zaebeecee

[zaebeecee]

crochet Lucifer duck

thinking about making a whole series of Hazbin ducks

[zaebeecee]

this is relevant to my interests and writing projects

Research for a fan comic (and upcoming original comic later)

I want to know what type of format you most like reading on whatever device you use. It's very exciting. That's all I'll say for now 👀👀👀

[zaebeecee]

[zaebeecee]

Campaign tip: if the opponent is going far right in order to court an increasingly far right voter base, try going moderately right to appeal to neither the left nor the right

[zaebeecee]

I am gonna make it through this year, and the next four, if it kills me.

I will outlive this fascist sonuvabitch if it's the last thing I do.

I'm going to survive to see things get better and drag as many people as I can with me and that is a THREAT.

[zaebeecee]

babe you know it would be a crime not to write a fic after you made such a great fic cover

My Little Black Heart Day 10

Fright Night!

both versions, cuz i legitimately love both versions

wound up taking a crazy long time on this one cuz i decided to not do a screenshot and instead a full-ass movie poster XD

this will probably wind up as a fic, right @zaebeecee? write it with me plz

[zaebeecee]

Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 15: New Threads

Alternate Universe (1930s gangster AU, secret relationship)

CWs: Period-relevant racism

If Alastor is going to pose as Anthony’s new bodyguard, he has to look the part.

Word count: 1290

•••

Purchasing clothing was a foreign concept to Alastor.

He had clothing, obviously, he wasn’t some Philistine traipsing around ‘naked as the day he was born’ (as they said back home). That clothing, however, had all been hand-made by his maman and later by Alastor himself once he cultivated his sewing skill enough to tailor things. In the little village outside of New Orleans, where he grew up, there was a shortage of things like professional tailors and the newfangled idea of ‘ready to wear’ clothes you could buy off a rack; there had been more options in the city, of course, but they didn’t cater to people like those who lived in the village, so their only option was the one small store that sold a limited variety of cloth and sewing notions.

The building in front of him was not a place where you could buy plain cotton fabric or a pack of sewing needles. No, this was a New York City bespoke tailor, the kind of place where they gave you champagne and let you sit on soft velvet chairs while men with measuring tapes around their necks practically begged to cater to your every fashion whim. There was even a sign in the window that said, in no uncertain terms, WE CATER TO WHITE TRADE. WAITING ROOM FOR COLORED ONLY, with an arrow pointing around to the back of the building.

“Somehow, I don’t think I’ll exactly receive a warm welcome here,” Alastor said lightly, tilting his head enough to look at his companion. With his slicked white hair, entirely white suit, and matching white hat and shoes, his boss (boss’s son, strictly speaking) couldn’t have looked any more like a gangster; it only took one glance to see why so many who worked for the Family called him the Ghost.

“Does that bother you?” Anthony asked, casting Alastor a sidelong glance as his lips curved into a smirk.

Alastor returned the look with a smile of his own. “I think you already know the answer to that, sha. I simply wouldn’t want to waste your time if they’re only going to refuse service.”

“No one refuses the Mezzasalma Family’s money,” Anthony said, his smile growing darker as he took hold of the door handle. “Not more than once, anyway.”

Alastor followed Anthony inside and looked around at the interior that was just as posh as he imagined it would be, the interior all polished wood and fine carpet and largely uncluttered by the usual bolts of cloth and shelves and bins. Instead, cloth samples lined one wall in a neat little row, a large section of the interior dedicated to a seating area and a raised dais with full-length mirrors surrounding it in a half-circle. It was mere seconds before a man strode over to them with a speed that made his attempt at dignified posture downright hilarious, and he stopped near Anthony, clasping his hands together.

“Mister Mezzasalma,” he began, casting Alastor more than one glance from the corner of his eye. “I— This is quite the surprise, we were not expecting to see you.”

“Wasn’t exactly expectin’ to be here myself,” Anthony said, straightening the lapels of his jacket as he glanced around. “I’m in need of a couple of new suits and my usual tailor won’t be back in the city for a few weeks. My father speaks highly enough of your work, so I figured I might as well give my patronage to someone who’s already been good to my people.”

“That… that’s very kind of you, sir.” The shop attendant glanced at Alastor again; Alastor smiled at him, and the attendant’s face blanched to an interesting color that reminded Alastor of bad milk. “We would be more than happy to clear our schedule for you, but I am afraid your man will have to go around to the back of the building for the entrance to the waiting area.”

“Oh, no, he won’t,” Anthony said, clasping his hands behind his back and strolling over to where the cloth samples stood. “They’re for him. He’s recently come close into my employ, you see, and he requires clothing that… befits the position, so to speak.”

The attendant looked panicked. “Sir, I-I’m afraid I must insist, it isn’t just our policy, the law dictates—”

He fell silent when Anthony glanced his way. “Ain’t that a shame,” he said, turning back to the cloth and taking what looked like some expensive gray tweed between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its texture. “I suppose I’ll have to obtain a different recommendation from my father, then. He’ll be very disappointed to hear your establishment didn’t meet my needs, but the law is the law.”

If the attendant looked unwell before, now he looked positively ill, like he might vomit where he stood any moment. While Alastor might have rolled his eyes at the indirect passive-aggression of veiled mafioso threats, he had to admit it was very funny to be on this side of it. “Oh, n-no, sir, it isn’t— I didn’t mean—…” He cleared his throat, gathering himself. “Your father has always been a very valuable patron for us. I’m certain the owner wouldn’t mind making an exception.”

Anthony smiled. “Well, that’s very good to hear. Alastor, come on over here.” When Alastor stepped up beside him, Anthony dropped his voice and said, “Let me know if anybody here says or does anythin’ even a little… inappropriate, alright?”

“You got it,” Alastor murmured with a smile. “Are you planning to shoot them if they do?”

Anthony chuckled. “Nah. Might get someone to accidentally burn down the building, though.” Alastor stifled his laugh as Anthony shushed him, trying to keep his own laughter from bursting out in a giggle.

The fabric was nothing like Alastor had ever held before, and he took his time in making his selections while Anthony told the attendant, in no uncertain terms, that they required the suits as quickly as possible. He negotiated a two-week turnaround that made the attendant sound like he was close to an apoplexy, but he agreed and had Alastor stand on the dais for his measurements.

They returned to the store for fittings three times—Alastor had tried to tell Anthony that he didn’t need anything so extravagant, and Anthony had countered that he enjoyed spending as much of the family money as possible this way—and when Alastor finally stood in a completed suit of light gray cashmere, looking himself over in the mirror, he hardly recognized himself.

“Leave,” Anthony said to the shop’s employees, and as they scuttled away, Alastor watched him in the mirror as he stepped up onto the wide dais and walk up behind him. “What do you think?” Anthony asked, dropping his voice to ensure they weren’t overheard.

“It’s different,” Alastor said. “But I can’t say I hate it.”

“Most positive thing I’ve ever heard you say about somethin’ bein’ different,” Anthony chuckled, and Alastor felt hands on his waist as Anthony leaned in close to his back.

Alastor smiled, leaning back in return as he fixed his cuffs. “I think I could absolutely get used to this.”

“Good. And besides…” Anthony leaned in close to Alastor’s ear, whispering, “I think both these suits will look fantastic on my bedroom floor.” Alastor felt his face heating up as Anthony’s tongue darted out, flicking the shell of his ear, a little bit of that ‘playing with fire’ he was so fond of. Then, he backed off and turned away. “Let’s get out of here, then. Next time, I’m takin’ you to Rosie.”

Alastor took one last look at himself, smoothing his hand down the front of his jacket, before he turned to follow Anthony out of the building. He could definitely get used to this.

•••

[zaebeecee]

i don't feel good so here's some doodles

[zaebeecee]

It’s like they realized that people were electing to watch the end credits instead of letting streaming services instantly kick them over to the next movie or show and went “fine, you can watch the credits, but they will be VERY SHORT, now watch the new Fast and Furious”

End Credits in Film

The credits that roll at the end of a film are crucial for more than one reason

Obviously, there is the acknowledgment of every hand and mind that went into the project, but

There's also the allowance to wind down, to take in what you've just watched; even if you've seen it a hundred times, it's part of watching the film

And of course the score/soundtrack. The music chosen for the end credits is very intentional, even in many movies made today

It doesn't matter that some movies have more disposable end credit tracks

The point is that there is value in the end credit for even more reasons than I listed here

I bring all of this up because I've encountered - what is for me - a new issue with streaming movies. Not only do they include ad break style fade-to-blacks even when you're not stuck with ads during your viewing (I always keep the remote handy to mute the ads when they come up and don't even glance at the screen because fuck ads), but now I find that some services play the end credits at breakneck speed, also cutting off the music prematurely. So not only can I not use the music and energy to wind down and absorb my experience, but I can't read and appreciate (and easily look into more should I want to know more of their work whatever their task) the many people who made the film.

A lot of people say the art of film is dying. I couldn't disagree more. I lived through the sludge that the 90s and -shudder- the 00s gave us, and so much of what I'm actually watching today is fucking incredible. The ability for smaller creators - and creators from almost any country - to put out next-level work available at my fingertips is unprecedented on every conceivable level. It's the services that largely make these films available that are doing their damnedest to make these experiences as expedited and protracted as possible.

Remove our awareness of what's going on around us and we are that much more malleable, that much more suggestible to blind purchasing, binge watching, and other obnoxious tactics that gain billionaires more money, and leave us as the scapegoats, the ones to blame for our "shorter attention spans" and our "fickle" manner of consuming media.

[zaebeecee]

[zaebeecee]

Have a Hellish Halloween!

wasn't sure I'd get something done in time but here it is got Alastor as Cernunnos, Angel Dust as The Morrigan, and Fat Nuggets as the faithful babd happy halloween everybody

[zaebeecee]

My contribution to a Radiodust project

[zaebeecee]

Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 14: Tip-Toe

Human high school/Persona AU (dating; queerplatonic or romantic) | Marguerite = Vaggie | Hollis = Husk | Noriko = Niffty | Vincent = Vox

CWs: None

It was never wise to interrupt Alastor when he was working on his radio scripts.

Word count: 1043

•••

The door to the study lounge was open.

Normally, that was a good sign: the door being open meant no study sessions were going on, so anyone was free to enter as long as they stayed quiet and respectful of anyone else inside. The study lounge itself was just off the main lounge on the ground floor of the dormitory, most frequently used by the students who had no need or inclination to walk across campus to the academic building and do their work in the library. Because it was so easy for any student to access any time of day (excluding curfew), that meant things sometimes got… left inside. Like books. Or hats. Or—

“I need my BJD tool kit,” Noriko whispered, tugging on Charlie’s sleeve with a firm and pleading insistence. “I have to put Blitz’s head back on, and I can’t do it without my hemostat.”

“Why are you using surgical tools for wire shit?” Maggie whispered, at the same time as Hollis muttered, “It’s so fucking weird that you make dolls of your classmates.”

Charlie looked down at Noriko. “Why did Blitz’s head fall off…?”

“Because they’re more precise, no it isn’t weird, and because the Millie doll punched him so hard it flew off,” Noriko said, very matter-of-fact.

Charlie sighed and looked at the open door again. “I mean… they must be done, right? Neither of them would leave the door open if they were still working.”

“I didn’t see Alastor leave,” Hollis said. “Door might be open because Vincent left, but I ain’t about to risk interrupting just Alastor, let alone both of them. Just get your tools tomorrow, Ko.”

“Noooo,” Noriko whined.

“Would it really be that bad?” Maggie asked skeptically. “It’s open to the whole student body. They can’t just commandeer shit like that.”

“Oh, they can, and they do.”

“I’ll go get them,” Charlie said, holding her hands up. “I’m not scared of either of them, and if they wanna give me crap, let them try.”

Disentangling herself from Noriko, Charlie went to the study lounge door and knocked softly. She didn’t hear an answer, negative or otherwise, so she carefully peeked in and glanced around.

The room looked largely unoccupied, save for a low table in front of one of the couches, where she could see Alastor’s book bag, the ratty notebook of story ideas he always had on him, and a couple of pens next to a box of colored pencils. She didn’t see Vincent’s things anywhere, but she also didn’t see Alastor, which was very weird because she could see his cane leaning up against the arm of the couch. Maybe he had to step out to get something? she mused as she walked into the room, stopping when she got far enough that she could see around the back of the couch to what was actually on said couch.

Hollis had been right about Alastor not leaving, but he had apparently missed the fact that Anthony had come in at some point, definitely after Vincent was gone (she couldn’t understand what the Hell their problem was with each other). Alastor was lying down on the couch, one leg extended out across the cushions and one foot planted on the floor, an open book draped across his face and hiding his features. Anthony was also lying on the couch, but he was sprawled on top of Alastor, head resting on the other boy’s chest and feet dangling off the other arm of the couch thanks to his unfairly long legs. His arm was draped across Alastor’s waist, fingers curled where they rested against the carpet, and he looked to be sound asleep. Alastor also might have been, but he also frequently reminded them that he didn’t sleep, so Charlie wasn’t willing to take the risk.

After glancing around the room and seeing Noriko’s tools on the table in the corner (of course), Charlie bit her lower lip and began walking towards them as silently and carefully as she could; while she wasn’t afraid of interrupting Alastor, catching him being so cuddly with the guy that was “maybe his boyfriend because they claimed that once but also both of them are full of shit and trolls so maybe not” was probably a guaranteed death sentence. Reaching the table, she began rolling up the leather case for the tools, freezing when some of them clattered together and Anthony made some kind of noise from the couch. She glanced over, but neither of them were moving, so she went back to her task before buttoning it up and hurrying out of the room with it.

Despite the fact that she didn’t want to make any sound or make it obvious that someone else had been in there, she did close the door to discourage anyone else from entering before she went back to the group and held out the tools for Noriko. “Here.”

“Thank you~!”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “You look paranoid.”

“What? Nooo,” Charlie said, waving her down. “No no no.”

Hollis frowned. “Did he give you shit?”

“He didn’t say anything. Now, come on, let’s go, we’ve got a Russian test tomorrow and Mr. Rivers will gloat for days if we all fail.”

•

The moment he heard the click of the door, Anthony opened one eye before he lifted his head and glanced around. “Yep. She’s gone.”

Alastor reached up and hooked his thumb under the book, lifting the bottom half up off his face and giving Anthony a smile. “Sounded like the poor dear was about to have a heart attack.”

Anthony laughed, folding his hands on Alastor’s chest and resting his chin on his laced fingers. “Y’know, you were right. Psychological warfare is fun. She’s probably worryin’ about you huntin’ her down right now.”

Alastor giggled. “Maybe we should do it to your siblings next.”

“Only if you want them to beat you up. They ain’t the most agreeable.”

“You could always protect me.” Alastor batted his eyelashes in an overdone show of faux innocence that made Anthony cackle.

“Dork,” he said fondly, leaning up to kiss Alastor on the tip of his nose. “Come on, let’s go fuck with someone else.”

“You always have the best date ideas.”

•••

[zaebeecee]

I love all of these but I am dying over their outfits in that last one

Radiodust Sketch Dump!

Took some requests from RD friends while I was hanging around the doc's office with mah husband. They had FANTASTIC ideas, as expected.

Angel Dust making a flower crown for Alastor, who will cause flowers to wilt if he touches them, so he also puts it on his sweet head

Angel and Al having breakfast, Angel stuffing a donut into his gob, while Al looks on befuddled and a little grossed out while he munches on his calas (with honey), bonus, Angel calls out Al's hypocrasy

Angel is helping Alastor do his drag makeup, but Al is having struggles

FASHION SHOW

[zaebeecee]

Another thing that was sketch requested today. That's all of them! I had too much fun with this one because they explicitly requested something inspired by a moment in my babe @zaebeecee's lovely flash fic, Fight and Flight. Here it is on the Tumbls

He pushed one hand up into Alastor’s hair from his nape, cradling the back of his head with his palm and gently pressing his fingers into the bases of Alastor’s antlers. A second hand cupped the back of Alastor’s neck, thumb and forefinger immediately seeking out the pressure points at the base of his skull. His third hand went to Alastor’s back, stroking down his spine before lifting and repeating the motion as though he was trying to calm a stressed animal. And his fourth hand just rested on Alastor’s shoulder, primarily so he would feel it if the Radio Demon lashed out and could attempt to evade if necessary. “Hey, Smiles, it’s okay, it’s just me,” Angel said as soothingly as he could when he felt Alastor’s muscles growing so taut that he feared the other demon would snap into pieces. “Shh, it’s okay, ain’t nobody in here gonna give you any shit, I promise. And if they try, I’ll kill ‘em for you, or at least hold ‘em down while you kill ‘em, okay?”

[zaebeecee]

HAPPY ACE WEEK FUCKERS

[zaebeecee]

Just a quick little poll for y’all because I’m curious about something relating to a long-time-in-the-making project 👀