zaebeecee

[zaebeecee]

To Sever A Loveless Bond

••RadioDust Soulmate AU••

Part 23/?

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•••

Y’all ready for a resolution? Well, that’s too bad.

We’re at the “character talks about emotional shit with everyone except the person they should be talking about emotional shit with” arc of any romance story. Don’t worry, Alastor’s gonna get this treatment too. (Also, all backstory in this story is a product of headcanon, so it might contradict canon but I don’t really care)

•••

The month after VoxTek: Angel’s POV ••

• Week One

Angel felt the gentle thunk of the door closing through the metal handle, and with it, he felt as though something inside him had been irrevocably severed. A sort of numbness unlike anything he had ever felt before settled over him like a weighted blanket, stifling and painful without reaching the satisfying threshold of truly masochistic suffocation.

Immediately, Angel wanted to turn around, storm back into Alastor’s room, and tear him a new asshole for thinking he could be so dismissive of Angel after… after everything that had happened. Alastor would deserve it, Angel would feel good about it, and if Alastor got mad and then got violent, all the better, because it would be so much easier to be pissed at Alastor for breaking his bones than it was to be pissed at him for…

doing what we agreed on?

And that was precisely why Angel released the door handle and began walking back down the hallway. This had been the plan from the start after all, hadn’t it? It wasn’t Alastor’s fault that Angel, in his infinite capacity to fuck everything up, had decided to catch real feelings for what might have been the first time ever and felt like he could die at the prospect of never even being able to touch him again. But that was completely selfish, Angel knew that, and he had agreed to the temporary arrangement. After all, if Alastor hadn’t left Rosie’s in the first place, it would have been broken days ago, right?

Halfway down the hall, Angel heard the distant click of Alastor’s door locking again, and the spider had to resist the nearly overwhelming urge to physically hunch in on himself. Instead, he just kept walking, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to just spend another full week in bed.

“Angel? Are you okay?”

The spider came to a stop and raised his head, blinking a few times as he realized he was only three feet away from the check in desk where Charlie and Vaggie were in the middle of designing another new flyer for the hotel (in colored pencil and marker instead of crayon this time, which was at the very least an improvement). Charlie was looking right at him, her eyes wide and concerned, while Vaggie was still bent over the paper as though working but completely unmoving, giving away how closely she was paying attention. Husk, on the other side of the lobby, wasn’t even trying to disguise his own pointed stare.

Fuck.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Angel said, automatically slipping into his masking voice and waving Charlie’s concern off. “Just checkin’ in on the boogieman back there, s’all. I’m goin’ back to my room now.”

“Angel, wait…!”

But Angel didn’t wait, ignoring Charlie’s words as he took the stairs three at a time and vanished as quickly as he could down the hallway. He didn’t slow down until he was back in his room with the door securely closed and locked, and then he stood there, looking the place over and trying to think only of how to best set up a little cam studio in his space.

I already knew I was starting over. I guess this is just another thing to restart. Not a big deal. It’ll be fine.

I’m fine.

•••

• Week Two

The next week passed with little fanfare or activity. Though Angel was up and out of bed, he found he got winded easily, limiting the amount of time he was able to walk around before he needed to find somewhere to sit. Most days, he would hang out in the lobby for a while before Alastor invariably showed up to ask Charlie something or dictate a request to Husk and Niffty. Whenever that happened, Angel either retreated to his room, went into the back garden, or both if the weather was nice enough to let Fat Nuggets run around outside for a bit.

It was as though everything had changed, somehow, even if Angel knew logically that not much had. He and Alastor had only been fucking around for a month, so that stopping wasn’t really a change so much as just a return to normal. But they still had the same residents, the same team building exercises, the same bouts of utter boredom… the only thing that had really changed was that Angel had quit his job and gotten a new one.

Well, Niffty had started leaving the hotel more often. That one was new, and Angel still didn’t know what to think of it, because the one time he asked her what she’d been up to, she’d simply giggled and run away.

The point was that even though everything was essentially the same, it all felt different. He couldn’t decide if it was the air in the hotel, or something about everyone else, or maybe something about him… whatever it was, it was the kind of nebulous sensation that made his skin itch from an inability to fix it. He wondered if part of it was the fact that he could tell Charlie wanted to ask if he was okay every time she laid eyes on him, and the fact that she had restrained herself so far wasn’t much comfort when she stared at him whenever they were in the same room. But why wouldn’t he be fine? He hadn’t even cried.

Not since that night, anyway. And he wasn’t going to cry over Alastor anymore. It was a waste of time.

The cam work was already going promisingly well. Angel had a decently large following on his socials—it had been an enormous boost to his ego when he started seeing that he was getting followers from other Rings, too—and since he had already announced that he’d quit at VoxTek after beating Valentino up with a monitor and breaking Vox’s face (and wasn’t posting that nugget of gossip just… so freeing), it had only taken a suggestive post and a link drop to get new subscribers to start rolling in.

At this rate, he thought, he’d soon be making more for himself than he’d ever made through Val. When he’d been employed at VoxTek, he’d never been allowed to keep his own money; rather, as his contract dictated, all of his money was ‘kept safe for him’ by Valentino, who paid him an allowance each week. The amount was subject to Valentino’s whims, and it hadn’t been unusual for Angel to go months without seeing a cent of it. That was different now too, though, wasn’t it? He would actually be able to start saving money. He could even get his own fucking place, if he really wanted to.

…did he want to do that?

When the weekend rolled around, Angel felt good enough to get out for a while, so he dolled himself up and promised Charlie he’d be back later before heading out of the hotel. At first, he didn’t have a destination in mind—he could go shopping, he could go to a club, he could go get laid—but after a bit of thought…

Gonna need to highjack a car.

Ten minutes later, Angel was driving out of Pentagram City and taking the road the short distance to Zahhak, the largest satellite they had out towards the west. Colloquially known as Imp City to most Sinners, Zahhak was an entirely (as far as Angel knew) Hellborn city that was mostly populated by those who worked either for or with Sinners. While Sinners were only confined to the Pride Ring, not to Pentagram City itself, they still never tended to branch out past the city’s outer limits if they could help it, meaning that their population in other parts of the Ring was almost zero. It was partially due to the fact that humans tended to stick together even when they hated each other, but Angel suspected it was because Sinners really didn’t get along with the rest of Hell. Hellborn had apparently never had a high opinion of Sinners, nor Sinners of Hellborn; to the Hellborn, Sinners were a bunch of infiltrators invading their home, and to Sinners, the Hellborn were a bunch of gross and unpredictable monsters that would slice you up as soon as look at you. Angel, though, had never really had much of an issue with Hellborn. He’d worked with them before, primarily Verosika Mayday, and he never had any more problems with them than he did with any given Sinner.

It took a bit for Angel to find his destination, unfamiliar with Zahhak as he was, but he soon pulled into a lot with a familiar van parked terribly, somehow taking up four spaces at a diagonal. Angel snorted under his breath and headed into the building, putting his sunglasses on top of his head as he made his way up the stairs. It looked like a bunch of the other spaces for rent were unoccupied, and Angel passed by several open doors that led to dark and empty rooms before he found his destination.

The only door with light visibly on led to a cute, if somewhat eclectic, waiting room with some mismatched furniture, a tank with two electric eels, and a receptionist’s desk positioned in a way that suggested it was put there so the receptionist couldn’t pretend she didn’t see clients come in. Even so, the girl didn’t look up, her feet kicked up on the desk and her eyes on her phone.

Angel tilted his head before walking over and putting two of his hands on his hips, staring down at the hellhound girl and just waiting for her to acknowledge him. Eventually, she sighed, letting her hand fall into her lap. “Yeah, yeah, welcome to IMP, the fuck do you want—”.

Her words trailed off into a whine as she looked up at Angel, her eyes going wide and her ears flattening back against her head. Angel smiled at her. “Hi,” he said. She didn’t speak. “You’re… Loona, right?” She nodded. “Your dad back there?” She nodded. “You gonna say somethin’?” She shook her head.

The door to the back office opened. “Hey, Loona, have you seen— oh.” Angel looked over and saw a young male imp, who was now staring up at him as well. “…crumbs.”

Angel snorted. “Will both of you chill the fuck out? I ain’t here to shoot you or nothin’.”

“You wouldn’t be the first one who did,” the imp, who Angel was pretty sure was called Moxxie, said. “Can… um, can I help you with something?”

“I dunno,” Angel said honestly, resisting the urge to fold his arms. “Guess I just wanted to come thank you and your boss.”

Moxxie opened his mouth before a voice shouted at him. “Moxxie, for fuck’s sake, has Loonie seen it or not??”

“Uh, sorry, Blitzø, but Angel Dust is out here.”

“OH FUCK YES.”

“Ow!! Dammit, Blitzø, you fuckin’ train wreck!!”

Angel listened to sounds of clambering and crashing, like someone was vaulting inelegantly over a cluttered desk, before the same imp he had seen after leaving Rosie’s barreled through the doorway and shoved Moxxie out of the way.

Angel covered his mouth with his hand, laughing at the way Moxxie protested his treatment. “I’m guessin’ you’re Blitzø, huh?”

“I’m honored a famous porn star knows my name,” Blitzø said with a sly grin. Angel’s smirk widened as another imp, who must have been Millie, came out of the office as well. “Since you haven’t pulled a gun on us, I’m guessing you aren’t here to kill us?” Blitzø guessed.

“Nope. If I was, you’d know.”

“Well, that’s good to know, at least. So… what can we do for you?”

Angel finally did cross his arms, drumming his fingers against the skin above his elbow as he thought. “…I dunno, really. Guess I just thought I’d drop by to thank you. You guys had some kinda hand in gettin’ my contract broken, right?”

Blitzø raised his hands. “I just took it to a guy who found a loophole.”

Millie smacked him on the arm. “Don’t be all modest,” she chided with a smile before looking up at Angel. “Don’t you worry ‘bout it none. Helpin’ out really was the least we could do after everythin’ we put you through.”

“Oh, hey, don’t worry about that. Vox woulda pulled the same kinda bullshit if he hadn’t hired the three of you,” Angel said. “And you got money, yeah? So no hard feelings.”

Moxxie was looking at him a bit critically. “…I know this isn’t my business, Mister… um…”

“Just call me Angel Dust, baby.”

“A-Angel Dust,” Moxxie said, his facial expression unchanging even as his cheeks began turning a noticeable shade of purple beneath the red. “I just wanted— are you okay? Both you and Alastor were in a pretty bad state when Charlie brought you in.”

Angel could feel the way his smile changed. “…I’m okay. Healin’ up just fine. Sinner and all.”

Moxxie nodded. “And Alastor? Charlie said… his arm…?”

Angel shrugged. “I… dunno, honestly. We ain’t spoken in about a week. You’d have to ask him if you wanna know details.”

“Wait, what?” Millie asked. “You ain’t— a week?! The fuck’s that about??”

“Millie, it’s not our business,” Moxxie said.

“Considering Alastor nearly killed me over all this, I feel it’s totally our business if he’s on his bullshit,” Blitzø countered. “And I know a man on his bullshit when I hear about it.”

“Fuck’s sake, everybody’s so worked up over this shit,” Angel groaned, looking up towards the ceiling. But… it couldn’t possibly hurt to tell them about it, right? They didn’t even live in the same city, and they were Hellborn. Besides, they already knew so many icky little details… what was one more?

And if I don’t tell someone soon, I’m gonna go nuts.

“He… got his arm torn off,” Angel said; it wasn’t any easier to say that out loud now than it was the first time he tried. “Had his mark on it. Guess he figures the whole thing’s over now, since it’s gone.”

Angel wasn’t sure what kind of response he expected to that, but it wasn’t what he got; Blitzø raised his hand to cover the side of his neck, almost like a reflex, while Moxxie looked almost incomparably sad suddenly. Millie, however, was slowly starting to look absolutely furious. “Oh, the fuck he did,” she said.

Angel raised an eyebrow at her. “What?”

Millie didn’t answer him, simply held her arm out across Blitzø to hold her open palm in front of Moxxie. “Moxxie. Keys.”

“Millie, honey—”

“Keys, Moxxie, don’t make me hotwire our car again.” Moxxie cursed under his breath and fished out a ring of keys, putting them in her palm. “Back in a bit,” Millie said, storming out of the office and slamming the door behind her.

Angel stared after her, blinking a few times. “…was it somethin’ I said?”

Moxxie sighed. “No, it… it’s just…” He hesitated, then said, “…could I talk to you outside for a minute?”

This was rapidly getting weirder. “Uh… sure.” As Moxxie turned to leave, Angel bent down, kissing Blitzø’s cheek. “Hit me up if you need a dancer for a party. I’ll do one for you for free, handsome.”

Blitzø’s eyes got huge and he put his fists under his chin. “This is the best day of my life.” As Angel followed Moxxie out, laughing a little, Blitzø continued, “Loonie, did you hear that?! Free stripper!”

“Good for you, don’t wanna hear about your erection.”

Moxxie led him out into the hallway, then up a flight of stairs and through a roof access door. Angel looked around, raising an eyebrow. “Afraid of bein’ overheard or somethin’?”

“Yeah,” Moxxie said. “It’s something I haven’t told Blitzø about and I don’t really want… he would make it a… a thing. But whatever Millie’s doing might end up affecting you and I feel you deserve a bit of forewarning.”

Angel folded his arms. “Makin’ me nervous here.”

Moxxie waved his hands. “No, sorry, I don’t mean to…” He took a deep breath, then started over. “You know how everyone in Hell has a soulmate mark? Even Hellborn?” Angel nodded once. “I don’t know how Sinners see it, but for the Hellborn, most of us see it as either one of the only good things Hell has to offer us, or something that’s… well. Bullshit. And there are some people who don’t care, of course, but…”

Angel could tell, by the look on Moxxie’s face, which one he was. He supposed he wasn’t surprised to learn that even the Hellborn had its romantics.

Moxxie didn’t finish his last sentence, just continuing, “Millie and I are married. Have been for a bit now. But we aren’t… we’re not soulmates. She’s never had her mark activated, and mine…” He cleared his throat. “…well. Mine isn’t going to… be a problem, I guess you could say.”

“…I’m sorry,” Angel said, unsure of what else to say.

“Oh, no, I don’t mean… I love Millie,” Moxxie said firmly. “I’ve loved her more than anything or anyone I’ve ever known. And Millie has always said she doesn’t care about marks, whether hers matches her partner or not, or even if she ever meets her soulmate. But… a lot of people do care, and there’s this atmosphere around some people that if you aren’t with your soulmate, any other relationship will fail.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t really tell me why she got all worked up.”

Moxxie ran his hand through his hair. “…her parents… don’t like me. I’m not their type of person—they’re ranchers out in Wrath and I’m from a Greed city—but they’re some of the people who think a relationship will fail if you’re not soulmates. Millie says they hound her about it every time she visits home, and she’s gotten to the point that if she hears someone make a claim that a mark is a make or break sort of thing, she gets… really mad.”

Angel stared at him, trying to put the words together with Millie’s actions. “…what, is she gonna go yell at Alastor? Is she nuts?”

“She’s definitely nuts, yes. But I don’t think she’ll do anything drastic. …I really hope she doesn’t,” Moxxie added in a mutter, putting his face in his hands and grumbling something about already having to deal with Blitzø.

“…Y’know this don’t make sense, right?” Angel asked. “So me and Alastor ain’t doin’… whatever we were doin’. Why the fuck would she care?”

Moxxie allowed his hands to fall. “…she was the first one who wanted to pull out of the job the Vees gave us,” he said, hesitating just a little.

Angel frowned. “…why…?”

“Because she…” Moxxie looked up for a moment, then looked at Angel again. “…because she saw the way he was looking at you.”

•

Ten minutes later, Angel was on his way back to Pentagram City, eyes fixed unseeingly on the road.

He had assured Moxxie he would be okay, but he still wasn’t sure if that was a lie or not.

All he knew for certain was that he had no intention of going anywhere near the hotel again until he had gotten laid by at least three different guys.

•••

• Week Three

“Hey baby.”

“Hey bitch!” Cherri was more subdued than she usually was when Angel called her, but of course, he had been somewhat out of pocket for the last three weeks; she would never admit it, but Angel knew she was worrying. “Glad to hear you’re alive. I was about to put out an advert for a new bestie.”

“Do it and I’ll set ‘em on fire,” Angel said with a grin. “Busy tonight? Wanna go out?”

“Sure, I’m down. Got a dive in mind?”

An hour later, they arrived outside a little club called the White Sugar Cookie (slogan: “We’re a speakeasy, but with drugs, so we’re better!”) and both took a bump before heading inside. It was pleasantly tasteful, dark and moody with wood interiors and maroon leather, and Angel took a second to appreciate the house band as he and Cherri headed for the bar and settled themselves.

“What’ll ya have?” the bartender asked, squinting at Angel like he recognized him but couldn’t place him.

Before Angel could deflect, however, a familiar voice interrupted. “Get your fine, tight ass back to work, Arlo, I got this one.” The bartender held his hands up and walked away, and Angel swiveled as Mimzy came out from around the bar and held her arms open. “Angel, baby, it’s been too long!”

“Hiya, Mimzy,” Angel said, leaning down to give her a hug and exchanging kisses to the air with her.

Mimzy was a complicated figure in the Hazbin Hotel. She hadn’t been around since the debacle with the sharks—from what Angel had been able to extrapolate, she and Alastor had been acquainted in life, and Angel had never gotten more than that out of her—but Angel had found her club several months earlier. Since it was a place where you could buy drugs and where anyone harassing other customers got thrown out on their ear, Angel had made it a frequent haunt when he needed to get out of the hotel and couldn’t handle the attention that came from being basically anywhere else. Since Mimzy was exactly his kind of train wreck so long as he kept her at arm’s length and not anything closer, and since Angel liked to drag Cherri along when she wasn’t in one of her wilder party moods, it wasn’t surprising that they formed something of a weird friendship.

“The usual, girls?” Mimzy asked as she went back around the bar. “Or are you feelin’ a bit more spicy?”

“Oh, I could use somethin’ a little more adventurous,” Angel said. He glanced at Cherri, who nodded, then he added, “You got a few minutes, Mimz? Why doncha join us?”

Mimzy put one hand on her hip and one on the bar. “…yeah, just for you.”

Mimzy took them to a private booth in the back corner, along with a pitcher of something alarmingly orange and three martini glasses. Cherri poured for them as Angel asked, “How ya been, Mimzy? Run any more loans out?”

“Oh, honey, I’m in debt up to my ears as usual, which we both know is a pretty low bar with how close I am to the floor,” Mimzy said, taking a glass from Cherri. “Heard about that bullshit the Vees pulled a few weeks ago, though. Glad to see you’re okay.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

Cherri scoffed. “He’s been holed up in that hotel for three weeks. Don’t believe his shit.”

Angel glared at her. “Fuck off,” he said. “I am fine. You’re just jealous my business is takin’ off.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard you started a cam business,” Mimzy said, her eyes lighting up. “Come on, details.”

They talked business, along with a healthy amount of gossip about Mimzy’s regulars, until Cherri spotted a girl that was apparently super hot and excused herself to try and get a dance out of the becoming stranger. Once they were alone, Mimzy picked up the pitcher and refilled Angel’s drink. “So, is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Don’t play dumb, sweetie, I saw the pictures of you and Alastor out together,” Mimzy said with a dry stare, taking out rolling papers and tobacco and beginning to roll a cigarette on the table. “He’s always been a social sonuvabitch, but I ain’t actually heard’a him gettin’ out and socializin’ in a while. And definitely not in a date setting.”

Angel sighed, putting his head in one hand. “Does it matter?”

“Nah. But I’m nosy, so tell me anyway.”

Mimzy offered Angel a cigarette, and he took it with a begrudging thanks, pulling his lighter out of his chest fluff. “I mean, yeah, we went out on a couple’a dates. It was… y’know… some kinda favor.”

Mimzy pulled a disbelieving face as she tucked a second cigarette into her cigarette holder. “A favor?” she asked skeptically. “Honey, I watched Alastor make women cry for having the audacity to flirt with him back in the day. I mean, when he noticed, of course. I got a hard time buyin’ he’d go on a date as a favor.”

Angel held his lighter out for her. “Don’t matter anyway, it’s done now. We ain’t even talkin’ anymore.”

Mimzy took a drag through the holder to cherry the cigarette before she responded. “Good.” She settled back, holder in one hand, other arm crossed beneath her breasts. “Look, kid, I like you. And since I like you, I don’t really wanna watch you get hurt, which is just about all Alastor does when you start gettin’ through those walls of his.”

Angel wanted to argue, but it felt pointless. He wasn’t even sure if he was going to be arguing with her or himself. “…you knew him pretty well, didn’tcha?”

“As well as anybody did back then, sure.”

“What…” Angel hesitated. Do I wanna know? “…what was he like? Back then?”

“Hm? Well…” Mimzy looked thoughtful for a long moment. “He was always odd. Handsome, but in a way that was real… He had a tendency to stare. Not blink enough. Smile too wide. Y’know, same kinda off-putting shit he does now. I worked at a jazz club down in New Orleans, and he used to come in a lot. He was a kinda local celebrity, y’know, since it was the late 20s, early 30s, and there weren’t a whole lotta radio stations around back then. Or, well, his voice was a celebrity, anyway.”

Mimzy paused to ash into her ashtray, her expression thoughtful. Angel just waited, wondering if Alastor would be mad she was telling him all this.

“He was always real closed-off,” Mimzy continued, raising her cigarette again. “Didn’t talk about himself much. He was from a little village outside of town where all the… well, y’know, where the black folks lived so they didn’t make the white folks uncomfortable. And he had a reputation there for bein’ cursed, was what I heard. Lotta rumors about him and his mother, shit nobody was brave enough to say to his face. They said his mother was some kinda caplata, like a hoodoo priestess, and she specialized in medicine, so the village both needed her and hated her. Word was she was killed by a lynch mob when Alastor was fifteen and he was never the same after that.”

Angel frowned. “That’s… awful,” he murmured, not sure what else to say.

“Dunno how much of it’s true,” Mimzy said with a shrug. “But Alastor was always dangerous. After he died, it came out that he was a killer, but I know for a fact they never figured out just how many people he bumped off. Hell, I don’t think I had any idea, and I helped hide him a couple’a times.” She hesitated, then said, “Never did find out what happened to that kid, either.”

Angel sat up a little at the sudden non-sequitur, his eyes widening as he tried not to choke on his cigarette. “Kid? Are you— Alastor had a kid?!”

“What? Oh!” Mimzy cackled, waving her hand. “Oh, fuck no, Alastor hates children. I say kid, but he was… I dunno, twenty or so? Hard to tell with the white hair. Real cutie, big eyes, always wearin’ these real sharp white suits, drove the girls at the club absolutely nuts when he didn’t give ‘em the time of day either. Alastor met him at Mardi Gras, and I guess they were friends. Came in together a lot over that last year Alastor was alive. He was some kinda runaway from up north, from what I gathered, and I hear he went back home after Al died. Shame, too; seemed like Alastor was finally startin’ to open up.”

Angel took all of this in, thinking to himself. He’d known Alastor had gone through a lot, but he hadn’t realized… It sounded like whoever that guy was, he was real important to Alastor. And really, it wasn’t any of Angel’s business, was it?

Maybe I never should have asked.

“So you’re sayin’ he’s always been a pain in the ass,” Angel said, deflecting with a smirk.

Mimzy didn’t notice, just grinning at him. “The biggest. Get him a trophy and beat him over the head with it.”

“I’ll pass. Waste of a good trophy.” Angel finished his cigarette, then put it out. “Hey, Mimz, got one more question for you.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m thinkin’ about movin’ out. Got any ideas for a good place to set up shop? My new business needs room.”

•••

• Week Four

Angel understood, now, why Cherri had left after things had fallen apart with Husk. Even if she didn’t want anything to do with the soul connection—honestly, Angel still couldn’t get a read on her when it came to all that shit—it couldn’t have been easy to still see him every day and feel that pull and know that he wanted nothing more than to pretend she didn’t exist.

He couldn’t stand looking at Alastor anymore. Every time he did, he felt an almost overwhelming urge to go to him and do something, anything to just get Alastor to talk to him. And whenever he did see Alastor, the Radio Demon acted like he didn’t even exist. Angel could tolerate a lot, but an eternity of Alastor ignoring him wasn’t one of those things.

If all it took was a month to get him into this state, how would he feel after a year?

Angel was in the middle of packing up his stuff—Charlie had assured him (with tears in her eyes) they would get his things delivered to his new place so he wouldn’t have to worry about it—when he heard a knock on the door. He hesitated, because it wasn’t a knock he heard often, before he heard a small and sad voice. “Angel? Are you there? Can I come in?”

Angel felt his shoulders sink a little. “…sure, Niffty.”

The door opened and Niffty stepped in, closing it behind her. She looked around slowly. “…it’s true. You’re leaving.”

“…yeah. It’s true.”

Immediately, Niffty’s large eye filled with tears. “Noooo…!” she whined, running over to Angel. He knelt down, and she threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him. “You can’t leave! I don’t want you to!”

“Oh, Niff…” Angel smiled a little, even though he didn’t feel it, returning the hug and gently rubbing her little back. “It ain’t like I’m gonna be gone forever. You can always come see me, and we can hang out whenever you want.”

“But I want to see you here!”

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Niffty, I am. I don’t want to leave, I just… I can’t stay here anymore.”

“Yes you can! Alastor’s stupid and you don’t have to leave just because he’s stupid!”

Angel actually laughed at that, gently taking her by the shoulders to pull away enough to look at her. “Yeah, he is stupid,” he said fondly, reaching up to wipe a tear from her face. “But he doesn’t wanna see me no more, and he’s gotta stay for the hotel.”

Niffty shook her head firmly, grabbing Angel’s hand in both of hers. “He does! He’s just— he’s bad at everything.” She sniffled a little. “Do you hate him?”

“No, honey, I don’t hate him,” Angel said firmly.

“Do you love him?”

He hesitated. “I…” A while ago, he would have waved that off with a laugh and dismissed it immediately, but now… “…I think I do.”

I think I have for a while now. Even before this mark shit. Does that make me pathetic?

“Then why won’t you stay?”

“It’s because I care about him,” Angel said. “It’s too hard to see him right now, Niff. Maybe I’ll come back one day, but I just… I can’t right now.”

Niffty stared up at him as he gently petted her hair a few times. “…do you promise you won’t leave forever?”

“Yeah, Niffty. I promise.”

Angel let Niffty help him pack up a bit, and as they worked, he couldn’t help noticing the other Sinner growing pensive. She ended up leaving after only a few minutes, giving Angel a big hug before hurrying off. Angel finished up alone, then grabbed his purse and the handle of his little hellpig’s harness.

“Come on, Fat Nuggets. Let’s go.”

•••

[zaebeecee]

To Sever a Loveless Bond Chapter Nine

PART 1/3 HAHAHAHA

Read the fic at AO3 or here on Tumblr! Written by @zaebeecee

There's 15 pics this time. I'm posting them in three parts. Responsibility ahoy~

I'm so jazzed about the IMP crossover into Zae's fic and have been looking forward to drawing it for forever~~~ Look at how much Blitzø gives not a fuck for Val's posturing

his bedazzling of moneyshot turned out really neat for how messy he was with that glue huh

See the other chapter artwork here:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five pt. 1

Chapter Five pt. 2

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

[zaebeecee]

oooooh this is gorgeous

Meses sem desenhar e ontem fiz esses três. Eu tava uma máquina

[zaebeecee]

on today’s edition of Zae’s Been Thinking Too Much While Crocheting…

Fandoms have got to stop romanticizing hatred.

• On media literacy and the sanitization of unhealthy relationship dynamics •

(I know, I know, this sounds like a bunch of pretentious buzzwords that mean absolutely nothing, but trust me, I’m going somewhere with this.)

The idea of the Enemies to Lovers (EtL for the sake of the rest of this post) trope isn’t exactly uncharted waters as far as fan communities are concerned. When two people who seem to be relatively compatible butt heads, there’s definitely something engaging about it; forced hostility born from attraction has a unique energy to it that can be a hell of a lot of fun to play around with in any kind of fan community context, from fanfiction and fanart to role playing. That said…

Two characters hating each other is not proof that they’re actually in love, and people need to stop acting like it is.

To clarify, I AM NOT TELLING PEOPLE WHAT NOT TO SHIP. Additionally, I am absolutely not knocking the EtL trope. My fellow Internet Olds will remember a time when deviantArt was considerably less of a cesspool than it is today; back in the mid-00s, in particular, dA was one of the best places you could go to find fan communities for all different fandoms and share art with each other. I bring this up to say that I am so much in favor of the EtL trope, there was over a year that I ran the largest L x Light Death Note community on dA.

The EtL trope is great, provided there is more between the characters than simply hating each other.

You might be wondering why I’m bringing this up at all if I’m very much a ‘ship and let ship’ sort of media analysis queer, and the answer is pretty simple. Scientific studies have shown, time and again, that the media people consume has an effect on their perception of the world, whether we mean for it to or not. And, the more we obsess over that media, the more it starts to impact how we interpret reality.

In other words: scientifically speaking, obsessing over a ship that involves looking at two people who hate each other and calling it love will make you see real life abusive situations as much less destructive than they really are. This sounds extreme, I know, and I want to emphasize that it doesn’t make you okay with people being abused. It simply makes you interpret the situation differently.

For clarity’s sake, I am talking about one kind of ship and one kind of ship only: when the two characters, in canon, have absolutely zero interaction that doesn’t involve overt hostility, and people point to that hostility and say it’s proof they’re actually attracted to one another, frequently even going so far as to say they’re canonically in love because they can’t stand each other. I’m not talking about characters who are clearly mad about being attracted (see: tsundere anime girls who yell at a guy or other girl, but they’re frequently blushing, or they get genuinely flustered when their friends tease them about having a crush). I’m also not talking about characters who start out as enemies and become friends, or end up having to work together and build a partnership, or realize their fight was stupid and agree to put aside their quarrel.

I know there are a lot of phrases that we’re familiar with from our parents and grandparents (and so on) generations, takes we know are incredibly bad and are things people need to stop saying. I’m sure you’ve heard at least one of these things, like:

“He only picks on you because he likes you.”

“She’s ignoring me, which must mean she’s playing hard to get. I should try harder to get her attention.”

“If they didn’t care about me, they wouldn’t get so upset that they hit me. After all, I made a mistake, and they were just worried about me.”

(The third one is the thing that tends to strike people as the most absurd, but the lengths some victims will go to be at fault for their treatment is shocking and incredibly depressing.)

If you look at two fictional characters who hate each other and interpret that as love, you will start to interpret real-life mistreatment as signs of concealed affection, because that’s what you’ve done to the ship that you mentally obsess over day in and day out.

And look, there isn’t anything inherently wrong with shipping characters who hate each other in canon. Feelings can change. People can evolve. If you write fanfics or comics where the two of them develop something beyond despising each other, great. The problem that comes in is when you aren’t shipping characters despite the fact that they hate each other, but rather, you’re shipping them because they hate each other.

It all boils down to whether you enjoy something with awareness that it’s bad, or whether you’re making excuses for bad things so you don’t feel bad about enjoying it. It’s fine to ship enemies; it isn’t fine to excuse their mistreatment of one another and say it’s because they just like each other so much and can’t handle it uwu. It’s fine to love a villain; it isn’t fine to excuse their behavior and evil acts and say it’s because they’re the mistreated ones actually and the bad things they did are someone else’s fault and the villain is innocent sweet baby uwu.

What I’m saying is, if you can’t handle the complexity of characters genuinely atoning for past bad behavior and want to sweep it under the rug and pretend it didn’t happen or it wasn’t that bad actually or it was proof of a GOOD thing, you probably need to put down the EtL and slowly back away. It’s better for you in the long run.

[zaebeecee]

If anyone has seen my WIP of this from my other blog acct, well... happy to say it's colored XD

English translation on the second picture

And some zoomed ones...

Gotta love smitten Alastor for real HAHAHA. Poor ace, prolly having that ace panic from catching "weird" feelings : D

I also tried a new lining + coloring style? technique? for this 'cause I always get frustrated I couldn't finish a WIP with how I line & color 'em... this way was surprisingly fun despite being sketchy / colored pencils-ish / crayons-ish

[zaebeecee]

a perfect gift for someone you love but would also like to mildly threaten

"Have a Jolly Holiday or YULE be sorry!"

Something fun for the Yuletide, a happy little RadioTrio being festive (Husk is enjoying himself, he just doesn't wanna admit it)

And this is a great time to point out that hey. I have a ko-fi now. And this is available there as a print that you can buy and give to your friends or enemies or keep for yourself!

[zaebeecee]

The New Assignment

Post-Mastermind What If

The day after the trial, IMP has a new assignment, one that no one outside hired them to do. Nobody told Stolas, primarily because they were afraid he might have a heart attack if he knew.

•••

Just a little one shot I tossed together in the emotions of the last episode, a ‘what if’ for something I would honestly love to see happen. So… spoilers for Mastermind, if you haven’t seen it yet.

This might work its way into the Stolitz soul mate fic I’m starting as soon as Loveless Bond (which is looking like it might have its own sequel) concludes.

•••

“You’re actually going to go to work?”

“Yeah, of course. Gotta capitalize on the good PR while people remember it.”

Stolas sat on the small, ratted couch, hands folded between his knees as he watched Blitzø move around the living room of his apartment preparing to leave for his job. Behind him, he heard the sounds of Loona rooting around in their tiny kitchen, but he couldn’t exert the effort it would have taken to turn his head to see what she was doing; the only reason he was watching Blitzø at all was because the imp was in his line of sight.

I’m in his home.

It didn’t feel real. Nothing felt real; not the apartment, nor the previous day, nor even Stolas himself, as though he were a walking shadow of himself silently gliding through a netherworld constructed solely from the stones of his own fears and insecurities, a self-manifested and self-inflicted torturous space that existed exclusively within his own psyche. He was disconnected from his magic, which meant he was disconnected from the stars, an energy he had been constantly in touch with since he received his destiny as a small child. It was akin to being disconnected from his own soul, the place where it had once been now a chasm of ice and empty darkness.

He couldn’t let himself think about Octavia. If his mind lingered on her, even for a moment, he felt he might simply collapse into a catatonic shell from which he would never emerge.

Instead, Stolas kept watching Blitzø, focusing on him looking for his phone to cleanse his own mind of the image of the other demon chained and kneeling at a chopping block. At the time, Stolas’s actions had felt… natural. So natural, in fact, that they were practically a reflex, his body moving to intervene in the trial before his mind had fully registered what he was seeing. It wasn’t simply the reality of Blitzø facing an unjust death, but the undeniable fact that he never would have been there in the first place if Stolas hadn’t been so utterly foolish and hadn’t failed so thoroughly at protecting Blitzø from consequences that Stolas was fully aware of. It was true that Stolas had known he would never lay eyes on Blitzø again, but he had told himself time and again that at least Blitzø was out there somewhere, running his business and killing humans and taking care of his daughter. If Blitzø was alive, Stolas knew that he could find a way to carry on.

But now, Blitzø was in the same room as Stolas. Stolas was, in fact, inside Blitzø’s own home, which he had never once thought he would lay eyes on. He was wearing Loona’s clothing and (somewhat) wrapped in a small blanket with colorful cartoon ponies all over it. It was surreal enough that, the more Stolas marveled at its strangeness, the more he found himself able to take in his surroundings and truly marvel at this insight to the life of the demon he had loved for what felt like countless lifetimes but had never been given the freedom to truly know or understand.

I didn’t know homes could be so small.

Stolas remembered the last full moon, at least as much as he ever allowed himself to think on it, and thought back to Blitzø’s assertions that Stolas lived an ignorant and privileged life (even if the imp hadn’t put it quite that way). At the time, Stolas had found the claim ridiculous; his own living spaces were nowhere near as extravagant as many other Goetia, and the palace had been quite dramatically simplified following Paimon’s disappearance. He watched Hellanovella religiously despite being told that it was trash meant for common folk, he attended common festivals, he patronized common businesses… Hell’s sake, he even went to Loo Loo Land not infrequently for several years and that place was more of a death trap than most anywhere else in the Greed Ring. Stolas had always thought of himself as more grounded and self-aware than most other Goetia, who (as a whole) seemed to have less than no interest in the populations that made up most of the Rings.

But that had been more than delusion, hadn’t it? Stolas could see, now, just how completely blind he was and how utterly willful that blindness had been. This entire apartment was roughly the size of his own bathroom, and it was living quarters for not just one, but two demons.

He truly was right about me, wasn’t he?

“Mmkay, Stols, up. Let’s go.”

Stolas blinked, his blurred vision refocusing on Blitzø fastening his coat. “Go?”

“Yeah,” Blitzø said, looking at Stolas and raising his brow. “You can’t possibly think I’m leaving you here alone, not after yesterday. Loonie and I are going to the office, and you’re coming with us.”

Stolas stared at him, fingers clenching in the pony blanket and drawing it closer around himself like a shawl. “…b-but—”

“Stolas,” Blitzø said, just a little more firmly. “I’m not asking. I’m not risking anything happening to you while I’m gone, and if you want a reason to comply that isn’t self-preservation, I don’t wanna see what someone might do to my apartment if they tried. Okay?”

“…yes. Of course,” Stolas said, slowly rising to his feet.

Loona stopped and looked him over, frowning a little. “Gonna wear the ponies all day?”

Immediately, Stolas felt his cheeks flushing. “O-oh! Right, of course.”

Before he could rectify the embarrassing little situation and place the blanket back on the couch where he had found it, Blitzø waved his hand. “Ignore her,” he said airily. “She’s just jealous that you’re allowed to use my special rare misprint Pony Valley Princess Warrior island adventure four-part special commemorative limited run blanket.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m giving Leviathan a run for their money over here,” Loona said dryly. “The fact that one of those ponies has an upside-down face is just so cool.”

“Yes. It is,” Blitzø said with a firm proudness, completely ignoring Loona’s sarcasm, which was heavy enough that even Stolas could tell. “Bring it if you want, Stols, the office can be pretty cold. Millie gets downright genocidal if she finds the place too hot.”

“I…” Stolas wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He tightened his grip on the blanket again. “…alright. …thank you.”

He followed the other two to the door, barely remembering to duck underneath the ceiling fan, and spared another glance for the wall of photographs near the front entrance. He thought he might have been imagining it when he first arrived, but no; in every single picture that featured Blitzø, his face had been violently scribbled out with what seemed to be a permanent marker.

The day after the full moon, Stolas had been so dismissive at Blitzø’s admission of insecurity, seeing it as both a sympathy tactic and an unnecessary admission of his obvious dislike of himself. Now, he was wondering if the imp wasn’t criminally understating what he truly thought he himself was worth.

He would need to find a way to ask about it.

Apparently, the van had been destroyed in their attempts to escape arrest, so the three began walking to the building that held IMP headquarters. It was early enough that there weren’t many people around, and Stolas was grateful for that, uncertain he would handle having things thrown at him any better than he had the previous evening. Blitzø and Loona made idle conversation as they walked; Blitzø directed his words to Stolas not infrequently, and while he was appreciative of his attentiveness, he wasn’t much of a conversationalist at the moment. It was strange, how calm and patient Blitzø was being with him, and Stolas couldn’t help wondering when the other shoe would drop. What if Blitzø kicked him out? What would he do then?

Stolas had only been in IMP headquarters once, and it looked very different when he followed Blitzø and Loona inside that morning. After passing the door with a sign stating the office would be closed for the next week, Stolas saw they weren’t the first to arrive. Four young imps that he had never seen before were scurrying around, cleaning up what looked like the results of a great deal of evidence destruction. There were scraps of shredded and burned paper everywhere, destroyed costumes, broken furniture… despite how alarming it was, Blitzø looked the four of them over. “You came back,” he observed.

Immediately, the four young imps froze, turning in unison to stare at him like wild animals facing down a speeding truck. “…yes, sir,” one of them said, the one who put off the strongest assertive air. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Y’know, the whole… decoy thing that could have gotten you killed or whatever.” Blitzø waved one hand. “Thought it might put you off the internship idea.”

The four youths looked at each other before they turned back and the one who appeared to be their leader spoke again. “Is… was yesterday unusual for this line of work?”

“Only a little!” Blitzø said, turning and crossing the room. “Good work, you four, keep making this place look like it’s functioning.”

Stolas ducked into himself as he followed, aware of the strangers staring at him with a mixture of confusion and disgust. He leaned close to Loona, murmuring, “Who are those?”

“Interns,” she muttered back. “Dad hired them because they work for experience. Don’t know their names, won’t learn them.”

“I see.” Stolas moved back again, resisting the urge to look backwards and instead following the other two into what appeared to be a small conference room off the main office. There was a long table that looked as though it would comfortably seat around twenty people, as well as a large whiteboard at the front of the room, but the only other occupants were Millie and Moxxie. They were sitting on the same side of the table near the whiteboard, both of them deeply engaged in their own quiet conversation that only stopped when Moxxie raised his eyes and noticed their arrival. “You’re here,” he observed.

“You got the interns working quick,” Blitzø said as he began rounding the table.

“Well, duh,” Millie said. “I don’t wanna clean it up, you won’t, Loona definitely won’t,”—Loona made a wordless sound of agreement—“and I ain’t lettin’ ya drop it all on Moxxie. Here,” she concluded, holding out a to-go coffee cup. “Thought maybe we could all benefit from a lil’ pick me up and no there ain’t no bourbon in it.”

“Aw,” Blitzø said, frowning at the coffee.

“It’s got an extra shot, don’t whine.”

“Here, Loona,” Moxxie said, offering her a cup as well. “You guys walked? You know we could have picked you up, right?”

“It’s out of your way.”

Whatever Moxxie and Blitzø were saying proceeded to escape Stolas’s notice as Millie crossed over to him and offered a cup to him as well, extending her arms almost completely up over her own head. “Here ya go, Yer Highness,” she said with a complicated sort of smile.

Stolas didn’t respond at first, until he fully registered what she was doing. “…that’s for me?”

“Mhm,” Millie nodded. “Knew Blitzø’d make ya come in with him, an’ I figure you ain’t used to wakin’ up early for office shit.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He decided on, “Thank you,” before he carefully took the warm cup from her. “…and you should simply call me Stolas, Millie, there is hardly any need for formality.”

At that, her smile turned into something more warm and genuine. “Okay, Stolas,” she said with a nod. “Oh, me an’ Moxxie didn’t know whatcha might want in yer coffee, so we guessed. Hope it’s okay.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely,” he assured her, fully aware that he would appreciate such a kind gesture no matter what it tasted like. It turned out, however, that they were fairly close in predicting his taste, as the latte was primarily coffee and steamed milk with just a little sweetened vanilla. Out of curiosity, he glanced at Blitzø—he’d taken the lid off of his cup, and Stolas could only see whipped cream covered in pink and green sparkly sprinkles—and resisted the urge to laugh. It seemed that they were both as predictable as they were chaotic, at times.

“Okay, everybody, sit down,” Blitzø said, taking his place standing at the head of the table and picking up a blue dry erase marker. He reached up, using his hand to wipe away the majority of what appeared to be an unflattering caricature of Wally Wackford. “You all got your assignments last night. I want updates.”

Stolas, after a moment of hesitation, sat a few chairs down from Loona so he could observe the meeting without directly inserting himself. The hellhound pulled out her cellphone, turning her attention to it. “The target has posted fuck all on her socials,” Loona said. “Not that I expected it, of course, but her Voxtagram and QuackChat are silent and she hasn’t logged into CHttR in nearly a week. I shot her a DM on Voxtagram, but she hasn’t opened it; I’m willing to bet her phone was taken for her own good or some other bullshit.”

Blitzø nodded. “Alright. Mills?”

“Security was rampin’ up late last night,” Millie said. “Drove past th’ place and they already had a construction crew movin’ shit in. I’m guessin’ they’re correctin’ th’ weak points you were exploitin’, but it don’t seem like they’re thinkin’ about keepin’ us out explicitly. Gotta keep an eye on how fast they’re workin’, but if we move quick we can probably take advantage of th’ construction to get in.”

“Fabulous. Moxx.”

“Case law isn’t my strong suit, like I said,” Moxxie admitted, and Stolas felt himself perk up just a bit in spite of himself. “That said, I found a handful of pretty old cases that might have set precedents we can exploit. Of the two I’m most sure of, one of them is out of Gluttony, and with Beelzebub’s apparent standing with the nobility I don’t know how seriously they would take it. The other one is out of Wrath, though, and I doubt Satan would dismiss his own judgment out of hand.”

“Beautiful. Keep looking,” Blitzø said, pointing at him. “Loona, keep looking for any other way we might have to get in contact with her; if she’ll talk to anyone, she’ll talk to you, I’m still positive about that. Millie, keep an eye on the construction and keep me updated on the progress. Moxxie, keep… reading, I guess, and give me the cases you’ve found so far.”

Moxxie gave him a dry look. “Why, because you’ll understand them better?”

Blitzø laughed, once. “Ha! Fuck no. Because I’ll take them to an overlord or some shit, I dunno yet, find someone who’s got more legal experience than we do.”

“Um…” Stolas said, his soft interjection somehow loud enough to get all of the eyes in the room on him. “You said… case law? From the other Rings?” When Moxxie nodded, Stolas continued, “I have a great deal of experience with legal documents. I’ve even acted as legal advisor to Lord Asmodeus. If… I mean, if it isn’t inappropriate, I would be glad to go through anything at all you need examined.”

Blitzø looked at Moxxie, who hesitated, then gave his boss a shrug. “…okay, Stolas,” Blitzø said. “You wanna bore yourself and help Moxxie out, you’re more than welcome to.”

Stolas nodded. “Very well. …what, precisely, is the job you’re working?”

“It isn’t a job, really,” Moxxie said evasively. “I mean, no one hired us for it. Or… Blitzø did, I guess. It’s more of an assignment, really, or—”

“We’re breaking into your old place and kidnapping your daughter,” Blitzø interrupted.

If anyone else responded, Stolas didn’t hear it, too busy spraying a mouthful of coffee across the conference table. “What?!” he nearly squealed the moment he stopped spluttering, getting to his feet quickly enough to knock his chair over backwards. “You’re going— You want to— Do you actually think— Are you out of your fucking minds?!”

Blitzø’s smile didn’t change, except for his little forked tongue to poke out for a second. “Kinda,” he said, his tail swishing behind him, a sure sign he was so goddamn pleased with himself.

“Did all of you forget what happened yesterday??” Stolas came around the table, focusing on Blitzø and Blitzø alone. “You barely managed to avoid execution, Blitzø. Don’t you think they’ll be keeping a close watch on you from now on? They will be anxiously awaiting any chance to withdraw your status as the only pardoned Hellborn in history! Why the fuck would you go out of your way to give them a reason?!”

“Stolas,” Blitzø said firmly, reaching up and taking him by the upper arms with strong and steady hands. “Look at me.” Stolas drew a shaking breath, forcing himself to calm enough to look at Blitzø without speaking. “Your ex is a crazy fucking bitch. Your brother in law is a crazy fucking bitch. Octavia isn’t safe there anymore, not without you to look after; you really think Andraelphus is just gonna let her keep living her life the way she has been? You think his massive ego isn’t gonna start immediately dick swinging and making it everyone else’s problem?”

“I know, of course I know,” Stolas said sharply, glancing away. “Do you think I haven’t already thought of everything that might happen to my daughter in the event that I’m…”

When he trailed off, Blitzø squeezed his arms a little, drawing his gaze back. “I know you have,” he said. “I’m not telling you, Stols, I’m reminding you. What I am telling you is I don’t leave people behind. No matter what we escaped from, I wouldn’t leave Loona or Millie or Moxxie. I know it’s dangerous. That’s why we don’t leave people behind.”

Stolas stared at him. “…you hardly even know her,” he said, his voice weak. “She isn’t one of your… Why would you do something like this? You’ve only met her twice!”

Blitzø frowned at him. “She’s your daughter,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What else do we need to know?”

It wasn’t often that Stolas was rendered speechless, but each time it had happened, it was always because of Blitzø. The imp took advantage of his stunned silence to steer him back to his chair, and Millie put his coffee back in his hands as Moxxie finished wiping the table down. They then returned to their discussion about, of all things, breaking into Stolas’s former home and abducting his daughter.

Despite everything that had happened, no one spoke with any level of uncertainty or hesitation, at least not about anything besides the individual ideas for how to proceed. They had been arrested, dragged before Satan himself, mocked and ridiculed by the entire Goetian court, very nearly beheaded, and in spite of such horrific events, they were planning to kidnap a Goetian princess less than a full day later.

Because they care about her, he thought. Because… because he cares about…

Stolas felt his eyes welling with tears, and he turned his head down, focusing on keeping himself calm as he simply listened to three imps and a hellhound plot to risk their lives saving a member of the class that had almost unilaterally declared them worthless the day before.

Stolas was at a complete loss, trying to grapple with such an action and wondering what he could have possibly done to deserve such kindness. He knew, however, that no matter the outcome, he would be eternally grateful for each and every one of them.

•••

[zaebeecee]

Satan has two shoulder devils and they’re both Yogirt

So whenever Yogirt is actively functioning as a life coach to Satan, his robes look white... but when he's functioning as an assistant or providing silent affirmation, the garb is dark.

Either option would be hilarious whether the robes actively change colors... or if it's actually one color that's perceived differently depending on lighting and in-universe is a subject of debate akin to The Dress in 2015.

[zaebeecee]

this is what my owl window decal looks like through my window and, as a result, is what I woke up to this morning

[zaebeecee]

if they didn't want me to think satan and yogirt were fucking they wouldn't have made him so fruity

[zaebeecee]

I doodled this on some protective cardboard while waiting for an actual painting I was working on to dry

my boyfriend saved it from being thrown away and hung it on our wall??? Like refrigerator art?? I’m 😭🤣❤️

[zaebeecee]

Dorks

[zaebeecee]

LISTEN TO THIS RIGHT NOW

Have you ever asked yourself: “What does the skunk say?” unmute to find out

[zaebeecee]

move over, Fizz and Ozzie, new Most Dramatic Size Difference couple just dropped

[zaebeecee]

not having a great time

just some self-therapy to tide us all over

[zaebeecee]

[zaebeecee]

if anyone tries to disturb Alastor, Angel would 100% shoot them

then Alastor wakes up and learns that Angel was doing that and secretly gets all melty on the inside about someone wanting to look after him (even though he can totally do it by himself y’all)

he's too sleepy to move