himself to apologize. instead, he choked out a shaky, “i’m… not… pretty. it’s not pretty.”

“i… iguro-san,” mitsuri tried. but today was a day for firsts. so obanai interrupted her.

“what happened to me wasn’t pretty. none of it was pretty.” obanai’s throat felt hoarse, his words gravelly.

mitsuri stumbled. she hesitated. then, tentatively: “i didn’t mean…”

obanai shook his head. his hair rustled. his bandages slipped. kaburamaru was suddenly on guard. he hissed, but obanai was quick to coax him away. petting the snake gently, vaguely comforted as he soothed his friend.

“iguro-san… i’m sorry… i meant”—mitsuri looked down, her action only visible from the way her braids shifted. obanai was avoiding looking at her—“i meant that nothing could… get in the way of you being perfect.”

the words tasted bitter in the air. “i’m not perfect, either, kanroji.” obanai spoke flatly. he couldn’t understand what mitsuri couldn’t comprehend. but he felt almost sorry for her. that he was nothing she wished he was. he was far from perfect.

“you are,” mitsuri insisted. before obanai could interject, she added, “perfection doesn’t have a solid definition. some people think ‘perfect’ means their ideal person. some people think it doesn’t exist. but i think that what makes a person perfect is that they’re them. it can come in so many varieties. and you’re one of them, iguro-san. i’m sorry i came off as… insensitive, earlier. but this is what i meant.”

finally, obanai looked up. he was gaping, he knew. a flicker of amusement passed by mitsuri’s eyes. she must enjoy playing games of pretend. it took obanai several moments to speak. because he almost wanted to believe it. but he knew, as a fact, that she was only amusing herself. amusing both of them.

“you’re wrong,” he said. he pushed enough confidence into his words, allowing them to taste strong as they rolled passed his lips. “i wish- i’m sure we both wish. that what you said was true. but it’s not. if you knew- if you’d seen… you would realize. you’d agree with me.”

only a beat of silence, this time. mitsuri was indignant. “perfect people don’t have to do everything right, all the time, iguro-san. we’ve all done stuff we regret. we’ve all done bad things before,” she said firmly. she looked like she wanted to move closer but was holding herself back for his sake. he let himself appreciate it.

“that’s not it. it’s different. it’s more than just something i did.” obanai returned to staring at the ground. his fingers itched to rewrap his bandages. “it’s worse.”

“it couldn’t be,” mitsuri said quietly. “if you didn’t even do it, then—“

“you just- you don’t get it!” obanai snapped, abruptly. his head jerked back up so he could look at her. his fingernails dug into the palms of his hand. “you wouldn’t understand! just- just stop! stop trying to pretend that i can be a better person, when it’s written in my god damn blood that i can’t! you’re just- you’re the perfect one, okay? i can’t compete! i don’t want to! so stop acting like i ever could!”

mitsuri was stunned, her eyes wide. but her surprise seemed purely on his outburst, shying away from his words. why wouldn’t she just let it go? accept that he could never be anything good? he hadn’t anticipated this when he’d worked up the idiocy to show her his scar. he’d almost hoped she’d be scared away. or, at the very least, finally see his flaws. realize he isn’t as great as she thinks he is. and yet all she can muster to understand is that none of it is a good memory.

when the silence stretched on, obanai’s shoulders slumped. he hated that she refused to see it. but he hated himself equally, if not more, for pushing it all onto mitsuri. as if he wanted her to carry his own burden. this was all so stupid. he never should’ve done this.

he turned away, making a quick work with retying his bandages, the movements precise and practiced. when he spoke this time, his voice was considerably quieter. almost meek. “please, kanroji,” he mumbled. “i’m sorry. please forget any of this happened.”

then he stood. he heard her calling out, maybe following him too, but he forced the temptation of her voice away. replacing it with the shock on her face instead. allowing his guilt to guide him out and away. kaburamaru moved back to his usual place as obanai rushed home. but this was how it should be. kaburamaru on his shoulders, his bandages wrapped tightly around his jaw. tucking away and repressing everything that shouldn’t be shown. the only evidence of his visit was mitsuri, who was left standing by the doorway. he could only hope she’d heed his advice and forget what had happened. it was only for the best, after all.

[starsofang]

tw: angst

royal knight!gaz who is assigned as your guard, having to follow you everywhere in the palace or the village in order to keep an eye out and protect you, the heir to the throne

royal knight!gaz who you quickly befriend due to the absurd amount of time he’s forced to spend watching you

royal knight!gaz who instantly becomes your most loyal subject, completely devoting his life to you and his status as knight

royal knight!gaz who somehow ends up bedding you after the discovery of your arranged marriage to the neighboring prince mactavish. friendship turned into fleeting touches in the halls and secret meetings in your private chambers.

royal knight!gaz who worshipped you in the lavish of your sheets when the rest of the palace lay sleeping, teaching you the wonders of intimacy and how you’re meant to be treated during it. he claimed it was to prepare you for prince mactavish but really, it was for his own selfish desires.

royal knight!gaz who you grow a forbidden relationship with, falling in love with one another despite the difference in rank and titles

royal knight!gaz who doesn’t know that you’ve made attempts to reject prince mavtavish’s arranged marriage until you come to him after the two kingdoms fell into war, all because you loved him and not the prince

royal knight!gaz who spends the night holding you in bed, knowing that once the morning came, he’d be taken away as your guard and placed into the war as a soldier

royal knight!gaz who promises to come back to you after the war

royal knight!gaz who never returns home to you once the war has ended after dying on the battlefield, leaving you with only memories of the man you fell in love with

royal!reader who spends the rest of their rule weeping over their lost love, being forced to marry prince simon instead, who they could never love. their heart is devoted to a dead man who they should’ve never loved in the first place.

[luxthestrange]

Incorrect quotes#740 The "Fall"

Mc: I fell—

Belph: From heaven?

Mc: No, I literally fell-

Belph: In love with me the moment you saw me?

Mc: MY ARM WAS BROKEN!

Belph: Okay, but do you think I was pretty? Be honest

The aftermath of...the stairs talk after therapy...

[xxx-angie]

"i don't need your help"

implied radioapple micro-fiction angst, unrequited

378 words

@alacetor-the-duckies-deer (i made a dedicated hazbin blog too)

part 1 | part 2 | inspired by this post

adam swings his axe forward with a grin, watching as the overlord is thrown back and blood seeps out of the open wound in his chest.

alastor huddles over, reaching for the broken pieces of his beloved staff. things really weren’t looking good for him. he presses himself to the wall, breathing getting a bit quick.

but just before adam can take a step closer, a fist connects to his face and sends him into the ground. “hey now, it’s no fun for me if i let you kill albert-”

“alastor”

“before i get to have any fun myself. besides, only i get to fuck this deer.” lucifer says smugly, crossing his arms as he stands over adam.

the area was quiet for a moment, before the injured overlord spoke up with a pained laugh. “never going to happen.”

“d-do you mean fuck with?” the angel looks at lucifer uncomfortably.

“wasn’t that what i said?”

“w-whatever!” adam goes to tackle lucifer, pushing him into the rubble of a wall now no longer standing. the holy demon slips out however with the help of his magic.

and as the two fight, alastor sits and watches. his body shakes as he keeps up his unwavering grin. fuck, he couldn’t believe this was happening! he used to be feared, a force to reckon with. and now here he was, to weak to fight after lucifer saved him.

an arm wrapped over his wound, alastor shakily stands up and looks to the sky, lucifer now flying down towards the sinner. “aren’t you supposed to be some powerfu-” the holy demon starts with a mocking tone, but abruptly stops as he sees the damage adam did to alastor. he stands there, eyes widened with concern.

“i am.” the red-haired demon narrows his eyes, ears pressing down against his head. “and i didn’t need your help.” he turns away, preparing to retreat.

but lucifer reaches his hand out, setting it over alastor’s. “you’re hurt.” he looks up at the other. “l-let me heal that?”

lucifer raises his other hand, but alastor knocks it back. “no. i don’t need your help.” he glares at the king, stepping away. “i can deal with this on my own.” he disappears into the shadows, leaving lucifer by himself.

[angiemaniac]

This makes me happy I am not the only one who thought of what if Durge as a companion!!! I look forward to more!!

Ahhh I'm so glad to see so many people who collectively agree we need Durge as a companion.

I know it's a LOT to have Larian code him into the game, but I figured if they aren't able to, I want to make stories about the "What If's".

I'll be making more in the future!